I feel very happy and grateful, that somehow, against all odds, I am living a life that my 8 year old self could only dream of, and was probably too afraid to tell anyone because it seemed so ridiculous.

I feel I have arrived to the other side of a long prayer: I have finally come home to myself.

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I never thought I would be an artist, I never thought I would find my own way to God and beauty, I never thought I would end up being a bit of a social anarchist. But here I am.

There are folks who would say that it’s the result of living in Westernised countries for the past 13 years. But to them, I say, surprise. I’ve always been this person, even when it was too dangerous to reveal it.

My earliest memory was standing in the balcony, with my sister, just in our singlet and panties in a hot Jakarta afternoon, dreaming about running away. In 90s Indonesian soap operas, the traitors used to cover their victim’s faces with a handkerchief laced with formaldehyde to knock them unconscious. I dreamt of doing that to our entire house, and to run away to new possibilities. I always knew I was born into the wrong world, and that I would have to find a way to escape. I always knew I was a bit of a traitor. 

As long as I remembered, I wanted to be an actor. I never told anybody, because it sounded stupid. I didn’t know a single other person in my life who was an artist. Also, actors are meant to be beautiful, and I always felt ugly, small and awkward.