el.is.in.wonderland

As I write this piece, I keep hearing heavy wind outside, knocking on my window as if asking permission to disturb my sleeping schedule. Well, I haven’t slept yet. I just watched Ares: Tron on Disney+ (airing today—woohoo! Though the story was… ah. Let’s save that for later).

I keep wondering.

Physically, I am chunky. Meaning: I have layers of fat. Shouldn’t that mean I’m more resistant to cold and wind? Should I be called Wind-Proofed Lady or something along those lines?

So here’s the thing. I have always worn a kids’ tank top (I don’t know the exact English term, but in Indonesia we call it baju dalam) since I was a child. And up until now, it’s impossible for me not to wear an extra layer underneath my top. I am not someone who goes: bra, then T-shirt. No. It’s always: bra, baju dalam / tank top, then T-shirt. For almost 40 years.

(Masuk angin, literally translated, would be “wind entering the body.” Which, yes, sounds strange in English. I’ll let Google explain.)

My friends—at every stage of school—already know that Elfitra always wears a baju dalam, no matter how hot and humid the earth gets. Believe me, I’ve tried not wearing it a few times. I thought maybe my body was just too accustomed to it. So if I stopped, perhaps my body would… adapt?

Nope.

The moment I feel wind slipping in through the back opening of my T-shirt—right there, at the lower back—it’s simply unacceptable. Goosebumps appear. Shortly after, I get sick. And by sick, I mean: uneasy, headache, weak, and eventually needing kerokan (again, explanation below). And please, do Google Images—but no, that doesn’t mean we kerokan lovers are sadomasochists.

Okay. Where was I?

Ah yes.

One time, I told someone about my dream of living in the UK or France (the reasons behind that can be another post). That person—who had lived in the UK for seven years—looked at me, wrapped in full layers, plus a jacket, socks, and two blankets, and said:

“You dress like this in Greece’s winter—which isn’t even a real winter. How are you going to survive winter there?”

Internally, I thought: Please don’t attack me like that.

But then there’s my mom—who also lived in London when she was in elementary school—who once said something that stuck with me.

So yes. In Mama, I trust.