“I'm looking for the thing that will fill the hole in my soul. I have everything— riches you will never comprehend. Men and women love me, the people want to be me, and I have endless companions. I can afford to adorn them with rare jewels and house them in my massive castle. I have a whole wing filled with wine older than my grandfather. I have a closet larger than town square. I have everything I want. “You have nothing compared to me. Your horse has one leg in the grave and my steed makes it look dead already. Your own home is crumbling and one day, it will crush you. The fireplace is more ash than flame and your carpet has withered. Your clothes are tattered, tarnished with the filth of a poor man's life. You survive, but I live. You will never understand my wondrous life. You clean up shattered pieces and try to save your life's wreckage but you will never be as close to this feeling as I am. But, how could you? You've been dealt a hand full of holes. You've lost. I truly pity you and these creaky floorboards and the crying ceiling and that moth banging on the windowsill.” The man goes to the window. Loving hands scoop the small creature and carry it to the door. He releases it and it flies to the sky. “It won't survive.” “Probably not.” “It wouldn't have lived much longer in here either.” “…“ “Why did you release it?” “Because that's where it wanted to finish life. In the sky, where it is free.” “I want to die embraced with warmth. The moth is a stupid creature, choosing cold over comfort.” “Why do you so strongly hate that which you cannot understand?” “I, well—,” “Do you want to feel complete? Think. Do you really have everything you want?” “What more could there be to gain?!” The man counts on his fingers. “Money, pleasure, friends, jewels— I have it all!” “Do you have love?” “Of course! I love tea.” The kettle is removed from the fireplace by the other man. He pours the boiling water into two cups, swirling crushed tea leaves. “I love my mother and father. I love my kingdom.” “Do you love yourself?” he asks while handing him a glass. “Of course…” The wealthy man pauses. “Well… What constitutes self-love?” “Self-love is not just treating yourself to your desires. It is to be confident, to seek validation from only yourself, to be virtuous, to know what you truly want.” “How will I know?” “First, realize the moth knows its wants better than you.” “Are you comparing your king to a moth?” “Second, realize you are just an animal serving its animalistic desires.” “Hey—“ “You need people to love you in order to love yourself. You lack the esteem to consider yourself lovable. You bring down others so you can rise up. You surround yourself in material value and gorge because you have no sense of reason. Your friends are slimy and they will leave you the second you cannot provide.” The man pauses his speech. He takes in the other man, glass in hand, eyes bent wide, brows furrowed. “You have to want to be good. Do good, spread good, follow your morals, be ethical. If you look deeper and inspect the waves of your mind, you will find completion.” The man drinks his last sip of tea. “I must leave.” He sets the cup down and the discarded tea leaves settle. “What will you do next?” He leans in to look and see the way the leaves have fallen. The man crosses floorboards worn from pacing feet. He takes a final look at shards lovingly collected and a carpet that has nourished. He grabs a copper handle that has worn away to gold, then opens the door. “I'll learn how to love.” He closes the door. In the stable, his horse has its head turned and resting on the back of the other. He gently wakes them. They exchange goodbyes and the man adds his fur coat to the blankets piling the aged horse, covering frost-tipped ears. They make it back to the main road. By now, the crowd has dispersed, and only the sound of wind and thumping gallops follow. The snow glistens from the rising sun, painting the man and his horse in orange and red. Something glows from the light on the horse's mane. He gingerly picks it up, delicate like glass. Its wings look shattered and broken, twitching as he cups it in his palm. “The moth died for what it wanted.” He leaves its body to rest in a bright place under the sun.

Beautiful tapestries woven with gold shimmer in the sunlight. Jewels sparkle with a million intricacies and purple flows along banners, finest of silk. Like rolling fields of golden hay, hills of treasure tumble to the floor. “A fine collection, your majesty.” “That diamond is lovely, your majesty!” “What will you do with it all, your majesty?” Asks the choir of envy. “It will complete me, of course,” the wealthy man replies. Countless women, as beautiful as Venus. They slide over each other, reaching out for the wealthy man. Countless men, as beautiful as Mars. They are adorned with diamonds and put on display. They are here for him, to serve him, “—To complete me, of course,” the wealthy man replies. A banquet table glitters with steaming pots of emerald kettles. Fancy leather chairs comfort his companions. They wear shoes he bought them, jewelry he purchased, even the clothes off their backs are from his wealth. “You all complete me too, of course.” The wealthy man smiles, but like a gap in his teeth, or childless mother, something is missing. Later that night the wealthy man lies alone in bed. “What am I missing?” he asks. “I have everything I want, everything I need— what else could possibly complete me?” He gets out of bed and stands next to the window. The glass is cold and he can see his breath from fog. He wipes the obscure away to overlook his kingdom. Hundreds of people, wandering his streets. Thousands more, tucked inside. They all have far, far less than him. Compared to his riches and wealth, their existence is nothing. They will never as close to completion as he is. Still, he grabs his red and white fur coat and stumbles into his boots. He rushes for the doorknob and glides down the stairs. Maids and butlers give him quizzical looks, but they don't understand. Tonight is the night he answers this question. His royal steed is woken by the weight of a saddle. He rides down snowy trails as knights shout his name and say he's gone mad. The horse trots into town. Turned up dirt is splattered over slush. Townspeople, his people, stare in awe as his coat flutters in the crisp wind. They eye his crown, the piece barely hanging onto his tousled hair. No guards, no armour, no sense of reason, and utterly defenceless. Filled with greed, the crowd inches closer. From the crowd, a man in rags pushes himself forwards. “Would you like to come inside for tea?” The poor man asks. “Will it complete me?” the wealthy man replies. “It will fill you for a moment.” “I've had enough of momentary bliss.” “Your horse is freezing.” “…” “I have a stable. Please, follow me.” The crowd lets them through and the wealthy man follows slow footsteps. He is lead into a dirtier part of the kingdom, where the buildings are squished and held together with chipped bricks and knotted wood. The “stable” is a tiny shack that is hardly big enough for the old, weathered horse already inside. The wealthy man dismounts and together the men shimmy the steed inside. The horses draw close together, sharing a tender embrace. The poor man tosses another blanket over them and the shivering slowly stops. “Let's get you some tea.” Inside he is greeted by a leaky ceiling. Dirt paints a carpet that has been eaten away by moths, leaving it hole-ridden and bleak. Shards of glass from a broken plate have been picked up and stacked on a rag, stained red from soft fingers. “Take a seat, I'll put the kettle on.” The wealthy man sits on a wooden chair and it creaks under his weight. It feels like a threat and another reason he's not supposed to be here. “What is this feeling you've been searching for?” The run-down house warms up as more wood is tossed into the fireplace. A dim orange glow lets him see the features of the poor man. He's smiling. Why is he smiling?

“Am I beautiful enough?” “I hate to see the way how fat I am” “Your dark skin looks like you have been burnt right down in the sun seriously” “Go to this XXX Dermatologist, she will brighten your skin so it can boost your confidence just like mine, and voilá!” “Hands down. No wonder why her instagram-story worth hundred viewers, I kinda sceptic how pricey that beauty spa and salon maintenance might cost” “Look at this Hollywood Goddess, Scarlett Johansson, I absolutely about to dye my mediocre black hair to brunette-ish like her.” Have you ever heard at a very least one of these statements amongst our society on a day-to-day basis for certain circumstances? For me, yes. Kind of ironic yet realistically pathetic. This essay is written to digging deeper about how millennials in Indonesia for having ‘Beauty is White' sort of mentality, as in term of their measurement standard for beauty. The writer will encourage readers why it's important to start treating our own selves in a very respective way in aim to see ourselves as a whole genuine beauty without questioning the diversity. Living in the era of upgrades, it's not a secret that in the age of technological development like today, everything has become accessible. People have the ability to browse all various topic that might catch their interest in certain facets; from brand-new fashion updates in America until issue about chronic famine in Africa. This is because of the role of mass media for spreading information not only in local-based, but worldwide based. Fortunately, by only having a gadget, it let us gain information as quick as possible, as transparent as a simple click from our fingertip, emerge on various platforms, thus all being wrapped up called social media. Furthermore, the existence of social media is inevitable for millennials to not maximize the essence of social media functionality itself to different uses depending on the users' intention. Millennials in Jakarta, especially young grown-up girls are very obsessed with the nature of fashion industry. Media is over-emphasis on certain point for attractiveness to some extent. This phenomenon is, of course, cannot be separated from what so-called as advertising strategy realms. Longman defined advertising as an act of showing people publicly about a product or service in order to persuade them to buy it. Brand owners are often recruited models based on certain physical requirements suited on their products that are being sold, because truth to be told, it's important to employ model who also has physical attractiveness in order to maintain and escalate the level of elegance for brand itself because of some common physical traits model own i.e: pale skin, lean legs, slim waist, and wide hips. The latest research showed that Asian women are obsessed with having flawless white skin. From Indonesian millennials perspective, in contrast, these physical traits you see on social media are often to be considered as the ideal beauty that needs to be internalized. As (Botta 1999, Irving 1990) stated, people tend to compare themselves to other people that represent idealistic goals. These are definite signs that you are trapped in a zone called “Euro-American Centric” beauty mentality. Beauty is a complex issue. Saltzberg & Chisel defined beauty cannot be quantified or objectively measured, it is only the result of the judgement from others. The reasons Why do Indonesian Millennials are obsessed with ‘Euro-American Centric' beauty ideal can be stated below: 1) External Validation Seeker * Hyper-focus of physical appearance. Their time is wasted only dedicated to browse whitening beauty products as in hope to be ‘white or have lighter skin'. * Thirsty upon external validation for a serious amount of duration. 2) Having “White People are Better” Mentality *Narrow-mindedness due to not wanting to broaden their mindset in concrete opinion caused by cultural norm rooted in some of Indonesian Millennial's head: dark skin is associated with poverty, thus not being able to have buying power and afford beauty maintenance, such as whitening beauty products. While white skin is associated with wealth and high socio-economical status, more likeable, successful in jobs, marriage etc. 3) Poor Level of Appreciation *Lack of Self-Awareness: not aware that sometimes there is certain factor that cannot be changed due to the biological nature we have by genetics. * High Level of Self-Judgement: easy to judge people based on external appearance only. Wake up, fellas! We all have no time to judge other people as more important as ourselves. Why would you perceive yourself as ugly because of our nature DNA of healthy tan skin? It's time to start wake up and feel blessed because of the fact you are standing for who you are, you obligate your happiness. Never let society defines your level of beautifulness. Start treating yourself in a very respective way and stop seeing yourself as a total failure, because you are not.

Looking at the mirror, I see myself with a sense of peace today. Devoid of any makeup or accessory, late at night, my reflection smiles back at me. Sometimes it is a smile of joy and victory, sometimes of heart-wrenching sadness. But these is always an odd sort of comfort, like the feeling of slipping into your favorite pair of worn out pajamas. Or the feeling of coming back home after a long, tiring day. This solace was earned, not gifted. I was born as a confident and happy child. Never really caring about my looks, I do not remember ever worrying about how people saw me. My teenage years were not so carefree, however. They were tainted by remarks about how my ugly self did not deserve any company, let alone sympathy. I looked at the mirror then too, but with feelings of contempt and despair. My confidence hit rock-bottom. I did things to myself I am not proud of. I have always had long hair, now I hid my face behind it. Walking through the school corridors, I hung my head low. I had few friends; people distanced themselves from me as if I carried an infectious disease. It can take years of contemplation to make a change happen, but in hindsight you can always find a turning point that acted as the catalyst. My turning point came in the form of a random woman in a random convenience store. She kept stealing glances at me, making me extremely conscious of my appearance. Just when I could no longer bear the scrutiny and was about to bolt, she walked over to me and said in broken English, “You're very pretty.” I stared at her, dumbfounded. What was this strange woman saying? My face was bare; my hair, which I consider my best physical feature, was tied in a bun. She looked over me once again, then said in a decisive tone, “Yes, very beautiful.” She waited a few seconds for me to make a reaction, during which I barely managed to gather my wits and mumbled a faint thank you. Then she left, leaving me extremely confused among aisles of snacks and scattered thoughts. I believe in miracles, I am forced to believe in them since that incident. Now whether the miracle came to me or I made it happen was another question. I have reasons to think that the whole thing was a figment of my imagination. My brain could have simply conjured this up to pull myself out of the pathetic state I was in. I do not remember a thing about the woman; her face, her clothes, her voice, nothing. Just the words. If you are thinking I suddenly discovered my hidden beauty, got a wardrobe upgrade and showed the world what a catch I was, then I apologize for being the cause of disappointment, but no such thing happened. I did not feel particularly beautiful after that encounter, but it did eventually bring clarity to my thoughts. For one, there was no great change in my appearance that could have suddenly sparked such hatred among my peers. Sure, my body was changing thanks to puberty, but my face was essentially the same as it was before I was bullied. Thinking hard, I traced back to the inception of my suffering: a certain comment from a mean classmate who was always jealous of me for some unfathomable reason. Historically speaking, being the subject of envy has never worked out in my favor. At that time, the consequences of a single snide remark were two whole years of self-hate and being treated like an outcast. It took me months to come to terms with the fact that the harassment had nothing to do with the way I looked. More than a year later, I finally learned to fight back and recovered my lost self-confidence. I did nothing to change my appearance. This experience has greatly shaped the way I feel about beauty as an adult. In my 22 years of existence I have been fortunate enough to live in three different countries and meet countless beautiful people, as well as a few ugly ones. Before you jump the gun, let me clarify that beauty, or the lack of it, does not simply refer to the so-called golden ratio or the symmetry of a person's face. At least not in my dictionary. To me, the most beautiful person in the world would be empathetic. Confident, yet not arrogant. Bold, yet not disrespectful. Physically, well, there is no single way to be beautiful. There is no denying the fact that the first thing you see in a person is his/her face. It is out there for the world to see, and it is convenient to judge thanks to the many beauty standards society has imposed upon us. The problem arises when we take the easy way and try to figure out a person's character based on his/her looks. Stop. Because this is where you should stop. Not only are you putting unfair expectations on that person, but you are also making a fool out of yourself. I now listen to the people worthy of my love and admiration to evaluate my beauty. Most importantly, I listen to myself. Do I think I am beautiful? Physically, I consider myself just normal, and I love it. But truly? I am on my way there, though I still have a long way to go.

I preach self- love and loving what makes you different! I'd like to think that I practice it well too. But I have one question… Do I have to love the part of me that gets sick? Because when I'm sick I don't see the light at the end of the tunnel. Do I have to love that part of me? Because when I'm sick it feels like I'm drowning in sorrow, pain, and self pity Do I have to love that part of me? Because when I'm in pain I can't even do for myself. Having to be bed-ridden for hours on end. Do I have to love that part of me? Because when I'm sick I'm an emotional wreck, who can't stop crying. But has too much pride to lean on someone. Do I have to love that part of me? Because even as I write this at this very moment in time, I'm crying. Do I have to love that part of me? Because it feels like a worthless battle, that I honestly should become numb to. Do I have to love that part of me? Because I feel like there is no such thing as healing. What is a cure? What is a diagnosis? I love the other part of me. But I just have one question Do I have to love that part of me?