Art is a form of self-expression, yes. But for me, it is more than that. Art is the poems I couldn’t write and the story I couldn’t read. It is my rage, my peace, and what’s lay in between.
Ezekiel Orion Tanoto was born on a rain-swept June morning in Jakarta, 2002. He was the first child of Dirgantara Tanoto, an educator who’s now an operational director of a well-known education foundation, and Imelda Sastroadmodjo, a former orchestra musician who chose to become a full-time mother after Ezekiel was born.
From the start of school, Ezekiel struggled with reading, writing, and math—but showed a clear talent for the arts. When he was seven, a psychologist diagnosed him with dyslexia. His mother accepted it with quiet strength, always supporting and encouraging his creativity. But his father refused to believe it. As someone respected in the education world, he couldn't accept that his son might learn differently. He thought Ezekiel was just being lazy.
Because of this, Ezekiel’s relationship with his father became distant. His father was strict and cold, and Ezekiel never felt understood by him. But he stayed kind and friendly—largely because of his mother’s guidance. She believed in him, and nurtured his talent in drawing and painting. Ezekiel grew up close to her, and she remained his biggest support.
Even in high school, academics continued to be hard for him, but in the arts, he shined. He won several national and international competitions for illustration and painting. Slowly, this made his father begin to see that maybe he has been wrong.
When it came time for college, Ezekiel applied to the Fine Arts program at ISI Yogyakarta, and was accepted without issue. His father had hoped he would study engineering, but in the end, he let Ezekiel follow his passion.
Ezekiel could feel his father trying to mend their relationship, but the memories of traumatic childhood still weighed heavily on him. He didn’t know if he was ready to forgive—but maybe, one day, he would be.
Another wound Ezekiel carried came from high school, when his close friend Arumi died by suicide. Only after she was gone did he realize he had loved her more than a friend. That loss stayed with him, as something he couldn’t quite let go of, like a painting he would never have the chance to finish.
Now, Ezekiel works as a painter and runs a creative house he co-founded in 2024 with a friend—an art space for young people like him to create and grow. His works have been shown both nationally and internationally. He still carries some grief and guilt, but through painting, he’s slowly building a life that feels true to him.
| $\LARGE\textsf{Overview}$ |
|---|
| Name | Ezekiel Orion |
|---|---|
| Birthday | June 17th 2002 |
| Age | 23 |
| Height | 5’9’’ |
| Resides | Jakarta, Indonesia |
| Gender | Male |
| Pronouns | He/Him |
Ezekiel Orion Tanoto didn’t think much of the way he looked, and most people wouldn’t call him striking at first glance. He was, in many ways, just another twenty three-year-old man—tall, somehow awkward, and often lost in thought. But there was a kind of subtle details that didn’t announce itself loudly, that needed to be observed closely.
He stood at 180 centimeters—just the average height of most Indonesian men. His skin had the warm, yellow-brown hue of East and Southeast Asian descent, smooth and clear, like sunlight softened by cloud. His hair was jet black, cut in a fringe that fell just over his brow, suiting the shape of his face—sharp around the edges, like something carefully carved.
Despite being from a prominent family, Ezekiel was never the spoiled sort. There was an ease about him—a man who could laugh readily and throw out a quick joke in the middle of a crowded room, but who also knew how to slip into quiet corners and simply watch the world go by. He walked that fine line between introvert and extrovert, leaning more often toward the latter as he loved to socialize.
He had a habit of studying people, not out of suspicion but out of a genuine curiosity. But, for all his observing, he wasn’t the best judge of character—more than once he’d trusted the wrong person or missed what was plain to others. It didn’t bother him too much; he preferred to see the good, even if it cost him now and then.
Like most young adults, Ezekiel had a streak of rebellion, though it rarely came from malice. It was more a restless energy—when things felt unjust, or a smirk when rules got in the way of something he believed in. Mischief, when it came, usually arrived with a plan. He wasn't the kind to stir trouble for sport, but he didn’t shy away from it when he felt it necessary.
Creativity was his strongest suit. Inspiration for his paintings flowed through him like breath, but it didn’t end there. He liked to paint when no one was watching, to design little logos or posters just for the joy of shaping something from nothing. And if he loved something, he learned it quickly, like his brain had left the door wide open. But if he didn’t care for it? That same door slammed shut, and no amount of knocking could make it budge.
He loved his family with all of his heart. He bickered with his sister the way siblings always do, with eye-rolls and sarcastic comebacks and dramatic sighs—but underneath it all, she was part of the world he couldn’t bear to lose.
To those who knew him, Ezekiel was many things at once—funny, loyal, stubborn, thoughtful. Not perfect, not always predictable, but never pretending to be anything he wasn't.
Just a man trying to find his way through the noise—with a heart full of arts, and a soul still healing.
