#1: Me... ?

“I promise to make it better.”

That is the sentence I wrote on the very last page of my diary. The cover is worn and weathered, yet the pages within remain pristine—untouched by time. I find myself whispering a question to the silence: “Just how much better do I have to be to finally be worthy of validation?”

I am an only child, born from the womb of a perfectionist. My mother is a Dutch woman of Indonesian descent, while my father is a Sundanese man who is far too fragile—a man who loves to hide behind the hollow phrase, “This is for your own good.”

I grew up in a desert, devoid of affirmation or validation. They always demanded the best, but cruelly, not once was my effort ever appreciated. There was always a reason to dismiss me; always that haunting refrain: “You can do better than this.”

And so, here I am—a teenager raised in the shadows of a paralyzing fear of failure. All I know is how to study and how to be "great" for the sake of two people who refuse to even slightly lower their egos. I still remember what my grandfather told me before he fell ill and passed away,

“Because in the end, humans will live according to their own desires, regardless of their roles.”

Back then, his words were a mystery to me. But now, I understand. He was talking about my parents. About how they forgot their roles as parents—and as human beings. About how they choose to live for nothing but their own pride.