Chapter III — The Wind Picked Up

Chapter II — Defining Luxury from the Moluccan Diaspora

Chapter I — From Behind the Lens to Building Matagi

This is about Rafá. About Penina. About Amsterdam. About Alphen aan den Rijn. About the moment I decided to jump without knowing for certain if there was anything underneath me.

The first hours.

Rafa was born with an Apgar score of 3.

He had breathing difficulties. He needed oxygen. The first hours of his life were not gentle.

I still think about that moment.

Not as trauma.

But as perspective.

Whenever things get difficult, when my energy runs low, when everything seems to arrive at once, I think back to those first hours.

And I remember what truly matters.

He’s here. He’s growing. He’s healthy. He’s discovering the world.

And one day, he may wear something his father built.

That’s enough to keep going.

Why we left.

We left Amsterdam to be closer to Penina’s mother, who was sick. When she passed away, we decided to stay in Alphen aan den Rijn.

But there was another reason I needed to leave.

I needed to set myself free.

Life was already challenging enough. Income was uncertain. And I was asking Penina to take a step into the dark with me.

She did.

Not because it was easy. Not because success was guaranteed.

But because she trusted me.

That trust became the foundation of everything Matagi is today.

The jump.

While I was building the brand in the background — months of work, my very first Shopify store, through three different evolutions until it became what it is now — I was also thinking about how to reach the people this was made for.

Most people wouldn’t understand the decision I made next.

If you tell someone you’re building a premium fashion brand, they don’t expect your first move to be applying for a stand at a community festival.

But to me, it was the only logical place to start.

Sama Sama Festival. The Moluccan community. From the ground up.

Not because it was the easy route. But because connection had to come before commerce. If the community didn’t feel it, nothing else would matter.

We stood there with a small batch of jerseys and a simple question:

Would people want to wear something new?

The answer was yes.

What grew.

We started fully organic. No ads. No budget. Just a story that hit something real. More than 8,700 people found their way to matagi.eu. Five drops. All sold out.

People kept coming back. Not because of a campaign or a discount. Because they felt something. Parents ordered jerseys for their children — passing something on without being asked to. That told me more than any metric could.

The reviews did the same. Kind, warm words from people who take the time to write what it means to them. What it feels like to wear it. I read every single one. That means more to me than any number.

And then — Matagi now has its very first official model registrations. Three people who reached out on their own. No casting call. No brief. Just people who see themselves in what we’re building and want to be part of it.

A few weeks ago, I also learned how to run Meta ads properly. I found it genuinely interesting — understanding how to reach people who are already looking for something like what we offer. It opened up a new way of thinking about growth. Not just waiting to be found, but knowing where to look.

The tension.

But I won’t pretend it’s easy.

Fatherhood is hard. Not in the way social media presents it — not the beautiful photos and calm mornings. I mean the real parts. The exhaustion. The guilt when you’re working while your son wants to play. The feeling that you’re never fully enough in two places at the same time.

Running a brand carries the same weight. Every part of it demands your full attention — the production, the logistics, the community, the design, the finances. And none of it pauses when life gets heavy.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned this year is that patience and ambition are not opposites. But holding both at the same time is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

There are days when I want it to move faster. Days when I can clearly see what Matagi could become.

But some things cannot be forced.

Not a brand. Not a family. Not a life.

So I keep doing the only thing I know how to do.

Show up. Again. And again. Not perfectly. Just consistently.

What’s next.

DROP 006 is live.

HOME EDITION is on its way — a design we are currently working on that can also be worn in Maluku. A jersey that doesn’t just represent where we come from, but one that can actually go back there.

And on July 12, 2026 — exactly one year after our first drop — I will send the first email to everyone who has been with us since the beginning.

Matagi is still early.

Not everything grows quickly.

Some things grow deep.

Rafá is growing. Our family is growing. Matagi is growing.

And as long as that continues, we’ll keep building.

— Rezon Pattipeiluhu
Founder, Matagi