her and this space

It must have been almost more than half a decade ago, the last time I shared my thoughts in a written form on a personal blog. I was 16 when I started my first personal blog, and during the span of it I have made some friends/colleagues through it. At that time, by immersing myself in the net world, I believe that I found an escape from my unpleasant high school life.

I was around 20 years old when I stopped writing on the blog. I was in college at that time, studying Law, and my days were either spent catching on a lot of reading materials, writing papers for assignment or working on group projects aside from catching up with social obligations to mingle with my peers.

Surely, without noticing it, I have put my writing habit in the back-burner.

But even back when my blog was still active, I have never elaborated my thoughts in a writing which exceeds 250 words per post. Fiction was more comfortable to write for me. Telling an imaginary story from a fictional character’s perspective on things was way more easier and fun. Telling the reality of my own life or my thoughts, especially in detail, is something I was eager to avoid.

Something had sparked me to try, this time. It was week ago, when one conversation with a colleague took an interesting turn. We talked about writing and literature mostly, also how I used to write a lot and how there was a time when my writing was eloquent enough to be published. We also proceeded to talk about some of our personal view in regards of some issues.

And thus became a single, yet somehow passing, event which inspires me to think about it further.

Why did I stop writing? Why do my occupation stops me from writing again? Should I write again to sort my thoughts into words?

I did put my thoughts into words, see, I’ve been keeping a journal right beside me so that I can dispense how I feel into it. Yet, when I re-read it, I noticed how what I’ve written down in that journal was some incoherent words that came first into my mind when I experienced something. It’s practically nonsense.

Such thing can be proof that the way my mind works when they process a single event can be quite erratic, as I can feel a lot of emotion and experience so many thoughts while I take an extended period of time to evaluate how I think and feel about said event. What helped me at that time, after the talk with my colleague, was a silent car ride through Jakarta’s horrendous traffic to sort my erratic train of thoughts into a coherent contemplation and also a conversation via instant messaging platform with a friend later on, further helped me to sort some of my thoughts into an actionable objective.

I decided that I should write down my thoughts, in a coherent manner, especially when it may help me to sort how I feel and how I should react in regards of some events that have happened or may happen in my life.

I deemed that a personal blog should be a suitable medium for doing this compared to other mediums. Except for the fact that I’m more familiar with this medium, I chose it for other reasons also. I personally perceive that a personal blog is a medium that has the smallest chance to limit me from elaborating my perspective due to various reasons, including limitation of character counts or the fact that there is no covert necessity to keep a certain facade of me to people who may not be bothered enough to read the extent of my thoughts.

John Berger wrote in his book titled ‘Way of Seeing’ in which I derived the title of this blog from:

Yet, although every image embodies a way of seeing, our perception or appreciation of an image depends also upon our way of seeing.

When I read that, something clicked because I finally figured out how I shall exploit this space. I decided that, my personal perspective on things shall be the main theme of this space I created. The way I perceive things, the way I see things. I created this space solely to let this space to be my safe space to speak out my thoughts, even if some of it may be deemed as peculiar, I want to write down my thoughts regarding those things.

No matter how mundane my thoughts may be, or how peculiar my perception of certain topics, all of those things mattered and it would be written down in here, this space.

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her necessity to wait

This morning, I scrolled up the photo gallery in my cellphone to pass time. I found something that I have kept there for months, in the beginning of all these.

“everything, in time”

In the beginning of all these, when all the urge I have is to know the answer to the signs I have received, I posted this quote on Instagram. I think I found it on my tumblr likes tab from several years ago. Nevertheless, it worked well as a self-reminder. It helped me acknowledged things that has happened to me so far, and thus I took a step back, reanalyses everything and more importantly, myself.

It took me a long while to actually embraces the meaning of the word ‘patience’. Including acknowledging that such word means something much more than what I have been taught to by my mother.

When I was a kid — even until I was well in my early twenties, I thought that the word patience means something similar to an action: enduring in silence. I hated it tremendously. I hated to be patient, and I also hated the concept of patience. I asked to myself at the time ‘Why do I have to be patient when I endure something that does not seem fair? Why do I need patience to survive in this world when I can do otherwise and just do things when it’s supposed to be done? I mean if I want to achieve something, the earlier I do it, the better, right?’

Yes, it was a childish and shallow thought.

It’s not until when I was in my mid-twenties, that once during a weekend afternoon with my mother I blurted this out to her, “Patience apparently means something more, huh?”. She glanced at me in response, my earlier statement doesn’t seem to faze her a bit. I think she’s already used to her child spurting things out of nowhere, jumping from one topics to others. When she asked ‘ho?’, I went silent for a bit, collecting thoughts in my head so I could form it into a coherent sentences, then I began to open my mouth.

“It’s not about the act itself, per se,” By an act, I meant an act of patience as I perceived it to be: enduring in silence. “More of than not, it’s just, to patiently wait until an opportunity presents itself. Because not all things is given to you the second you want it, right?” I stared at my mother as I searched for a visual confirmation in her expression only to find none.  “And in the midst of the waiting process, the act of patience itself is necessary. Though one should still continue to better oneself so when we are presented by the opportunity, so that we become a much better person to receive and act on that opportunity.”

I feel like, as a human and as I’ve lived in this fast-paced city, more often than not, I — we tend to rush. We rush our way to get there. To reach, to achieve. Or in my case, to grasp something that has been unattainable for me for quite some time now. As time passes by however, I got better in doing it — embracing the idea of patience itself to the point that it’s necessary for me to wait things out, as to let it occur naturally before grabbing onto it.

Recently I realise, things will occur at the right moment for one. It may not be the right moment for everyone but it will be for you, and you will realise, there is no urgency to rush. It’s okay to wait things up, to let it steam a little bit and to let the universe fixed it before you grab unto it. So long as when the chance do truly come, you grab onto it tightly, as if your life depended on it and when the learning process has finished, one should be able to let it go.

I know that there is a lot of life to experience, and that I will experience each of it eventually. I do not have to be scared in running out of time nor have I to be scared not experiencing something before my time is up. The chance will come naturally and when it does, remember to no longer let it slip away.

the bottles inside her cupboard is breaking

distraction.

you know that it may not be the best way to cope with your overwhelming emotions.

yet you do it out of spite anyway.

 

is this a toxic way to cope?

you don’t have the answer to that

is it?

 

you keep suppressing it all down. put it in a bottle, screw the lid tightly every time you store it inside your shelf.  until it can no longer fit in the cupboard of thoughts you own anymore.

 

then everything breaks.

(you cried. in your bedroom.

wailing.)

or

(you screamed out your ugly thoughts,

loudly.)

 

then when it’s done you stared at yourself. surge of hatred and regrets washed all over you.

you keep doing it anyway.

 

 

then you mutter ugly words to yourself,

that even strangers can listen.

 

 

(Jakarta, 2018)

 

 

 

her and depression

I have been suffering from depression.

And it’s not pretty.

 

I feel like my life has been a continuous struggle and repetitions of pain amidst momentary happiness. Depression continues to shadow me in the dark corner of every turn I take in life. Having struggled with it, there are beautiful days when I feel as if I can conquer whatever life throws at me, and there are also horrendous days when I don’t even want to wake up from bed for no reason other than being overwhelmingly sad with a pinch of anxiety added to it.

Those kind of feelings do dissipate. Thank you, regular therapy sessions. Although I believe, it’s not entirely gone.

 

I still relapse from time to time.

 

The worst phase of my depression took things away from me, precious things I once had treasured. It took away my delight upon doing things I once had considered as my solace. The worst of all, it took time itself from me, time which I could have used to learn and to improve myself.

Yet, when I’ve learnt how to manage my depression, I noticed that my depression has also given me thing I never realised I needed, such as self-awareness and self-love.

It’s not until later when I realised that what happened to me was life. Life may took things away from youfor awhilebefore they return what it has taken away, tenfold of what it was, alongside lessons to be learned.

Then, am I at peace now?

No. Not yet. Still, I know that I’m working continuously towards it. Every day, no matter how many little inches of progress I have made, I know that I’m progressing towards my own version of peace and happiness.

And maybe, that is enough reason for me to continue living.