BEING INTELLECTUALS: SISKA’S PROPOSAL

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 By: Siska Imaniar Putri

The cursor blinked steadily on the screen like a metronome, marking the seconds of indecision. Siska, a 22-year-old final-year English Literatur, stared at the blinking icon with a blank expression. Her laptop sat in the middle of the cluttered wooden desk in her kos-kosan, Wonokromo. The afternoon light filtered through the jalousie window, dust particles dancing in its rays. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, but she hadn’t typed a word in the last thirty minutes.

The deadline to submit her undergraduate thesis proposal was in three weeks. She had a rough idea of what she wanted to write, but nothing concrete. Her topic: “Female Traditional Role in Rob Jhon’s The Little Mermaid.” It felt precise—narrower than her earlier attempts—but it carried a weight she couldn’t ignore. Could a fairy tale adaptation really be a serious academic topic?

She took a sip of lukewarm coffee, grimaced, and set the mug aside. Her roommate wasn’t home yet, and the silence in the room only amplified her doubt.

Siska closed her eyes and thought back to where it all started.

...

Two months earlier, in her favorite lecturer, Pak Pari, had shown the students a clip from a modern animated film adaptation of The Little Mermaid. It wasn’t the Disney version, but a lesser-known, independent film by Rob Jhon. The Mermaid, unlike Disney’s rebellious Ariel, was passive, obedient, and ultimately sacrificed everything for a man who barely acknowledged her.

After the screening, Pak Pari asked, “What roles are assigned to female characters in this version? And why does it matter?”

Siska was struck by the question. She had always loved fairy tales, but she’d never looked at them this way—critically, structurally, politically.

After class, she approached him. “Pak, do you think analyzing fairy tales is… academically valid?”

Pak Pari smiled. “If fairy tales help shape how generations see love, identity, and sacrifice—then yes, it’s not only valid. It’s vital.”

That conversation planted a seed.

...

Back in her room, Siska opened a new document titled “Thesis Ideas - Feminist Angle.”

Working Title: Women in Water: Traditional Gender Roles in The Little Mermaid Reimagined

Research Question: How does Rob Jhon’s The Little Mermaid reflect and reinforce traditional female roles in modern visual storytelling?

She stared at it. Was it too narrow? Too niche?

She messaged her best friend Naya:

Siska: “Do people even read Rob Jhon’s version?”

Naya: “If no one does, then your work will be the first. 😉”

That weekend, they met at a café. Siska brought her notes and poured out all her doubts.

“I’m afraid it’ll sound trivial,” she said. “It’s just a fairy tale.”

Naya stirred her latte slowly. “It’s never just a fairy tale. It’s cultural code. And you’re decoding it.”

That sentence stuck with her.

...

With new motivation, Siska outlined her proposal:

  1. Introduction – The enduring legacy of fairy tales in cultural consciousness.
  2. Chapter 1 – The evolution of The Little Mermaid from Andersen to modern media.
  3. Chapter 2 – Theoretical framework: feminist literary criticism and gender performativity.
  4. Chapter 3 – Close reading of Rob Jhon’s The Little Mermaid: imagery, silence, and self-erasure.
  5. Chapter 4 – Comparison with other adaptations: agency vs. submission.
  6. Conclusion – The danger of romanticizing sacrifice and the need for counter-narratives.

The structure made sense. But the writing was hard. Synthesizing theory with story felt like stitching silk to steel.

One rainy night, after struggling with Judith Butler’s theory of performativity, Siska closed her laptop and cried. She felt lost in jargon and unsure of her own voice.

Then she remembered what Pak Pari once said: “Theory should illuminate, not obscure.”

She opened her notebook and wrote:

“The Mermaid gave up her voice. I won’t.”

...


A week later, she met with Pak Pari during office hours. He read her three-page draft quietly. Then said:

“This is strong. But you need to show us: Why this version? Why now?”

Siska nodded. That night, she wrote in her journal:

“In an era where women are told they can be anything, media still often rewards silence, submission, and suffering. Rob Jhon’s Mermaid is not a relic—it’s a mirror.”

She knew then what she had to say.

...

Bayu, a senior known for his thesis on speculative fiction and postcolonial identity, found her one day sitting under a jacaranda tree on campus.

“You look like you’re dissecting patriarchy with a scalpel,” he joked.

She smiled. “Something like that.”

They talked. He told her about symbolic tropes, and she shared her Mermaid analysis. He was impressed.

“You’re not just reading a story,” Bayu said. “You’re unpacking an entire worldview.”

That gave her strength.

...

Two weeks before the deadline, Pak Pari nominated her to speak at a student seminar on Gender in Literature Today.

She hesitated. “I’m just writing about a fairy tale.”

“You’re writing about the stories that shape gender norms,” he said. “That’s power.”

At the seminar, she titled her talk: “Silencing the Mermaid: Traditional Gender Roles in Rob Jhon’s Fairy Tale Adaptation.”

She spoke of voice, body, and the politics of passivity. She quoted Simone de Beauvoir: “One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.”

The audience was quiet. Then came questions—real ones. She felt seen.

...

Later that week, Bayu texted her: “Want to join a reading group? We’re doing a feminist re-reading of folklore next.”

She smiled.

Her final proposal—17 pages, annotated and polished—was titled:

“Female Traditional Roles in Rob Jhon’s The Little Mermaid.”

It was approved with minor revisions. Pak Pari wrote: “You’ve shown that fairy tales are never innocent. Excellent work.”

Siska stood beneath the jacaranda trees and looked up.

She no longer doubted her voice.

It was just beginning to rise.

After her proposal was approved, Siska felt relieved.

That day, she walked home from campus carrying a folder with the signed thesis draft. On the way, she stopped by her favorite pecel rice stall. Sitting on a plastic stool while waiting for her food, she pulled out her phone and sent a short message to Naya:

“Officially approved. 😌”

Not long after, Naya replied with a clapping emoji and a dancing chicken sticker.

Back at her boarding house, Siska put down her bag, changed clothes, and sat on the floor to open her laptop. She opened the folder titled “Mermaid Thesis” and typed a few more bullet points for Chapter One. There was no grand celebration—just instant coffee, flip-flops, and the whirring of a noisy fan.

But inside, she felt a quiet calm.

Her journey wasn’t over. But at least, now she knew where to begin.

 

 

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