SOLO to SOLO
by Nuraishah Rashid
During a three-week residency at Studio Plesungan, Solo, Indonesia, student-artist Nuraishah Rashid was given the opportunity to; immerse in Javanese arts and culture, way of life, and learning alongside local performing arts students; and embark on a journey of discovering her Javanese ancestry as part of her long-term research and inquiry about migration, nativity and lineage.
The residency is organised and supported by the Fine Art Programme of Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts, Singapore, and Studio Plesungan, Solo, Indonesia.
PROLOGUE
What am I?
‘Kalau tak silap, datuk dengan nenek orang Semarang.’ / ‘If i'm not mistaken, datuk and nenek were from Semarang.’
It was the first day of Syawal where we celebrate Hari Raya in Singapore, and the first time we had gathered at my paternal aunt's home after two years of missed celebrations due to past pandemic restrictions. I was to leave for Solo in two days and thought I should ask where my paternal grandparents were from.
In the late 1980s, my aunts, uncles, and my cousin had gone to visit the hometown of my great grandfather in the region of Semarang, the capital and largest city of Central Java. It had been almost 40 years since then, no address saved, no contact made, no other information but the city of Semarang. This information shifted me closer to affirming my Javanese ancestry. I used to hear from my relatives ‘Datuk, nenek orang Jawa’, but I never quite understood what that meant. I had travelled to Indonesia multiple times, specifically the island of Java, but I had never put the two together. I had only understood Orang Jawa as a subset of Malay-speaking people, such as the Baweanese, Bugis and so on. However, I slowly realised how drastically incorrect my assumptions were and what I understood about Malay and Javanese required clarification.
As stated on their identity cards, is my father’s race is Malay, and my mother’s race is Indian. My paternal grandfather’s details state his race and dialect as Malay Javanese. As for my paternal grandmother it only states Malay, but my aunts affirm that she was of Javanese ancestry as her parents were from the island of Java.
These revelations made me wonder and question the accuracy of my true ancestry and what is reflected in government records. Moreover, I had never been as acquainted with my culture and its parts, as well as growing up being perceived as a Malay and the self-stigmatisation of being Malay Muslim. In short, I wanted to understand and address how my ancestry has shaped my lived experiences and how it will continue to influence me in the future.
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Mudik
In Malay culture, specifically in Singapore and Malaysia, although it aptly describes the situation in Malaysia, the term balik kampung is used to describe the mass movement of individuals or families from the cities that they work in, going back to their hometowns where they grew up in, usually in time for Hari Raya Aidilfitri. Alternatively, we also use the term jalan raya to depict the festivities of dressing up in traditional garments and visiting family and friends.
In Indonesia, mudik would be the alternative to balik kampung, shortened from the Javanese term mulih dilik. I was to leave for Solo, Indonesia, on the third day of Hari Raya Aidilfritri, where most of my family and relatives would be visiting each other throughout the weeks. I would have to miss the reunions and delicious Hari Raya dishes, and I would only be back home when the month of Syawal concludes. But if I have Javanese blood flowing through my veins, and I might have relatives in Java, would this trip be a homecoming to Java, the home of my ancestors? Although I would miss the presence of family and home in Singapore, I would be in the presence of another kind of family, another kind of home. Nevertheless, it was a comforting sentiment for the uncertain journey I was about to embark on for the next three weeks.
RESIDENCY @ STUDIO PLESUNGAN
Cultural Immersion
As part of my interest in my Javanese ancestry, I had participated in cultural events and site visits pertaining to the performing arts, and the intangible cultural heritage unique to Central Java - batik and tempeh. I also had the opportunity to get a glimpse of contemporary arts as well as its culmination with the traditional in the twin cities, Solo and Yogyakarta, which have their own distinct arts ecosystem. For each visit I was accompanied by undergraduates and alumni of Indonesia Arts Institute Surakarta; this allowed us to interact and exchange ideas regardless of our specialisation in traditional performing arts or fine arts.
Living and working solo
In the past I have visited a few cities in Java, but Solo is at a pace slower than its counterpart, Yogyakarta which is only an hour away via a commuter train. Solo is richer in the performing arts and propagation of traditional dance. In contrast to Singapore, living in Solo is a stark change to my daily routine, where I would get woken up by roosters as early as three in the mornings. Cost of living is also very low where the cost of a meal in Singapore is equivalent to three to five meals I have had in Solo. I appreciated the pace and the perks of being surrounded by nature. Javanese is spoken more than Bahasa Indonesia; hence it was a challenge to understand conversations in the shops.
Naturally, I have been accustomed to being alone and revel my solitude, so it was a breeze to live and work alone within the spaces provided. It was also beneficial to be in my own headspace and not be influenced by external factors especially in developing my practice. Overall, I believe in the controlled yet flexible environment that is created by such a residency as it allows room for catalysts and incubation of ideas, a space that one might not easily recreate outside a residency.
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SOLO TO SEMARANG TO CEPIRING
15 - 17 May
AFFIRMING MY JAVANESE ANCESTRY
Life in Semarang
After two and a half hours of meandering through villages and paddy fields with the occasional mountain range in the distance, my train rolled into Poncol Station in Semarang at 8.45 am. The day had just begun, and it already felt like midday; the heat was almost unbearable. I had received further details about where my great grandparents would have come from, West Semarang. It felt surreal to be there and my mind was racing as I walked along the streets thinking - That could have been a school they went to, or I could be walking past by my relatives, but how would I know. I did not know what I was looking for and what I would ultimately find.
My goals for this two-day trip were to go on a psychogeography trail around West Semarang and meet a local to gain a perspective on life growing up in this port city. From my previous contacts in Indonesia, a good friend connected me with a resident of Semarang, Kamila. Kamila’s family had been living in Semarang as far back as she could remember to the time of her ancestors. She comes from a family of traders with ventures in various businesses. I also visited Kamila’s home where she introduced me to her family and enjoyed rendang prepared by her mother.
It was an interesting encounter; we had only met that day, but I think in our earnest we opened up easily to one another. Moreover, it required trust and openness to do something I would not typically do back home, but I felt comfortable if my intentions are not to exploit. Kamila would be one of the first few people I would meet on this leg of my journey, strangers who are just out to help another.
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It would be my final night in Semarang but I had just been furnished with details about my great grandparents hometown.
I thought I should at least try; perhaps I might just find something worthwhile...
"Cepiring, Kendal. Pak Busro"
Memory fades and information too, however seemingly insignificant that piece of information might be, that chance or fate would bring me closer to my Javanese ancestry. What was about to unfold is akin to a straight-out-of-a-movie scenario. It was supposed to be my final day in Semarang, but I had been given a piece of almost 40-year-old information by my aunt: Cepiring, Kendal. Pak Busro. An area where my great grandfather was originally from and the name of a man whom I do not know of his connection with my grandfather.
I had rented a car and driver to bring me around Cepiring; I merely wanted to document through writing and photos as I wandered around the town. I opened Google maps and dropped a pin somewhere, in the middle of the paddy fields, hoping our car could get there. Alas, the road was too narrow, so I got off and walked through the village path until it opened up to a vast landscape. Wandered and wondered if this surrounding area was where my grandparents and their ancestors were from... how would I know?
It was past 8 am and I wanted to try my luck at the District Office. However, I was directed to the Department of Population and Civil Registration Kendal to enquire about my grandparent’s place of birth, perhaps I could find out their past address. I felt a little nervous, but I had prepared myself to be open to any possibility. Moreover, my grandparents would have been born in the 1930s, would there be any information left?
Equipped with details of their birth, and "Cepiring, Kendal. Pak Busro", through my broken Bahasa Indonesia mixed with Malay, I enquired the serving staff. In our exchange, a male staff member had overheard me, approached me and said in Bahasa Indonesia, “I know of a Pak Busro, but he has passed on a while back”. I was taken aback. What are the odds? Unfortunately, there was nothing in the system about my grandparents. I was only slightly dejected but quickly turned my focus to the male staff member, curious about this new unsuspecting lead. We sat down together to continue our conversation. We shared further details, but there were things he needed to confirm with his contacts, and time of course. We exchanged our numbers, and he bid me well in my search.
I still had some wandering to do, so I headed to the traditional market to experience the buzz and chaos of the locals out and about their daily routine. It was not as busy as I had expected. However, I did receive second glances from the vendors and market-goers. Did I look like an outsider? Was it because I was the only one wearing a mask? I wish I could say Oh, my grandfather is from around here, I am just visiting!
It was a maze! I felt compelled to turn the next corner into another alley which then opened to the poultry section; then another section of apparel and toys. I found myself at the back of the market where a small stall quaintly stood. I had the most affordable Nasi Soto with add-ons like tempe and perkedel for only 9000 Rupiah! I truly felt like a local! Thereafter, I decided to head up north to the beach front. But as I was making my way there, I received a phone call…
It had been almost two hours since I had left the population office... when I received a call that would change my life forever...
Desa Laban, Kecamatan Kangkung, Kendal
I would call it nothing short of divine intervention. In hindsight, the past few weeks had been a whirlwind of events, but this jolt I was experiencing was gentle and calm. How could it be so easy? All the details matched, from the name of my great grandparents, grandparents and my father’s siblings! In situations where a long-lost family member who claims to be one suddenly appears, on both sides, it is natural to feel cautious and apprehensive. I felt a tinge of nerves, but the yearning to know was stronger. I had to at least see for myself and confirm specifics in person.
It was a reunification that felt like the most ease I had felt meeting new people. I have found myself in situations where I would typically be open and accepting, but this was a different situation altogether. I spent the rest of the day meeting extended relatives who lived in different houses within the same village. At each house, the tale of how I had come to appear was retold. I had lunch, teatime, and dinner at each house. It felt safe like family should. Although they insisted I should stay for the night, I sadly had to leave due to a pending schedule for the next few days in Solo. It was a warm farewell, but I knew I would be back soon.
I later found out that my paternal grandparents were neither from Semarang nor Cepiring. More accurately, my great grandparents were born in Cepiring, a province within the district of Kendal which is situated to the west of Semarang. My grandparents had often visited their hometown when it was known as Cepiring. The last and final visit by my aunts and uncles was in the late 1980s, and thereafter there were no more. My grandparents had passed on before I was born, hence I had no knowledge of them, and I was never told any significant details about them or my Javanese ancestry.
Previously, West Semarang was also considered to be the district of Kendal, but land planning led to segmenting of the district into its current state today. It had been almost 40 years, and if the landscape had undergone division and renaming in new districts, the same could be said for families - as it gets bigger, they move apart, away to new lands, and take on new identities.
This was the most surreal event of my existence. I came without much hope of finding anything or being clear about my family ancestry. However, I came away with plenty of lessons about curiosity, trying, and letting things be. After spending almost a day in my great grandparent's hometown, enjoying a homecooked meal of rice, tempe, fritters, and sambal, after what felt like weeks away from home in Singapore, I can truly say I've come home. My Javanese heritage has been affirmed!
Returning to Laban
After officially ending my residency in Solo, I headed back to my “hometown”, and stayed for a night at my aunt’s home. It was there that I had the opportunity to clarify details about my ancestry with my aunt whom I refer to as Tante Umy. She helped ascertain the relationships between the family as I charted a family tree. It then became clear that although they were descendants of my ancestors, they were not directly related to my grandparents nor my great grandparents.
My great grandfather had a sister, Halimah, who stayed in Cepiring and married a fellow villager, but they could not have any children of their own. With her permission and their desire to have children, he married another woman and bore three children whom Halimah took care of after their biological mother passed away. Halimah’s legacy, though not of her own blood, till today lives in what is now known as Laban in the district of Kangkung, Kendal. Although we may not be directly related, there could still be a possibility of a biological relation if we were to trace further back to our ancestors as it was a common occurrence back in the day was marriage among people living in the same village. Nonetheless, this experience has made me rethink about non-biological familial relations such as fostering or adoption within the context of ancestry.
I left Laban the next day with a luggage bursting with gifts such as crackers, tempe, and a lone mango from a thirty-year-old mango tree in my great grandparents’ hometown. Watching what I had set out to search at the beginning of this trip evolve and shift, and finally feel settled inside, was nothing short of an unimaginable, wild and life-altering adventure.
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REFLECTING
In retrospect, this residency was more than I had expected and set out to achieve. It felt more significant and greater than an academic pursuit, it was something very close to me and curiosity that I needed to fulfil. I believe that was the main driver to the specific experiences I had sought out, culturally and spiritually. These three weeks had changed me to reconsider and give new meaning to family and home, as well as maintaining relationships. It was more of a personal journey and fulfilment that drove me to uncover my ancestry and, in that search, I found family and home that I never knew existed. We were separated by time, distance, language, and culture which resulted from migration. Additionally, the pandemic had also created a different circumstance of separation between me and my closest Indonesian friends.
I have extracted the following areas as points of contemplation and discussion and as an extension of my inquiry into migration, nativity, and ancestry.
Migration
I now see the many facets that makeup migration, not only the physical but also psychological. Understandably, the migration was brought upon by the decision to move, to seek something outside one’s home, perhaps in search of another or better home. For my great grandfather, it was driven by economic pursuit and a norm for young men to answer the call of opportunity to work in a foreign land. On the other hand, I had a personal journey to discover myself and sought personal growth. I would only be able to imagine a fraction of the psychological experience that results from migration; in this instance the physical movement from one place to another in search of my ancestry in a foreign land. Although not vastly different from the Malay culture I grew up in, there were still differences and challenges in adapting. My great grandfather would have experienced a greater challenge before the development in technology and access we see today.
Nativity: I Am Not Malay; I Am Half-Javanese
At the moment that I discovered my great grandfather was a Javanese immigrant from Central Java, I immediately doubted my supposed nativity privilege as a Singapore-born Malay. If I am the descendent of a Javanese immigrant, and my grandparents were both Singapore-born Javanese, why is my father Malay, and why am I Malay? What led to the erasure of our Javanese identity? A probable policy that may have impacted the assimilation of ‘Malay dialect’ groups such as Javanese, Baweanese, Bugis, into the umbrella of the Malay race, is the Chinese-Malay-Indian-Others organising framework of race. To this day there are questions and critiques about the necessity of a model as it greatly impacts political representation, education, and public housing. For example, the Malays have a native privilege in areas such as subsidised public education, but are also often given a pat on the back for the significant progress but only because Malays are made to be seen as the trailing racial group in Singapore. I had grown up with self-stereotyping, self-stigmatising, and disassociating myself from being Malay. But the affirmation and significance of my Javanese ancestry are driving me to doubt and critique the systems that govern our lives in Singapore.
After almost a month in Central Java surrounded by the chatter of Javanese dialect from the youth in the studio to the food vendors, and affirming my Javanese ancestry, I was propelled to learn the language and customs in hopes I could get by on the daily. However, will this affirmation mean a burden of knowing and self-expectation to fully realise my Javanese-ness? Whilst I had lived almost thirty years as a culturally ambiguous Malay in modern Singapore. There were parts of me that I could not shed or change, but I would appear and sound different, as I had experienced in Indonesia. How important is it for me to revive or relearn aspects of Javanese culture? Perhaps it is an opportunity for me to ponder upon the fine and delicate nuance of Javanese culture that I could learn and appreciate in my own regard, instead of a culture I should only superficially adopt just because I am half-Javanese.
Reconnecting: My Role As A Mediator
I had never considered myself to be a people person or to have the power to bring people together. However, it may be as simple as bringing friends together or creating an opportunity to come together in a single space. Moreover, I could never envision reconnecting my family to part of our roots, in an entirely different country and culture. Although it began as a personal journey in discovering facets of myself, it evolved into a learning experience for my family, friends, and counterparts to rethink and understand one’s ancestry, and our position as descendants of migrants. From a broader perspective, it simply means to find out where one is from, in every single aspect as it could bring inspiration, highlight our capabilities, and guide us as we navigate the world that is becoming even more diverse through migration.
Discussion with Indonesian youth
I created a space and opportunity for myself to share about my trip to my great grandparents hometown to the students at Studio Plesungan. I had asked them three separate questions - i) Can you find relevance in my experience to yours? ii) Would you be curious to find out about your ancestry? iii) How important is is to know your ancestry?
There were able to find relevance in their experience to mine as someone not quite belonging to one place due as they had temporarily moved to Solo from other parts of Indonesia to further their studies. They had felt varying degrees of insensitivity and discrimination due to how they spoke, looked, and behaved, so much that over time they changed and adapted their outlook to blend into the local community.
Overall, there were curiosities about one’s ancestry after being asked the simple question: Where are you from? I have also experienced similar situations where I wonder if it was coming from a place of curiosity or criticism. There is also a growing sense of pride to share with others about their ancestry, as means of connecting with others of similar backgrounds. An interesting observation is that there were differing views and depths of understanding when it comes to the importance of knowing one's ancestry. It was important to know but with a purpose. A common thread is the sense of helplessness due to the lack of information and reference about one's ancestry, and the overbearing feeling of being pressured with the responsibility of knowing. There has to be a balance between the culture that one grows up in and the ancestry that they are hoping to bring influence to their own lives in a multitude of ways such as speaking the language and following certain customs and practices.
This was an informal discussion created for me to understand their perspectives about their migration from one city to another, not knowing their ancestry, and their hopes of what ancestry could mean in the future for the next generation as the Indonesian cities become even more diverse. I hope to conduct a more thorough and organised focus group with the youth of different ancestries in Singapore.
Female Subjectivity
I was very conscious that in referring to my grandparents and ancestors, it was often the male that takes precedence in terms of their journey, and contribution. Although historically, men were often the sole breadwinners and made physical sacrifices, women were easily overlooked and forgotten. In my inquiry to my relatives about the female ancestors, although information is generally limited due to memory, there is always little to no information that was regarded as their contributions. I was pleasantly surprised and honestly touched by my great grandfather’s sister, Halimah, who was selfless in her cause and supported her fellow village people whom she took care of on her own. She was childless but she saw a child in each of her neighbour’s children and enabled their families them to improve their own lives. How could I not know about the inspiring women in my family if I did not know about them at all? I would be excited to share with people about my great grandfather’s migration journey, but I would be as excited and proud of my great grandaunt for her indescribable role and gift to others.
ONWARD
My journey into the arts, and of life in general, has never been linear. I had always been curious about my experiences and how they had shaped me and continue to shape me as I progress. My time in Indonesia, specifically the search for and affirmation of my ancestry, has shifted me in ways more than I can describe. In terms of my art practice, my perception of studio space has broadened and opened up the prospect of a blended space of experiencing, interacting, and reflecting, well beyond pure artmaking. In retrospect, I had often looked to other disciplines as a point of entry and their influence on my artmaking. However, with the specific enquiry, method, and presentation, I have hope for and envision my art-making process to influence other disciplines and become a platform to connect an even more diversified world.
In my next steps, I anticipate the development of my final year project and my personal practice within the long-term research and inquiry of migration, nativity, and ancestry. This will be expanded through focus groups, further field research and critical reviews of policies and systems of governance, within the geographical context of Singapore and the Nusantara.
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A poetry film:
Leluhurku
As a response to the multitude of experiences in my time during the residency, moving from one city to another within Central Java in a span of three weeks, and ultimately affirming my Javanese ancestry, I wrote and produced a poetry film that reflects the experience of moving/migration and the search for ones ancestry.
Leluhurku
Seperti inikah yang kamu rasakan – untuk pergi meninggalkan, berpindah dan membangun rumah baru, namun tidak akan terasa seperti bagian dari dirimu?
Dalam perjalananmu ini, mencari sesuatu, sebuah kehidupan yang lebih baik atau menjawab keinginan terpendam untuk melihat dunia…
Mungkin kamu beranjak dari suatu kota ke kota besar lainnya; dimana sesampainya di pelabuhan, kamu menaiki perahu kecil untuk pergi ke pulau berikutnya
Kamu bekerja keras untuk menjalani hari-harimu. Hari menjadi minggu dan minggu bertukar bulan. Yang akhirnya ada sebuah panggilan dari seberang pulau. Tak lama setelah itu, ada suatu panggilan lagi, yang memperlihatkanmu menuju ke arah selatan menyeberangi tambak.
Kamu pindah dan menetap. Pindah dan menetap lagi . Namun ketika kamu ingin menghela nafas, kamu harus berpindah lagi. Perlahan, kamu mulai terbiasa. Tidak tanpa rintangan, tidak ada yang dapat menghalangimu. Lagipula, kamu sudah berkali-kali bepergian dan beradaptasi, hal ini tidak mungkin mematahkan semangatmu..
Namun, kamu pasti merindukan kampung halamanmu…
Apakah kamu merasa lelah, senantiasa beralih dari suatu tempat ke tempat yang lain? Ku berharap istirahat adalah teman dekatmu, dan tidurmu lelap seperti dalam pelukan ibumu…
Apakah kamu bisa merasakan hangatnya langit dan deru ombak seperti yang kamu rasakan di pantai dekat dengan kampung halamanmu? Untuk hari-hari yang kamu habiskan dalam ketidakpastian, ku berharap kamu dikaruniai dengan hembusan angin sejuk untuk menenangkan rasa lelahmu.
Apakah mereka membantumu? Apakah mereka sama sepertimu juga, merantau jauh dari kampung halamannya, membangun sesuatu yang baru untuk mereka sendiri? Ku berharap mereka baik kepadamu, dan melihatmu seperti mereka melihat dirinya sendiri, perantau yang bergantung impian di kota pendatang.
Apakah kamu rindu berbicara dalam bahasa ibundamu? Apakah kamu sudah menguasai bahasa baru? Mungkin tidak terlalu berbeda, namun kenyataannya itu berbeda. Ku berharap itu tidak membuatmu merasa terasing, walau sesaat pun…
Apakah kamu merindukan masakan di kampung halamanmu? Apakah hidangan sederhana semangkuk nasi dan hangatnya sambal sama rasanya? Ku berharap, ia mengisi hatimu, sepertimana ia mengisi perutmu.
Dan ketika kamu bertemu seseorang, mereka sepertimu, dan mereka menyukaimu. Diantara kamu, seperti ada sesuatu yang istimewa, sebuah keakraban yang telah lama kalian rindukan bersama. Kala berlalu, sekarang sudah mulai terasa seperti di kampung halaman sekali lagi. Dan rumah baru ini seperti irisan syurga, sebuah tempat berteduh…
Tempat berteduh untuk harapan, impian, pengorbanan dan kehilangan…
Tidak mungkin terlintas dalam benakmu, tidak mungkin kamu bisa tahu, bahwa dihujung jalan – sungai, jembatan dan lautan yang dahulu kamu sebrangi, berdirinya cicitmu, darahmu… yang mencari-cari, tersalah arah, lalu menelusuri jalan kembali kerumah, dan disitu, ku menemukanmu.
Kepadamu, kukirimkan surat ini, dan sebuah doa - semoga melimpah Kasih bagimu untuk cinta dan sayang yang telah kamu tabur, didalam rumah yang jauh dari kampung halaman.
Dari leluhur kita, kita menemukan panduan hidup yang akan membawa kita melewati masa yang akan datang.
My ancestors
Was this what you felt - to leave, move away and build another home, yet feeling like you will never quite belong… ever?
You went on this journey, seeking something, a better life or to answer the yearning for a quest to see the world...
Perhaps you hopped on a bus out to the next big city; from which, at its port, you negotiated a fee for a seat on the small boat to the next island.
You laboured through the days, weeks, and yet again, months later was another call across the strait. And then another, that saw you hitch a ride on a lorry southbound across the causeway.
You moved and settled. Moved and settled. Just as you were about to rest, you moved again. Slowly it became part of you, it was not without hardship, but nothing that you could not pull through. After all, you had gone through all the moving and adapting, this could not break you.
But you had to miss home…
Did you feel tired, lifting yourself from one place to the other? I hope rest was your close friend and your sleep was as sound as the one in your mother's arms….
Did you get to feel the sky and the waves as you would back at the beach in your hometown? For the days you spent in uncertainty, I hope you were blessed with the calm breeze as they soothe your weariness away…
Did they help you? Were they like you too, away from home, building something new for themselves? Were you welcomed like everyone else? I hope they were kind to you and saw you as they were, just an otherly finding home in this land of others.
Did you miss speaking the language of your people? Did you pick up a new one? Perhaps it was not too different, but it was. I hope it did not make you feel out of place, only for a moment…
Did you miss the food back home? Was it ever close to, but a simple bowl of rice and the warmth of sambal? Perhaps it was not too different, but it was. I hope it filled your heart as it did your belly.
And then you met someone, they were like you, and they liked you. Between you, was something shared, a closeness that you both had missed for a long time. After a while, now you felt a little bit of home once more. And this new home was a slice of heaven, a shelter…
A shelter of hopes, dreams, sacrifice, and of loss…
You would not have known, how could you have known, that down the road - the river, the tracks, the bridge, the sea that you once crossed, would stand your grandchild, your blood… searching, getting lost, tracing their way back to your home, and there they found you.
And to you, I send this letter, and prayer; of Love for what you had once sowed, in a home away from your home.
In our ancestors, we find our guides; one that will bring us through our times.
I am extremely humbled to be given the opportunity to experience all that I had towards the culmination of my residency,
and it is not without the guidance, company, support of these individuals whom I give my heartiest and deepest thanks to:
My family - near & far
Melati Suryodarmo, Kimberly Shen
Achri, Verina, Razan, Sekar, Gaby, Dani, Toro, Dimas
Aabihhn, Dwija, Fahad, Lauryn, Mila
Aishah
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Proudly created by
Nuraishah Rashid