How Do I Apply To Be A Ninja?

Serious question, guys. I highly think that I have the talent to be invisible, just need to work a bit (sure) on my physical skills.

Pseudo-yes

Pseudo-yes is... a term I coined to describe what I feel I've been experiencing throughout my life so far. I would define it as something like this:

I'm that guy in the class who would say "no" when you asked me if I had studied for the semester test, even when you had seen me opening the textbook during yesterday's recess hour. Chances are you're probably thinking I'm a fat liar who just wanted to bring everyone's expectation down and keep their diligence at bay. No. That's not the case.

There's a point where I open the textbook, look at the words and graphs, but understanding them is another different case. My body could be the one doing the 'studying', but my mind is wandering somewhere else. I was probably thinking about that one website I frequently visited which just had totally new interface, and mentally commented about it, more than I actually read the damn book, and suddenly the bell rang so I had to close the book to prepare for the next class. 

I open the book, but I don't read it, per se, in which case you couldn't say that I extracted a single good, useful information from that book. This is the case where I answer "pseudo-yes, I had studied biology for semester test". Am I prepared? Hell no.

It's also the same case where I had to prepare a book chapter to be presented in class (which is tonight, I suppose lol). I had prepared to do it since last week, mind you, but I couldn't even bring myself to read the damn book. I'm opening the book right now, and try to extract things by putting some of the main points that I have learned to the presentation file. This is a presentation file, but it's just... let's say, a draft. Would I use this as the outline for the real presentation? Probably not.

When people see me doing it, they'll probably think "oh, she's already started with the presentation." but have I actually started doing the presentation I would present? Again, probably not. When my group ask me whether I have started doing it or not, I could say that I have started doing something related to the presentation, but I couldn't say that I have started doing the presentation. Am I making any sense here? Please bear with me. So when they asked me, I could only say "no" when all I wanna do was answer with a "pseudo-yes", because that would socially make little-to-none sense.

Also the case when I started 'dating'.. two times, during elementary and high-school. When I was in elementary school, I didn't even know what dating someone means, what the consequences are, or what you're supposed to do in that situation. I just heard stuffs from my friends, like A is dating B, C is dating D, and so on, so I thought it was like something you could casually do, just kids stuff (oh totally)

There was a time when a boy, my classmate 'confessed' his feelings to me via text message. It was a time when downloading an episode of One Piece took overnight, kids were bragging about their new Nokia phones, and Yahoo! was still thriving. It was a time when I still had no romantic sense whatsoever that I didn't think his confession, not to mention via text message, was plain dumb. Long story short, we were girlfriend and boyfriend, but we only talk through texts, because he would be moving to another island in the term of two days (or a week? I forgot). There was practically nothing in that relationship, we even lost contact really soon and moved on with our lives without any sense that there was something in between. But our friends still thought, and they had it in their minds, that we were once dating. True, we were technically a couple, but I don't think we acted like one. So did we date? That's another question I would reply with a "pseudo-yes".

What about high-school? Well, it was slightly a different case, because I totally grew up and finally grasped a bit of this concept called 'dating'. This time he 'confessed' in real person in front of our friends during a house party or something, and I thought 'okay, I kinda like this guy' so bam we were a couple. Technically. Because after that night all that changed between us was only the frequency of texts and subtweets, and a lingering feeling of happiness that only lasted a week or so. I don't think we ever actually hung out together, just two of us, like a real couple. Needless to say, it didn't last very long. 

So, were we actually dating? Hmm... I don't think so? But we became couple? Even one of my high-school friend used the term "your ex" to refer to him when he forgot his name. This high-school friend didn't know him or me well, but he did know that we were once a 'couple'. So our identity could never be separate from each other. Whoa, that is deep and scary. This is another 'pseudo-yes' for the two thousand dollar question of whether we were dating or not.

I hope none of you guys thought this post was made to subtly 'curhat' about my previous relationships. It's actually just a terminology that crossed my mind when I was trying to do my presentation for pseudo-tomorrow. It's like when it's both tomorrow and not tomorrow.... nevermind.

You guys probably have experienced something so 'pseudo-yes' and didn't know how to describe it... now you have the word for it!

You're welcome. (just kidding I would probably cringe when I read this in the future)

When You Sleep, You Get Weird

Serious question: what does it mean you dream about one place so often?

Last night I had a dream, located in my old dorm, the very first place I stayed in when I started my college year. In that dream, a girl, an old acquaintance from elementary school, fainted. So I carried her on my back and went to that place to ask for help.

In the dream, the place had a spiral staircase from the front yard to enter the building, as opposed to a normal staircase in real life. It also had a huge, secured front gate, while in real life it doesn't have a gate at all. And in the dream, the rooms were small and dimly lit, with small single beds, while in real life the dorm has pretty spacey rooms, with bright lamps. But technically, they're still the same building. I don't know how to put it, but I was certain the location in my dream was my old dorm, even though some features are different.

It's not the first time I dreamt about that place, though. Already a long time ago, I dreamt that I was stargazing from the roof of that building, and also playing with some neighbor friends. The actual dorm has three floors, plus basement. The first floor is where my room was, the second floor also consists of dorm rooms, while the third floor is where you hang your laundry and stuff. In this floor, there's no doors, no rooms, just two sets of washing machines and ropes for drying clothes. By the washing machines, there's a couple of windows where you can see the outside. It's not outside, though, because when you open it, you're greeted with views of the building's roofs. When I did my laundry there, I sometimes wonder if I could climb out and chill there, on the roofs. But I never did that. The roofs were too steep and you can't really position yourself to 'chill' there.

But I guess my subconscious got the best of me, because I dreamt that I did fucking parkour on the roof with some friends, at night, and it was silent. Even when I jumped and landed here and there, my steps aren't audible. The roofs in the dream were totally different from the actual building roof, but I'm certain it's the dorm building.

Do you see what I mean when you dream about something, and it associates to a real thing you know in real life, and you're certain how they're the same thing even though you can't really know for sure how it associates or if it even true?

Sometimes in my dreams I would hang out with a few people. In the dream, I would be totally sure that they're, say, Chloe or Kai even though the situation doesn't support the argument. In the dream, I was catching fish with them. It doesn't make sense. Why would I be catching fish with Chloe or Kai? I only knew Chloe for a brief moment when we were in a group project, and we never talked otherwise. Kai, on the other hand, didn't even like hanging out with me. So why would the dream associate catching fish with those two people? Are those even Chloe and Kai? Was I wrong? But it seems right.

Dreams are weird.

One time, I dreamt that Franz Ferdinand (the band, look it up) were playing in my hometown during an eve. I didn't know whether it was Christmas, New Years, or something else, but the whole town were in festivity mode where everyone went to the street and just had fun. I don't like crowds, and I don't even go out during NYE or anything like that. I'm normally a house person, and I prefer to stay home especially when it's super crowded outside. Imagine how confused I was to dream that I was there in the middle of festive crowd in the town center, and Franz fucking Ferdinand was playing a gig! In the dream I got called onstage with a few more people and we sang and danced together, and when it was finished they invited us backstage. Awesome.

I woke up with a great mood, kind of sad it ended, but mainly beaming with delight. Strangely, that day I didn't feel like listening to Franz Ferdinand anymore. So I reduced my FF daily song intake.

Dreams are weird.

Subjection

When I was younger, I always thought that I would live my life to be a story that is great to tell, to my children, my grandchildren, my friends, or just anyone in general. The funny thing is, I didn't realize that the stories that I would imagine myself telling are supposedly consisting only parts of my life I would be living. Easily put, when you ask an old friend whom you haven't met in two years what they have been doing, you don't expect them to tell you everything they do, every single second of their past two years.

Same goes with life stories, I guess. When someone asks me what I have been doing today, technically I've done a lot of things: I overslept, I cleaned my room, I watched a new jacksepticeye gameplay on YouTube, I cooked sardines and made tea... and also run out of it. But if you've been actually talking to people, you'd know that the only acceptable answer is... "nothing". Nothing actually happened to me today. Nothing of importance of you, of course. I would think. 

Same case with my life story. When someone asks me what I have been doing with my life, technically, again, I have done a lot of things, of course. I developed new habits, I read a few more books, I made new friends and lost a few, I wrote blog posts, I got fat, etc etc. But would I tell them that? Of course not. They wouldn't care about all the aspects that could happen in your life. When someone actually asks you, "what have you been doing with your life?" chances are they expect something spectacular to you, like probably becoming a millionaire, made a major breakthrough in quantum mechanics, sniped thirty enemies by the front line in a war or traveled the world.

Same with me. I probably couldn't care less about whether you slept over thirteen hours last night, or how your fingers got bruised when cleaning the bathroom. Nobody cares about such little things. They're probably asking out of politeness or sheer curiosity of the moment. Even when I heard stuff about your seniors going abroad to study or work, I would probably just be... mildly impressed. 

I mean, it probably didn't occur to me how hard they've been trying for that, or how easily they could get the opportunity. I don't get the whole story. It's just "oh, cool" and then I'm off continuing whatever it is I was doing. Probably, just probably, if someone actually tells me the whole story from when they started the registration, worked their asses off to get the required grades, to put up with the annoying people along the way, I would probably be more impressed... or possibly inspired.

And this thought just hit me: if I couldn't care about people's great accomplishment, what makes me think that my future children would be interested in the story of my life, consisting mainly of mundane things?

From this point of view, I'm trying to convey to myself a few premises: a) I should stop caring about how my life story would turn out, b) I should try harder to live a better life in order to get that life story I always imagine, c) I should probably kill myself so I won't worry about anything anymore. Option (c) seemed implausible, because what the hell yo. Option (a) looks very taunting, especially how easy it is to disregard everything right now, but I feel like it doesn't help to improve myself. Option (b) is harder, but I feel like have I even try?

If I only want stories, I got a lot more in my head. They're all fiction, or fantasy induced by my inability to realize things from ideas. I read Haruki Murakami's books, and his work consists mostly of... surreal stuff. Anyway, nothing of those inspiring kind of stuff. He wrote even the most boring of things done by the protagonist, like cooking spaghetti while listening to The Thieving Magpie, but still manage to assemble a good story nonetheless. Fiction, of course, but my point is: good writers don't have to write about a protagonist bungee jumping off a plane to become a millionaire, that's a reality show stuff.

The more I think about it, I just realized how deep in the option (a) I am. The fact that I'm living a life so mundane proves how I don't care about my life story. I have stopped caring about how my life story would turn out. It doesn't stop me from thinking about it, though. Right now I'm in a state where the option (b) appeals to me, without disregarding (a).

Frankly, this whole passage seems meaningless. I mean, I already knew what I'm doing and what I'm supposed to be doing. My problem right now is how I'm gonna do it.

How am I going to write my life story from now on? How do I, you know, move on with my life? What would be my legacy?

In the end, this rambling goes on to another rambling. One question leads to another. I guess that's just life, huh?

Subliminal, Vol 3

There are times when things that you couldn't comprehend before, suddenly sink in on you.

There are times when things that don't make sense, suddenly becomes absolute logical.

There are times when your brain decides to think, what it doesn't do as well before.

I always think I'm dead inside. Most of the time. It's the state where my brain decides to take a long, long break, in which case my whole activity and movement is body-controlled. Like, maneuvers so simple and basic that my body can even memorize it. Autopilot, so to speak. It's the walk to the bathroom, the walk to the campus, the lecture note-takings, the finger swipes of food ordering, even the casual conversations.

It's all just connecting the dots. The dot of the bedroom to the dot of the bathroom, the dot of the house to the dot of the campus. The dot of A topic to the dot of the answer to A topic. You get the gist.

This thought came into me when I was inspecting my phone gallery. I saw pictures that I took. I looked at a picture of my brother and holy shit, he grew so fast. Looking at the picture, it just occured to me how much time had passed. He's no longer the little baby brother I always pictured myself playing with, or going to school with. Probably due to the fact that I'm now living away from him, so that I don't get to experience his gradual, infinitesmal growth, like we all do with ourselves.

It was like a moment of clarity. Reminiscent. Introspection. Thinking of writing this, so I can even reminisce this moment of reminiscent even more.

Thinking has been an alien thing to me lately. I don't feel like doing anything, I don't feel like thinking of anything. I'm just a hollow shell, autopiloted by memories of the past. Maybe I'm just afraid of living in the present, because I can't accept things that had happened to me, or reality of the current situation, or how I've turned out to be.

I don't know. Thinking is hard.

Q

Quick update: The three weeks of vacation finally ends, and I'm currently already in Bandung, far far away from my hometown I dearly loved, but that's okay because thanks to the latest technology development it can all be traveled in only a few hours. I can't really sleep last night and it's already 5.31 in the morning, so I guess I'd just man this one up and get myself some real coffee before going to class at 1 pm.

I always have this kind of notion that... I'm not really here, so to speak. I feel like a different person here and there; in Bandung vs in my hometown. I guess I'm just naturally weak in mentality and easily influenced. I don't know if this is a good thing or not, but in Bandung I feel like a liberated individual who can do anything, and has the will to do a lot of things... except studying. Back there at home I'm nothing but an academically overachiever. That one is also an overstatement, because it didn't even feel like trying. Hometown had become just about the perfect utopia for me, the bubble I dip myself into where everything is the way I desire to. It's a beautiful city, truly is, but I can't feel motivated in any way to do anything other than eating and spending time with family. The problem is, I already left a big part of my soul there, one which I can't seem to get back. I've always been drawn to home, in the truest sense.

What am I saying. I had a lot of ideas to write today when I was on the airplane, but now I forget all about it. I think I'll just make this post about my actual life right now. I'm safe and sound here, in my current Bandung residence, the one I mentioned in my previous fiction Contraband (shameless self promotion) where privacy is "minimum to none", but don't worry, I'm staying here legitimately, paying rent and all.

See you when I see you guys.

-T

Contraband

I always think that cooking for one is a terrible investment. It requires you to prepare less amount of food than when you cook for a lot other people, but with the same amount of dirty dish pile to clean. It also takes almost equal time between cooking for one and, say, four people, but you get only the amount of one people portion.

Think of it this way. If I want to cook boiled egg only for my consumption, I would be required to fill the pot with a particular amount of water, put the one egg into it, and boil it for about 8 minutes (I do prefer hard-boiled eggs). If I have more people wanting hard-boiled egg, say, three more, I would be required to fill the pot with water of the same amount as I have to when I cook for myself, put the four raw eggs in, and boil for the same 8 minutes. In other words, the effort, the ingredients, and the time is the same, but you get more boiled eggs.

Sure, it could be different in other cases, like the comparison when you make pancakes for yourself vs for the whole family. You need more eggs, flour, etc, and time, but in the end, you'll be left with equally dirty dishes than when you make pancakes for yourself. At least you feed more stomach, and you don't feel really alone.

But I digress. This kind of thinking is what keeps me from actually doing things. I still lay on my bed, tossing and turning, scrolling my phone on some social media application where you can see people posting their wonderful life moments and makes your grass paler in comparison.

My stomach finally rumbles. I finally decide to order some takeouts instead of cooking for one. And bless this century, I can order stuffs only by tapping on my touch-screen phone, without having to talk to anyone and mess my order up. As I'm torn deciding the menu I should order for dinner, I think about how amazing it is that nobody literally mentions the word "touch-screen phone" as every phone right now is touch-screen...

---

As an introvert, choosing this place to stay seems to be against my nature. Privacy is minimum to none, the landlady just doesn't want to miss anything from anyone renting from her, and I can hear almost anything from the kitchen just literally three steps away from my room. Anyone living here can know about my story, of where I am from and what metal music I like to blast in my room. That's a minus for secretive person like me. At the very least, though, it's two-way, so I know a few things about everyone living here.

For example, the girl that lives upstairs by the staircase has a particular taste in classical music, and majors in industrial engineering management. She's from Jakarta and her family owns a heavy industrial machinery business back home. The girl living next to her room is an active member of student exchange community who likes to drink infused lemon water regularly every morning. Her family is way far in northern Sumatra, so only her father visits her once in a while.

That's why when I sit in the dining room, eating cheese chicken rice box and drinking coconut soda from plastic cup, the landlady just appears from the TV room and asks me what I'm eating and how much it all costs. Without forgetting to comment how costly the whole meal is, she treads away to continue whatever it is she's doing. Just a normal Saturday night.

I like the fact that I never feel truly alone when I'm living here. I'm not exactly an outgoing person by nature, but there's a secure feeling when you know that you're surrounded by real, actual people and it does seem like time is flowing naturally around you. Even when I'm just lying around in my room, not meeting a single soul outside.

I still can hear the landlady conversing with the maid, when she tells her not to put fragrant in residents' clothes because it costs her too much. I still can hear the footsteps going up, shaking the rickety wooden staircase and its loud steel beams. I can also hear the flush of the toilet, or the splashing of cooking oil when someone is frying in the kitchen.

But it's nighttime now, which means less lively sounds outside my room. Other than the occasional cricket sounds, music blasting from residents' rooms indicates the existence of life. I decide to do the same. I finish my cheese chicken rice and throw the empty box in the trash bin. I enter my room, also bringing the unfinished soda inside and open my laptop, trying to find the perfect song to play on this night.

---

I actually like cooking, but as I said, I thought cooking for one is a bad investment. Perhaps it's an excuse and I'm just terribly lazy, but the fact stands that I barely cook during my university days. My preference to eating out or takeaways might seem like excessive spending to you, but believe me, compared to buying cooking equipment and food ingredients that would go to waste because I'm too lazy to cook on most days, it's better this way. Besides, I'm saving up on other living costs, and takeaway foods are too tasty and practical to be given up.

My finger's quiet tap on the keyboard is almost rhythmic to Radiohead's Subterranean Homesick Alien playing from my laptop. I put on my earphones so the music doesn't clash against other residents' loud music that could still be heard even from my room. I'm amazed how they could enjoy music in such way. I continue typing my project report's introductory page, occasionally taking time sipping the remaining of the coconut soda, with Subterranean Homesick Alien almost over.

I could tell writing report is a lame way to spend Saturday night, especially after I hear footsteps and giggles and girls talking outside my room just before midnight. They just get home, and guessing from their conversation they just had a really good time. Almost makes me wish I have a friend to spend Saturday night with. Oh well, I'm almost finished with the report introduction anyway. I hope I can wrap this up and get at least a few hours of sleep.

---

I wake up at 5 in the morning.

Apparently, the landlady also gets up in the same hour, also comes the maid, so the kitchen is occupied with all sorts of heavy cooking. The landlady boils water for hot water thermos to be used during the day, and the maid does all kind of chores, so she gets busy walking back and forth around the house, cooking and cleaning stuff.

I leave at 7.30 am, when the coast is clear of people, because as usual, I don't feel like talking to anyone. It's kind of a bummer, really. I want to leave just before the sun rises, when it's still cold outside so I can wear my thick Sharks hoodie and there's less people on the street. I don't expect the landlady to wake up and do stuff so early in the morning. Old people, old habit, I guess.

I like to travel light, but when you have to fit your whole life in a 23-liter Eiger backpack and a hand-me-down canvas totebag, morning commutes aren't very pleasant. Luckily, bless the technology and information advance, now we can order online ojek or motorcycle rides, so traveling anywhere is really easy in this city. This morning, though, my destination isn't really far, so I decide to walk.

One of my morning routine is stopping by a McDonald's by the main intersection. They have a McCafe outlet as well, but their fancy coffee choices are too sweet for my taste, so I prefer to just order a black coffee from the main McD menu because it's cheaper. This time, I order a big breakfast and choose black coffee as the menu set drink. After the cashier confirms to me what I just order is a black coffee, which is black, and not some sweet fancy-cappuccino coffee, and I won't come back to protest after I take a sip, and I tell him that's precisely what I want, I pay for the meal. I don't mess around with my breakfast.

I pick a seat, put the tray on the table and set all my baggage down. One of the reason I like to go out for breakfast here is mainly less people. McD gets super crowded on lunch or dinner time, but not in the morning. I open the syrup package and pour the content on the pancakes. Besides the pancakes, sit a piece of hash brown and scrambled eggs sandwiched between two English muffins. I should take a picture and post it on Instagram.

Wait, I just realize that I don't have my phone with me. Darn, I must have left it at the kosan, by the charger. If only I leave a less valuable item, I could just let it go, but it's my damn phone. You know how important a mobile phone is, especially at this day and age. Bringing all my stuff would be a hassle if I want to go quick, so I decide to gamble and entrust my bags to a McD employee, and promise him I would come back and retrieve it as soon as possible.

As I scurry to the kosan, my heart beats and my thoughts race. All kind of worry envelops me. I hope nobody finds it before I get it. I hope I don't get caught. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How can I forget something so important?

I finally arrive, but now panic is all that I am. My poker face is gone, my words are bound to stutter. I take a few deep breaths, and open the back door. Unlocked. I can get in. I hope nobody notices. See, the thing about secretly living under someone's roof without them knowing is, you cannot forget something of massive importance, like mobile phone, wallet, or IDs, stuffs that you need to get by and contain fatal information of you. On the case of left IDs, the resident who finds it might think it's just an ID left by the previous resident, but phone? No way man, people just don't leave their phone around, especially if it's a fantastic three-years-old Google Nexus 5 with Quadcore Snapdragon processor.

I don't see any sights of the landlady, but the maid is in the kitchen boiling something that smells spicy. I squint a bit and try keeping a low profile as I walk into the empty room I slept in last night. The door is still unlocked, and the lights still off. The power socket is located on the wall behind the bed, just under the bed head, and to reach it I have to duck under the bed and reach out. That's where I charged my phone last night. I unplug the charger from the socket and my phone, and roll the cables neatly. I tuck both the charger and the phone each into separate pocket of my trousers, and head out, still trying to keep low profile.

The maid glances at me. As far as the landlady knows, I sleep over a friend's room in this house every Saturday, but she never actually sees me going in or out of which room. The maid, however, now sees me getting out of a room that's supposedly has no resident whatsoever. I don't know if the maid knows the whole residence situation here or she's just here doing her job oblivious to other things.

I walk towards the back door. I don't know if it's the panic effect or it's real, but I can feel her eyes still following me, curious or suspicious I have no idea. All I know is I have to find another house for me to stay in on Saturdays, and far from here, because my routine has been ruined by the small act of leaving my phone.

I leave the house, heading back to the McD where I left my bags, and wondering if I can last until the end of university year living like this.

Beta

I am, undoubtedly, what you would call a beta person. A pushover, to simply say. I am a follower by default, not a leader by any chance. Not even in my own life.

The follower mentality drives me wandering around, seeking for soul I have to cling into for my life to have a meaning. So far the meaning of my life is defined by, dependent of whoever was close to me, which I'd call alpha host from now on. Ecch. This just turned into an Alien fantasy real quick.

I don't really take anything from an alpha host, though, all I need is to cling onto an alpha host in order to function normally. If anything, as a beta, I help the host to reach a better place in life as an alpha. I take orders, I follow along, and I nod to their opinions. The slave of relationship, so to roughly speak.

It's not like I do it by forcing myself into it. It just happens ever so naturally. For the alpha host to take the lead, and for beta to follow along. The least a beta can do is to contribute to the alpha host's voice, so they can feel at least validated and appreciated. An alpha host's happiness is the beta's happiness as well.

And it kills for a beta to lost an alpha host.

The cycle of a beta is really simple: live, grow, find an alpha host, follow for the rest of their life, die. But most of the times, naturally, an alpha doesn't follow along the cycle of a beta. Most of the times, an alpha leaves the beta, rendering them confused and lost, like a puppy losing its mother.

A beta may cling to several alphas at once, but one that really masters them is the true alpha host. Losing an alpha from many may confuse a beta slightly, but losing an alpha host just kills. Mentally.
Having an alpha host means giving half of your soul to them, and being left by the host means losing half of your soul, as a beta.

That is why, sometimes, when a beta has lost too many of its soul, it would try to re-contact an alpha host in a pathetic attempt to possibly regain few pieces of its soul it had given. The story of each beta is different, and this effort can be either futile or fertile depending on the situation. Say the alpha host consented to take the beta back, the beta would gain both its soul back, and get the alpha host needed in order to survive. But this is a beta survivor's wet dream. Most cases do not end so well like this.

The worst case of a soul-deprived beta would be failing at the attempt to reconnect with previous alpha hosts, leaving it with less and less soul, rendering its function so bad it misses the opportunity to spot a new alpha host, and ended up being a hollow shell, floating around the world aimlessly. It loses its function as a beta for quite some time before dying in desperation.

As a beta, I had only three alpha hosts before losing them altogether. I manage clinging an alpha host at a time, so it was one host to another, and it wasn't really easy. The story wasn't that exciting, they were fed up and left, so it's now up to me to find a new alpha host.

Challenging, really, especially since I don't have much soul left to waste away. The new alpha host needs to be perfect and long-lasting, because I couldn't afford any more soul-losing. If you happen to know an alpha that you feel perfect for me, please do let me know. And be quick please, I'm deteriorating in a rapid tempo here.

Thanks.

I Hate Instagram

Hey it's ya boy T back at it again with their rambunctious complain of life in general and beyond. Not really. This time I'm just gonna get to the point: I hate instagram.

I wouldn't call it a strong word or exaggeration, really, because I've had my share of good, bad, or even dissatisfying mobile applications, but nothing drives me quite mad as instagram, for personal reason truly.

Instagram is just like that nagging aunt of yours who never stops reminding you that you're not good enough; that there's so many people out there who are more gorgeous, doing better things, or having a better life and job than you in general, after you spent so much in flight ticket on your way to meet her, hoping the next visit would be better than the last, only finding it's not changing at all. Am I making any sense here? I'm probably trying too hard on the analogy.

My point is: the instagram community just reminds me of how inadequate I am. It just reminds me how I'm not pretty enough to snap a picture of myself, how boring I am to not travel enough to post a panoramic beach picture, how lonely I am that I don't have friends to hang out with and take selfies together, how untalented I am that I can't snap my doodles, etc etc. I do live my life so I know that it's not true: I have gone to a lot of exciting places, I have a few close friends and we've hung out and had good times together... I just don't like to take pictures of myself, that's all.

But the inadequacy still stands: instagram makes everyone in it seems to be having much, much, better time than I can manage. It's a red carpet, accessible for public to share the glitz and glam of their life and a e s t h e t i c i s m online and rub it in everyone's face. Such a pinnacle of social media, representing millennial narcissism in its whole.

I know it's a terribly glum perspective, and I'm just being negative. It could be nothing, right? People could be posting things as a reminder of a point of their life, like scrapbook, just online. People could be using it just to connect with their friends and families, seeing how they're doing. People could be using it as a media to advertise their products and nothing else. It could be that nobody is using it solely to show off their all-deluxe life, and I'm just being a total loser here... right?

Sure, in all seriousness, I do believe people use instagram for normal purpose just like any other social media, to share moments. The thing is, in instagram, most of the moments shared are their 'best'. People always post the best shots in instagram, in the highest resolution possible. You can say that instagram mainly captures the ups of people's life. And it makes me compare their wonderful moments to my own messy ones. It's bad. It brings my mood down most of the time. It's toxic.

I do follow some people whose post makes me feel nothing but happiness towards them, but they don't post a lot so they got lost in a pool of others' garbage. Maybe I should just do unfollow spree instead.

Another thing: because instagram posts are either hi-res pictures or videos, they take up massive storage space and loading them needs a lot of internet quota. Not to mention the time I spend to scroll the 'explore' tab, discovering more aesthetic pictures and cancers which I can barely stop. This leads to a lot of time and internet quota wasted. Not pleasant, especially considering most of the posts deplete my self-esteem. It's like paying people to punch the heck out of you. Masochistic.

I know I'm mentally a masochistic by default, but even instagram is too much for me. I just uninstalled that shit so I can finally stop comparing my downs to everyone's ups, and live my life according to my lo-fi tempo... and it works! During the time instagram was out of my life, I lived my life instead of scrolling through everyone's posts and sulk about how my life is shit comparing to them. I actually studied for tests, tidied my room, made small talk to people, got a haircut, read some books, and got myself a boyfriend. The last one's not true, but my point was made. Probably an exaggeration and pathetic excuse to say that this one little app is what keeps me from living my life, but getting rid of it is certainly helping.

I still have my account, though. It's quite a pity to just delete it, because I still have some friends who use instagram frequently and I would like to be able to contact them when I need to, and see moments of their lives when I came back.

Long story short, I hate instagram because it makes me compare my shitty life to everyone else's, it takes up too much of my phone memory and internet quota, and just makes me unhappy in general. I do plan to come back some time later to instagram, though, to unfollow people whose life I do not really want to see. Perhaps when I'm less of a bitter person and more sure about myself.

I don't judge y'all who actually use instagram, though. Like I said, I'm just being negative and it makes me compare because I'm not really a genuine, kind person who would be happy at every single person's accomplishments. In fact you could say I admire your kind heart to be able to put up with everyone's narcissism... or you could say I dislike you because you're a narcissist yourself.


Cheers.
T.