Loving: The way his eyelashes look like from down below, like when you put your camera a little bit low from your sighting area. They're beautiful. He's very beautiful.
Reading: I've bought a lot of books and tried to read this book called Madonna in a Fur Coat by Sabahattin Ali, an author from Turkey. I also tried to start reading this book called Seporsi Mie Ayam Sebelum Mati by Brian Khrisna, an author from Indonesia. Too bad I'm a procrastinator that does everything except reading so I have difficulty in finishing these books. I got 10+ books laying on my table, waiting to be finished. I'm going to scream.
Have been thinking to: How draining a long-distance relationship can be. I wake up at 4 am just to wait for his call, staying awake and hoping we'll talk the way we used to. In the beginning, those calls lasted an hour, and even though it was exhausting, it felt worth it because I felt loved and connected. Now, things are different. The calls have shrunk into quick five-minute check-ins, usually ending with him too tired to talk and ready to sleep. I understand he's exhausted after work, but for me, those short conversations leave me feeling empty instead of reassured. It feels like my effort like, sacrificing sleep, is no longer matched by his effort. As an overthinker with anxious attachment, this shift hits me hard. I replay the short calls in my head, wondering if he still values them the way I do, or if calling me just isn't as important to him anymore. I can't help but compare the present to the past, and the difference makes me feel like I'm quietly bending down, suppressing my own emotional needs just to keep things going. He used to hit me up with sweet messages like "Are you awake?", or "Can I call you?", or "Can I see you?" and now it's just a sounded-cold text like, "Call if you're awake," and this tiny detail makes me upset. I keep asking myself if love should feel this way...so draining, so one-sided. A relationship is supposed to give comfort and strength, not constant exhaustion and self-doubt. I know silence won't solve anything, but sometimes I feel like if I speak up, I'll only sound needy or demanding. And so I stay quiet, even though the truth is that five-minute calls aren't enough for me. I miss feeling close. I miss the longer talks where I felt like we were really together, despite the miles between us. More than anything, I miss the version of us that made me believe all the effort was worth it.
And lately, I've noticed how something as natural as expressing my feelings has begun to feel like walking on thin ice. Every time I open up about what hurts or confuses me, it somehow ends in tension, he reacts with anger, annoyance, and the same familiar ache of regret afterwards. It happened again this week. All I wanted was to share how I felt about something simple: wanting him to call me after work. It wasn't a demand; it was a small wish for closeness, a reassurance that he wants to hear my voice. I want him to call me after work because he actually wants to see me, not because I want him to call me. But when I said it, he got angry. He said, "You really got me angry right now," and this line echoed in my head longer than I'd like to admit. I don't know why he got so angry after I was voicing out my feelings, it's like my feelings don't matter. I ended up telling him I'm sorry and I spent the whole day and night crying, even when I was at work. I wept quietly and no one noticed.
The truth is, I was scared. Not of him, exactly, but of that feeling of being punished for being honest. I hate that my body tenses up when I sense his irritation, that I start calculating what is safe to say and what might upset him. It's exhausting to shrink my voice just to keep the peace. The next day, I couldn't bring myself to talk much. He called, asked if I was okay, and I told him I wasn't ready to talk yet, the last conversation still hurts me. That "You really got me angry right now," sentence still hurts me. He said it shouldn't be complicated, that I misunderstood, that his "Call if you’re still awake" text was just a normal message. But it's not about that one text. It's about the pattern: how quickly my feelings are dismissed as overreactions, how easily he gets angry instead of curious, he doesn't even try to understand why I felt that way. When I stayed silent, he said, "If you’re not going to talk, I’m hanging up." and I told him maybe it's better that way because if we kept talking, we'd just hurt each other. He hung up. Literally.
And then, a few hours later, he called again. We talked as if nothing had happened. No apology, no explanation. Just normal conversation, the same rhythm, the same small talk, the same gentle tone that makes me question whether the pain was even real. It's confusing, the way things can return to 'normal' so easily, yet leave something cracked beneath the surface. Now, I still message him. We still say "Good morning," "Study well," "Have a good day," but something in me has gone quiet. Not cold, just careful. I'm still here, still caring, but more from a distance. A soft distance. Maybe this is what emotional self-protection looks like, staying connected, but guarding the parts of myself that keep getting hurt. Maybe it's about learning that peace sometimes means less conversation, fewer explanations, and more silence that's chosen, not forced. I'm trying to learn how to stay connected without holding on too tightly.
It's a strange balance, really. Wanting to keep someone close while also needing to breathe. I still care, deeply, but I've started to care from a softer distance. It's not about pulling away out of anger or pride; it's about peace. About choosing quiet connection over constant reaching. For a long time, I think I carried both sides of this relationship. I was the one who explained, softened, reached out, tried to understand, tried to fix. I filled the silence before it got heavy, mended the distance before it turned cold. But now… I've stopped rushing in to close the space. And suddenly, I can feel how much of it was mine to fill. There’s a distance between us. It's not loud, not dramatic. Just a quiet gap where words used to live. It's the kind of distance that happens when one person stops overreaching and waits to see if the other will step closer. I don't blame him. I think we both needed the air. I still miss him, though. Not in the desperate way I used to, but in a gentler, almost grateful way.
I don't know what will happen next. I just know I can't keep walking on eggshells. I want to love in a way that doesn't make me scared of my own voice. And until that feels possible again, I'll love quietly...from a little farther away.
Anticipating to: My friend suddenly proposed this idea of travelling to Ranu Kumbolo and Karimun Jawa in 2026 and it has to be fulfilled in 2026, no excuses. We're planning to save money starting next year and I hope this plan will ensue. Let's just see. There are a lot of places I want to visit but so little time and so little money lmao.
