*- Paradise, from the album "Mylo Xyloto" by Coldplay*

This piece was written in December 2023. It has marinated for over a year in my archives, but I think its essence still represents who I am as a person now in December 2024, so I think it deserves its recognition to be finally put out into the world.

It was a sunny Deepavali Monday early afternoon. I was on my way to brunch with a good friend when I asked what he was doing after our meeting.

"Gue mau ke Lotte Shopping Avenue abis ini. Nyokap minta kita sekeluarga pake baju yang sama pas nonton Coldplay biar kalo hilang ga susah nyarinya."

"Emang Coldplay kapan ya konsernya?"

"Rabu ini."

"Hah? Rabu besok banget?"

"Iya"

"Hm.. kenapa gue ga nonton Coldplay ya? Should I see Coldplay?"

"Eh gue ada temen yang lagi jual tiket."

Long story short, after some frantic searching for tickets by opening my first Instagram account after months of being radio silent, and adding another frantic rescheduling of my plans to fly to Singapore for treatment that very Wednesday to another date... I got the tickets to see Coldplay. To go to my first concert after three years of hiding in fear because of my chronic illness.

I used to be an avid concert-goer. I loved attending local gigs during my university days, frequenting festivals like WeTheFest and DWP, traveling back and forth between Jogja and Jakarta. I loved being part of a crowd, watching passionate musicians, and singing along with people who, despite different lives and problems, were momentarily united by beautiful lyrics or the joy of moving to a melody.

After three years of sitting with my pain and fatigue, I dragged them both to GBK to see Coldplay and declare, "Fuck it, we're going to have fun. We deserve this."

The past two to three months prior to the concert had been incredibly challenging, following two years of learning to make peace with my body. Those two years were filled with finding the right coping strategies, consulting doctors, traveling between Singapore and Jakarta, isolating myself due to COVID-19 comorbidity, and learning to set boundaries while appreciating the people around me. Despite all that, I still found myself at my lowest point. From June to September, I wasn't just at zero—I was at minus one.

Armed with good luck, Tramadol 100 mg, and the will to forget my chronic illness, I mustered the courage to attend a concert after three years of self-imposed isolation, terrified of triggering a flare-up or experiencing unbearable pain.

After all, "better" is relative, right? I am better, despite the risks and opportunities I've had to leave behind.

I am incredibly blessed to have Coldplay as my first concert in a long while. I cried, laughed, screamed lyrics, and danced. My left shoulder and arm cramped immediately after leaving GBK, and my legs shook with fatigue. But for the first time, I let the shooting, electrocuting pain flow through me. I told myself it would pass—and it did. It still hurt, but not as much. In that moment, I realized: "Maybe this is how I can make peace with my body."

For two years, I was an achy, grumpy, lethargic hermit—staying home 85% of the time, isolating in my room, turning off my Instagram, resurfacing rarely, taking painkillers constantly, developing IBS, crying about perpetual exhaustion, and only connecting with a few safe people. My depression peaked in June after a bad flare-up triggered by returning to work at the hospital for my internship.

I decided to withdraw from clinical internship, ultimately choosing to end my clinical career for my health and happiness. It was two months of constant survival mode.

My courage, self-compassion, and intuition were my weapons. God was my most loyal companion, alongside my body and its fibromyalgia and IBS—all loving me in their own way by giving me the courage to reveal my authentic self.

My adversaries were my fears, doubts, insecurities, and the opinions of those closest to me. The battles were sometimes fierce, sometimes subdued, but always physically, mentally, and emotionally painful. Pain led the way.

I thought I had befriended pain, but she revealed new sides that initially angered and frustrated me. Yet, I worked to dance with her, traveling to mental and emotional landscapes I never imagined.

I made it through. The war is won, for now. And Coldplay was my ultimate celebration—a spontaneous, perfectly timed gift from God.

I left GBK with a flushed face, aching lips from smiling, and a VAS level 5 electrocuting pain radiating from my scapula down my left arm. Despite the mini flare-up, I clung to my father, who practically carried me to our pickup point. As I hobbled, I reminded my body that the pain would pass—like everything in this world, it has an expiration time.

Fifteen minutes later, the pain began to subside, gradually fading until it disappeared. And I swear, I felt glorious.

I'm ready to break out of my achy hermit shell and become a more active, chirpy social butterfly—within my symptom management limits. I've been getting out more, traveling, applying for jobs, and feeling alive after months of feeling like a zombie. Private yoga classes have been transformative. I'm reconnecting with friends, reading, spending time with family, and gradually increasing my daily activities.

I cut and permed my hair, returning to my 2018 look—the most chaotic year of my life before turning 25. 2018 Icha might have hated herself, but 2023 Icha loves her deeply. My eyes are tired from the beautiful chaos of our world, but I've found the voice 2018 Icha desperately craved.

Now, I'm launching my personal blog to rediscover my long-lost love for writing. Most importantly, I'm learning to accept the blessings Allah has always kept available—and when I take a step toward Him, I can feel Him running to me. In a world of uncertainty, that's the most assuring feeling.

Just like the title of this post...

I have set

and now I am ready to rise.

Talk to you soon.

All my love,

Icha