Posted on 13/09/2025
This is the first time I’m blogging, writing from scratch in English. Maybe. I don’t really remember. But it’s a little exciting.
Not important. But forgive me for my bad English though. I made this blog purely to put my thoughts into papers blog posts. Writing helps me sort things out.
For more than one year, I’ve been battling with negative thoughts. Thinking that life is truly unfair after spending the majority of my life orphaned. Without both my parents. Those thoughts come and go, and sometimes they feel heavier than I can carry.
I’ve been wanting to be a flight attendant for years. First when I was in high school. But because I wore hijab, I didn’t bother to think about that again. At that time, what I knew was, I couldn’t be one without removing my hijab.
At least that’s what I saw in my own country. Ironic, because Indonesia has the largest Muslim population in the world. But because I was still really young then, it didn’t really matter. I still had a lot of time to explore different things.
The second time was when I just graduated from university. I just found out that Indonesians could be flight attendants for foreign airlines. And guess what? Hijabis had chances too! That discovery felt like a small door opening after years of closed windows.
Didn’t take me long to find a Muslim-friendly airline. Since then, I have prepared myself for that dream. I had such a long list of what I would do with that job. I visualised the uniform, the smile, the places I’d see — I made plans like a map. I’d been preparing myself for years until that fate came.
It would be a long, long, long story if I told you all about my journey. I’d skip to the time I failed. So basically… I don’t have a single chance anymore. It’s all because of age.
On that day, I was kinda calm. Even though I wasn’t really feeling well, I was incredibly calm. I had been praying to God that, whatever the outcome, I’d be okay. He would give me the best result. If I succeeded, I’d be the happiest woman in the world. If not, I pray to Him to provide me with a much better substitute.
I could blame everything, everyone, even God, but I didn’t. I thought there was no point in doing that. I failed, that’s all. No magic wand in the Harry Potter world could reverse the condition.
I became very, very, very sad only (almost) two months later on my birthday month. When I reached the age that made it impossible for me to reapply in the future. The reality hit all at once, like a sudden storm after a long dry season.
I cried like a wounded animal. I even protested why I was born that day, month, and year. Couldn’t I be born later? Couldn’t I be younger even for just one year? The questions felt raw and unfair, and they wouldn’t quiet down.
God didn’t love me. After He took both my parents at once when I was just 9, He left me. After living all lonely all my life, happiness still doesn’t want to be friends with me. I felt abandoned and hollow. It was a loud, bitter thought that echoed in the quiet.
God loves other humans. Anyone but me. He gives more fortunate people more happiness, but not me. The girls whose mothers (and fathers) are still alive. The parents who can pray for them. Whose prayers can make God changes His plans or speed up the process. I resented how prayers from living parents seemed like a special kind of blessing I would never have.
One day, I accidentally saw a Facebook post of a mother. She proudly mentioned that her daughter was just beginning her journey in that airline. The daughter looked all happy and glamorous wearing the uniform.
Can you guess how I was feeling? Well, I don’t need to explain, then.
If you are a cabin crew wannabe, especially if you’re an Indonesian, you should probably know this: a mother’s prayers are everything in your cabin crew journey. It’s like a mandatory recipe for your success. I’ve read countless posts about girls succeeding because of their supportive mums. Mentioning the mums is a source of pride for those fortunate girls.
I don’t have that kind of privilege. No one to stand at my back like that. I’ve been a single fighter and a lone wolf all my life.
Who can act as my parents and pray for my success? None. My own parents, who had that power, had left me long, long, long before. I sometimes thought that being parentless made me invisible to certain kinds of luck.
Does it mean that success is not for an orphan like me?
Long journey for acceptance
Even more than one year later, I’m still fighting for self-acceptance. Until now. It’s ongoing work, and some days are better than others.
I’m still a devout Muslim, only now that sometimes I’m still questioning why God did all of this to me. What are the reasons? Does he really not care about me as much as he does about other humans? These questions are heavy, but they don’t erase the faith I hold.
I guess I’m lucky that despite all my bitterness towards life and God, I still have faith in my religion. I didn’t become so disappointed that I left Him. No. I just need more time to understand Him. Faith and confusion can live together for now.
I’m still sad from time to time. It’s not easy, but I don’t stay still. I do anything that can make me feel better. I try small things: a walk, a message to a friend, writing like this. They don’t fix everything (at least drastically), but they keep me moving.
Why don’t you just keep trying?
I’m sure that I’ve said that I’ve got no chance left. It would be so stupid of me if I kept chasing the same dream the way I was before. If another chance from the same or a different airline comes, I’d probably consider it. But I don’t put any hope towards that. I try not to pin my whole life on one possibility.
The only way for me is to move on. Continuing my life even though the wounds haven’t healed yet. Tears surely will still come and go. But if I keep silent, I won’t go anywhere. I still remember how I prayed to God not to let me fall into depression. Moving on is a promise to myself, even if it’s small steps.
Being depressed is not fun at all. But trying not to fall into it is also difficult.
Life is like a game. You can be defeated, fail, or be ignored at some stage, but it would be so stupid if you choose to stay stuck in that stage. Time to move on. Levels change. New challenges appear. You learn, you respawn, you try again.
So this is my story. I’m not really giving up—just starting over. I’m still here, still trying, still hoping.
