Leading Lady's Opening Box
Leading Lady's Opening Char

n celebration of the “International Day for Women” we put together a campaign that asked our readers to submit stories about the remarkable women in their lives who have been hugely influential in shaping their narratives toward the beauty, the strength, and the often-unspoken complexity of womanhood. We called this campaign “Leading Lady” – a role many would recognize primarily in film and television – because we believe every woman holds a central role in the lives of those around them.

Every year, we consume stories about important women who are celebrated for their contributions to the world. Starting this year, The Jakarta Post is launching a new tradition that highlights and celebrates the women in our lives. Mothers, grandmothers, sisters, daughters, aunts, friends, mentors, colleagues, or that unassuming stranger we happen to cross paths with at some point in time – for they, too, deserve recognition. 

We are beyond humbled to have received so many submissions from our readers and communities; and incredibly honored and excited to share some of these stories with you. You will find in these stories various acts of everyday courage, compassion, and kindness that lead toward extraordinary impacts – not only shaping the narratives of the storyteller, but also, hopefully, changing our own narratives on what it means to continue to support and celebrate the “leading ladies” in our lives. 

Thank you for your participation in our “Leading Lady” campaign and we hope you are moved by the love, respect, and admiration expressed in these stories.

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Maggie Tiojakin
President & CRO The Jakarta Post
Leading Lady's - Cloud 1
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Leading Lady's - The Force of Love
Leading Lady's - Dreams and Second Chances
Leading Lady's - Time and Again
Leading Lady's - Learning to Stand Tall
Leading Lady's - Friends for Keeps
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The Force Of Love

by Alessandra Silapan

All women are strong, loving, and beautiful. They shoulder society's burdens, yet remain unrecognized; shunned from the spotlight. In the same way, I was raised by the strongest woman I know without even realizing it. 

My mother - who plans my meals for the week no matter how late at night it is, who did my favorite hairstyles when I was a kid no matter how busy she was, and who holds the crushing weight of a shaky smile to hide her tears from me when things are tough, all without asking for anything in return - is the strongest, most loving and most beautiful woman I know. I am ashamed to admit that I have overlooked her efforts, and now I hope to recognize them and share the same with the rest of the world. 

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When life is hard on me, it is harder on my mother. The weight that I carry does not compare to the weight that she shoulders. Rejection, neglect, betrayal: last year my mother was pierced by those three blades all at once, and it pains me to this day to think about how my sister and I could only watch her in silence. 

There were days that I'd wake up to see my mother with swollen eyes from crying all night; her heart had turned a bruised-up blue and her skin a pale dirty white. Everything about her appearance had changed from the grief; but her hands, shaky and calloused from being on her computer all night and cooking our school lunches at the break of dawn, and that broken, shaky smile - hiding the harsh truth of the unfair world from my sister and I - remained the same. My mother is the strongest woman I know: no matter how much life pushes her around, she remains strong, not for herself, but for me. 

Leading Lady's Icon Quote

After reflecting on my mother's profound impact on me, I have come to the doubtless conclusion that her resilience is birthed by her unconditional love for me and the whole family. Motherhood is a path of sacrifice: it is the sacrifice of desires, time, energy and most of all, it is the sacrifice of life.

I do not come from a wealthy family, but a blessed one. Despite not having it all, however, I was raised a happy girl simply because I was aware of the hard work that my mom put into giving me the things that I had. 

My mother would wake up at 4 AM five days a week for work. I’d hear the familiar sound of her old hair dryer whirring in the living room, before the rusty click of the lock on the main door at 5 AM when she left for work, which was an hour-and-a-half drive away from home. She would get home very late, and I would deem myself victorious if I had managed to stay at least half awake to hug her before succumbing to my resisted exhaustion. 

But now that I look back, I realize that my exhaustion did not compare to hers: although drained from her long day, my mother somehow always managed to squeeze out every last bit of energy in her to tuck me in bed and sing me our special bedtime song, which was in the form of an old children's book that we would flip through together. 

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After reflecting on my mother's profound impact on me, I have come to the doubtless conclusion that her resilience is birthed by her unconditional love for me and the whole family. Motherhood is a path of sacrifice: it is the sacrifice of desires, time, energy, and most of all, it is the sacrifice of life. 

I know for a fact that my mother's life would have been much easier had she not given birth to me, but being the loving woman that she is, she gives me all that she has-down to the last bits-without any reluctance or regret. Sometimes I am swallowed whole by guilt, but my mother always reassures me that her sacrifices grant her happiness in return. She willingly gives up everything that she is, simply because I am everything to her. 

My mother teaches me that love is the most powerful force to ever exist, and this inspires me to love her, and everyone around me unconditionally. She shows me that no matter how hard life gets, love will always find a way. 

So to all of you who are reading this, I pray that you love everyone and everything the way my mother loves me. Love yourself, love your family, love your friends, love your job, love life; nothing will give you the strength to go through life in all its imperfections the way that love does. 

Laughter, love, and life: I owe all that I am, and all that I will ever be, to you. I love you, Mom. Always.

Dreams and Second Chances

by Yayuk Prastiwi

My mother, Sukani. No second name, no family name. Javanese by blood, Maduranese by tongue. She once said “you were born in August, a few days before Independence Day” when my younger self asked her my own date of birth to fill out the school registration form.

Having been paralyzed by polio, my left leg grew smaller and weaker than the right one, causing me to limp since the very first step I made at five years old. I never imagined how bad it was until I saw those who mimicked the way I walked. Before that, the closest imagination I had was my own limping shadow from the sun behind me while walking to school every morning, which I thought wasn't too bad, except it was.

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It wasn’t easy for my mother to register me in the one and only school in the entire kampong where I was born. “No room for a limping girl,” someone who dressed like a teacher told my mother at the school bamboo gate. “She cannot perform the sport lesson,” someone else shouted somewhere. 

Miracles happen when you believe it, so they say. My mother did. 

Mr. Salim, the first grade teacher, out of nowhere emerged at the gate where my mother stood with me in her arms, my tiny body submerged inside the red-and-white uniform that was two or three sizes bigger than it should, a black bin plastic bag with a notebook and a pencil in it clung on her shoulder.  I was welcomed in his windowless classroom, where I sat alone on an old broken wooden chair in the back corner and learned to write about childhood dreams. 

At five, I wanted to become a news anchor. Oftentimes I mimicked the way they anchored the news every time I read an old dusty paper my mother picked from the road somewhere. Nothing made her happier than the time she witnessed I could read and write. Her dream for me came true. She dreamed of me being the extension of her eyes to read and her hands to write—the only two things she couldn’t do in this world. The 30 September movement stopped her step to school.

At five, I made my first money. One of the students, who was born to a rich family, approached me to help him with homework. He offered ten rupiah for one homework, but I asked for twenty five. This was rumored swiftly to his friends, altogether eight boys. Every day after school, I met the boys at the mosque. Each handed me their notebooks and at the same time twenty five rupiah in an empty paint tin. That’s how I began my career as a dealmaker—never settle for less.

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At five, I made it as the woman of the family. At least that’s how I felt every time I paid my school fees and put the rest of money I earned into my mother’s chicken bank. It wasn’t a real chicken bank with a savings sign on its neck like the one I saw at the store, but an empty detergent can she found in the bin somewhere. 

Sometimes one of the boys’ mothers gave me food while working on their homework—a mountain of rice with vegetables, fried fish, tempeh and tofu all wrapped in banana leaf. The delicious smell didn’t wake my taste buds, but rather my feet raced home as fast as I could, hugging the food tight to my chest, hoping to hold the heat to warm my mother’s cold, thin tummy.

Every time I came home with food, a delightful aroma permeated every corner of our tiny home. I remember how her eyes shined as she watched my bare fingers create the richest flavor of mouthful rice with vegetables, fried fish, tempeh and tofu, as if she knew it was a precious gift for the day. 

When my hand was just a nanometer away from her mouth, her lips stayed closed, then very slowly scratched a smile that was enough to convince me nothing I could wish for more. She, alone, was just perfect above who she was. Then her hand softly reached for my bony hand, shook holding a mouthful of food and turned it over to my own mouth that slowly opened as if steered by her eyes.

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“When you pursue the afterlife, you are worth the afterlife and the life itself. And that cannot be in reverse”, she seemed to be very certain of what she said. I listened thoroughly even though I didn’t understand the whole meaning of that repeated one-way conversation.

I tasted nothing but love. “When you eat, you feed me”, she whispered.

At five, I tattooed her words in my mind, impossible to erase. 

Decades since she passed, her words made me think that maybe when I dream my dreams, therefore it is also hers. A dream is like a second chance, defined by you for yourself. Did I fail? Yes. Often. But I tried, and I achieved a lot.

“When you pursue the afterlife, you are worth the afterlife and the life itself. And that cannot be in reverse”, she seemed to be very certain of what she said. I listened thoroughly even though I didn’t understand the whole meaning of that repeated one-way conversation, almost like listening to a tape recorder. 

But now I fathom that those repeated conversations by the river every morning before sunrise was actually tape-recording a memory, where I return to her again and again whenever I am lost and wrong.

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Times and Again

by Metta Dian

Diyah Bekti Ernawati, my lecturer and mentor in professional life and personal life, has taught me myriad things, from self-worth and family values to communication and social skills.

However, the most important thing she taught me was arguably the essence of time itself.

I postponed my graduation thesis to pursue work outside university for about one or two years, traveling around Indonesia and even planning to go abroad for that. When I wanted to continue my thesis, Mrs. Diyah was in an emergency situation due to her cancer spreading/relapsing, while I later knew that I was about to get expelled from university. 

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But in her sickness, all she said was “Do you think I’d die now? You better send your thesis to my home on Wednesday.” (because she was my thesis supervisor too).

She finished checking it with footnotes and revision notes with almost too much detail in only two days while she was still bedridden. I graduated not long after that and met her again to hand her my printed thesis, and she said to me “I love all my students, but the special one needs a little push, that’s how I express my support.”

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I may not understand yet by your saying of “I make friends with death.” I won't stop learning by being appreciative with the time I still have now. I wish I could tell you before you left us that I love you for being you, because thank you is never enough.

I never realized how much she supported and loved us all those years, until she had to check my thesis despite her cancer phase.

Time never returns to you. Use it to give meaning to yourself by doing good to yourself, but also to others. Time will extend your kindness in yourself and in others, and that's how you will feel fulfilled and happy at the end of the day.

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Ma'am, I understand now what you mean by love and time. I may not understand yet by your saying of “I make friends with death.” I won't stop learning by being appreciative with the time I still have now. I wish I could tell you before you left us that I love you for being you, because thank you is never enough. I am always grateful for you being in my life. I live to prove that you planted the good in me, lift up the better in me, and yet somehow keep me grounded. 

PS. I tried my best to pay it forward to others all that good things now. And I know I wouldn’t be able to do it better if you never showed me how.

Learning to Stand Tall

by Kenita Hadi

For me, my aunt Vera is my leading lady. As a child, I grew up lacking my parents’ presence, who constantly hustled at work to make sure we lived a better life than they were. I have always felt very grateful for them, however, this comes with the absence of parental guidance in my day to day childhood life. 

My aunt took over this role for me. In the midst of her mid 20s, juggling between her economic studies at university, keeping her own social life and being active at church - she took good care of me, and I will always cherish her throughout my life.

Leading Lady's The Force of Love Image 1
Leading Lady's The Force of Love Image 1

She is one of the most selfless and caring women that I know, always putting others’ needs before her. I consider this as a rare quality these days, due to the society that encourages more and more fulfillment of our individual needs. She remains selfless. She is also empathetic, a good listener, open-minded and kind hearted.

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There was a time when I felt very vulnerable due a really bad break up with my ex-partner that left me homeless. I could not gather the power to leave him and the house. When I picked up the phone and called my aunt, she helped me to gather the courage to leave the situation as soon as possible. 

She told me that I could lose a partner and a house that no longer served me, but I cannot lose my dignity, self respect and long term happiness. Without that encouragement, I sometimes wonder how long I would have prolonged that toxic situation.

She taught me that we often are too focused on being right that we forget to be kind.

I don’t think I’ve ever expressed the love and gratitude that she deserves. I would like to thank her for being an adult figure during my childhood, encouraging me to pursue my music hobbies, and loving me as her own daughter. Most importantly, I feel very grateful that she has listened to all of my stories from early childhood, during my teenage years to becoming a young adult with an open-mind and never with any judgment.

Without her noticing, she has shaped me to become the person that I am today. We might live thousands of miles away, but when we meet, play piano and sing together - it's like time has never passed.

Friends for Keeps

by Valensia Gowanda

Othy, my former colleague and briefly my supervisor, has always been a good friend who I aspire to be. 

A well-rounded leader who leads with genuine care, she knows and remembers everyone who has worked with her and wouldn’t hesitate to offer an uplifting recommendation letter. She has a wealth of knowledge, writing and expressing herself eloquently.  She showed me that it is totally okay to take the time to be a slow grower, to start with a strong foundation and to look inwards for authentic growth.

But above all, she is a good friend; she accepts me for who I am, understanding, artistic and is generous with her time and attention. I am fortunate to share a wonderful working and friendly relationship with her.

Leading Lady's The Force of Love Image 1
Leading Lady's The Force of Love Image 1

One time, she had to be my supervisor for three months because our former supervisor did not want me. It turned out to be one of my most amazing experiences. I learned a different way to express myself in a job evaluation and felt appreciated and seen for the first time.

Our journey has been rocky, and it would be because of who we are - Southeast Asian women - in this patriarchal power structure. But we bring our own unique features. We have the privilege to show that we can lead with genuine care, accomplish, and even exceed what is expected of us. We are shaping our ways and hopefully ways for future leaders who share our features.

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It has been a while since our last meeting and conversation, five years ago now, but it felt like yesterday. Working with Othy and knowing her have been a true gem. It has taken me years to have this chance to properly thank her for everything she has done and who you are. 

Whenever I feel down, I reread the recommendation letter she wrote for me and remember her - what she would do, how she would respond and decide. We have shared so many things, and I have discovered myself and grown so much from our shared experiences. 

To Othy, if you’re reading this, I wish you all the happiness and wisdom always. Thank you once again for being that shining star for me.

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Dear Mother,

Remember the day I brought home an oversized poster of Shane Filan given by Laila? You couldn’t wait to hang it on our bamboo wall beside our bamboo bed where we both slept. You said “that man isn’t from here.” When I told you he is Irish, you jolted “Where is that?” I explained Ireland is a scenic tiny island floating with freedom on the wild Atlantic Sea, just underneath the United Kingdom. It takes a dozen hours by air to get there. 

You found this amusing, “it sounds so far away, it must be close to the sun?” I explained again that sunrise in Indonesia will be midnight in Ireland; when Indonesians wake up to work, the Irish settle to sleep. “Where is the sun hiding?” you shook your head. I smiled. 

I know your excitement wasn’t because of who was on the poster, but because it could cover holes pored over our old bamboo wall, preventing the night cold wind sneaking into your fleshless bare-bone, so that you could go to sleep warmer. 

It was fourteen months before you peacefully departed to another life at the age of thirty-one because of a mysterious illness, so I was told. That day, your body looked like a piece of paper. Thinner than thin. Not even one fiber of flesh covered your bones. 

I softly soaked your frozen body with the world's best jasmine water I could afford to buy from my wages of any work I did after school, thoroughly from your head to toe, over and over. I didn’t want to stop until the springs dried. It was my last moment to lock my teary, unfocused eyes on your face, your hands, your feet and your body. 

The commotion swelled further beyond your body as you lived. Your best peaceful smile beautifully drew on your pale face. The contours of your face seemed to magnify your kindness, your happiness somehow. Even your closed eyes didn’t seem to be vacant. Your callused hands, battered by rough toxic chemical-involved work for more than three decades of your entire life, the hands that I would long for the touch for my entire life, were shrank and softened. Cracked heels of your feet stayed open as if they were windows letting out the shine illuminating from your brave heart to the world of mine. 

Your motionless body looked like all bones in a bag of old brown wrinkled skin. Somehow I had strong feelings that you hadn’t lost consciousness, you were silently speaking to me, softly touching me, hugging me, but you weren’t breathing and your heart wasn’t beating. 

In both Maduranese and Javanese culture, we don’t say goodbye but thank you, because we know we will meet again someday, somewhere, somehow. I was moved by your decency of your endless love and warmth, until your body was buried in your grave, until my heart was buried by remnants of memories we loved the most in this world lingered forever in mind. Thank you.

That poster of Shane Filan was like a graft of two living dreams twigged into a wishful hope, where you dreamed of having a warmer home to unfreeze yourself, and I dreamed of marrying an Irish man and building a home together.

Mother, I am here now, married to an Irish man who is so much more than just my husband.

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