being seen in stillness

when a world-class artist liked my instagram post (and i was just lying there, sleepy and crusty, scrolling without a single thought)

i woke up and did what most of us do — mindlessly reached for my phone, eyes still adjusting to the morning. i wasn't expecting anything, really. just the usual scroll. but then i saw a name that stopped everything: @realfranknitsche liked your post. i blinked. once. twice. what? then i saw it again. and again. and again. not just one post, but several.

i stared at it, still half-dreaming, trying to figure out if my brain was playing tricks on me. i tapped on the profile. a grayscale emoji profile pic. 13k followers. berlin. and then… the feed. crisp, abstract canvases. those cold blue forms, intersecting lines, perfect negative space — it hit me instantly. it was really him. frank nitsche. the frank nitsche. the artist whose works hang in tate modern, centre pompidou, ludwig museum. the one whose paintings look like frozen moments in some digital, emotional world. a man who paints silence in structure — and he just casually liked my gym locker mirror selfie and a plate of kangkung goreng.

i didn’t post anything fancy. no polished layout. no curated aesthetic. just me, my words, and the moments i wanted to remember. like my last walk in siam square, that last-minute mcdonalds breakfast at the airport with my brother, the feeling of sitting in a train watching strangers live their little lives through a dusty window. the way it felt to land in jakarta for the first time and buy a train ticket with no clue if i’d done it right. it was real life. full of softness, messiness, and honesty. and somehow — somehow — he saw it. and something made him stop. and like.

i keep thinking about that. because i didn't tag him. i wasn’t even talking about art. i was just writing the way i always write: a little shaky, a little poetic, always from the inside. so how did someone like him — someone whose world is full of white-wall galleries and serious collectors — land on my quiet little world? i don’t know. maybe it was the lines. the symmetry of spaces. the way i hold stillness in my photos without realizing. or maybe it was the words. how i write about travel the way he paints — not as destination, but as motion. as becoming.

that morning, i didn’t feel like a “small creator.” i didn’t feel unseen. i felt... resonant. not because he’s someone big — but because he’s someone who notices. and being noticed by someone who notices? that’s the kind of thing that makes your chest ache a little in the best way.

so no, this wasn’t just an “omg celebrity liked my post!!” moment. this was a strange and beautiful crossing of paths. an unspoken “i see you” from across the world. and for someone who’s spent most of her life observing, hiding, softening, making things in silence — that means more than i can explain.

i didn’t message him. i didn’t follow up. i just sat with it. smiled. felt the wonder settle into my chest like a bird perching on a wire. maybe i’ll write to him someday. maybe i won’t. either way, i’ll remember this morning. this strange quiet miracle.

and if you’re out there, wondering if your posts are too quiet or too random or too “not enough” to be seen — let this be your reminder. you never know who’s watching. you never know who’s listening. keep sharing your truth. your softness. your ordinary magic. because someone, somewhere, might just stop and say,
“yes. this.”

and that’s more than enough.