Hi, my future Little One,
If you're reading this, then maybe you're at that age when you’re starting to notice things. That your skin is darker than some of your friends’. That people sometimes say things — like:
"Eh, makin item aja, habis ngejar layangan ya?""Jangan lupa pakai lotion, biar nggak tambah gosong!"
"Hitam manis deh... tapi lebih manis kalau nggak hitam."
Maybe it’ll be from a classmate. A relative. A stranger at a mall. Maybe even a friend who doesn’t mean harm — but does harm anyway. Subtle, silly, sometimes cruel.
Let me start by saying this clearly:
You are not dark by mistake. You are dark by design.
Your skin carries stories — of survival, of sun, of lands kissed by equator heat.
Of people who worked hard, laughed loud, danced barefoot, and loved with their whole chest.
People will try to make you believe otherwise. That being dark is something to be pitied, corrected, or softened with filters. That to be more accepted, you need to be less you.
They are wrong. Flat-out wrong.
You will meet whitening creams disguised as “confidence.”
You will hear jokes that were never funny.
You might even wish, at times, that you looked “a little lighter.”
That’s okay. I did too.
You come from two people who were also born in brown skin — in a country that taught us, politely and persistently, that the lighter you are, the better your chances.
We grew up with whitening ads in every magazine, filters that erase our features and our melanin, and compliments like "cantik, bersih, putih" — as if cleanliness comes in shades.
We believed those lies once.
But then we learned to unlearn. And we’re raising you to never believe them in the first place.
You come from two people who were made to feel small, and chose instead to grow wide, deep, and fierce.
Two people who fell in love — fully aware that this world might not always love us back — but chose to love anyway. Bravely. Including ourselves.
And you, Sayang, are a product of that choice.
Your skin is not “too dark.” It is just right.
It is the color of rich soil after rain. The shade of strong coffee, of sun-warmed teakwood, of island dusk. It is alive — with history, with heat, with heart.
So when the world — Indonesian or not — tries to convince you that fairness equals worth, you hold your head high.
Let them chase fairness.
You carry fire.
The world doesn’t get to define you.
You do.
And if anyone ever makes you feel otherwise — remember this letter. Reread it. Out loud, if you need to.
And if you’re still unsure, come find us.
We’ll remind you who you are, and where you come from.
Always,
Your parents — who used to feel small in their own skin, but not anymore.
Who glow just like you.
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