So I know you guys have been wondering for so long, let’s just address the elephant in the room, shall we?

After fourteen years of wearing the hijab, I made the decision to take it off. I know, some of you are thinking, "Is she losing her mind?" To put it more plainly, it’s okay if you think, “IS SHE CRAZY?” lol I AM–at least if you see it from the backwards way of thinking in which mental illnesses are mostly stigmatized. Hehe.

This choice was deeply personal, shaped by my unique experiences and reflections on faith, identity, and societal expectations. Here's my story.

My Background

I come from a moderate Muslim family. I remember mom started wearing the hijab when I was in kindergarten, around 1998-1999. She wore it moderately, mostly during work or formal occasions only. I really adore her every time she wears one. 

I think this was also quite affected by how society viewed hijab around Soeharto’s Era, which made it not as popular as now. I remember back then it was quite rare to see women wearing hijab fully in their day-to-day activities–you know, thanks to The Hijab Prohibition Policy during The New Order. You know how something rare often feels more special? Like when you finally find a WiFi connection that actually works in a government office? I believe that's why back in the day, hijabis used to seem so much prettier. We didn't see them often, so it was like spotting a unicorn. People must have been like, "Wow, she's so mysterious and elegant!" or, "What magical powers does she have under there?".

At least, that’s how I used to see people with hijab as far as I can remember, especially my mom. Obviously as the first daughter, I looked up to her as my primary role model. I remember I used to look at myself, smiling at my reflection in the mirror, putting on my mom's adult hijab and feeling so pretty. One day I did it and got caught by dad lol it was so embarrassing. Relatable enough, girls? Hehe. 

Anyway, finishing kindergarten, I went to a regular public school. Then one random day, I saw a group of students my age in hijabs walking home from school. I was like, “Wow, they look like they have superpowers!” So I asked my mom to transfer me there. “I want to go to school wearing a hijab like them,” I told her. And just like that, I was a mini hijabi. 

Long story short, my grandfather passed away. We then had to move in with my grandmother, and I went back to public school close to their house, after finishing two years in the Islamic Public School. Back then, obviously there’s no force from my family to keep wearing hijab at school. Plus, I was just that small 9-year-old girl. But sometimes, when I met my teachers from that Islamic School, they’d always be like “Hi Retmi~ where’s the hijab?”. And I'd be giving my awkward smile there, thinking, "Oh great, here comes the Hijab Police," like they had a hijab radar or something. 

Don’t get me wrong, I still love all my teachers, after all.   

In junior high school, I was the only one among my best friends who didn’t wear the hijab. Peer pressure? Not really, but sometimes, yes, I got it lol. That time I just knew I didn’t want to wear a hijab. That was the era–at least for the students in our humble small subdistrict–where students wearing hijab were ‘the trend’. It was like the hijab was our version of the latest iPhone. Everyone wanted one, and if you didn’t have it, you felt like you were missing out lol. Perhaps I just had an instinct not to follow the trend? Hehe. I’d already experienced the times when I used to wear one at school, anyway. Like, once you've waved your wand and said "Expelliarmus," do you really need to try "Wingardium Leviosa"?

Then came senior high at a semi-military disciplined Islamic boarding school with strict uniform regulations. Girls could choose not to wear the hijab, but they had to cut their hair very short. I didn’t think I would look good with the 'bondol hairstyle' since I’ve always felt my face is just a female version of my brother’s and father’s faces. That's why I opted for the hijab. Interestingly, this school emphasized maintaining consistent hijab-wearing, or 'istiqamah'. Since then, I started wearing the hijab all the time, even at home. Besides my family, only a few relatives and some of my brother’s friends who visited our house when I was off guard without a hijab were lucky enough to see my hair. Over time, it started to feel strange to be seen without a hijab.

How I See Hijab vs. Society: A Personal Battle

I was quite fortunate to sort of have a choice, although the alternative (cutting my hair short) was not truly a free choice. It was like choosing between eating durian and sitting in a room full of open durians – when you hate durians. For me, the hijab has never been a symbol of oppression. Rather, it’s been liberating, a personal expression of faith and identity, so it should be a personal choice that makes us feel comfortable and empowered, not something imposed. Just like durian – some people love it, some people don’t, but nobody should be forced to eat it.

From what I've experienced, I believe the way the hijab is being enforced in Indonesian schools needs to be challenged. Unfortunately, many of the strict hijab rules are still in place today. In many Indonesian schools, including public ones, the hijab is mandatory for Muslim girls. You can check @kabarsejuk to learn more about this.

Also, we can't deny that being part of the Muslim majority in Indonesia sometimes leads to a sense of entitlement. Everything is framed between Muslims and non-Muslims. Remember the cebong-kampret political duality? It still resonates, as seen in the recent protests in Solo about a non-halal food festival, which is sad–and honestly quite sickening. I believe our friends from other religions agree with me on this. This entitlement isn't even limited to interactions with other religions; it exists within the Muslim community itself. If you're not Sunni, you're often seen as not devout enough. Similarly, if you're a Muslim woman who doesn’t wear a hijab, people might question your piety. Oh, and it doesn’t end there, if you’re a Muslim woman wearing a hijab but not as syar’i as the majority perceive, you’re still not seen as a good enough Muslim. It's as if there's an unwritten checklist of piety, and no one can ever fully measure up. 

In the end, I personally believe (you might have a different view, obviously) each person's relationship with their faith and how they choose to express it should be respected. The hijab should be about personal choice, not societal pressure. Just the never-ending debate about ‘bubur ayam diaduk vs gak diaduk’ – let's just agree they’re both delicious, it’s still called bubur ayam anyway, and everyone should get to enjoy what they love without judgment.

Fitting in with the Fabric

I’ve been away from home since my teens, from place to place, across the island, across the continent–I’ve never settled. Even in one city, I typically stay at one place only for an average of 1 year. I later found out it caused sort of an identity crisis in me. 

Eventually, I moved away from home, becoming a minority in a new environment. The hijab became an identity marker, signaling my faith without needing to explain it, which was awesome. It simplified dietary queries about halal food – “Yes, I don’t eat pork, but no, I don’t necessarily feel oppressed (at least by my family).” For the record, I have been living away from my parents since before I turned 17. I was also the first kid in my extended family to be trusted to move to another island, and even continent, to study, which shows how much they trust me as a daughter.

However, at the same time, wearing this fabric in such a new environment also made me stand out. It felt like a walking sign that said, “Ask me about my religion!” I mean, you know you're noticeable when you feel like the only piece of tempe in a sea of rendang. Over time, this attention required extra energy to handle, especially during the years when I was dealing with depression and anxiety. 

I Am Still The Same Person, After All

The decision to remove my hijab was deeply personal and not made lightly. I spent a long time contemplating it before finally deciding to take it off. I found that I felt more comfortable without it—at least for now. 

However, and this I can assure you 110%, my faith remains the same. I am not writing this to encourage any of you to take off your hijab as well—big NO. That’s why I’m not providing any justification about whether or not Muslim women are obligated to wear a hijab from a religious perspective. Stop here and go ask your ustadz or ustadzah if you like. That topic isn’t mine to cover, as I am just trying to share my hijab journey. 

While my appearance has changed, I am still the same person. Whether you're switching from nasi padang to nasi goreng as your go-to comfort food, it’s still rice, anyway, mates!

Taking off the hijab isn’t a loss of faith but rather an evolution of my personal journey with it. It has been a profound experience, teaching me about authenticity, and courage. I share this story to try to reflect the complexity of individual choices and the need to respect each person’s unique spiritual path. So, the next time you see someone make a significant change in their life, remember – we’re all just trying to find our own version of peace. And sometimes, that peace involves a lot less fabric.

And just like that, I’ve laid it all out there. So, whether you're wearing a hijab, a baseball cap, or nothing at all on your head, remember, everyone has been on their own journey, just like you. If anyone gives you trouble, just tell them, "Hey, I'm still me, just with a different topping – like your favorite martabak with extra cheese or chocolate sprinkles. Some people might not like it, but It’s still delicious, right?"

This is not to glorify mental illness. Trust me, you don’t want it–for God’s sake, it’s not cool at all. On the other hand, if you still perceive mental illnesses are just a result of disconnecting from God, you can stop here. Please leave now and pray for us sinners lol. At the moment, I don’t give a crap anymore. Either this post can be a source for you to ‘spill the tea’ among your group of friends, if that makes your hangout session more fun–I don’t mind. I just want to get in touch with the people I care about, again.

Long story short, I ghosted most of the people I love for roughly three years, thanks to the major depression and anxiety–and now I just want to get back to life. Well, nothing says "I missed you" like a three-year vanishing act, right?

When It All Started

Let’s rewind to 2020. Remember that tiny old friend called COVID? Ah, can’t believe it was 4 years ago already. Months of getting stuck at home, 2021 was when it all started. I began pulling myself away from a few close friends, though at first, it was quite on and off. When the pandemic hit, with everyone still unsure when we are getting back to normal again, managing life felt like trying to juggle flaming swords while riding an analog unicycle–obviously I am not the only one experiencing this. That period of time was such a disruption, it was just too much to navigate. 

Working from home was  fun–for about five minutes. Then it just became a constant state of fatigue. It’s like, “Oh great, I get to live at work now. Awesome.” Everything was exhausting. I remember I used to lay down on the floor, give it a nice and loud grunt–right away every time I finished my online meeting. You must have done something like this, too. But no, that’s just not the worst, yet. 

Early 2022 rolled around, I didn't expect I would get such a major event at that time, later I found out it was just an accumulation of all the crap. One day I vomited so hard while having an awful emotional outburst–which led me to finally decide to go to a therapy, for the first time ever. And you guessed it right, I puked, again, after the session. The therapist was like, “You have symptoms of depression.” She suggested that I have follow up sessions regularly. And I was like (obviously I said this in my head lol), “Oh, you’re kidding me.” 

For a moment after that, I tried to get back into the swing of things. I felt like I could rejoin the land of the living–though obviously, with some assistance, being aware that there’s the ‘handle with care’ sticker on my forehead and I gotta do some homework from my therapist at the moment lol. 

So I started seeing more people again. Finally the stupid Covid started to be manageable as most countries were gradually opening their borders again–which means, we’ll get to see people physically, again! Yeay!

But then BAM! A big family incident. Depression hit harder, it caught me totally off guard. By mid to late 2022–which then got re-ascertained after getting another assessment with a different clinical psychologist again last year–I got the official diagnosis: Major Depressive Disorder and Social Anxiety Disorder. Great, I’ve always wanted a title. Now I don’t need to be FOMO, I joined the trend! Oh, Life is so colorful. Congratulations, Retmi!

What Happened to Me (In a Nutshell)

In short, I started getting more frequent outbursts. Ahh, my life was just so cool! 

I come from the very generation that’s quite well aware of mental illnesses but I never realized that it’s real lol. It is real fun! Having to vomit. Experiencing such derealisation. Feeling such terrible nausea–and even vomiting every time I get to see people, especially in person. I kept blaming COVID for this for quite a while. Feeling Not being able to do things due to those distressing constant fatigue, the awful bad thoughts, and sadness–like showering (my record was 2 weeks); sleeping (lol I never sleep at night); eating (this wasn’t new, don’t worry indigestion and heartburn have been my besties); even reaching my water bottle ON MY BEDSIDE when I was literally feeling SO THIRSTY (This happened a lot of times and I would curse myself every time); including doing businesses in the toilet. Fun fact, I peed on my pants a few times, even got the urinary infection as a result of frequently holding the urge to pee–what a great week, having to keep going with lyfe trying to hold the pain without any medication, because I got rejected to have antibiotic pills from the pharmacy due to my depression. Instead, I was suggested to get a General Practitioner consultation for antibiotic prescription. Awesome. I indeed got so much money after spending so much to go back and forth, from the regular therapy, to GPs and even Radiology and Pathology clinic to get USG mammogram scan and biopsy for my breast tumors—that was previously getting so much sickeningly painful—doctors suggested we need to ensure as they might be cancerous but turned out the awful pain was due to my depression and anxiety, too. Great. Oh, how I love having this title. That’s why I then got these cutie little pills to help every time I feel like getting the outburst, otherwise my little tumor friends would scream. And so painkiller pills began to be my everyday best friends. Can’t believe I got to this phase of life, I never felt as cool before, really. 

I Am The Ghost

So from around mid 2022 I started ghosting everyone. Parents? Never told them. Friends? Poof, gone. I pulled myself out, I was the one who disappeared, to be exact. I got a new private contact number so I didn’t have to deal with such a long list of unread messages, especially in Whatsapp groups. Social media? Vanished. On Instagram, I started posting on my close friends only, to not posting at all. Later on I gradually hid my followers so they wouldn’t be able to see any of my story posts. From nearly 3k followers, to merely 60ish people. Basically deleting followers, but in silence—I didn’t want people to find out how I was doing. Yes—this bitj thought she’s that important and people do care about her lol. 

So all those apps, I was as active as a rock. I still keep checking on you guys, but I just knew y’all aren’t as cool as me anymore. Hehe.

Work? Oh, it was a joy. For the record, I don’t know how to swim, for real. And trying to stay motivated when you’re depressed is like trying to swim—through solid, thick, spicy sambal kacang. Well, I love sambal, but no one would want to be drowned in it, obviously. 

I am the ghost. I spent my time in my room, most of the time, isolating myself from people. You know, practicing for the ‘Anak Kos Sejati’ championship. However, I felt like I also got some ghosts continuously chasing me lol. During this period, I remember vividly, around May to August last year, I frequently had this bizarre visualization. It felt like I was stuck in the darkest, most confusing labyrinth, barely able to see anything, let alone move a single finger–This always made it hard to breathe and left me feeling nauseous. I felt like it’s so much worse than any of Joko Anwar’s horror movies–lol, he should consider hiring me as a horror consultant, I bet. I was scared all the time. I felt like my life had just ended and I could do nothing about it. Most of the time, I kept convincing myself I have died, at least figuratively. Or, I might better just go die, literally.

My Castles Crumbling

Yes, just like Mother Taylor Swift would say lol. 

I really had a hard time adjusting. I had the shiniest wheels but they’re rusting. 

Oh damn, guess I can safely say I am a true Swiftie, as I’ve experienced exactly what she writes(?) 

Yet, if you’re wondering whether I got to deal with such s*icidal thoughts whatsoever that commonly comes hand in hand with major depression–no. I was convinced I would never get anything like those destructive ideas. Since the very beginning, every time my therapist (I met 3 therapists in total, btw) gave me questions related to it, I would firmly answer no. 

I am pretty sure I am still able to think rationally so I would never think of hurting myself, let alone anything worse than that–well, though I’m not sure about other assessment questions that might lead to the real answer that I might not be aware of. All I said was I constantly wish that I could just get some fatal illness like severe COVID or just let these tumors kill me quickly, without me having to be a burden to people around. 

I was pretty sure I would never have such stupid thoughts. I.would.never.ever–until mid 2023, I finally had it. It really came so casually effortless, and I didn’t even realize that was a form of s*lf-harm thoughts. It was July last year, I unconcernedly thought of trying to c*t my wrist, just to see how painful it is. Obviously it was during quite an outburst, but I was just quite used to dealing with it so I thought that was just my common anxiety and depression attack–until I talked to Yaya. (btw, Yaya is the one who’s been around since day one, helping me navigate every time I need help. p.s please do pray for her she’s so close to becoming a clinical psychologist now and I’m shoo proud!). I was like, "oh, so that's how you get such thoughts". The realization moment a few seconds after was, "What the heck??!!", I really didn’t know whether I should be relieved to be able to talk about it before doing it. Trust me it really freaked me out, I never knew I would be so scared of my own thoughts since that day. I still have no idea to put this in words, to be honest. My therapist then suggested that I stop cooking for a while to be safe. I didn’t touch kitchen knives for about a week, ensured I had the lifeline number handy, and trust me I still couldn’t believe I got to experience that fear of my own thoughts–until today. 

Retmi? Having self-harm thoughts? 

Told you, I’ve really changed to one of those cool TikTok kids and we’re just not the same anymore. Bye-bye friends, we’re not in the same league, I really need to withdraw myself from you guys lol. 

JK I REALLY WANT TO CLARIFY THIS IN CASE YOU DIDN’T GET THE SARCASM LOL. 

Having mental disorders might be ‘cool’ for some people (not overgeneralizing, obviously) but I really want them to shut up. It sucks. I can never tell you enough. it. frkin. sucks.

Why Did I Ghost You

Did I want to ghost you? Obviously not. 

Ghosting was my instinctive survival mechanism. It wasn’t you, it was me. I needed space to navigate. Sorry for disappearing, like that worst ex of yours. Not being able to celebrate your big days, support you during your worst times, listen to your stories when I know you must need someone to talk to. I have been too drained dealing with myself, barely able to keep sane through days, weeks, months, it is really excruciating. 

By the end of 2023, I finally told my parents what was going on. That was another significant period of the depression journey. Another fun fact, I made several drafts of the script (lol, gotta be well-prepared, right?) before finally talking to them. I then waited until I felt calm enough so I wouldn’t have an emotional blow-up.

But still, I vomited. Yep, full-on drama. lol. 

It took me years to accept that I have depression and anxiety. Just like how I’ve been disappearing the whole time, I wished they would one day magically vanish so I could get back to the people I care about. Spoiler alert: they didn’t vanish. Slowly, very slowly, I’m now in the process of trying to live with them. I can’t keep running away forever.

What I Want Now

Now I feel better. I still take my pills sometimes when needed. I get some outbursts and physical pains a few times in a while but not as frequent anymore. I started learning to listen to my body. I have a better sleep schedule (at least most of the time lol). I started picking up a new hobby. I feel like I’m slowly getting my self-esteem back, piece by piece. Putting things back in their places, including reconnecting with the world and the people I care about. Because, surprise, I actually missed you all.

I’m writing this to explain my absence. Obviously not to be pitied, oh that’s the worst thing I could ever imagined, please, please, please, don't bring me to tears when I just did my makeup so nice–lol you sing you lose! 

But please, again, don’t do that. I’m giving you this very brief summary of what has happened–in such a tone–if you happened to notice lol–so that you can see I am really getting better now–don't want you to pity me–and so I won’t need to explain myself again to you. I don’t know exactly how to start, yet, but when I finally say ‘Hi!’ to you again, I hope I don’t need to answer your “How are you?” in a very extensively elaborated way, because in short, I am now fine! 

To everyone I ghosted, I’m sorry. It wasn’t about you; it was all about me. 

I’m trying to come back to life now, like a zombie with a self-improvement plan. 

I hope we can reconnect, and I promise I won’t disappear again. Unless there’s another pandemic, in which case, all bets are off. Thanks for understanding, or at least pretending to. 

Thank you, goodnight!