Hell, she might as well have just died.
I've always loved that phrase, you know, "who died and made you God?". It just sounds so poetic; although as a non-native English speaker, I'm not sure how often you can use it in your normal conversation or how fitting it would be.
But in this case, she died, and yet I see no God up here. In this high horse of so-called adulthood.
I'm turning thirty this week, yet I still don't have my name stamped on the book store. Less than an 'aspiring writer', even, I have abandoned writing entirely as my means of catharsis. I don't even know who I am anymore.
That's... the moldy jam strawberry take of my upcoming birthday (I don't know what that means). I wanted to just write a lighthearted life update, but I desperately need to be emotionally charged first to start typing, and sadness is the only emotion I can consume easily.
Me no Sad
Sad T makes the best writer T. That's why she hasn't been writing; she's been too happy, too sane, too fitting in, too distracted.
The worst part of being a working adult is that you can no longer be random. Even hobbies need to be planned. Even the prospect of a hobby, the fun thought of a side project, needs a roadmap, you can't just jump into it expecting things to work out. You have to deliberately make it work.
I just started a new job at an IT company. Overall good benefit and it's something I need for my "career trajectory" or whatever. I have a mentor and a probation period for training and preparing for the actual work. But I have little experience and technical skill in IT so learning takes a long time, and adapting to the corporate culture was more challenging than I thought. Open floor plan. Perpetually monitored company laptop. Endless documenting. No free lunch??
My point is, I don't entirely hate what I'm doing at the moment, but I wish I'd have more energy to be functional outside the work hour. I'm left exhausted every single time I clock out that I practically don't have the energy to be human; washing clothes, cooking meals, or even doing stretches or light workouts. All I want to do is lay down on my bed, head empty, only my thumb scrolling hundreds of short-video formats of brain-dead, emotionally reactive contents for hours on end, before I realize it's late night and I need to sleep to get ready for work tomorrow yet again.
Be Still
I can't seem to be at peace with myself nowadays. I get restless being alone in my room. I would either distract myself with my phone or occupy my thoughts with worry about work (yet stubbornly refusing to act upon it because at that point I'd be off the hour and if I do it then doing overtime be my 'standard' work ethic and I'd have to do it every time).
I remember how peaceful I used to be being alone in my dorm room. I entertain my thoughts. I write. I listen to music mindfully. I brew a cup of coffee. I don't think I have ever worried about what to eat. Not in a financially-safe context (although that is true in my case), but more like I was too absorbed in 'the zone' of my activity that it did not matter.
Now I spend hours scrolling online food order, trying to find a semi-decent meal with reasonable price, calculating promotion codes to make it worth it. When ultimately, it's far cheaper to just walk a couple blocks out for a bundle of nasi padang or street kwetiaw, when I'm not in the mood to cook and clean.
I spend hours scrolling Instragram reels for cat videos and memes, finding solace in the endless stream of content, knowing that however shitty I felt that day, there'd always be a funny content to scratch that dopamine itch within my brain. It is the damn phone.
But deeper than that, it's my inability to stay still.
There's a constant urge to escape the room. Don't want to be alone. Go out to a cafe to write. Hang out at a mall with my boyfriend. But when they're all physically implausible, my brain can still seek the exit: Down the net we go.
Even when there are a lot of activities I have plotted to do at home. I don't know, reading the piling stocks of books in my kindle, finishing my "Book of Dreams", repainting my shoes, painting the paint-by-numbers, practicing bass guitar, practicing drum rudiments, whatever??
I don't know if it's something about my current dorm room; the loneliness; the constantly distracted brain; the mobility. Sometimes it's like I'm actively sabotaging myself from doing meaningful things. From doing the difficult stuff and struggling, entirely forgetting the reasonably paced rewards down the line.
Worrywort
It all boils down to fear. Nothing new there. I'm afraid of starting what looks enticing. I'm afraid I'd suck at it and disillusion myself. I'm afraid it's not going to be as fun and cool as it looked in the first place. I'm afraid of not doing a perfect work in the first try and I have to fix my messes.
(Although I still think the useless no-view and no-air window also plays a huge part in cramping my style in enjoying my alone time.)
Free Will
It might also be that I've been stuck too long in this goddamn city without significant newness to my routine that I've been running on autopilot.
The good news is after a long hiatus of seemingly unending rut of isolation, the new job sort of pushed me into motion, although not without some hiccups.
I mentioned the open floor plan. Especially annoying when you're on an online meeting with some other people, while the person next to you is also on call with someone else. And the desk across me was also being noisy, team members crowding to discuss something about work.
But a new girl came along, and during her supposedly meeting hour, she got up, took her laptop and headset along, and walked to a separate room to conduct her meeting. Unbothered by the crowd. That's when I realized, you can do that? I fear I've not been exercising free will... whatever that term would mean in the context of a corporate world, anyway.
Last week I impulsively signed up for a community meetup in Bandung, and apparently the venue was just a 10-minute walk from where I reside. I've never walked in that direction because I never had any business in the area, but as soon as my feet crossed the street to that perimeter, I realized I could've just... walked anywhere.
I could turn right. I could turn left. I could even hail an angkot and take me fuck-it-where. At that moment I realized that I could have exercised this free will at any moment.
But it wouldn't appear if I didn't already have something to do around there.
Cool Stuff I've Done
That community meetup was for an online writing challenge community I followed on Instagram. I did write a bit about #30haribercerita, a challenge held every January to write everyday for 30 days on Instagram. I just thought it was pretty neat to have a place I could channel my writing needs and have some sort of accountability (it being public and everything), but lately I felt the need to connect with actual people.
So as soon as I found out they were holding a meetup in Bandung, attend it I did.
It was rather an impulsive thing for me... especially considering how reserved I used to be. That's why I said she (old T) might as well be dead.
I think it was a nice experience. I got to listen to people's stories from different backgrounds, held together by our fondness towards writing (or the writing community itself), got insight from the community volunteers - about how they worked hard to select stories to be featured, and went home feeling inspired myself.
I ended up re-connecting with an old acquaintance (it's been 7 years holy shit??), met some new acquaintances where we prompted to follow each others' Instagram account, and bought a merch.
My boyfriend said that I was starting to become an ibuk-ibuk, because he thought "communities are how mothers make friends".
I don't know how valid it is (sounds a bit misogynist too, tbh), but tell that to the all-male band members from my previous workplace who (still) invited me for regular practice every Tuesday.
Yeah, I'm "in a band" now, I guess. It's kind of weird. I don't know how people do bands, but I always imagined them as sort of more professional and full-time than whatever it is I'm currently engaged in. Perhaps because it's an after-hour hobby for office workers, the members aren't always regular (except for the core three or four people, so I guess they're the band).
I once jokingly wrote a rant saying that "this office job is the dream... just need a band practice routine during the night". And it actually happened.
Although I ended up ditching that workplace, the members still kindly welcomed me in joining their practice as a vocalist. Which is funny because I don't think I can sing?? But that's what they kind of needed, and I didn't have anything else to offer.
After some time practicing, I came to the conclusion that being in a band is somewhat akin to getting a job, you know? It was a matter of what role they need, and if you were appointed, you just try to do your best at that. Yeah, so it's about compromising yet again, but I was happy enough to already have a place to channel my energy in music. And we do play some Muse and Nirvana so I couldn't really complain. My goal would be to try jamming one or two of the usual playlist in bass or drum, just to have a go at it, you know? Haha.
---
I don't know where this post is headed, and what I was trying to say. I first complained about not being able to write, to be alone with my thought, then phone addiction, then free will, then community. I just have a lot to report on, considering it's been almost a year since I actually wrote here.
I do want to write something more substantial than my lousy experience, but after a long hiatus from creation, this blog page serves as a familiar friend with safe, comforting arms to embrace my welcome yet again. I just want to stretch these writing muscles again, and I think this diary-type report fits in better with the rest of my archive here.
I do miss you all, whoever still reads my page. Such a nostalgia trip, re-reading everything here and finding myself grow from all the cringiness I used to embody...
Take care. Hope to see you again.
Cheers,
-T
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