The Grief of An Indonesian

I am a nobody. Not in the sense of not having a name or identity or existence, like the Face-less cult's No One in the Game of Thrones world. But, yes, I am a nobody. Still, with all of this nothingness, I'm entitled to have an overwhelming feeling—a compilation of anger, disappointment, hopelessness, sadness, and all kinds of them.

This is a ranting piece. It's a morning page I should just keep to myself, but I believe someone out there might have similar thoughts.

A funny quiz, sobering reality…

For starters, a couple of years ago, I found a random tweet from the good old Twitter before that petty man took over the platform. It was just a funny one about counting your privilege points. You started with 1,000 points, and from each aspect, you got a minus score. For example, being a woman took out 200 points, being the oldest daughter took out another 200, being born into a non-rich family took another, and so on. There was this one aspect that I thought would take a lot of points, but it didn't. Instead, what made the final score minus 3,000 was being an Indonesian. I laughed.

I was taking the quiz as a random thing you do to pass the time because I wasn't taking it seriously. But now, with everything that's happening in my country, I can't help but think back to that score.

The pull of home

God, I love my country. I love Indonesia. I can't even begin to describe how I always cry during the independence day ceremony and when the anthem plays. I love my country so much that it feels natural to compare everything I find outside of it with what we have back home.

I haven't really traveled far or to many places, but as much as I enjoyed a quick trip to Penang, my head kept comparing the sand on their beach with our beaches on the west coast of Indonesia. The food? Don't even get me started. Nowhere in this world would we have food as amazing as what we have in Indonesia.

I love Indonesia. No matter how far I go to roam the earth and experience a lot of things, I still dream of spending my old days there. I dream of the small town where I grew up with its beautiful rows of hills and mountains, with the lake behind my grandma's place, and the beach with pine trees and white sand. I dream of the local market that has everything fresh.

I love my country, even in this current situation where I don't even know if it's going to get better or if we're doomed to have it worse. So here I am, with the cost of having this feeling: a different kind of broken heart.

Broken hearted but different

A few days ago, I was talking with someone about this situation. We agreed that we have a strange feeling that somehow feels like being heartbroken, but different. It almost feels like grief, but there's a peck of anger hiding in between. It's like a part of you is hurting, and you don't realize it has been affecting the whole system in your body until it's too big of a mess.

A collective ache

Now, in response to that specific part, I have a theory that has been playing in my mind all this time. Someone has probably said this somewhere, and I'm just here being inside my bubble, thinking it's a new thought. But here it is: No matter where we are, we all have this invisible thread from our feet connecting us to our motherland. Of course we're feeling this way lately because our homeland is hurting, our people are suffering, and they are all part of our system.

But I'm a nobody. What I say or do isn't going to make a big change. Hence, all I can do is keep an eye out for updates and news from my country and share the good information as much as I can. No matter how much my brain hates the news and how badly it has been impacting my well-being, my heart keeps wanting to be fed with these things because I care a lot.

The helplessness of distance

As a nobody, I'm also entitled to feel irrelevant rage about all of this. For example, how the price of a short flight to my hometown is skyrocketing so much that I might have to cancel my plan to be with my family in this time of crisis. I am a nobody, remember? A crazy number outside of my affordability isn't going to work with my situation. But who can make it work? All of these people, who decided that this is the right time to travel to Indonesia because it's a cheap country to travel to, and the currency will make them feel like kings and queens, resulting in an illogical price for the flight.

A simple hope

Oh, God, it's so bad. I wanted to write this as a letter to whoever has the power to fix things in my country because somehow, one day, it will reach them. But then I remember, if thousands of people were marching, hundreds of people were speaking out, and dozens died, yet nothing was done, what would this long rant do?

This nobody, at the end of the day, can only hope. Not that much hope, just a simple one: that we who are connected with this invisible thread on our feet can survive this time and heal together as time will answer that one question: Will our country ever get better?

The Tax of Getting By: What Does a Flawed World Demand of Us?

What is the cost of living in a world with a faulty system?

Sanity? If that's the price, no wonder you see so many people losing it even before they hit 30.

Kindness? If that's another cost, then it totally clicks why so many folks are being jerks.

Excitement? If that's part of the bill, it explains why I'm losing interest in the little things, like getting hyped about new movies or wanting to go do stuff outside.

This is why an extra day off for the weekend like today is so precious to me. Because I get to be away from the crazies outside. I get to be away from having to deal with mean people all over the town, and I get to be on my own in my own place, doing the thing that I want to be doing but never really have time to do.

Gosh, did I just take a super long break from writing, like actually sit my ass down to rant about something in the forms of written words? And what does it take for me to really start writing again? Weeks of being exhausted with so many questions that need to be answered?

Here's some serious questions: aren't all of you starting to feel it? The exhaustion that you can't understand, and when you try to fix it, you can't even figure out where that came from? Is it physical? Or is it what's in your mind?

Those people who party all the time, who have all the energy to hang out and talk to people, who travel a lot, who go to the mall every day, who—I don't know, everything that you do that I don't—aren't you tired?

And if you don't, please tell me how you do that, because man, I have been tired for the last couple of months, and I don't know if traveling or a full day spa could fix it.

It's 2025, and the unsettling truth is that many of us feel the world is designed to set us up to fail, leaving us drained and too exhausted to pursue anything beyond basic survival. This feeling is starkly illustrated by the limited time we actually have. Consider this: a 40-hour work week, combined with a daily one-hour commute and seven hours of sleep, leaves only eight hours. Subtract another hour for meals and an hour for essential personal care, and we're down to six. Within that six-hour window, we must still find time to connect with loved ones, maintain our homes, prepare food, and handle other necessities, leaving, at best, a mere four hours for ourselves.

Some people can use that 4 hours to go to the gym, to run, to prepare healthier food, to make art, to do a community-based project, to plan a trip, to hang out with their friends, to go above and beyond to find a place to be in nature, or even to do a side hustle. And for that, I really have a genuine and humble question: how do you do that? How do you have all that energy?

Because in my case, I keep dreaming of living in a remote place, owning a huge land to just farm and grow my own food far from the city, far from the world, so I can live in a hush, without all the rush. And if I'm the only one that feels this way, I refuse to believe that it's a me problem because there must have been something that I have been missing about the secret of going through everything in the world that is controlled by the people who ruin everything.

So, tell me, if there's a way to shake off this perpetual exhaustion, I'm all ears. Because how can one truly feel vibrant and alive when the world stage is riddled with conflict? How can one feel at peace while navigating a capitalist system that constantly whispers of inadequacy and the threat of being swept under?

But if it's not just me, then maybe I have something to say about this being totally wiped out —God, I just want to sleep —state. Because if we can't force ourselves to have that energy those party people or gym buddies have, we can just be couch potatoes and rot in bed if we want.

If we don't have the time to make our art, if we can't get ourselves to run or cook a healthy meal, we can just order takeout and count our usual steps as our exercise. If we feel like we don't want to be around people or we just can't stand being in public space because hearing all those noises makes our brain glitching, we can just be in our own space and put on our favorite music—because we still have to go to work to pay those bills that keep going up—while we're out. If we feel like we can only do so much and go so far, then so be it.

Like Katie Gavin said, "some days you do your best, some days you do what gets you out of bed," and I think that sums up everything I've been trying to write and figure out with all these questions.

So What’s Your Tragedy?

Tragedy. When we heard this word, the first image that came to mind probably was a scene of a shipwreck in the middle of a vast ocean swallowing a hundred souls alive. Or just a vivid memory of a massive crack on the town’s road after a deadly earthquake. Some might envision a friend’s grave after a car accident. The list could go on and on to describe what a tragedy could mean to some of us.

The meaning of tragedy is subjective and can vary greatly depending on individual experiences, cultural backgrounds, and philosophical beliefs.

Some of us. Well the rest could probably think of something abstract when we hear the word tragedy. One could think of what a tragedy it was that her dad was born in a poor family that he couldn’t get enough education to take him to be a teacher and ended up being a cop instead, because that was what he could afford at that time while everyone knows that being a teacher seems like his truest calling. Another could have thought about the joyful sound of family laughter at the dinner table when they hear that word but instead are face to face with the senseless empty room full of cold air and stillness because that’s what distance does. Probably when a dog was taught about the word tragedy and heard it for the second time, it probably would imagine chasing a moving tail in the corner of the couch that turned out to be its own. Or for instance, we could think about how messed up it is when the roles of power in some organization, a country even, is filled with people who—if not capable—are just not suitable for the responsibility, the impact could be catastrophic and can cause widespread suffering. And by suffer I mean stress inducing, rage boiling, traumatizing kind of suffering. Tragedy for some is when you did all the work but it’s your bosses taking all the credit with all that annual bonus. What a tragic tragedy.

So if what we are imagining and thinking of when hearing it are variously different, what is the true meaning of a tragedy then?

Is it when something is supposed to happen but it doesn’t? Is it when what you want is not what you get? Is it when something broke you to the very core of your being that even the beauty of a bedazzled skyscraper couldn’t entertain you anymore? Or is it when you have something so unimaginably dreamy you wish to share it to the whole world but couldn’t because then it would ruin it? Is it something that you know is so true and to share it can change how the system works but then the external factors get in the way that you might never get the chance to tell the tale?

Oh, to find the definition of tragedy is easy these days. In ancient Greece, tragedy was a ritual performance of the downfall of a great man—usually a king or nobleman— brought low because of some sort of fault. In Psychology, tragedy is defined as an event or sequence of events that can occur singly or collectively resulting in pain and suffering that impact us on so many levels (emotional, social, physical, coping, creative and spiritual). In the writing world, tragedy is defined as a genre that focuses around a noble character who struggles against strong external challenges.

But, oh, how I forget what I really want to tell you about tragedy in the first place as I start writing about all the things swirling in my brain when I start typing the word and got distracted that I write about all sorts of things before I get to this part where I suppose to tell you what I really want say.

Well, to really define tragedy and understand its meaning is to have multiple layers of understanding and acceptance. Some would say one can only understand tragedy from experience. But I wouldn’t wish any of such to occur in anyone’s life. It’s just when I happen to have some experience with tragedy I just know now that it helped me to be the I am today. In my case and I believe a lot of us out here believe the same; that tragedy is this coarse sandpaper that shapes our edges, tuning it into the fine angle for the perfect curve, the straight line, the pretty outline and perfect footing.

Oh, I really can’t seem to remember what I want to say in the first place talking all about tragedy and humbly brag that I’ve earned my wisdom to accept the fact that life is a mix of bliss and tragedy, a perfect combination of ups and down, an artistic scramble of good and bad, a collaboration of strength and weakness. But I do remember one part of it. I remember to put this sentence at the end of this short piece; when you look at it from one side, sure things can seem ugly sometimes, but have you tried another angle? You’re welcome!

The Rage Against Nice: Why It's Time to Get Real About Our Feelings

I have been in constant exhaustion and I believe that a lot of us are feeling just as worn out as 7 hours of sleep is not enough to recharge the knackered body and a quick trip to our favorite destination can't comfort the drained soul anymore. Oh, and talk about how time just never felt so friendly because no matter how much we try and how rushing we are on floating through it, it always feels like there is so much to do on so little time spared. Some people would literally sacrifice their sleep to have a little more time with their loved ones. In my case, I keep daydreaming of how nice it would be if we can choose just 1 day of the week to sleep inside some kind of futuristic pod where we only have to have 2-3 hours of sleep instead of 7 hours each day.

There are 7 days on each week and all four weeks multiplied by the number of months every year. I don't care how many days there are every year, all I know is in one of those 7 days a week, we all have had the bad ones haven't we? Between some of those bad ones, of course there are the worst and the range of how we feel on each of them varies from desperately sad to horrendously mad.

And to add salt to that custom wound, we always betray ourselves by feeling a certain way about some feelings.

Like we would feel guilty if we feel trapped in the life we live in as if we're not grateful for all the blessings. Or we always blame ourselves for not doing anything on some days off just because we want to wind down from everything. We would hate it or be overly self-critical just because we have so much hate and rage on some bad days. The ugly part of it, we would always feel bad whenever we're mad about something that—let's say—is bad.

Let's see how it rolls in my everyday life. But first…

A Confession

I've been trying to write more and realizing that it will be just as hard if I really give myself some kind of censorship just because I keep trying to be nice that l have to cut some truth from my writing, which impossible to do because my words are always about the truth, because writing for me is about being honest to myself.

Alright, okay. I was not just trying to be nice (but I do know that I'm a nice one) but also because I feel bad if I write something about particular things. I would always think about people who would get hurt or offended just because what I have to say is probably different from popular opinion, or I would be spiraling about how my audience would perceive me because of what I feel about specific things. All that is what I believe is one of some reasons of why lately | write less.

So here it is, one of those colorful honesty that I've been trying to repress because I keep wanting to sound like a nice person and certainly don't want to hurt some feelings.

But whatever.

Some Bad Days Are The Worst

Alright, so anybody out here feeling like an explosive? Or just a meaty sack carrying tons of gunpowder around inside them that a single tiny trigger could really blow you up maybe?

Because I do and lately it's getting intense, especially on some of the bad days. But what do my bad days look like?

Let's say it varies and one of them is when rage fills my body and my blood is boiling that I believe my skin turns red during the time. I breathe hard, like the exhales and the inhales were intentionally audible with the heavy sigh and I'd groan angrily because sometimes it helps me get calmer.

But, ugh, how do I put this nicely, but some people just make me want to throw a tantrum. I did tell a friend once that some people really bring out the worst in each other.

And I guess, some of those applied to me. Or just occasionally triggers some unhealed part of me because they too, unhealed and easily triggered. Like a sack of explosives.

The thing is, I keep telling myself that I want to practice breathing exercises instead of getting drowned in the spiraling thoughts, getting super angry and talking shit and thinking the worst about other people. But most of the time I just can't help but hate meeting people. I hate that their ugly behavior of talking about other people keeps annoying me every time. I hate that being surrounded by people, especially a pool of strangers or a chaotic crowd makes me panic and stressed out. I hate that their laughter and the sound they make while they're eating really makes me want to scream. I told everybody that I love the sound of keyboards clicking but there are places where the sound of somebody typing makes my head so full of anger. And I hate that with all the identity we bring with our existence, some people just can't shake the habitual hatred they mindlessly keep showing.

And also, the one trait that I really hate from humans, is that they can easily let the purest intentions get wrapped and overlooked just to have another promising return that being an opportunist gave. And I just can't stop connecting all the strings and writing all sorts of scenarios in my head that makes me just want to go home and hide under the sheets and forget that I have to attend my job 5 days a week, 9 hours everyday.

Oh, trust me I am not a saint but believe me I have been roaming the earth long enough to know that being called a loner is way better than having to deal with all that. I'm exhausted and keep dreaming about a life in the woods with all the silence but the rustling sound of the trees when they get kissed by the wind.

Now This Is Where It Gets Messy

I'm exhausted. There, I said it again. If all of that thing is what we have to deal with, who doesn't? And if exhaustion is the word I've written 5 times now in this one piece alone, I think I need to understand something about it. So here's my 2 cents.

As if having to do all the work, all the routines, all the commutes, all the chores, all the physical activity is not enough to spend our energy with, we tend to add some more work load to ourselves by being our first critics. I mean look at how I described my feelings when some people were typing too loud and it annoyed me. I said I hate feeling that way about it. I used the words "I hate" generously and it naturally came out of my mind right through my fingers. I genuinely hated the way I felt during those angry days. And that's where it's wrong.

Our whole life we've been told that anger is a bad feeling.

We've been told to control our feelings that at some point we have to shove it all down. We've also been told that we're not allowed to hate, to be mad, to be sad, to feel disappointed, and any kind of feelings that are considered "a bad one". It's no one's fault now that it took hours of therapy for us to understand that no feeling is a bad feeling. It's no one's fault that after all this time, after all the effort to heal, to unpack and to restore ourselves, we still find it hard to just feel the feeling instead of blaming ourselves for feeling it.

Now isn't it answering enough to my exhaustion problem that one of the big reasons is this: I let the feelings fold, shoved, stuffed myself and when it feels too much to carry, I blame myself for feeling that way.

Now what?

It is hard to be nice and I hate it when people say being nice is easy. I mean, not saying cruel things to other people when they have nothing to do with you is easy, but to keep on being nice when all they do is make unnecessary exaggerated volumes of laughter in the public space? It's taking all the energy from your body.

And to refrain yourself from yelling at the people who keep interrupting your conversation with a friend just because they want to be part of the talk is what I believe they call energy draining. And so be it.

It's okay to feel angry when those people make you feel uncomfortable at work because of their loud laughter.

It's okay if you hate your neighbor for building a literal cow barn next to your back porch and send the smell to your house all day long. It's okay to pull ourselves away from an interaction because we just can't stand the dominant talker with main character syndrome anymore.

It's okay to feel disgusted by a stupid argument someone's pushing on you.

Be angry, be mad, be disgusted, feel the hate. Feel all that feeling and never question why you feel it. My therapist said that it's not about feeling better, it's about getting better at feeling.

Unveiled Reflections

She is a flower blooming in the dark,

Yet her essence still radiates.

She is a treasure in a box,

Locked away and guarded by a dragon.

She is a submarine,

Gliding through the water,

Silently surfacing for air only at night.

She is a spy in enemy territory,

Always on ward,

Never letting down her guard.

She is a character in a noir novel,

Building a secret garden,

Hidden away from the prying eyes of the world.

She is on a tiny island in the middle of a vast ocean,

All she can see are waves crashing on the shore,

But never the horizon.

She is a pearl inside an oyster's shell,

So alluring but ultimately unattainable.

She is a candle in the secluded greenhouse,

Her secret flickering in the shadows.

She is a glowing ember under a pile of ashes,

Her soul smolders just below the surface,

Waiting to burst into flame.

But she accept her fate like a hot coal

And it burned through her soul

As the realization dawned on her

Her shoulder relaxed

Like hot iron in the water

It’s her kiss to the forehead

Her warm blanket in the cold winter night

It’s her marking

A gift to oneself

As the tension that had been building

In her chest since forever melts away.

Embracing Life's Beautiful Chaos: Why It's About Growing Stronger, Not Just Getting Easier

Hola, fellow adventurers! Life has a funny way of throwing us curveballs, right? Lately, I've been in a writing slump, struggling to find that creative spark. But guess what? Something incredible happened—one fine morning, a force deep within me urged me to write again. Little did I know that this unexpected push would lead me on a journey of self-reflection and discovery. So, grab your virtual backpacks, and let's explore the real deal behind personal growth in this crazy thing called life.

Breaking Free from Illusions:

For the past half of 2023, I found myself unable to unleash my words in their full glory. Sure, I journaled and jotted down some poetic musings here and there, but it felt like something was holding me back. Maybe it was the pressures of adulting, or perhaps a lack of time due to my demanding full-time gig. But guess what? It's time to kick those creative barriers to the curb!

Navigating Life's Mysterious Maze:

As a kick-ass 30-year-old with a 9-to-5 grind and a love-hate relationship with my paycheck, I've asked myself some serious questions. Has life gotten easier since my wild 20s? What if my younger self chose a different path? Do I even learn anything from this wild ride on planet Earth? These queries might seem intense, especially because it’s 2023 and 40 is the new 17? But guess what? We're about to flip the script.

Embracing Life's Ups, Downs, and Everything In Between:

I once wrote a poem about “The Walk”.

This walk ain’t got easier
The climb still took my breath
The rocks still hit my knee
The heavy rain still push me to stop and find a roof

Now picture this: Life's journey is a thrilling rollercoaster ride, complete with adrenaline-pumping twists and heart-stopping drops. It's not a linear path where everything magically becomes a breeze. No, my friends, it's a wild whirlwind of challenges, growth opportunities, and some pretty awe-inspiring triumphs.

Unleashing Our Inner Warriors:

Okay, let's get real here. You know those moments when you thought you couldn't handle another curveball, but you totally crushed it? Well, that's where the magic happens. Life's challenges don't magically disappear as we blow out more candles on our birthday cakes. Instead, we become warriors—strong, resilient, and ready to conquer anything that comes our way.

Life isn't about waiting for an effortless existence;

Let's drop the facade and embrace the chaos! Life isn't about waiting for an effortless existence; it's about fearlessly diving into the unknown. Sure, there are ups, downs, and moments that test our mettle, but we are the ones who determine our destinies. With every hurdle we leap, we grow wiser, bolder, and more compassionate.

In a world that often peddles quick fixes and easy solutions, we choose to stand tall. Let's face life's challenges head-on, knowing that the journey is far from linear. We'll navigate the twists, turns, and detours, transforming into the fierce individuals we were always meant to be.

So hold on tight! Life's beautiful chaos awaits, ready to shape us into versions of ourselves we never thought possible. Remember, it's not just about getting easier—it's about growing stronger, finding our passions, and conquering the world one adventure at a time.