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.
Wednesday, January 18, 2017
Monday, January 16, 2017
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
Sunday, January 8, 2017
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.
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.
Thursday, January 5, 2017
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
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.
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.
Sunday, October 16, 2016
I Can't Do This. Not Right Now.
This is going to sound weird, but I think my inner demon is back.
I was fine for the last two weeks or so, but it all changed overnight. And of course it occurs when I happen to be prepared for exam week.
Feelings are mixed in between "I need to do stuffs" and "I'm not good enough so why bother", to "I should go out more and explore" and "fuck everything I hate everything why bother". I don't know how more precise I can explain, but I think it's pretty close.
I see everyone around me are doing really fine in their 4th year, and I'm still stuck thinking where I'm heading for my future. So far it's still looking pretty bleak to me. I'm afraid, I'm scared, I'm worried, most of the time. I got nothing. Just... not knowing, it's terrifying.
More terrifying is knowing that you won't be good enough... for anyone, for anything. I have the tendency to feel like a total failure at the slightest mistake. I know this needs change in order for me to live as a human being (not a breathing fiasco). I decided just a few moments ago that I would start not caring, as in, stop taking shit from everyone, you know, but my inner demon decided that it's just too late for me to change. I'm already known as the shit-bearer, the invisible beta, to everyone around me. That means I bring no change whatsoever, just not influential enough to be a human, you know?
I feel like I digress throughout the whole post, rambling with no point. What I'm trying to say is probably that I feel like a total failure, stuck in stagnancy while seeing everyone doing so great, progressing with their studies, with their lives, and their future. That's the point.
I just feel like I'm not ready to face the world yet. Not now. I also don't feel like I would be ready anytime soon, though. I don't know when I will actually change for good. For now, I just want to sulk and hate on myself.
Peace out.
I was fine for the last two weeks or so, but it all changed overnight. And of course it occurs when I happen to be prepared for exam week.
Feelings are mixed in between "I need to do stuffs" and "I'm not good enough so why bother", to "I should go out more and explore" and "fuck everything I hate everything why bother". I don't know how more precise I can explain, but I think it's pretty close.
I see everyone around me are doing really fine in their 4th year, and I'm still stuck thinking where I'm heading for my future. So far it's still looking pretty bleak to me. I'm afraid, I'm scared, I'm worried, most of the time. I got nothing. Just... not knowing, it's terrifying.
More terrifying is knowing that you won't be good enough... for anyone, for anything. I have the tendency to feel like a total failure at the slightest mistake. I know this needs change in order for me to live as a human being (not a breathing fiasco). I decided just a few moments ago that I would start not caring, as in, stop taking shit from everyone, you know, but my inner demon decided that it's just too late for me to change. I'm already known as the shit-bearer, the invisible beta, to everyone around me. That means I bring no change whatsoever, just not influential enough to be a human, you know?
I feel like I digress throughout the whole post, rambling with no point. What I'm trying to say is probably that I feel like a total failure, stuck in stagnancy while seeing everyone doing so great, progressing with their studies, with their lives, and their future. That's the point.
I just feel like I'm not ready to face the world yet. Not now. I also don't feel like I would be ready anytime soon, though. I don't know when I will actually change for good. For now, I just want to sulk and hate on myself.
Peace out.
Sunday, September 4, 2016
What's a Spotify?
First of all, let me just remind you how much I love music. Well, at least my type of music, you know. I figure in the 21st century everyone likes music, one way or another, one type or the other, regardless of how often they listen to it. You can just sit back and relax while listening to music, you can listen to music on the train, in your car, or even while walking. Music is general; it's universal.
That is why online music streaming service is extremely popular nowadays, and I'm here to talk about it. I know I'm probably late to the hype, because I've been wanting to give my insight since the first time Spotify made its way to Indonesia, which was on the late March 2016. You all probably have known about this thing called Spotify, it's kind of the biggest music streaming service on the internet right now.
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