Syifa Zhafira

Engineer, Student

Hai (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)! I’m a Final Year Chemical Engineering student . I’m passionate about bridging science, storytelling, and impact. Whether it’s through sustainability, research, or curating meaningful conversations, I aim to create spaces where ideas spark connection, reflection, and change.

Renewable energy, self-care, equal rights, mindfulness!

is “The Adults Who Raised Us Were Still Becoming Themselves.” Some of us think of our parents as answers, not questions. That’s because growing up, we believed adults knew what they were doing. But adulthood is not a destination, it’s a constant improvisation. They didn’t become parents because they figured it out, they became parents and then started guessing. This idea explores the realization that our parents were navigating their own storms while trying to keep us dry, and sometimes, we inherit both their love and their unfinished lessons.

Chemical Engineering Fundamentals, Cross-cultural Collaboration, External Relations, Information Technology, Public Speaking and Moderation, Renewable Energy and Sustainability, Story Curation and Narrative Design

(Please be advised of a TW) is “The Art of Curated Chaos. If you met me today, you might see someone warm, expressive, maybe even ambitious. But not too long ago, I was quiet. I was an introvert who knew how to hide behind a smile and a small circle of friends. What most didn’t see was the chaos I held (not even that small circle of friends): the bullying that chipped away at my confidence, the subtle but real trauma of being touched without my consent, the eating disorder I downplayed because I didn’t “look sick enough.” I was in a relationship that never got violent, but still left me bruised in places no one could see. I stayed because I had gotten used to the instability. The ”rollercoaster” felt familiar like I’ve known nothing else. And when something feels familiar long enough, even pain starts to feel safe. For years, I minimized what I went trough. I wasn’t raped, but it was still assault. I wasn’t beaten, but it was still abuse. I wasn’t skeletal, but it was still an ED. I carried these contradictions quietly, trying to convince myself they didn’t matter. But they did. They do. When I finally walked away, when I began to heal, I realized something: I couldn’t erase those parts of me. But I could decide what to make of them. Healing wasn’t about undoing the damage. I didn’t need to erase what I went through to become whole again. I didn’t need to hide the mess. I could build something with it. The Art of Curated Chaos is the name I’ve given to that process. It’s about finding shape in the mess, story in the silence, and beauty in the most unexpected fragments. It’s not about glorifying pain, instead, it’s about reclaiming it. It’s about honoring the unspoken, the unseen, and the unfinished—and choosing to speak anyway. Now, I try to lead with empathy. I curate spaces where others can feel seen. And I carry every version of myself with me, not as baggage, but as proof that even chaos, when held with intention, can become something powerful. This story isn’t just mine, it’s for anyone who thought their pain didn’t “count.” It does. You do. Because even chaos, when viewed from the right perspective, can be art.

“Emotional translation”, which in a simpler way would mean knowing how to frame the feeling of being overwhelmed without diluting its truth.