Gosh. This is exhausting

Have you ever missed someone so much you start imagining how good or bad life would be had it all worked out?

Because both scenarios are possible. There may be a reason why it didn't work out for the two of you, but the possibilities of what could have, should have or would have, happened, had it worked out, are endless.

It was the distance. But it didn't matter. Because I could move there to be with you. I could find a decent-paying job. You could move here to be with me, and we will both have to build new lives so there is a space for you. But then I would grow to hate the cold and lonely. Or you would hate me for making you take a pay cut and join me in this dumpster I call home. Maybe you would find someone hotter and more fun than me. More jovial. We would be very unhappy.

It was someone else. But it didn't matter. How many couples worked their way out of it? In this day and age, it would be a wonder if someone had never committed infidelity. Everyone would have done it at least once, in some capacity and to a certain extent, depending on whose definition you use. I could have forgiven you. You could have forgiven me. We would have falled back in each other's arms. But maybe we'd find out that old habits die hard. Eventually one of us would go back to our old ways. Or, we can grow old together and be very happy living in a seaside villa by a lake, where children would run around chasing ducks.

I would love to watch all the movies with all the infinite possibilities that we could have been if only it had all worked out. I would love to see how wild things can get. I would love to be shown that we were just very wrong for each other, that's why it didn't work out. You're probably one in a million, but there's a hundred million reasons why we just cannot happen. I'm probably not perfect you, but I was never that good for you anyway.

Gosh. This is exhausting.

Maybe time is indeed the best closure of all. No movies about infinite possibilities needed.

ESB

So this has been four years since then.

It took me four full years to be able to actually sit down with my feelings and look back on that particular week, and write about what it was all about. It took me four years, one trip to Barcelona, one trip back to the exact same city where it all happened, and a number of emotionally unavailable men that I unsuccessfully recruited to replace you.

What I did not expect is that I would come back to that same corner of the world and be able to remember more from that particular week than I thought I did. Perhaps I actually do remember more than bits and pieces of what happened, but my selective memory chose only the painful ones so I could move on more easily. Little did I know that by coming back, by seeing the same surrounding hills (minus the snow), by seeing the same buildings, same demure architecture of boring old government buildings, my memories of the good parts would be evoked.

My memory came back. Only the good parts. And I smiled.

What I did not expect is that I smiled. I was expecting to cry while listening to the same playlist you showed me on the way back from the short trip. But no. I was smiling as the bus took me to the one spot in the city that I specifically mentioned to you I wanted to check out but you did not take me. Perhaps I've come to terms with the way things are. Perhaps I've accepted that I'm the villain in that particular chapter of our lives. Perhaps, like so many Hollywood movies, you and I were supposed to go through the growing pains of dating a million assholes until we meet the one we'll stick with, and in your movie, I am one of those assholes.

I always knew the city can be cold and the people beautiful. But that day - that very day, it was warm. The golden hour washed over me and beautifully shine on the caramel stone and marbles. I am grateful that I met you. That such encounter led me to this city. That I learned so much about what my heart was capable of - of what she really desires - from the brief, but extremely valuable time that we shared.

I didn't know where you were at that exact time. You were probably working from the couch while cuddling the dog. Or washing your car. Or running errands. Or doing laundry. I did not even know which part of the town you took me to. Which mall. Which restaurants. Which neighborhood your old guys live in. I wondered what they were up to, but took comfort in knowing that they cannot be at the place that I was visiting. I whispered to the air, "Thank you." Hoping that you and your family can feel it through the air. I loved you so much. Maybe I will always do; in various other ways. You were the main character of a certain chapter in my life, and even though you are no longer in the books, you will always be there somewhere, sitting in a small but treasured corner of my life that I will never stop being thankful for.

This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for realizing that I've moved from constantly feeling stung by a bee at the slightest thought of you, to being able to come back there and smile a relieved smile because I've known you. I don't think you'll ever read any of these words I've written for you, but hopefully, the air will send you my thank you whenever you come back home.

Thank you.

Lady Run

I was coming downstairs to pick up food deliveries earlier this evening when I saw a very familiar scene. A scene that I used to be an active participant in, but now is simply an observer. A passive one. Because I believe in privacy and whatever journey that anyone's in, is their own business to deal with.

An average-looking guy with average height and body type, dressed in homely t-shirt and cargo shorts but doused with an unnecessary amount of perfume, entered the elevator. Without any talking, I can safely assume what he is and what he does: he is either picking up food or someone cute. It was ony later after I was waiting for the elevator again after picking up my food that I realized it was the latter: it was someone cute.

The cutie is about the age I was. She wore long straight-leg trousers and cardigan, and carried a canvas tote bag. She was asking him which floor her is. 

Oh my God, she is me.

Three years ago. But still, she is me. This is how people used to see me 3 years ago.

Inside the elevator, he greeted an elderly lady who entered from the fifth floor. When she got off by the seventh floor, she asked me whether that's her neighbor. He laughed and said not really, but she's kind of an agent for the rentals in this building, and he met her in 2019 when he first came to this city. Then they got off before me, straight to his apartment.

I smiled and thought to myself, I've come so far from those days.

I wished her well deep inside of my heart, and against his family's wishes and all odds, maybe they can work it out. Maybe they won't. But whatever it is, I wished her and him well. I wished her that, if this isn't what her heart wants, she'd realize it soon and will come out of it sooner than later. That she'd find someone that will make her realize her worth, and that she's much better than what she thinks she is. I hope one day she will find her path.

Maybe I'm being judgmental, and maybe I'm wrong. I swear by God I hope I'm wrong. But I wished her well. Because maybe one day back then somebody saw me in an elevator and wished me well. Maybe somebody hoped that I'd find someone who make me realize my worth, and that I am better than what I thought I was.

I hope one day, he will change.

What we will tell each other

 

I still have this dream that one day, I will wake up knowing that that day, I am going to meet you to catch up over coffee. You will first tell me about your new job and what happened to your dog recently. I will tell you about my recent travels, and what my boyfriend just said to me last night about the new bar that just opened in my building and is a new hot spot.

One day, we will talk to each other about our lives and look back at the past with a smile, and the knowledge that the fact that it didn't work out, was a beautiful thing. We were not meant to be together, because there's someone else that we are meant to find. And then we found them. And then we stick with them.

And then eventually, things will work out.

And through it all, I will still love you. You will still love me, and think of me whenever you pass by our old neighborhood. We may have our own lives now and are completely happy and content with who we are, but you are still a very important part of me. My history. You are the reason that I am able to have a life that I can be happy in - even though you're not in it anymore. 

I hope you find content in knowing that I will always love you. I hope you will never hate me for what I did. 

Almost 30

I'm in the last year of my 20s, and although my life is far from perfect or where I wished I would be, can't say that I'm not happy with the way things have turned out to be. Is there still something that I wish would be better, or another place I'd rather be? Yes, of course. But also, did I really think I'd be here, say, 10 years ago? Also no. In a good way.

Because it's Eid season, I went to visit some relatives and got to hear these gossip from other family members; family who, had it not been because of these open house gatherings, I probably would never recognize them on the street also. But alas, they are family.

I love these gatherings not because I love hanging out with the people. I love them because it gives me a better perspective of where I am in life; how lucky I am, how things could've turned out to be so much worse, and also, what kind of person I DO NOT want to be. More importantly, these things make me love my parents so much more. I believe they raised me and my siblings well. Not perfect, but well. I don't know how to thank them, and I don't think I would do a job as good as them at raising human offspring.

That being said, I'm obviously not perfect and it's not like I'm having my life so much better than others. After all, "better" is a matter of perspective. I'm sure many of my relatives think I have a very pathetic job that makes me have to work 16 hours a day. I'm sure they really do think that I should've been married by now instead of constantly complaining about a career that I'm not all that crazy to do anyway. But we all have our own lives, so instead, we just listened to what people said and move on.

Younger, Wiser, Me

If there is one thing that I like about growing up, it is one of those moments where I realize that who I am today is the result of a younger version of me who was experiencing the growing pains and feeling feelings she had to endure so that one day she would be able to walk away from certain situations more easily than if she had not.

Today, I stumbled upon this tweet of mine from back when I was 22.

Btw, it's not only my Twitter that's full of gems from my younger days. This blog certainly has even more meaningful ones.

Look, obviously I lived through that. I can't remember precisely the exact moment when I posted that tweet and who exactly came to my mind - but I can assure you she was not exactly feeling what she thought she was feeling. She was not wrong - my guess is she just found that quote to match the background music that she was listening to, and she was enjoying it so much that she was dreaming it. I can assure you, she was not experiencing that. 

Fast forward 6 years later, her older version self read it and is able to look back at recent events and thought of how much she owed her 22-year old self for surviving her last heartbreak. She now recalls how she learned to walk away from people who only love their idea of her, but not her. Or people who love her but never made her feel loved. 

I don't know who needs to read this, or better yet, who will read it (that was never my point for writing anyway). But I want you to know that you are a loveable person. We are all a little hard to love. We are all messy and needy and have our own baggage. That's just our human experience. So it makes sense that people love you. There will be people out there who love you and people who love you. You need to know the difference. You know the difference when you realize that you have to determine your own worth. Don't settle for just about anyone who tells you they love you. If you don't feel loved, please walk away.

You should not have to convince yourself that they love you. You should just know. Because you feel it. Because they make sure that you feel it. 

The Warm Bath at the End of A Very Long Day

On January 1st 2021, I posted on my social media hoping that 2021 will be that warm bath at the end of a very long day (aka. 2020. Sigh) and lo and behold... IT WAS!

I left 2021 in a very high spirit, a very grateful mind, and just overall feeling happy. Believe me when I say that my 2021 was good - definitely one of those years where I can feel that I, myself, have grown tremenduously. The journey was not exactly easy or smooth, but I definitely enjoyed the ride. It was a very fulfilling year, and I feel mostly... content, with what I have.

A brief recap of my 2021 - it started out bumpy. I broke my phone in a friend's jacuzzi, and then, of course, I turned 28. I learned how to respect myself and my body - which led me to start my weight loss journey for the first 3 months, and as a birthday gift, I got myself HPV shots. Then work starts to pick up its pace. Not quite what it was in 2019, but definitely very different from work in 2020.

I also met my partner for the first time after over a year of daily video calls and incessant texting. Spent a month in Bali and it was heaven. It felt right. He made me do so many new, good things - things that for some reason I never feel like doing at all. With him, I feel safe and secure. With him, I feel so in love.

Then at the end of the year, I had my very first major expense - renovating my apartment. It was completed right on December 30, 2021 and took about 2 months. I've never been so broke - but so happy!

Of course there were low points in 2021 too; it will never be all rainbows and butterflies. But the highs, the achievement, the wins - they all make the lows feel worth it, if not necessary.

I feel very victorious coming out of 2021. Can't remember the last time I feel this way, but I'm grateful for everyone and everything I have in my life right now. My partner. My family. My friends and support system. For the first time in a very long time, I feel like I have control over the things happening in my life.

Have I Ever Been In Love Before?

The past month has left me wondering: have I ever actually been in love before?

Hear me out.

I am 28 years old and there have been people who come and go in my life since I was, maybe, 5 years old? (I had my first crush in first grade lol). And the older I get, the more that I understand what having a crush is. What being attracted to someone means. And I certainly thought that I have learned what loving and being loved by someone should mean. Every single one of the people who came and went into my life taught me all of that; and I thought maybe I have a pretty good understanding of how it works. But turns out I don't. I don't know what love is. I don't know how to love someone. I don't know how to be loved by someone, too.

Or maybe my understanding is just wrong.

Because the past month has been an amazing long-lasting high that I didn't know could exist. And what it took is one person. One person who made me rethink so many things in my life I hardly can remember why I lived my life the way I did before I know him.

But is it love? Or am I just in yet another love that may be fleeting and will teach me a lesson?

I Know You Would Never Read This, But

Hear me out.

The first thing I will tell you?

"I'm so sorry."

You wouldn't recognize me; or if you did, you wouldn't wanna hear it. You wouldn't wanna have it. You'd pass me by, thinking I'm a stranger.

"I know who you are, and I know you know me."

You stopped walking. The stopping was awkward it was more akin to a froze. You froze.

"I know you hate me, and you have forgotten about me completely, but just... listen. I just have one thing to say."

You still wouldn't budge. Wouldn't even turn around to look at me. I'm speaking to your back.

"I just wanna say I'm sorry. About what happened. How I chose to do it. I was a coward. You didn't deserve it at all. I just wanna tell you that. Nothing more. I will leave now, thank you so much for listening to this."

You still don't move.

I turn around and leave. Breathe a sigh of relief.

This time, I said I'm sorry. I apologize.

This time, I did it right.

This time, I know I can finally live with myself.

My Loneliness Was Killing Me (But I Survived)

Last weekend, I experienced what will be the future of my weekends starting this month: being the only child left to spend the weekends at my parents'.

Before you jump to any conclusion, and in case you didn't know: I'm the youngest out of 3 girls, with the eldest being 10 years older than me. Out of all of them, I was always the one who was fiercely independent. For instance, I was able to walk myself home from kindergarten at the tender age of 5, while the entire world is crumbling around me with massive protests and violence (that I hardly understood the scale of). I was 15 the first time I traveled without my family - and it was for 2 weeks of the summer in Europe. I was 17 when I first live in a boarding house outside of time for college, and then 18 when I lived in an apartment by myself.

Naturally, by the time I was 21 and had to move back home to my parents after college, I felt a bit of unease. I have always, always loved my independence and freedom. By the time I was 24, I lived alone in Chicago and by the time I was 26, after 1 year back in Jakarta, I literally asked my mom for my own place - which resulted in me living in my current apartment with my sister. She, by the way, is getting married in 2 weeks.

I am both excited to get my full freedom back, but also... scared.

While I was home last weekend, I read a book of personal essays by an Indonesian writer and journalist Isyana Artharini titled I am My Own Home. It's a book of... well, personal essays. About the aloneness of living and being alone. About loving the freedom of it, but at the same questioning whether she really enjoys it. I finished the entire book (which was not long) within the day, and couldn't help but noticed how, when I was 24-25 years old living alone in Downtown Chicago, I also was always haunted by the same agony as the writer had felt. A similar feeling where I always felt like I love my independence. But I also feel the silence can be very deafening.

At the risk of romanticizing my time living alone in Chicago, I have spent the last 2 nights thinking of what life was like back then in a more objective view. Back then, I came into the living alone idea of being very excited and happy and not at all scared, only to find that that sensation didn't last very long. Yes, I can do whatever the fuck I want with all the space and time that I have in the privacy of my own apartment. I can even walk around naked and no one will complain. I can eat Flamin' Hot Cheetos for breakfast and literally nobody will tell me that it's wrong. 

But now that I'm older, wiser, and more realistic about the technicalities of life and what the world expects out of a woman like me, I get to see it differently. I was also miserable. I was also lonely. I felt empty a lot. I walked around aimlessly on the days I have no reading or assignment, and I wouldn't stop until my hands shivered (in the winter) or my thighs chafe (in the summer). I like eating out, but doing it alone feels stupid; plus American portions are definitely too big for me (also: I was broke AF being a student, right). I hated cooking for myself because (1) I could not make it taste good because of how amateur I was, and (2) I will have so much leftovers and I'm the type who can't be bothered with leftovers. I love sitting alone in a coffee shop, but again, I was broke AF so it was not possible for me to do that too often. 

I hated the weekends because that's when the loneliness was magnified. Everyone gets to go to have picnic in the park, drinking rosé on the patio... the list goes on. But I had nobody and no plans whatsoever. I hated the weekends because at least I know people don't really have anything going on other than the regular work/school thing on the weekdays.

That was the very first time I went to see a counselor, who then taught me mindfulness. It was the first time in my life where I realize that it is not wrong when people say Homo sapiens are social creatures. I cannot sustain being on my own for a prolonged period of time. I have to make a human interaction, sharing human experience with someone else. Of course, because that was the first time in my life that has happened to me, and I was young and stupid with so much room for mistake, that's easily what I did: I made mistakes.

I went on so many first dates I got really good at it. I mean, I can be very likeable if you don't know me long or deep enough and I didn't know that until by then. I didn't know that I can be charming and that my life background can be made interesting, depending on how I tell the story. It was also through this serial first dates that I realized how so many people in Chicago were also... alone. Of course, I don't know if they're lonely. I hope they're not. And if back then they were, hopefully by now they're all coupled up, or at least not lonely. But one thing that I really liked about dating in Chicago was how most of the people there are emotionally intelligent. They may not be emotionally available all the time, but in average, their emotional intelligence is above the people I met here. Something about their lives there, or what brought them there... have shaped the way that they access their emotions. This opinion, of course, is limited only to the ones I met and does not extend to every single guy in Chicago. And I'm not gonna lie, sometimes I miss them terribly. I miss the me from that era. At that point in life, I was pretty much inexperienced with love, let alone relationships. I never knew how to flirt or attract someone. So every single dating misadventures (aka. ghosting) that happened back then -- it hit the me, who was already struggling with loneliness, twice harder. I remember I never once questioned if something is wrong me. I knew it wasn't because I was undesirable; it was just the thing that happened when you are dating. It happens to the best of us. But 25 year old me didn't know that -- she was teaching herself to be more resilient, to be more accepting, to grow thick skin, and just move on to the next thing. Because I still remember how my heart ached when somebody gave me a UTI and then ghosted me. When someone told me he's coming over with a sushi platter and then ghosted me. When somebody just disappeared into thin air after he bruised my lips on a night out clubbing. 

That year, I realized how it's actually a good idea to manage loneliness; and why governments around the world start to establish Ministry of Loneliness. Humans are not going to sustain themselves being alone. Even if they do, they will make choices that may sound questionable and would someday called a mistake (like I just did two paragraphs ago).

Sometimes when I remember those times, I feel proud of how far I've come today without ever really losing my self-worth. And I was doing all the healing alone. I don't know how I did that, but I know I did. Because I wouldn't be here if I didn't somehow survive that loneliness. God knows where I'll be - maybe just on to another series of mistakes?