People, precisely because they're people with their imperfections, will get you (me) down at certain points in life. And since we live in an imperfect society with a million different social and historical baggage, it's hardly surprising how people can easily make you (me) feel bad about your (my) own life.
The point is: words can hurt if you let them. Also, don't forget that your biggest critic is probably yourself.
Saturday, September 30, 2017
Sunday, April 16, 2017
Post annoying social event
I'm increasingly aware that the older I get, the more socially awkward I am. I don't like crowds (anymore); I don't like going to social gathering of not-so-close people (anymore); I dislike people (even more) except for a handful that I call friends and vice versa; I get super anxious when I feel I have done something socially unacceptable.
I remember when I was in my early 20s, I loved going out and hanging out with random people; strangers even. I didn't have any huge social anxiety or anything like that. I was confident and very very social. And now a decade later, I just don't have the appetite to socialise anymore. Not only now I don't live in my native country, I also don't really speak the local language. A lot of "expats" here moan about social exclusion; they don't have friends, they don't speak the language, etc. that limits their social life. I moan about how I probably need to learn to socially integrate and *gasp* have a social life. I'm not saying that I actively stop myself from making new friends; on the contrary, I have a few (new-ish) friends here in this strange country and I like them and I don't feel I need more. Is that wrong?
This state of being annoyed by stuff that I can't really define is probably because I'm unconsciously trying to do what is socially acceptable, instead of trying to do what makes me comfortable. If I don't want to go to a party, then I can and who cares what whoever thinks. And this should be a conscious decision, instead of driven by a fear of social backlash. I think my Indonesian-ness is heavily ingrained that I oftentimes just completely forget that it's there and has become my mode of operating. I need to learn that it is okay to say no, sorry, I rather stay home, than dragging myself to a thing that eventually will just make me feel miserable just because that's the acceptable thing to do.
TL;DR I like animals better. They don't make me feel awkward. Ever.
I remember when I was in my early 20s, I loved going out and hanging out with random people; strangers even. I didn't have any huge social anxiety or anything like that. I was confident and very very social. And now a decade later, I just don't have the appetite to socialise anymore. Not only now I don't live in my native country, I also don't really speak the local language. A lot of "expats" here moan about social exclusion; they don't have friends, they don't speak the language, etc. that limits their social life. I moan about how I probably need to learn to socially integrate and *gasp* have a social life. I'm not saying that I actively stop myself from making new friends; on the contrary, I have a few (new-ish) friends here in this strange country and I like them and I don't feel I need more. Is that wrong?
This state of being annoyed by stuff that I can't really define is probably because I'm unconsciously trying to do what is socially acceptable, instead of trying to do what makes me comfortable. If I don't want to go to a party, then I can and who cares what whoever thinks. And this should be a conscious decision, instead of driven by a fear of social backlash. I think my Indonesian-ness is heavily ingrained that I oftentimes just completely forget that it's there and has become my mode of operating. I need to learn that it is okay to say no, sorry, I rather stay home, than dragging myself to a thing that eventually will just make me feel miserable just because that's the acceptable thing to do.
TL;DR I like animals better. They don't make me feel awkward. Ever.
Thursday, April 7, 2016
About what is "lucky" and what is "hard effort"
I've migrated to the Netherlands in December 2015. So it's only been 5 months since then. In those 5 months, a lot of things happened. One of them was the start of the permit application, which involved us hiring a lawyer to sort things out. It cost money, time and just a lot of effort. Not to mention the other things that we had done (and paid) before we found out that we should get a lawyer to deal with the immigration instead of doing it ourselves. Long story short: it has been complicated and expensive. Oh, did I mention "long"? The process is still on-going and I still haven't got any permit to live here permanently.
And then I got told by someone that I am lucky to be able to live here. At that time I was too flabbergasted to give a quick smart retort to that statement, but the next day I thought about it and it really pissed me off. So far, there's no "luck" involved in our effort in getting me migrated and settled here permanently. It's all hard effort and a lot of money (that also came from hard effort). We didn't get chosen by the Dutch government and given a free living permit. That would be "lucky". No, we have to go through all the bullshit like everyone else who wants to migrate to this country. We're fortunate because I didn't come from a war-torn country or that I had to migrate because some people wanted to kill me. I am lucky in that sense.
A lot of people (in some countries, not gonna point finger) are saying "we only accept legal immigrants!" "refuse them if they enter illegally!" and so on, without really understanding how it is still bloody difficult to get in legally. It's never a straight forward process in ANY country. Especially if you're coming from a developing country and trying to get into a developed country. Some people even asked me, "Doesn't the Dutch government give special conditions for Indonesians to migrate here because... well, you know, what the Dutch did to your country back then?" which is an understandable question. Like, yeah, why don't they give special conditions for Indonesians, considering they had killed and pillaged and enslaved many people in the Nusantara back then? Well, sadly, the answer is no, the Dutch government doesn't give any special treatment just because I'm an Indonesian. Everyone needs to go through the same procedure.
And that's fine, because that's just the way things are. But don't tell me that I should feel lucky.
And then I thought, how terrible it is for refugees who struggled so much to stay alive to come to a country and got told they should feel lucky and therefore they should not be asking too much, for goodness sake! Screw that. I agree that any country should have a solid plan when they're taking refugees in and not just do it only for the sake of doing it because we're talking about the welfare of everyone, both the host country's citizen and refugees. That requires a lot of planning and also the cooperation of the community. I'm not suggesting that every country should just open their doors and let people in without any real plan on how to make that work in the long term. But that's why you have a government, no? To think about this kind of thing.
I think the Dutch government, when it comes to refugees, is dealing with the issue a bit better than its neighbouring countries. Although, we need to wait a bit longer to see the real results.
It's not easy to uproot yourself, and therefore, no one should take that for granted.
And then I got told by someone that I am lucky to be able to live here. At that time I was too flabbergasted to give a quick smart retort to that statement, but the next day I thought about it and it really pissed me off. So far, there's no "luck" involved in our effort in getting me migrated and settled here permanently. It's all hard effort and a lot of money (that also came from hard effort). We didn't get chosen by the Dutch government and given a free living permit. That would be "lucky". No, we have to go through all the bullshit like everyone else who wants to migrate to this country. We're fortunate because I didn't come from a war-torn country or that I had to migrate because some people wanted to kill me. I am lucky in that sense.
A lot of people (in some countries, not gonna point finger) are saying "we only accept legal immigrants!" "refuse them if they enter illegally!" and so on, without really understanding how it is still bloody difficult to get in legally. It's never a straight forward process in ANY country. Especially if you're coming from a developing country and trying to get into a developed country. Some people even asked me, "Doesn't the Dutch government give special conditions for Indonesians to migrate here because... well, you know, what the Dutch did to your country back then?" which is an understandable question. Like, yeah, why don't they give special conditions for Indonesians, considering they had killed and pillaged and enslaved many people in the Nusantara back then? Well, sadly, the answer is no, the Dutch government doesn't give any special treatment just because I'm an Indonesian. Everyone needs to go through the same procedure.
And that's fine, because that's just the way things are. But don't tell me that I should feel lucky.
And then I thought, how terrible it is for refugees who struggled so much to stay alive to come to a country and got told they should feel lucky and therefore they should not be asking too much, for goodness sake! Screw that. I agree that any country should have a solid plan when they're taking refugees in and not just do it only for the sake of doing it because we're talking about the welfare of everyone, both the host country's citizen and refugees. That requires a lot of planning and also the cooperation of the community. I'm not suggesting that every country should just open their doors and let people in without any real plan on how to make that work in the long term. But that's why you have a government, no? To think about this kind of thing.
I think the Dutch government, when it comes to refugees, is dealing with the issue a bit better than its neighbouring countries. Although, we need to wait a bit longer to see the real results.
It's not easy to uproot yourself, and therefore, no one should take that for granted.
Friday, March 18, 2016
The Perks of LDR, or Having Space is Really Great!
Long-distance relationship has its own perks. It's space. The infinite amount of space, regardless how far or close you are geographically. It doesn't matter whether you're 14,000 miles or just 3 hours-drive away, you will still have that amazing space between you and your partner. Of course, as with almost anything and everything in life, it might act as a double-edged sword. It might hurt or help you.
In the case of helping the relationship, with long-distance relationship you don't need to have a mental space, which I personally think is harder to conjure than just acknowledging the physical space. When you are in close proximity with you partner, you don't get to run away when you need some space. You have to create the mental space in your head and that, I found, requires a massive effort. Especially if said partner is in the same room, breathing too loudly or something like that.
Space and distance can also help one to focus on what actually matters, instead of the emotional side of things. When you're too close to the subject that is pissing you off or driving you mental, you can't (easily) think, okay I want to scream at this person now but I won't because it's not productive or nice. It will take a longer time for you to calm down and start processing things more objectively. When you have the distance and the space with it, you can just turn off your computer (or phone) assuming you're up-to-date with the latest technology and not relying on letters (can't even remember the last time I wrote an actual letter to someone), and then get the contemplation going. Or, alternatively, you can just go out and see your friends and have a laugh, feel better and go back home, with a full realisation that you won't even have to see the subject of your annoyance at least until a couple of days.
Relationship is tricky. Talking about cliches and boring statements. It's like trying to have a domestic scale of an UN assembly, constantly trying to work together despite the differences. In my case, it's even more similar because I don't share historical or cultural background with my partner. We're from a completely different culture and family. It is cultural shock, but it is also relationship shock--transitioning from long-distance to no-distance.
I might sound a bit ungrateful now considering a lot of couples in long-distance relationships would just do almost anything to be together and eliminate the distance. I'm not ungrateful, though. In fact, writing this reminded me that I (well, we) need to concentrate on being better. Maintaining a long-distance relationship is hard work, but then again, maintaining any relationship is hard work. Which is why I think it's worth living for.
In the case of helping the relationship, with long-distance relationship you don't need to have a mental space, which I personally think is harder to conjure than just acknowledging the physical space. When you are in close proximity with you partner, you don't get to run away when you need some space. You have to create the mental space in your head and that, I found, requires a massive effort. Especially if said partner is in the same room, breathing too loudly or something like that.
Space and distance can also help one to focus on what actually matters, instead of the emotional side of things. When you're too close to the subject that is pissing you off or driving you mental, you can't (easily) think, okay I want to scream at this person now but I won't because it's not productive or nice. It will take a longer time for you to calm down and start processing things more objectively. When you have the distance and the space with it, you can just turn off your computer (or phone) assuming you're up-to-date with the latest technology and not relying on letters (can't even remember the last time I wrote an actual letter to someone), and then get the contemplation going. Or, alternatively, you can just go out and see your friends and have a laugh, feel better and go back home, with a full realisation that you won't even have to see the subject of your annoyance at least until a couple of days.
Relationship is tricky. Talking about cliches and boring statements. It's like trying to have a domestic scale of an UN assembly, constantly trying to work together despite the differences. In my case, it's even more similar because I don't share historical or cultural background with my partner. We're from a completely different culture and family. It is cultural shock, but it is also relationship shock--transitioning from long-distance to no-distance.
I might sound a bit ungrateful now considering a lot of couples in long-distance relationships would just do almost anything to be together and eliminate the distance. I'm not ungrateful, though. In fact, writing this reminded me that I (well, we) need to concentrate on being better. Maintaining a long-distance relationship is hard work, but then again, maintaining any relationship is hard work. Which is why I think it's worth living for.
Sunday, October 4, 2015
Let's write for your immune system!
A friend recently told me that writing about traumatic or upsetting events for a little as 20 minutes a day for only 3 days would boost your immune system for up to 6 weeks.
My reaction to that was, REALLY? Apparently there has been a research about it and my friend actually met the lead author of the research. I think it's safe for me to believe that he's not just trying to cheer me up. Come to think of it, I have actually done it. I was more productive in writing when I was upset, rather than when I was happy. I think most people share that trait. Most of my writer friends are very productive when they're in a crappy mood. And I have to say that after writing a long post or letter about an upsetting whatever, I would actually feel better (although generally the writing process itself didn't help me solving the problems).
I'm going through several processes at the moment. The main thing is my migration process. Now we are going to deal with the visa/living permit process and after 3 months, I'm going to leave this country. This is not a simple process and I haven't actually thought about the reaction from my family. So far, they have been acting like it's not a big deal and that I will come back home soon. I have mentioned the fact that I am not going to come back anytime soon (at least for 2 years), but it seems it fell on deaf ears (my mum's ears mostly). I'm sure when my visa is out and they realise that it's going to happen soon (like in a week's time or something silly like that), they'd start to fret. So far, my mum's concern is about my unmarried status. She thought by (actually) living the life that I have planned would not bring me closer to getting married. Little that she knows it has never been my priority. Actually, she knows that (because I've told her so many times) but she refuses to acknowledge that, as usual. My dad's concern is that I'm wasting my time. For him it's security and future savings and not much anything else when it comes to what-matters-in-life. So, again, the idea of living life the way I want it to be just doesn't seem appealing or responsible or unselfish.
Another thing happening now is the return of the prodigal son. Classic. My brother just returned from a 2-year master's degree abroad and he is still crashing at my parents' while his apartment is getting a makeover. Ever since he's back, it feels like it's 1995 again. But worse because he's older now and he feels he knows all the right things. I don't mind it as long as it doesn't involve me, but woe is me, because the little sister will always be the little sister, although she is 30 now.
I've been saying to myself: this will end in 3 months, and so far it helps. I still get upset and need to vent but most of the times the thought of finally starting a life that I have been dreaming all these years helps. It also helps when I have a partner that is constantly trying really hard to build what we would call home together. Recently I just found out (he kept it a secret until a few days ago) that we would be moving into a new house and it's houseboat! Living in a houseboat in Utrecht has been a thing that we both dreamed we would be doing. You should check this if you have no idea what I'm talking about (although ours is teeny tiny). So it is exciting and I am definitely looking forward to go back to Holland and have that healthy distance from any patronising advice.
Back to writing to increase the immune system: I think it's worth trying although it might not work for everyone. I can't say that I feel amazing now, but I can tell that I am less upset about what happened in the morning today. So, I guess it does work in some levels :)
Happy writing.
My reaction to that was, REALLY? Apparently there has been a research about it and my friend actually met the lead author of the research. I think it's safe for me to believe that he's not just trying to cheer me up. Come to think of it, I have actually done it. I was more productive in writing when I was upset, rather than when I was happy. I think most people share that trait. Most of my writer friends are very productive when they're in a crappy mood. And I have to say that after writing a long post or letter about an upsetting whatever, I would actually feel better (although generally the writing process itself didn't help me solving the problems).
I'm going through several processes at the moment. The main thing is my migration process. Now we are going to deal with the visa/living permit process and after 3 months, I'm going to leave this country. This is not a simple process and I haven't actually thought about the reaction from my family. So far, they have been acting like it's not a big deal and that I will come back home soon. I have mentioned the fact that I am not going to come back anytime soon (at least for 2 years), but it seems it fell on deaf ears (my mum's ears mostly). I'm sure when my visa is out and they realise that it's going to happen soon (like in a week's time or something silly like that), they'd start to fret. So far, my mum's concern is about my unmarried status. She thought by (actually) living the life that I have planned would not bring me closer to getting married. Little that she knows it has never been my priority. Actually, she knows that (because I've told her so many times) but she refuses to acknowledge that, as usual. My dad's concern is that I'm wasting my time. For him it's security and future savings and not much anything else when it comes to what-matters-in-life. So, again, the idea of living life the way I want it to be just doesn't seem appealing or responsible or unselfish.
Another thing happening now is the return of the prodigal son. Classic. My brother just returned from a 2-year master's degree abroad and he is still crashing at my parents' while his apartment is getting a makeover. Ever since he's back, it feels like it's 1995 again. But worse because he's older now and he feels he knows all the right things. I don't mind it as long as it doesn't involve me, but woe is me, because the little sister will always be the little sister, although she is 30 now.
I've been saying to myself: this will end in 3 months, and so far it helps. I still get upset and need to vent but most of the times the thought of finally starting a life that I have been dreaming all these years helps. It also helps when I have a partner that is constantly trying really hard to build what we would call home together. Recently I just found out (he kept it a secret until a few days ago) that we would be moving into a new house and it's houseboat! Living in a houseboat in Utrecht has been a thing that we both dreamed we would be doing. You should check this if you have no idea what I'm talking about (although ours is teeny tiny). So it is exciting and I am definitely looking forward to go back to Holland and have that healthy distance from any patronising advice.
Back to writing to increase the immune system: I think it's worth trying although it might not work for everyone. I can't say that I feel amazing now, but I can tell that I am less upset about what happened in the morning today. So, I guess it does work in some levels :)
Happy writing.
Friday, March 13, 2015
About Terry Pratchett
I read the news last night just before I went to bed. I immediately felt a part of what constructed my joy had gone away. I actually felt sad, and I am still sad by the news. It's strange to feel some kind of connection with someone whom I've never met and whom didn't even know that I exist in this world, connected through enjoying his works over the years.
I have fallen in love with Sam Vimes when I first read one of the Discworld books, and then found out that Pratchett had written a book with another favourite author, Neil Gaiman, in Good Omens. I remember I was in Singapore at that time so many years ago, trying to find some books to take back home to Indonesia. I'm glad that I found Good Omens. And I'm glad that my copy got borrowed by some friends, infecting them with both Pratchett and Gaiman.
I guess why I decided to write about this is because Pratchett's books have brought so much fun and delight in my life. His hilarious footnotes and characters (my second favourite character is Death) have never failed to amuse me. I turned to his books during the really dark period of my life and they had helped me. Maybe that's why I feel I have lost something although I don't know him personally. Maybe that's what every Pratchett's fan is feeling at the moment.
One good thing is that his work is still here. Some I have in my book case. Some I'm sure I will get in the near future. And this is something that I need to be grateful for. Thank you, Terry Pratchett. Rest in peace.
I have fallen in love with Sam Vimes when I first read one of the Discworld books, and then found out that Pratchett had written a book with another favourite author, Neil Gaiman, in Good Omens. I remember I was in Singapore at that time so many years ago, trying to find some books to take back home to Indonesia. I'm glad that I found Good Omens. And I'm glad that my copy got borrowed by some friends, infecting them with both Pratchett and Gaiman.
I guess why I decided to write about this is because Pratchett's books have brought so much fun and delight in my life. His hilarious footnotes and characters (my second favourite character is Death) have never failed to amuse me. I turned to his books during the really dark period of my life and they had helped me. Maybe that's why I feel I have lost something although I don't know him personally. Maybe that's what every Pratchett's fan is feeling at the moment.
One good thing is that his work is still here. Some I have in my book case. Some I'm sure I will get in the near future. And this is something that I need to be grateful for. Thank you, Terry Pratchett. Rest in peace.
Friday, February 27, 2015
A really short story (about darkness)
She thought
she had found the torch that would guide her through this long dark cave. She
had been lost in its never-ending maze for as long as she could remember. She
didn’t even know how she got in there at the first place. It felt like by the
time she could call back her memories, darkness and confusion were the only
things that beckoned to her voice. She sometimes imagined times when there was
more light and less confusion, but that time was no more than a short story;
the one that she told herself to soothe her tears as she tried to sleep in the
darkness.
She thought
she had found the torch, a source of light after years of darkness. She thought
wrong because no torch from outside would last long in her dark maze. She
somehow knew that she had to create her own light within (within what exactly?)
but failed to find out how. Oh, she thought, would it be just easier if she
stopped trying? Who had heard of this dark maze of hers anyway? Did she exist
before the dark maze? For she did not, what would be the point of trying to get
out of this? But her glimpse of light, her soothing story, stopped her from
giving up.
What was
the story? It was when she had the others, when she had things to consider
other than a dark endless maze. But they were so frail, so vague. Like a
snowflake that melted as soon as it touched your hot skin. She remembered there
were snowflakes. Or was that another story she invented in her muddled mind?
She thought
the torch had found her. If that did happen, she lost it and was lost again. For
now, it’s all darkness that was so thick she thought she would suffocate in it.
How she longed for something else than darkness. But would that possible if she
could not even trace any memories of non-darkness?
She knew
that this was all in her head. It was not real (really?). And she would one day
wake up in a bright room filled with the noises of early birds (would she?).
And that life, whatever that meant, would resume its pace.
If only
stories helped one found herself.
Friday, February 20, 2015
About silent treatment
Are you one of those people who will prefer to stay silent when you're upset with anyone? Yet, you have the ability to make your silence deafening, thus making whoever is on your list of silent wrath feels deeply uncomfortable.
I'm not one of those people. I'm actually the opposite. I will tell whomever that has pissed me off that they have, unfortunately, pissed me off for such and such reason(s). I don't "demand" apologies. A sincere one won't come after a demand. Anyway, I'm not the kind of person who will stay quiet if something is bothering me (which is why I have a blog).
What I think is the worst part of a silent treatment is that it is not silent at all. It is so loud that it penetrates my subconscious and gives new materials for my bad dream cycle. It's so disturbing that I can't ignore it. It's like you are waiting for something, and this something is likely going to be a bad news.
I know that some people choose to remain silent to avoid an argument, or to think that silence is a way to calm themselves before they have to say anything about the issue on the table. Perhaps that's true. I hope it's true. I hope it's not a way to mentally torture other people and kick them to the pit of guilt and shame.
I'm not one of those people. I'm actually the opposite. I will tell whomever that has pissed me off that they have, unfortunately, pissed me off for such and such reason(s). I don't "demand" apologies. A sincere one won't come after a demand. Anyway, I'm not the kind of person who will stay quiet if something is bothering me (which is why I have a blog).
What I think is the worst part of a silent treatment is that it is not silent at all. It is so loud that it penetrates my subconscious and gives new materials for my bad dream cycle. It's so disturbing that I can't ignore it. It's like you are waiting for something, and this something is likely going to be a bad news.
I know that some people choose to remain silent to avoid an argument, or to think that silence is a way to calm themselves before they have to say anything about the issue on the table. Perhaps that's true. I hope it's true. I hope it's not a way to mentally torture other people and kick them to the pit of guilt and shame.
Monday, February 16, 2015
About drinking coffee again
I used to be a heavy coffee drinker. I would actually drink 4-5 cups a day, and they're always sweet and strong. I didn't use milk, because milk had always made me ill, even back when my lactose intolerance wasn't as bad as now. So, I used non-dairy creamer instead. Artificial. Good.
But then I stopped when my heartbeats were so mad in the afternoon after 2 or 3 cups, I thought my heart would burst. And my hands were starting to shake weirdly. That was in 2007. I didn't drink coffee after that. Maybe a sip or two if I was curious with all the sophisticated mixtures that the fancy cafes or coffee shops had from friends who were drinking them, but no more than that. I didn't even eat anything coffee-flavoured anymore. Instead, I drank tea. So much tea.
I met my boyfriend in 2013 and he drinks coffee regularly. And he likes Indonesian coffee (I mean, who doesn't?). So, he's more than excited when I visited and brought him two big bags of good Indonesian coffee. Sometimes, there would be a tiny bit of leftover from the coffee that my boyfriend made (or I made for him), and not wanting to waste good coffee, I would make a tiny cup for myself from the leftover. It was strange for my stomach at first, but then I got into the habit of sharing a pot with my boyfriend. Even when we ran out of Indonesian coffee and were forced to buy a local brand, I would still drink it together with him.
And now I'm back in Indonesia. Plenty of good coffee around with reasonable prices (don't try buying Indonesian coffee in Holland. It's ridiculous). So, now I have a new habit: making one tiny cup of coffee a day. It's not the coffee; it's the memory of sharing it.
But then I stopped when my heartbeats were so mad in the afternoon after 2 or 3 cups, I thought my heart would burst. And my hands were starting to shake weirdly. That was in 2007. I didn't drink coffee after that. Maybe a sip or two if I was curious with all the sophisticated mixtures that the fancy cafes or coffee shops had from friends who were drinking them, but no more than that. I didn't even eat anything coffee-flavoured anymore. Instead, I drank tea. So much tea.
I met my boyfriend in 2013 and he drinks coffee regularly. And he likes Indonesian coffee (I mean, who doesn't?). So, he's more than excited when I visited and brought him two big bags of good Indonesian coffee. Sometimes, there would be a tiny bit of leftover from the coffee that my boyfriend made (or I made for him), and not wanting to waste good coffee, I would make a tiny cup for myself from the leftover. It was strange for my stomach at first, but then I got into the habit of sharing a pot with my boyfriend. Even when we ran out of Indonesian coffee and were forced to buy a local brand, I would still drink it together with him.
And now I'm back in Indonesia. Plenty of good coffee around with reasonable prices (don't try buying Indonesian coffee in Holland. It's ridiculous). So, now I have a new habit: making one tiny cup of coffee a day. It's not the coffee; it's the memory of sharing it.
Friday, February 6, 2015
Literary hangover
Just a quick note: I just finished The Bone Clocks by David Mitchell. This is not a review of the book, as I am not articulated enough to write what I feel about it. However, if you are looking for a review, I will recommend one from The NewYorker. It mirrors what I feel (although it hardly matters what I think about this novel).
What I want to write about is that dreadful feeling after I have finished reading a book, particularly a fat one, like this novel. It does feel like a bad hangover, after pints and pints and pints of beer. And cigarettes. It was nice at the pub, but when you woke up on your bed, your head wanted to explode. It is a bit similar with reading a novel, I found. The journey from page 1 to page end is (was) exciting, but after I closed the back cover, I felt something was lost. Luckily, I don't have a severe headache after I finish reading. But, there's that similar feeling of emptiness.
I don't actually know why I often, if not all the time, feel like this. I guess I subconsciously created some sort of attachment with the story, characters and the process of reading when I started. And when the book ends, the attachment is severed. And maybe, that's why I feel a bit lost and empty. After all, reading means you are investing your time and mind in one particular thing for a certain period of time.
To end this short ramble, I will recommend this book, because regardless of what the review says (see above), David Mitchell is still an amazing storyteller.
What I want to write about is that dreadful feeling after I have finished reading a book, particularly a fat one, like this novel. It does feel like a bad hangover, after pints and pints and pints of beer. And cigarettes. It was nice at the pub, but when you woke up on your bed, your head wanted to explode. It is a bit similar with reading a novel, I found. The journey from page 1 to page end is (was) exciting, but after I closed the back cover, I felt something was lost. Luckily, I don't have a severe headache after I finish reading. But, there's that similar feeling of emptiness.
I don't actually know why I often, if not all the time, feel like this. I guess I subconsciously created some sort of attachment with the story, characters and the process of reading when I started. And when the book ends, the attachment is severed. And maybe, that's why I feel a bit lost and empty. After all, reading means you are investing your time and mind in one particular thing for a certain period of time.
To end this short ramble, I will recommend this book, because regardless of what the review says (see above), David Mitchell is still an amazing storyteller.
Friday, December 12, 2014
Dream Journal--05
A short one, this time. I haven't been able to sleep soundly for a couple of weeks now. Maybe my apparently-flat-now pillow contributes to that, or maybe it's because now it's officially winter. Short days and long nights. Kinda depressing when you feel lethargic all the time. Anyway, I woke up around 7 am and still felt really tired and the sky was still dark, I went back to sleep. And I had a strange dream.
The dream:
I was with my family. I couldn't recognise the house/building we were all in, but it seemed familiar, like a hotel at a holiday-destination somewhere. I felt incredible pain on/in one of my wisdom teeth: the left down one. I felt it was wobbly and I told my mum that there's something wrong with my tooth. I said, "I think the seal is broken, again. It feels loose." I touched my tooth and there's this sticky thing stuck to it, as if placing the tooth together.
The sticky thing started triggering my gagging reflex, so I tried to pull it out of my mouth. And I did, slowly, and every time I pulled a piece of it out, I felt the amazing pain in my tooth. When the last bit of the sticky thing was out, my gum was bleeding. A lot. I almost choked on my own blood. And to make things worse, I spat out a hard thing and I realised it was half of my wisdom tooth (that was being held together by the sticky stuff).
The tooth looked like a fossilied tooth from a dead dinosaur that you would see in any museum displaying fossils. It got some hair on it, though. And blood. Practically one of the grossest things I've seen in my dream. All that time, my gum was throbbing with pain and I remembered my mum was saying that seeing me in pain physically hurt her too. She would never say that in real life, of course.
I woke up after I spat the last bit of my tooth out. And of course I immediately touched the said wisdom tooth. It was fine.
The dream:
I was with my family. I couldn't recognise the house/building we were all in, but it seemed familiar, like a hotel at a holiday-destination somewhere. I felt incredible pain on/in one of my wisdom teeth: the left down one. I felt it was wobbly and I told my mum that there's something wrong with my tooth. I said, "I think the seal is broken, again. It feels loose." I touched my tooth and there's this sticky thing stuck to it, as if placing the tooth together.
The sticky thing started triggering my gagging reflex, so I tried to pull it out of my mouth. And I did, slowly, and every time I pulled a piece of it out, I felt the amazing pain in my tooth. When the last bit of the sticky thing was out, my gum was bleeding. A lot. I almost choked on my own blood. And to make things worse, I spat out a hard thing and I realised it was half of my wisdom tooth (that was being held together by the sticky stuff).
The tooth looked like a fossilied tooth from a dead dinosaur that you would see in any museum displaying fossils. It got some hair on it, though. And blood. Practically one of the grossest things I've seen in my dream. All that time, my gum was throbbing with pain and I remembered my mum was saying that seeing me in pain physically hurt her too. She would never say that in real life, of course.
I woke up after I spat the last bit of my tooth out. And of course I immediately touched the said wisdom tooth. It was fine.
Saturday, November 29, 2014
A series of changes
It's closing to the end on 2014. It's been an interesting year and it feels like it's nearing the end so fast. Maybe because I have spent most of the year waiting: waiting for my partner to visit, waiting for my turn to visit, waiting for my visa approval, waiting for my savings to increase a bit more so I could afford plane tickets, waiting for cheap plane tickets, and so on.
In the middle of all of those waitings, I worked and worked and worked. Sometimes I hung out or did sport, but most of the times I worked. It didn't even feel like I had any time off since March. Only after I resettled myself in our flat that I could think of the time when I'm "not working." It was a little bit strange when I realised that I could actually stop working.
We have made plans. And plans have been cancelled and changed due to various reasons. We thought things were secured. Yet things were changing constantly because of so many unexpected factors. Sometimes it feels like living on a tiny island somewhere in the tropics where you can get a massive storm in the middle of the dry season...just because.
We learn and adapt. Sometimes it's so easy that I can happily pat myself on the shoulder for putting up so well. Sometimes it's so hard that I would find consolation by obsessively cleaning the kitchen--longing that sense of order and predictability. Baking and cooking become a set of little achievements, like playing Mario Cart. You get different trophies for completing different challenges. A golden spatula for baking a nice carrot cake with delicious frosting. A silver knife for cooking amazing red-braised pork. And so on. You learn to appreciate little things that you do well because everything else kinda sucks.
Maybe next year I will learn: how to appreciate constant changes in life and the ability to adapt to new things fast.
In the middle of all of those waitings, I worked and worked and worked. Sometimes I hung out or did sport, but most of the times I worked. It didn't even feel like I had any time off since March. Only after I resettled myself in our flat that I could think of the time when I'm "not working." It was a little bit strange when I realised that I could actually stop working.
We have made plans. And plans have been cancelled and changed due to various reasons. We thought things were secured. Yet things were changing constantly because of so many unexpected factors. Sometimes it feels like living on a tiny island somewhere in the tropics where you can get a massive storm in the middle of the dry season...just because.
We learn and adapt. Sometimes it's so easy that I can happily pat myself on the shoulder for putting up so well. Sometimes it's so hard that I would find consolation by obsessively cleaning the kitchen--longing that sense of order and predictability. Baking and cooking become a set of little achievements, like playing Mario Cart. You get different trophies for completing different challenges. A golden spatula for baking a nice carrot cake with delicious frosting. A silver knife for cooking amazing red-braised pork. And so on. You learn to appreciate little things that you do well because everything else kinda sucks.
Maybe next year I will learn: how to appreciate constant changes in life and the ability to adapt to new things fast.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Dream journal--04
Didn't realise I haven't written for a while. I have been back in Utrecht for almost 2 months now and everyday life just sort of take most of my time. And I'm starting to find cooking and baking as another challenge to tackle, like learning Dutch. I still, however, have bad dreams. Not every night, but quite a lot that they make me feel tired most mornings.
I woke up this morning after a long exhausting dream. I only remember the last bit of the dream.
The dream:
I was with my family having lunch. We were in a restaurant at a hotel somewhere hot and bright. We were just talking and I saw there's a group of kids playing in the pool. I thought they were just playing, but then I noticed one of them had a kitten in his hand. He was dunking the kitten into the water and actually trying to get it drowned in the pool. It was a shallow pool, but still terrifyingly large and deep for a tiny kitten.
I could feel my heart stopped for a second when I saw the wet kitten, making distress noises, and I did what I would in real life: I lunged into the water and grabbed the kitten. It was under the water but I quickly grabbed it and took it out of the water. It was breathing fine and was meowing still, maybe afraid or something. I tried to give instant warmth by putting it under my shirt (which was wet, so that was dumb, but whatever). The kids started yelling at me. The boy, who was trying to drown the kitten, shouted, "That's my kitten! You can't take it from me!" in a-spoilt-little-shit kind of way of yelling. I said, "Animals are not for playing like that. If you can't take care of them, might as well stay away from them."
Surprisingly, I wasn't angry with the kids, just worried about the kitten. So I took it back to the table, my family didn't say anything. Actually, before I ran to the pool, I vaguely heard my mum saying, "Be nice to the kids, okay." That's just like so my mum. Anyway, I took the kitten and tried to dry it and it was purring so I thought it was going to be fine. Then, the parents came. One parent apologised and thought the incident was unacceptable and he would tell his kid that, but another parent started shouting at me. He basically told me to mind my own fucking business and if I liked kittens that much (that I had to steal the kids' kitten) I should just get one. He ended his rant by shouting more abuses at me. So, of course I shouted back at him and told him I hope his daughter drowned and no one helped her. Not very nice, I know.
And then I woke up.
I woke up this morning after a long exhausting dream. I only remember the last bit of the dream.
The dream:
I was with my family having lunch. We were in a restaurant at a hotel somewhere hot and bright. We were just talking and I saw there's a group of kids playing in the pool. I thought they were just playing, but then I noticed one of them had a kitten in his hand. He was dunking the kitten into the water and actually trying to get it drowned in the pool. It was a shallow pool, but still terrifyingly large and deep for a tiny kitten.
I could feel my heart stopped for a second when I saw the wet kitten, making distress noises, and I did what I would in real life: I lunged into the water and grabbed the kitten. It was under the water but I quickly grabbed it and took it out of the water. It was breathing fine and was meowing still, maybe afraid or something. I tried to give instant warmth by putting it under my shirt (which was wet, so that was dumb, but whatever). The kids started yelling at me. The boy, who was trying to drown the kitten, shouted, "That's my kitten! You can't take it from me!" in a-spoilt-little-shit kind of way of yelling. I said, "Animals are not for playing like that. If you can't take care of them, might as well stay away from them."
Surprisingly, I wasn't angry with the kids, just worried about the kitten. So I took it back to the table, my family didn't say anything. Actually, before I ran to the pool, I vaguely heard my mum saying, "Be nice to the kids, okay." That's just like so my mum. Anyway, I took the kitten and tried to dry it and it was purring so I thought it was going to be fine. Then, the parents came. One parent apologised and thought the incident was unacceptable and he would tell his kid that, but another parent started shouting at me. He basically told me to mind my own fucking business and if I liked kittens that much (that I had to steal the kids' kitten) I should just get one. He ended his rant by shouting more abuses at me. So, of course I shouted back at him and told him I hope his daughter drowned and no one helped her. Not very nice, I know.
And then I woke up.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
The state of this country
I woke up when my phone made a noise. It stopped me from dreaming (hence, I can't even remember the dream). I saw a notification: new headlines from one of the English-language newspaper in the country. News about how the House is planning to revise the Law for the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK). And I thought, WTF? Not a very pleasant way to wake up.
It seems like a continuation of the House's efforts to disrupt the upcoming presidential period. They have scrapped the direct election for regional (provincial) leaders in the country last week and now they are trying to limit KPK and even plan to change the presidential election system (instead of a direct vote from the people, the House will do the job for us). You can read about the change in the provincial leaders' election here.
We just celebrated the success of Jokowi, a commoner with impressive track records in government work (unlike his rival, Prabowo, who has notorious human rights violation records) and now it does feel, at least for me, that the House of Representatives robbed us that victory by clearly not taking the people's side; the ones that they should represent at the first place.
One of my biggest concerns is how very little people seem to care and how confusing it is to do something if you care. I spoke to several friends who understand politics and the political system in Indonesia better than I do (I know nothing about the two topics), and so far the available solution if (I) you want to do something is to hold a protest. Not a social media one, but a real one on the street. I don't know how to rally people or to organise a protest. I know some people who were active in 1998 and they said it's time for the next generation to start a change. Okay. How? Where to start?
Signing petition(s) on Facebook or Change.org is quite easy, but will it actually matter? Can someone with more knowledge in this matter point to the right direction (whatever that means because for me everything is very foggy at the moment)?
Help?
It seems like a continuation of the House's efforts to disrupt the upcoming presidential period. They have scrapped the direct election for regional (provincial) leaders in the country last week and now they are trying to limit KPK and even plan to change the presidential election system (instead of a direct vote from the people, the House will do the job for us). You can read about the change in the provincial leaders' election here.
We just celebrated the success of Jokowi, a commoner with impressive track records in government work (unlike his rival, Prabowo, who has notorious human rights violation records) and now it does feel, at least for me, that the House of Representatives robbed us that victory by clearly not taking the people's side; the ones that they should represent at the first place.
One of my biggest concerns is how very little people seem to care and how confusing it is to do something if you care. I spoke to several friends who understand politics and the political system in Indonesia better than I do (I know nothing about the two topics), and so far the available solution if (I) you want to do something is to hold a protest. Not a social media one, but a real one on the street. I don't know how to rally people or to organise a protest. I know some people who were active in 1998 and they said it's time for the next generation to start a change. Okay. How? Where to start?
Signing petition(s) on Facebook or Change.org is quite easy, but will it actually matter? Can someone with more knowledge in this matter point to the right direction (whatever that means because for me everything is very foggy at the moment)?
Help?
Monday, September 22, 2014
Dream Journal--03
I had this dream a week ago. I was staying at a friend's house in Jakarta for a week, so maybe that's the reason I had weird dreams. This is a short one as I didn't write it down immediately after I woke up, so I can't really remember the details.
The dream:
I was living in a kind of plantation-cum-estate, in what seemed like a 18th-century Indonesia/Southeast Asia (colonised area). I guess I got references from history books (I just recently finished Raffles and the British Invasion of Java by Tim Hannigan). There were a lot of people living there, including my family. The workers (or should I say slaves?) were mostly Asians from parts of Asia/Southeast Asia. I recognised a woman who's probably from Thailand. Everyone spoke English in my dream though. Yes, weird. Anyway, I can't remember what happened in the beginning of the dream but what I remember is that there was the plantation/estate owner who's apparently an African and he was very mean. I can't really remember why he was mean or how his meanness was exactly. But the people who lived on the plantation/estate felt oppressed and wanted to be free.
For some weird reason, the people thought that asking one of the women to sleep with the landowner was a good idea. One woman volunteered and everyone cheered her. She was the Thai-looking person. So, the woman went to the bedchamber of the landowner and slept with him. I didn't actually witness the sex scene in the dream as an invisible observer. It would be weird watching two weird strangers having sex in my dream. After they finished, the landowner started laughing and said, "How much of a fool are you? Do you think I don't know what you are planning? And I can sleep with anyone that I want!" Which makes perfect sense. I mean, why on earth would you sleep with your enemy if you were not going to get anything useful? She should have stabbed him in the back or something, but she didn't. Instead she just sat on the bed, looking shocked.
After that, I heard people talking in the living room. I went there and saw my family sitting together and there was one African woman. She was apparently the owner's henchwoman. She was also the executioner. She announced loudly that any attempt of mutiny would be punished severely and that the Thai-looking woman was waiting for her punishment. The punishment was getting your skull bashed by a clay pot. It was a heavy pot when I tried to lift it and in the dream I was imagining how painful it would be. I went out of the room because I didn't want to look, and when I was at the door, I ran into the Thai lady. She didn't look scared, just confused. I told her I wouldn't go into the living room because the African lady would punish her, but then I retracted and said that it would probably be worse if she didn't go.
She stared at me and nodded and went into the room. I stood close to the door and I could hear people murmuring. I could hear the booming voice of the African lady when she again announced the punishment. She offered the head-bashing or death. The Thai lady chose her head to be bashed by a piece of pottery.
I heard a loud cracking noise.
And then, I went back to the room. Everyone was gone except for my mum and an old man. I saw blood on the floor and in a bucket. I asked my mum how's the Thai lady doing and she told me that she's still alive but she wouldn't live for long because after all death was the only option offered.
And then I woke up.
The dream:
I was living in a kind of plantation-cum-estate, in what seemed like a 18th-century Indonesia/Southeast Asia (colonised area). I guess I got references from history books (I just recently finished Raffles and the British Invasion of Java by Tim Hannigan). There were a lot of people living there, including my family. The workers (or should I say slaves?) were mostly Asians from parts of Asia/Southeast Asia. I recognised a woman who's probably from Thailand. Everyone spoke English in my dream though. Yes, weird. Anyway, I can't remember what happened in the beginning of the dream but what I remember is that there was the plantation/estate owner who's apparently an African and he was very mean. I can't really remember why he was mean or how his meanness was exactly. But the people who lived on the plantation/estate felt oppressed and wanted to be free.
For some weird reason, the people thought that asking one of the women to sleep with the landowner was a good idea. One woman volunteered and everyone cheered her. She was the Thai-looking person. So, the woman went to the bedchamber of the landowner and slept with him. I didn't actually witness the sex scene in the dream as an invisible observer. It would be weird watching two weird strangers having sex in my dream. After they finished, the landowner started laughing and said, "How much of a fool are you? Do you think I don't know what you are planning? And I can sleep with anyone that I want!" Which makes perfect sense. I mean, why on earth would you sleep with your enemy if you were not going to get anything useful? She should have stabbed him in the back or something, but she didn't. Instead she just sat on the bed, looking shocked.
After that, I heard people talking in the living room. I went there and saw my family sitting together and there was one African woman. She was apparently the owner's henchwoman. She was also the executioner. She announced loudly that any attempt of mutiny would be punished severely and that the Thai-looking woman was waiting for her punishment. The punishment was getting your skull bashed by a clay pot. It was a heavy pot when I tried to lift it and in the dream I was imagining how painful it would be. I went out of the room because I didn't want to look, and when I was at the door, I ran into the Thai lady. She didn't look scared, just confused. I told her I wouldn't go into the living room because the African lady would punish her, but then I retracted and said that it would probably be worse if she didn't go.
She stared at me and nodded and went into the room. I stood close to the door and I could hear people murmuring. I could hear the booming voice of the African lady when she again announced the punishment. She offered the head-bashing or death. The Thai lady chose her head to be bashed by a piece of pottery.
I heard a loud cracking noise.
And then, I went back to the room. Everyone was gone except for my mum and an old man. I saw blood on the floor and in a bucket. I asked my mum how's the Thai lady doing and she told me that she's still alive but she wouldn't live for long because after all death was the only option offered.
And then I woke up.
Friday, August 29, 2014
Dream Journal--02
This is a short one, since I don't remember most of the dream. This is the last part of the dream.
The dream:
I was in a building that looked really similar to my old high school. It was an old building and a bit dark. I was trying to wait for someone. It's not clear who the person was or why I was there waiting. And then I went to a different room, which looked very much like the school's nurse's office. There was someone on the bed, moaning and saying something about getting bitten. I knew what bit this kid in the dream, but I didn't say.
I went out from the nurse's office and headed to a classroom where I found myself only covered in a thin blanket. I remember I felt the confusion when I realised I was only wearing a piece of blanket. No one cared about my lack of proper clothes. People were very tense in the room, because apparently the teacher was giving out some kind of a quiz.
Her questions were simple: what were the factors that contributed to climate change? And what were the ways to rehabilitate the environment? (When I woke up, I was like, what the hell?) I was nervous because I came late (not because I wasn't wearing clothes) and tried to think of the answers so I could get good marks. The teacher was an old woman with glasses and a head scarf. Very much like a lot of female teachers in Indonesia.
Finally, I went to the blackboard (yes, old-fashioned blackboard) and got the chalk and scribbled something about cattle farming (and the land that was used for the cattle to graze, instead of used to plant food). The teacher just scowled even more. Maybe she finally noticed my nakedness. After that, class was dismissed. I didn't get any points for my answer.
And then I woke up. With a headache.
The dream:
I was in a building that looked really similar to my old high school. It was an old building and a bit dark. I was trying to wait for someone. It's not clear who the person was or why I was there waiting. And then I went to a different room, which looked very much like the school's nurse's office. There was someone on the bed, moaning and saying something about getting bitten. I knew what bit this kid in the dream, but I didn't say.
I went out from the nurse's office and headed to a classroom where I found myself only covered in a thin blanket. I remember I felt the confusion when I realised I was only wearing a piece of blanket. No one cared about my lack of proper clothes. People were very tense in the room, because apparently the teacher was giving out some kind of a quiz.
Her questions were simple: what were the factors that contributed to climate change? And what were the ways to rehabilitate the environment? (When I woke up, I was like, what the hell?) I was nervous because I came late (not because I wasn't wearing clothes) and tried to think of the answers so I could get good marks. The teacher was an old woman with glasses and a head scarf. Very much like a lot of female teachers in Indonesia.
Finally, I went to the blackboard (yes, old-fashioned blackboard) and got the chalk and scribbled something about cattle farming (and the land that was used for the cattle to graze, instead of used to plant food). The teacher just scowled even more. Maybe she finally noticed my nakedness. After that, class was dismissed. I didn't get any points for my answer.
And then I woke up. With a headache.
Monday, August 25, 2014
About cooking (which I don't do very often)
I don't know how many friends have been telling me that for them cooking is "fun", "therapeutic", "enjoyable", and other positive adjective. I don't really cook, even when I lived in the capital alone, I didn't really cook. I was too demotivated and just plain lazy. Plus it did feel everything was so expensive anyway. So I rather set my food budget daily than shopping for a whole week, and then cooking daily. I just couldn't do it, physically or financially.
But then this year I got to stay for a month in Holland with my partner. I wanted to introduce him to some Indonesian cooking that he'd never tasted before, so I cooked. Surprisingly, no one died and the food actually tasted good. I tried out several recipes that I got from my mum, tweaking them a bit to suit my taste (and partner's) better. I even cooked for a couple of friends and they liked the food too. It was pretty satisfying.
And then I went back home. At my parents' house (I moved back to my parents' house three years ago because of family issues and now it's almost impossible for me to leave. Long story.) my mum does all the cooking. I can, of course, cook for myself if I want to, but then who will eat her food? Not to mention the constant nagging when I decide to eat out with friends when she has already cooked something for that day. So, I opt for peace in the family and eat my mum's food every time she cooks.
On the rare occasion when my parents go out of town for days, I have the chance to cook for myself again. Now, I have been cooking for myself for the past week. I wouldn't use the word fun, therapeutic or enjoyable to describe my cooking experience, but there's a certain satisfaction when you can feed yourself with the food that you made from scratch. It doesn't even have to be complicated. Some simple pasta with veggies and tuna or just tomato sauce will suffice. But I get to appreciate my effort to cook.
For people who have been cooking since they're really really young, what I have written here may seem like a silly thing. Like, what's so special about cooking for yourself anyway? I've been doing it forever--kind of silliness. But I think I will continue to see cooking as a form of achievement, and not only for myself, but other people who cook. For someone who doesn't really cook, producing edible food for your survival is an achievement (because eating out here isn't too expensive, compared to, say, Holland or Australia). So, yeah, I think I want to continue to achieve more :)
But then this year I got to stay for a month in Holland with my partner. I wanted to introduce him to some Indonesian cooking that he'd never tasted before, so I cooked. Surprisingly, no one died and the food actually tasted good. I tried out several recipes that I got from my mum, tweaking them a bit to suit my taste (and partner's) better. I even cooked for a couple of friends and they liked the food too. It was pretty satisfying.
And then I went back home. At my parents' house (I moved back to my parents' house three years ago because of family issues and now it's almost impossible for me to leave. Long story.) my mum does all the cooking. I can, of course, cook for myself if I want to, but then who will eat her food? Not to mention the constant nagging when I decide to eat out with friends when she has already cooked something for that day. So, I opt for peace in the family and eat my mum's food every time she cooks.
On the rare occasion when my parents go out of town for days, I have the chance to cook for myself again. Now, I have been cooking for myself for the past week. I wouldn't use the word fun, therapeutic or enjoyable to describe my cooking experience, but there's a certain satisfaction when you can feed yourself with the food that you made from scratch. It doesn't even have to be complicated. Some simple pasta with veggies and tuna or just tomato sauce will suffice. But I get to appreciate my effort to cook.
For people who have been cooking since they're really really young, what I have written here may seem like a silly thing. Like, what's so special about cooking for yourself anyway? I've been doing it forever--kind of silliness. But I think I will continue to see cooking as a form of achievement, and not only for myself, but other people who cook. For someone who doesn't really cook, producing edible food for your survival is an achievement (because eating out here isn't too expensive, compared to, say, Holland or Australia). So, yeah, I think I want to continue to achieve more :)
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Dream Journal--01
I've been having bad dreams for a while--years--that I can't seem to remember that there's a time when I didn't have bad dreams when I slept. These dreams have a degree of horribleness, starting from just slightly weird and terrorising to a full-scale mind-blowing gore and blood festival. Some of my dreams were really really disturbing I don't even share them with anyone.
These dreams can be very lucid, like watching a movie in my head--well, a really weird movie. When this happens, I can always retell the whole thing. But sometimes the dreams will only be remembered as fragments, and unfortunately still leave a bad aftertaste in my mouth. The aftertaste usually affects me for a bit while, especially if the dream is particularly depressing.
I've been having very lucid dreams for the past two days. And very disturbing too. There's a recurring theme in my dreams lately: about guilt and failure. For some reasons, I am plagued by these two feelings subconsciously and they penetrate my mind when I sleep. A couple of days ago, I had a nasty dream.
The dream:
I was with several other people, stuck in a high building, trying to cross over to the opposite building. We were told that it's impossible to do that because it's forbidden to cross the glass walkway. Underneath the walkway was a huge murky pond. We somehow captured this person whom we thought had trapped all of us there. We tied him/her on a chair and started questioning him/her (this character kept on changing its appearance). I was the one who did most of the questioning, yelling at it for some unknown reasons. I thought I had managed to make this person confess and tell us how to get out from this when I looked to the opposite building and saw my "friends" were on the balcony cheering me on. I was glad to see them there but as I went back to face the dubious characters tied to the chair, he/she said, "Are you sure that you are seeing what's true or just what you want to see? Look closely, again. Look at the pond again."
I went to one of the windows and looked at the pond on the massive garden down there. I could see the glass surface reflecting the sole lamp on the garden. All of the sudden I saw someone running really fast on the glass surface, and just seconds after the person started to run, the glass surface broke open and the person fell into the pond. And as fast as it broke open, the glass flapped back out and everything looked normal again. There wasn't any sign of that person. The water's surface didn't break. It was very still.
I gasped and somehow realised that it meant all of my friends had died trying to cross that surface. I turned to face the bounded person again. And she/he was not there anymore. The people I was with minutes before were gone, and there were only four of us left in the dark room. I finally recognised one of the three other people. He was a friend from university. He's a good friend, but I have no idea why I would dream about him. The four of us knew we were done; that we had lost the game and that we wouldn't survive this...whatever this was. I shouted, "I love you guys and I'm glad you are my friends. And I'm sorry we can't survive this." The other three people said the same thing and then we hugged each other. The once bounded person appeared in front of us, and grabbed a chair. She was going to break all of the window panes above our heads.
When she broke the first window, one of my friend disappeared. And then she broke another one, and in a second the other friend disappeared. I was still hugging the last friend standing when she broke the third window pane and just like that, I was alone. I knew I wouldn't win and I didn't have any trick up my sleeves. So I stood there bracing what's inevitable. Instead of immediately breaking the last window pane, she stood to face me and said, "For you...for you I will make it special. You will live in darkness and solitude forever." And with that, she disappeared and everything went dark.
I woke up.
These dreams can be very lucid, like watching a movie in my head--well, a really weird movie. When this happens, I can always retell the whole thing. But sometimes the dreams will only be remembered as fragments, and unfortunately still leave a bad aftertaste in my mouth. The aftertaste usually affects me for a bit while, especially if the dream is particularly depressing.
I've been having very lucid dreams for the past two days. And very disturbing too. There's a recurring theme in my dreams lately: about guilt and failure. For some reasons, I am plagued by these two feelings subconsciously and they penetrate my mind when I sleep. A couple of days ago, I had a nasty dream.
The dream:
I was with several other people, stuck in a high building, trying to cross over to the opposite building. We were told that it's impossible to do that because it's forbidden to cross the glass walkway. Underneath the walkway was a huge murky pond. We somehow captured this person whom we thought had trapped all of us there. We tied him/her on a chair and started questioning him/her (this character kept on changing its appearance). I was the one who did most of the questioning, yelling at it for some unknown reasons. I thought I had managed to make this person confess and tell us how to get out from this when I looked to the opposite building and saw my "friends" were on the balcony cheering me on. I was glad to see them there but as I went back to face the dubious characters tied to the chair, he/she said, "Are you sure that you are seeing what's true or just what you want to see? Look closely, again. Look at the pond again."
I went to one of the windows and looked at the pond on the massive garden down there. I could see the glass surface reflecting the sole lamp on the garden. All of the sudden I saw someone running really fast on the glass surface, and just seconds after the person started to run, the glass surface broke open and the person fell into the pond. And as fast as it broke open, the glass flapped back out and everything looked normal again. There wasn't any sign of that person. The water's surface didn't break. It was very still.
I gasped and somehow realised that it meant all of my friends had died trying to cross that surface. I turned to face the bounded person again. And she/he was not there anymore. The people I was with minutes before were gone, and there were only four of us left in the dark room. I finally recognised one of the three other people. He was a friend from university. He's a good friend, but I have no idea why I would dream about him. The four of us knew we were done; that we had lost the game and that we wouldn't survive this...whatever this was. I shouted, "I love you guys and I'm glad you are my friends. And I'm sorry we can't survive this." The other three people said the same thing and then we hugged each other. The once bounded person appeared in front of us, and grabbed a chair. She was going to break all of the window panes above our heads.
When she broke the first window, one of my friend disappeared. And then she broke another one, and in a second the other friend disappeared. I was still hugging the last friend standing when she broke the third window pane and just like that, I was alone. I knew I wouldn't win and I didn't have any trick up my sleeves. So I stood there bracing what's inevitable. Instead of immediately breaking the last window pane, she stood to face me and said, "For you...for you I will make it special. You will live in darkness and solitude forever." And with that, she disappeared and everything went dark.
I woke up.
Quick reflection
Loneliness eats you if you let it. It will tear you slowly, creating thoughts that shake your confidence. You will tell yourself that you're fine and coping, but you still have doubts. They are like poison. It makes you feel sick in the gut.
The questions are: how can you stop it eating you alive? How can you stop bad thought creeping into your awareness and create insecurities that you don't need?
I guess you need to be brave. Sort of.
The questions are: how can you stop it eating you alive? How can you stop bad thought creeping into your awareness and create insecurities that you don't need?
I guess you need to be brave. Sort of.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
The end of happy week
Maintaining a positive energy when your body is not wired properly because of different reasons, and hormone is one of them, is really tough. I have been keeping track on my mood, trying to record how it goes on a weekly basis. It's been a good past week (proud of myself), but today feels like the first day of anxiety and bad mood again. My period is coming soon.
The bad mood or negative feelings sometimes can materialise into physical pain. At the moment, I am having massive headache and feeling tired all over although I haven't done much. Even though I have tried to ignore the negative feelings, I am still grumpy and irritable because of the physical pain. Unfortunately, I will also lose patience rapidly when I am in this kind of state, both with myself and other people.
Often I read that you need to concentrate on being positive and then you would feel better (or something like that). Some said meditation helps and there's a breathing technique to calm yourself. My question is how can you stay positive when your body doesn't even feel good? And nothing really helps. Food, tea, water, chocolate, nothing really works for me. So my preference is: sitting on my bed, either reading or binge movie-watching. Anything to distract the mind. And maybe try to nap for a bit. Or write a stupid blog post.
It's good to have a mental calendar of your mood, I found. I can tell that I am making progress in controlling inexplicable sadness and anxiety when I see the number of days I have been feeling good or positive. The more happy days, the better my control of my weird mood is. Although on a day like today, I feel I just want to throw the towel and shut down. It's very easy for mind to repeat this one thought: I am so tired, I just want to stop.
Kinda wish there's a fast forward button.
The bad mood or negative feelings sometimes can materialise into physical pain. At the moment, I am having massive headache and feeling tired all over although I haven't done much. Even though I have tried to ignore the negative feelings, I am still grumpy and irritable because of the physical pain. Unfortunately, I will also lose patience rapidly when I am in this kind of state, both with myself and other people.
Often I read that you need to concentrate on being positive and then you would feel better (or something like that). Some said meditation helps and there's a breathing technique to calm yourself. My question is how can you stay positive when your body doesn't even feel good? And nothing really helps. Food, tea, water, chocolate, nothing really works for me. So my preference is: sitting on my bed, either reading or binge movie-watching. Anything to distract the mind. And maybe try to nap for a bit. Or write a stupid blog post.
It's good to have a mental calendar of your mood, I found. I can tell that I am making progress in controlling inexplicable sadness and anxiety when I see the number of days I have been feeling good or positive. The more happy days, the better my control of my weird mood is. Although on a day like today, I feel I just want to throw the towel and shut down. It's very easy for mind to repeat this one thought: I am so tired, I just want to stop.
Kinda wish there's a fast forward button.
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