by Afutami

2023: A Year of Decisions

When I said I wanted to ‘take charge of my own fate‘, I did not expect the universe to shove multiple life-altering decisions to my face—all packed in a single year. Consequently, 2023 became both the year I learned to take my time and the year when time betrayed me, disappearing at the speed of light (that’s 300 thousand meters per second). As soon as I hit a milestone, I was forced to immediately move on to the next one; with barely any space to look back and appreciate it or simply catch a breath—not in the following order, that is:

Decision #1: To Finally Take that Leap at Work

I finally mustered the courage to leave the world of (traditional) policy research and embraced being an entrepreneur.

It happened in waves and over time, until one fateful afternoon, Ara was in his ‘coaching’ mode and helped me think through what really mattered in a job for me. It had always been in my head, but writing it down into a “career trade-off table” made it clear that:

  1. I needed work that consistently challenged me and let me learn something new. This is the reason why I typically delight the first couple of years on a new job, which then plateaued and maxed out in year five. It’s a bonus to report to or work with someone smarter (maybe because I basically just want to be at school permanently except I need one that pays haha).
  2. Having autonomy—to prioritize, to explore intellectually and otherwise—is non-negotiable. Perhaps because I am an academic at heart, I simply cannot be in a job where I am deprived of having a voice or have to blatantly hide the truth (I therefore would make a lousy politician).
  3. Optimizing my marginal utility or value added is also important to me. I would ask, for example, if I put one day’s worth of work into this vs. the other job, which one would create more impact? In addition, am I the best person to do this in this organization, or should I be replaced by someone else?
  4. Ideally, I would have power over the outcome. Can I influence any delta (change) in a statistically significant way if I stay in this institution? Or has it taken a business-as-usual course with or without me?
  5. That said, I still require financial stability to support my family. So I would not blindly take risks, I need to properly plan for the transition and make sure that I can keep paying my bills. But it was on me to define what is ‘enough’ vs. a luxury trap filled with things that are nice to have but I can live without.

Even after it was clear that the World Bank stopped fulfilling the above for me, I still had doubts. Indeed, the institution that once provided me with a magnificent intellectual safe haven had turned into this comfort zone that got a little too familiar. I also knew that my personal mission of ‘learning from the best economists’ while at the same time ‘converting them to care more about the climate crisis’ had somewhat been achieved. I had the insane opportunity to work closely with so many great minds and made friends with some of the kindest, humblest people. I knew this chapter was coming to an end, but why was I still not sure? Was it because it felt a teeny bit entitled and ungrateful that I even considered resigning from a highly sought-after job?

Then it hit me: I had no idea what it took to build my own company. I spent almost 10 years being a researcher in the development sector, but I knew nothing when it came to fundraising, finding and maintaining talent, and operationalizing a vision.

The following sentence washed away all the doubts, “If I knew one thing about you, it is that you can learn about quite literally anything. If you have to learn to be an entrepreneur, be the damn quick learner that you are.” (Guess who said that.) Since then, I changed my course, restructuring how I approached the problem, started putting faith in my co-founders and team, and read/studied everything I could as I was switching onto this brand new, shiny corridor.

It was so scary at first but I am so, so glad I did; I could tell from this renewed excitement I got every morning I woke up. Felt like I could be fully present and intentional again about how I would like to spend my days. Of course, it was not all sunshine and rainbow, but dang exercising your agency felt pretty great.

Decision #2: To Actually Lead and (Try to) Build Something Great

I am a stickler and hyper-vigilant professional, which might be (somewhat) acceptable if you work on your own, but something to manage if you’re trying to lead an organization of 60 people.

PSA: If you haven’t already, take this helpful assessment on your top ‘saboteurs’. It is usually a great place to start understanding how your childhood and upbringing create certain patterns at work. It turns out that I was raised into a perfectionist, hyper-rational, and generally anxious adult. I will let you read more detailed descriptions from the link, but the point is that I quickly became aware of my ‘default’ intuitions and had to unlearn a little more than a few things to grow into the parents I was not prepared to be.

As I began the new chapter of leading and building Think Policy and Bijak Memilih this year, there were more than a handful of moments when I felt a different kind of loneliness: when you had to make an impossible or unpopular decision, when you had to disappoint your team member, or when you simply didn’t think anyone would understand. It was not quite a ‘summit’ the way people describe it, more like one of those crowded halls where people either avoid talking to you, or look at you at the same time for direction.

And sometimes you just do not have the answer.

Things do get better, however. Amidst the self-doubts, I started regaining conviction—thanks to the village who saved me: my personal ‘coach’ at home (wink), the best friends who also happened to be the amazing co-founders who covered my blind sides, as well as pretty much everyone over at Think Policy and Bijak Memilih, the people I was supposed to provide direction for are the very same I ended up learning a lot from. I am not a perfect leader, I am in fact far from it, but they trusted me anyway and I will forever be grateful.

By February 2024, we had accomplished some crazy things that people thought were impossible; it could be very tempting to let this define the entire year, but I am writing this post to remind myself that there was more to the year beyond the election.

Decision #3: To Let My Authentic Voice Out Again

For the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to be brave again: to ask the hard questions and tell the truth as it is.

Having been a small cog in a massive machine of an organization for five years, I have to admit that I forgot what my own ‘voice’ sounded like. I knew she was still somewhere in there, but it had been quieted down for so long that it would take some time to rediscover. Do not get me wrong, writing as part of the institution has its own perks (your work was read by actual policymakers, you got invited to rooms you otherwise would not, et cetera), but there is nothing even close to the taste of the freedom to just speak your mind, publicly.

My first reunion with this rewarding feeling was when I sat across Anies Baswedan and asked him about how he planned to manage potential conflicts of interest related to his supporters vis-a-vis environmental issues. I knew I was pushing the boundaries a little bit, but it was—after all—a legitimate question to ask, and I had nothing to lose. I think I almost cried that afternoon: I was floored by how his campaign provided that rare space embodying what democracy should look like. I did not realize how badly I had missed it until that point. A couple of weeks later, Ganjar Pranowo‘s team organized a similar event, followed by a series of columns I was invited to write for the Jakarta Post, a TEDxJakarta talk, a Malaka Project video, as well as speakership and media interview almost every other week. Slowly but surely, I could hear authentic myself again—it was quite mindboggling.

Apparently writing Buku Menjadi (which now has a best-seller status, woohoo) is a little different—that one felt pretty much like blogging on this platform. Somehow, meeting Buku Menjadi readers in Jogja, Bogor, Bandung, Denpasar, and Surabaya (a total of 8 sessions in 6 cities) was not exhausting because I got to bring along all my layers. This ‘public voice’ I was talking about is a lot more demanding, and sometimes would put me on a pedestal, one I would rather not be on. All in all, while enjoying this chapter, I happen to also be very cognizant of the potential trap that would turn me into a certain persona instead of a being who contains multitudes.

Decision #4: To Love and Commit

If you told me two and a half years ago that there is a whole other state of happiness reserved for me, and that I would find the love of my life, I would say that you must not be in your right mind.

At the end of the day, 2023 is a year of love for me and my husband. It is the year he proposed (March), we got engaged (September), and finally married (November). Throughout the year we fell in love, fought, and learned endlessly about being a better partner for each other. I have seen him laugh (I love it), cry (both in private and in front of our families and friends), dance (with me both in private and in front of our families and friends), get mad (because of silly and big things)—and I want to stay through it all.

Every day we would wake up and feel the gratitude of being able to meet and be in each other’s lives. It is so weird to think how we were still strangers the year before and now we are building our home and future together.

***

All in all, I entered the year with so many fears that turned out to be unfounded. Everything works out at the end if you just give it some time. No, they are not always easy, but the things that matter usually are worth figuring out/fighting for. I’m glad I decided to assume control and exercise my agency to the fullest, owning every single decision I made and its consequences—in all its mess and glory.

That being said, while my friend Wina dubbed 2023 as “my year”—it has indeed been the best year of my life so far—I wish I had more time to savor it.

Maybe 2024 is a year for just that.

by Afutami

How I learned to be a woman

It’d been a while since the last time I entered Eyang’s green-painted room—she was already at the hospital then, probably a few weeks left before she’d pass over to the other side. It was weird, to say the least: being in this room without her. It feels wrong. She had been bed-bound for roughly 6-7 years, so ‘visiting Eyang’ is practically a synonym for going to this room.

Today, May 13th, is Eyang’s birthday. It is also a few days after the first-year mark of her passing. If you didn’t already know, she was a parent figure for me, one who shaped me into the woman I am today. I could not have overstated this even if I wanted to. My existence, everything I have achieved in life—it was all her (well, other than my parents, of course).

And it recently dawned on me how I never fully shared her story.

  1. She helped me discover my permanent love of learning
    Legend has it, we were walking home when I saw a Majalah Bobo on a stall, and how I wouldn’t go home without it. So she got me one—it’s the origin story of how I was able to read since I was barely three years old. Reading, as it turns out, is a key that opens the gate to the abundance of knowledge that I have been soaking myself in for the past 30 years. It was the lens through which I inch closer to understanding the world, a well that fuels my journey. But the ‘force’ didn’t happen as a defining ‘moment’, no—rather, throughout my childhood and teenage years, she has consistently guided me through every curiosity, question, idea, and opinion. She never told me to shut my ever-ticking brain. She loved singing to her grandchildren (we know today that it helped stimulate our brains). She made loving learning alright.
  2. She showed me how to be badass
    After I got divorced, she didn’t rush into telling me to find another man ASAP. She casually said, “Nggak apa-apa juga kalau sendiri,” which was not what I expected. Indeed, since her husband (the late Eyang Ngget) passed in 1992, she never remarried. She said she’d rather channel all her love to raising her grandchildren. She didn’t make our existence as a woman to revolve around the men in our lives, that we could lead the life we want. In her more productive years, she was Ketua RW who made changes to how things were done, and she led many of ‘penyuluhan’ sessions for the women in her hometown (and where I was born), Cianjur. Even after she couldn’t walk and had to use wheelchair everywhere, she didn’t want to depend on others if she could afford it.
  3. She introduced me to a God who’s reasonable
    I’d like to think that everyone’s spiritual journey is unique, and largely depends on who first introduced us to God. I was extremely lucky to have done so through Eyang. While I don’t always share her conservative views, in the big picture, she always told us that God would understand. Yes, we shall pray five times a day and fast during Ramadhan, but if we weren’t able to, God would not be petty about it. We could do it later, combine them, or pay in lieu of doing so. When I was 16 and told her I wanted to wear hijab, she asked if I were sure and that it’s okay if I weren’t. She told me I could always do it later, when I would understand better about what it meant, along with all the consequences. (Although she’s very adamant about not wearing sleeveless shirts, because Islam fundamentally required women to dress modestly.)
  4. She enabled me in being competitive
    For every math, language, cerdas cermat, debating, model UN, and what-have-you competition I went to, she would wake up at four, do her shalat subuh, and prayed into a glass of water for me to drink. She wasn’t superstitious per se—she simply believed that prayers matter in determining the outcome, and this ritual manifest the spiritual into the physical world. She’d make sure I drink that glass of water before I left the house. Yes, I ended up winning many times but I also lose; it’s not quite about that—it was more about how I understood that these competitions mattered to her. Even more important than the prayers, she would come with me to the event and sat through it all. It was like she held my hand when I was answering the math sheets, or on the stage, all the way to the end. Her presence made a huge difference.
  5. She taught me to share
    Every family has a different relationship with money. Ours had been one where we didn’t have that much to waste any of it, but also that it was imperative to share and help others when we can. As a child, I have observed her be responsible with every Rupiah that she has, she would note her expenses down and all before the age of excel or apps—but she also never hesitated to share. Whenever we have a little more rezeki, she would allocate ahead for different members of the family. It’s how I knew gift giving was her primary love language. She was always full of gratitude whenever I bought her things—not because she was materialistic, but because she understood the effort that goes into it.

Above anything else, I learned the importance of being consistent. In learning, in being self-reliant, in worship, in working hard, and in sharing. Way before James Clear, my grandmother taught me how creating systems and habits made all the difference. She would know exactly where things are stored and made sure that we put everything back. She always wakes up early, and had a whole routine every single day.

She was the matriarch we all respect, look up to, and love.

I miss you her much, to the extent that I badly hope the afterlife is real because I really want to hug you and kiss your forehead again.

At the risk of sounding ultra cliche, I know that she will live on in our hearts. I know that every now and then, I will ask myself, “What would Eyang do?”

Happy birthday lagi, Eyang sayang. I hope I have done you proud.

by Afutami

Why I said ‘yes’

This is not a love letter to my groom-to-be per se (sorry to disappoint), but I write this mainly as a reminder to you—my future, overthinking, ever-anxious self—of why. Of what went on in your head when you made this call. Because it’s one thing to love someone, but a whole other level to commit to a marriage. I know us too well to guarantee that you’re going to have doubts and second-guess your own decision (perhaps because we did it once, and now we’re a lot more risk-averse). So let me tell you this—your expansive brain would again run around to different corners, dark and light, playing and replaying scenarios of the best and the worst things that could happen, but in the end, you’d come to the same conclusion: that it only makes sense to be with him. No matter how many times we do this.

(Unless of course you’re presented with new data points that fundamentally changes the outcome, we’re too Bayesian to ignore that.)


So here are five reasons why—hold on to them whenever that fear comes to visit:

  1. You were both whole before you met each other. He wasn’t looking for someone to fix his life, and neither were you. You and he are only doing this because you both genuinely believe that being together makes it possible for you to go farther than you would on your own (even though that would’ve probably been fine, too). You weren’t under any pressure to get married and therefore could walk away at any time in the relationship, yet you both choose to be together and for the right reasons.
  2. You’re fundamentally compatible. Things that other people find difficult about the two of you are what you enjoy about each other. Your shared ‘logic base’ a.k.a. the ‘container’, makes it not only easy but also rewarding for you to think things through, even when the ‘content’ a.k.a. our interests in life tend to vary. On Day 5, he made an excel sheet to score himself against your random list of 60+ criteria you want from a partner and passed with flying colors. (Not to mention all the scary similarities we share—down to Di Pematang and Anugerah yang Indah.) On Day 6, both of you spent three hours in the most beautiful braindance you’ve ever done with anyone and come up with a whole framework just because you disagreed with how people thought you were moving ‘too fast’. On Day 25, he told your friends your overthinking was actually what he loved about you (although he had yet to understand the full extent of it haha). You have to really make an effort if you want to offend each other. Being with him is easy because you could talk about anything—menial and principal, you never had to translate your soul, not really. You never had to perform, but you allow the space for ‘mutual impact’ and for the other person to grow individually—all the while growing together.
  3. You have the toolbox to overcome anything. Even when things go awry—as they have, and they will again—the two of you have what it takes to deal with them. Your superpower is in how you communicate: you take turns in being grounded when the other person’s triggered, and on rare occasions when you both were, you love each other too much to try your best to be the one staying on the ground. He told you he never had to be a different person even when you’re emotional—he could say what he means and it is precisely his reasoning that fixes the problem (which sometimes ended up making things worse for others). Is this what they mean when they say, being with the wrong person would make small problems big, yet with him, even the biggest problems seem chewable? On Month 1, he kept you calm through something that otherwise would’ve panicked you big time. You don’t always agree on everything, and this is the part that bothers you the most, but as he would always remind you—you could just talk it through. And the two of you have talked through a lot of things, you know you’re pretty good at it. Through every fight, he knows that it’s never the two of you against each other, but it’s the two of you against the problem. You love how you always resolve your fights, and hopefully, the record will stay this way.
  4. You make an effing great team. You’re both terrific problem solvers—when you think about how life gets so messy sometimes, it calms you to know that he’s got your back, and you hope that he knows you got his. No matter what. Professionally—which is not why you’re doing this, but also something important to both of you independently—you have complementary skillsets: he knows many things that are in your blind spots, and you his. He taught you about things you never thought about, and you’d like to think that he learns a thing or two from you. You love how you would strategize together you before going into a battle, how you both provide a safe space (the ‘castle’) for each other before you leave to your respective wars.
  5. He loves you the way you want to be loved. You know how other men have told you they loved you before and you always had a hard time believing them? You haven’t quite figured out why, but when he tells you this, you believe him. Maybe because you feel that he understands you. Maybe because he loves you as a verb, the way you want to be loved. How he protects you, takes care of you (especially when you’re sick), builds you up (though also teases you down, sigh), how the look in his brown eyes makes you feel seen. You hope that he knows that you love him so much too, even on the days that it was difficult to.

More importantly, you’re a much better partner now—more self-aware of your own issues and baggage, more compassionate about your and others’s struggle. You have significantly evolved from the first time you said yes. You’re still not a perfect partner by far, but for now, you’re pretty convinced that this relationship/partnership/soon-to-be-marriage is important enough for the two of you that you will put all the work necessary into it. It will not always be easy and rosy, but as long as we commit to always learning (about and from each other) and growing, things will work out in the end.

TL;DR; because maybe—just maybe—we have what it takes. Bismillah.

by Afutami

A full-course meal that is 2022

I genuinely thought I was done with 2022 when the year abruptly turned itself around.

On November 23, I posted a reel (“And with that, the 2022 season comes to an end…“) concluding the year to be that of family, friendship, community, celebrations, explorations, and self-acceptance—all orbiting a core defined by losing Eyang.

On November 26, little did I know, I met someone who thoroughly reoriented the rest of the year, like a sonata selfishly engulfing the rest of the song.

I knew that 2022 was supposed to teach me about how sorrow and joy could co-exist—almost reinforcing each other even—but man I had no idea that a whole other level of happiness existed before you. There’s no way I could have anticipated finding this much comfort again, not after all the pain and loneliness I’ve familiarized myself with lately.

In Brief Answers to the Big Questions, Hawking talked about how the positive energy yielded out of The Big Bang is inseparable from the negative energy dispersed throughout the universe. The former could not have existed without the latter.

I’d like to think that your existence is the culmination of every bit of misery I’ve ever had to go through before this point, because how else could I deserve this overflowing sense of contentment?

(In my head, you would say that I deserve all this and more.)

Writing this is a conscious effort to remind myself that this year has been that of a full-course meal, no matter how much more convenient it is to focus on how it’s ending. The journey was kicked off by Sorrow, followed immediately by Wonder, and finished with Joy—so, so, so much Joy.

First Course: Sorrow

I thought I have mastered the art of losing in 2021—but it was dwarfed by what I experienced this year. The universe seemed committed to making sure I did not have a half-baked lesson and let me experience an even deeper loss, that of the woman I love the most in the world. A loss that floored my entire being and completely changed the way I looked at the world.

If you’ve never had a significant other passing away, please know that no matter how prepared you think you were, you could never really be ready for it. The first time I entertained a real possibility of not seeing Eyang in her green room at my parents’ again, I cried so hard I had to gasp for air. Then when Mamah called me at 6AM in the morning, saying that Eyang finally took her last breath after four months of intensely fighting against her failing kidneys, all I could do was sit in silence. When I finally saw her again, all wrapped in white kafan, all I wanted to do was hug and kiss her forehead for one last time, knowing how much I will miss doing that forever. As they slowly lowered her into the ground, all that’s left was peace, imagining her smiling face of reuniting with her beloved husband and daughter again.

Today, seven months later, she is still on top of my phone’s ‘favorite call’ shortcut. I badly miss our weekly calls, her voice when she picks up my call saying “Assalamualaikooommm”, asking me about my latest work trip, me wishing I could take her around if she wasn’t bound to her bed. I miss how she would joke that my jodoh would be both handsome and rich, and how she would brag about me to all of our relatives.

It helps to think that she continues to live in all of our memories, remember how she’d led a full life, and try living by her values every day. I am grateful to find the rest of the family (Mom, Papah, Pap, Mamah, Kakak, Dede, Cici) ever more resilient after going through that together.

Alfatihah untuk Eyang—we all love and miss you so dearly.

Second Course: Wonder

After over two years of staying put at home, 2022 is also a year of (re)discoveries: making new friends, delving into new hobbies, bathing in new forests, strolling through new cities, and accomplishing a major dream.

  • Opening myself up to new friendships has been one of the most rewarding things this year; met a few souls whom I will treasure for a really long time (if not life). The kind that inspires you, that will stick around during bad times (including when you fall sick), that made you grateful it happened instead of fearing that it won’t last forever.
  • I let Dinar drag me to new activities—did muay thai a bunch and was pleasantly surprised to find how my body reacted to beat and music. It turns out I enjoy learning dance moves and didn’t mind that I looked silly while doing it. The dopamine rush that followed was pretty great, too. I happened to also unlock a new capacity to fully appreciate good meals (‘living to eat’ from ‘eating to live’), coached by Florida.
  • Reconnecting with nature has fulfilled my soul. Spending time in the forests (or beaches, alternatively) of Sumatra, Java, Bali, and Lombok has given me that singular feeling of being connected with Mother Earth is something I will always yearn for. It’s the year I finally understand that ‘grounding’ myself (in a literal sense) is a necessity for my being, a reminder of why I do what I do.
  • On the flip side, I have marveled over what humanity has been able to achieve—particularly in Madrid and Seoul. Learning the histories of their people, taking pauses to appreciate art—the peace that comes with being a nobody in a whole new city was one of a kind, a privilege that I never want to take for granted. Vaguely in between all of that, I tasted the fleeting feelings of belonging.
  • Finally, after quite the delay, Menjadi got published. Putting on a new onion layer as an author, having all of my good friends at the launch party, and traveling around to discuss the book have brought me some serious wonderful feelings. I’d love to tell my 13 year old self that she’s doing alright—accomplishing her dream(s), one at a time.

I hope to do more of all of the above next year (including a possible second book?).

Third Course: Joy

[Enter: you.]

You should know that we met at a point when I was done with wanting to be with someone. I was perfectly happy alone; you told me that you were, too. Neither of us expected to walk down a road that leads us here. (Read: nggak jelas banget anjir kamu tiba-tiba muncul entah dari mana mendadak bikin kesengsem dan butuh ketemu tiap hari.)

When people asked us how it started, we would tell them about the dog park. We were temen seangkatan di kampus who somehow reconnected. But I think it started all the way back—it might have even started the days we were born. The scarily similar families we ended up with, where we’re both firstborns with two younger siblings from the opposite gender. Where both our parents decided to call us ‘Dit’ at home and gloriously combined their names as our middle names. The separate but parallel journeys we took that led to the way we think today (gimana ceritanya we both decided to give ourselves a new name made out of the acronym of our full names, or started a business as teenagers, or bought properties just five minutes away from each other in the same year).

When people asked us why, we would tell them how it just makes sense. But I think it also doesn’t make sense how you tick practically everything on my kriteria mangga list. I never dared to think that the imaginary person I created in my head existed, and yet here you are. It is pretty crazy to think how many telepathic moments we had, how you help me with what I actually need not just what’s expected, quite unreal that you often just knew what I was thinking before I said anything.

When my friends told you that I’m difficult, you would tell them that being with me has been the easiest, most natural thing to do. For me, falling is easy when you responded “She overcomplicates things.” with, “That’s actually what I love about her.” Falling is easy when you’re a fierce problem solver—from daily mineal things to bigger, more consequential decisions. Falling is easy when you bring focus to my chaos, clarity to my anxiety, and calm to my worries. Falling is easy when you cooked me fried ox brain ‘just because’ or serenaded me on the piano in the morning. Falling is easy when being with each other’s families immediately felt familiar.

When our friends reminded us that this might just be a honeymoon phase, we would tell them that we are perfectly aware of it. But we also couldn’t deny this is no ordinary ‘honeymoon phase’ by far. I never felt this strongly about anyone, not in the first month of getting to know each other. I never gravitated towards another person this much; I typically would have needed to ‘use the restroom’ during dates just to get a break from hanging out with someone. With you, it still feels like I haven’t had enough, even after spending a whole week together. The intensity, passion, and overflowing joy has been unparalleled.

When our parents would (eventually) ask us when, we would tell them that we are taking our time. Because there is no shortcut to test endurance. You haven’t seen me at my worst, and neither have I you. But to the extent that you have sat with me when I was confused, afraid, jealous, and angry, I am already convinced that you have what it takes. I’d like to think that I have been able to provide you that space to be vulnerable, too.

The fact that two careful people who weren’t ready to (re)commit with anyone else before couldn’t help but talking about forever—just weeks after getting to know each other—is rather unusual, to say the least.

It’s weird how the year started with me crying a lot, and ended with me smiling ear to ear almost every day. Never did I anticipate to find myself being able to be ridiculously in love again, after what I’ve been through.

But that’s life, I guess: nothing’s quite permanent, including this state of happiness. The only thing left to do is to cherish it while it lasts.

by Afutami

The thing about loneliness

I see the irony, all right.

This post was written out of a cafe at the heart of bustling South Jakarta. To my left is a case of youth camaraderie—it was someone’s birthday so there was a (white and pink) cake involved. To my right, are two female best friends giggling while taking each other’s picture just because. Oh, buzzing friendships. Sparks of connection.

For a brief moment, from where I sat, it seemed like there was no such thing as loneliness. But of course there is, because how else would you explain this growing, hollowing feeling inside my chest?

What I know for sure is that it has nothing to do with being alone.

I have loved spending time with myself since I was a little kid. I would always prefer to be left alone with my Kumpulan Cerpen/Dongeng Majalah Bobo than playing with my friends. Growing up, I spent a lot of time being inside my head and was never scared of it. It’s when I am alone that I could be free, exploring every single corner of my mind. A healthy dose of being alone fulfills my soul.

So, is it a byproduct of rejection(s)?

Is it possible that, as a child, I was wholly and utterly protected by my parents’ love, that I thought of the world as this ever-accepting place? Then adulting hits: the inevitability of making mistakes that hurt others, who sometimes forgive, but other times leave. It often means wanting to be with someone(s) who may not see you the way you see them. Who chooses—or is forced—to not be with you. It’s discovering that people have expectations that you do not always meet.

Each time that happens, my heart’s corner chips away, bit by bit, perhaps slowly taking into a whole new shape that fits better with solitude.

Don’t get me wrong. I know we will never be able to please everyone—even ice cream can’t do that. But it does not necessarily mean that I don’t feel a pang of pain after each ‘no’; some cut deeper than others. Not to mention the losses that happened beyond our control: the deaths that took our beloved away.

Ultimately these things lead me to the sobering awareness that during those times I went into my cave of solitude, the world is not always there with open arms when I got out of it. At some point, the cave might have stopped being an option and started becoming an unescapable dead end.

Not having a constant—someone or something to go home to, to belong to—kind of puts the nail in the coffin.

As a child, my first constant was of course my parents and brothers, even today, I know that they will always be there, and I am forever grateful for that. When I entered my teenage years, it became my friends at school and university. Then it became work, what I thought was a lifetime of craft that I love. Then it became, of course, my ex-husband. But since last year, I don’t quite have anything. I was suddenly untethered. Afloat, with no anchor to ground me.

Maybe I lost faith that I could ever belong to anything ever again. Or maybe I’ve gotten too acquainted with the hurt that comes with it.

Now I live in an oscillating state of being afraid—both of belonging and of not belonging.

What will come after this? It feels overwhelming just to hypothesize.

[Just to clarify: it’s not like I don’t have friends who are there for me, whom I cherish and appreciate. But the kind of loneliness I’m talking about runs deeper than just lack of (even really great) companionship.]

Here’s a prescription that a wise friend gave me:

  1. Embrace loneliness as an inseparable part of being. Maybe, just maybe, loneliness has always been sitting there in the corner of your heart (we were born alone after all). It’s just that only as adults do we have the courage, or maybe mental space, to observe and acknowledge it.
  2. Do not take connection with someone for granted, celebrate even the most impermanent/short-lived ones. Once we accept the above, we will see the beauty in those rare moments of being understood. We will treasure those relationships—romantic or otherwise—as memories that make life worth living. When they end, do not resent them, but be grateful that you got to experience them.
  3. Find that constant within you. While everyone would come into and out of your life as they please, know that you could always count on yourself. We have been conditioned, through fairy tales, that we were supposed to find that someone-ever-after, who will complete our soul and being. Speaking from experience, you certainly could still feel lonely while being with someone. Heck, you might be sharing a bed with them and still feel unseen. So here’s to appreciating yourself for being there for you.
  4. That said, let others in, still. Give chance for that spark and connection to happen. I know that putting a heart on your sleeve is scary because you will find yourself hurt. But it’s the only way to make life worth living—by giving friendship, or any other kind of relationship, a shot. You will bleed, from time to time, but every once in a blue moon, you will come out victorious, and it will all be worth it.

Thank you for making my lonely world a little less lonely by reading this. I love you guys so much.

Wijaya IX, 16 Oct 2022