The Stare That Sees Too Much

January 14, 2025

Seventeen years is a long time to carry the weight of a single moment. Yet, sometimes, it only takes one unexpected thing—a song, a movie, or even a cartoon character—to bring it all rushing back. For me, that moment happened while watching UglyDolls in 2025, long after I thought I had buried the emotions from an incident in 2008.

I didn’t expect to be drawn to Lou, the movie’s charming yet deeply flawed antagonist. His piercing blue eyes, impossibly wide and all-knowing, felt like they could see every insecurity I had ever tried to hide. But it was one moment in particular—the first time Lou met Moxy in the dark tunnel—that captured my attention and sent a wave of recognition through me. Lou, from UglyDolls, has a stare that feels both beautiful and unsettling—a reminder of judgment, both external and internal.

The Rabbit Incident and Lou’s Gaze: A Journey Through Judgment and Self-Love

In 2008, a simple yet profound incident changed the way I viewed myself and how I processed grief. This moment, which I now call the Rabbit Incident, was triggered by the death of my pet rabbit during sahur on the first day of Ramadan. It wasn’t just the loss of the rabbit that brought me to tears—it was the way it reopened an older wound, one that had barely begun to heal.

Just over a year earlier, I had lost my younger brother. His death left a void in my life that nothing could ever fill. When my rabbit died, that sense of loss came rushing back. I tried to explain to my father why I was so devastated. For me, loving them equally didn’t mean that my brother was reduced to the rabbit’s level—it simply reflected the unique ways they both mattered to me.

But my father didn’t see it that way. To him, equating my brother to an animal was not only hurtful but deeply wrong. His words still echo in my mind: “Kamu itu pinter gak sih? Sing pinter atuh, Teteh!” (“Are you smart or not? Be smart, Teteh!”) His frustration cut deeply, and in that moment, I felt so misunderstood.

When Grief Speaks a Different Language

Looking back, I understand where my father was coming from. He wanted to honor the memory of my brother and felt I was unintentionally diminishing his worth. But that wasn’t my intention at all. My grief didn’t follow a strict hierarchy—it was messy, raw, and deeply personal. Loving my rabbit didn’t take away from my love for my brother; it was because I loved my brother so much that the loss of anything I cared for hit me so hard.

Yet, in the aftermath of the incident, I began to internalize my father’s misunderstanding. I told myself that I was foolish, stupid even. My father told me to recite istighfar—a reminder to not say anything bad about myself—but the self-loathing continued silently in my inner monologue.

13 years later, during a session with my psychologist, I finally began to see myself differently. “You see things in ways that others often don’t,” my psychologist told me. That insight shifted something in me. I began to understand that my perspective wasn’t wrong—it was just different.

The Existential Question

My aunt later added an important layer to this realization. She pointed out that the incident wasn’t about stupidity at all—it was an existential question. Why are humans and animals treated so differently in death? This wasn’t a childish or foolish thought; it was a reflection of my attempt to make sense of the world and its rules.

It’s taken years, but I now see that my grief and love for both my brother and my rabbit were valid in their own ways. Love doesn’t diminish when it’s shared—it multiplies.

Lou’s Gaze: The Mirror of Judgment

Fast forward to 2025, nearly 17 years after the Rabbit Incident. This year, I watched UglyDolls for the first time, and one character’s piercing gaze stopped me in my tracks. Lou, with his wide blue eyes, stares with a mix of intensity and judgment. In one scene, as he confronts Moxy in a dark tunnel, his eyes seem to ask, Are you good enough? Are you who you’re supposed to be?

That gaze reminded me of my father’s in 2008. It felt like a reflection of the judgment I had faced—not just from others, but from myself. At the time, I felt like I could never measure up to anyone’s expectations.

But revisiting that moment now, through the lens of Lou’s gaze, I see something different. Judgment isn’t always an enemy. Sometimes, it’s a mirror reflecting what we need to address within ourselves. Lou’s eyes no longer feel frightening to me—they feel like an invitation to ask better questions, ones that honor my complexity instead of dismissing it.

An Ongoing Journey

The Rabbit Incident was a pivotal moment in my life, one that shaped my relationship with grief, love, and self-perception. It taught me that love doesn’t need to be hierarchical, that grief doesn’t follow a script, and that misunderstandings can lead to deeper insights if we give ourselves time to reflect.

Lou’s gaze brought me full circle, reminding me of where I started and how far I’ve come. It’s not about erasing the pain of the past—it’s about learning to see it differently.

And so, the journey continues: one of reframing, understanding, and ultimately, self-love.