A Letter To Myself

Two years ago, I wrote about my tendency to compare current boyfriend to the ex. I didn’t know that many people did this as well, until my friends kindly pointed it out to me.

Now I know why it happened – even if I did it absent-mindedly. Deep down in my heart, a lot deeper than I dared to admit, I knew that the person that I was being with at that time was not the right one for me. It wasn’t fair on him and it definitely wasn’t fair on me either.

Because I wanted someone extra-ordinary. Sue me for wanting something so far beyond the reach, but I believe this is what everyone yearns and long for, even if their hearts have been bruised and broken to pieces for so many times.

The difference is that back then it hadn’t even crossed my mind to think that I could believe in something that seems so unattainable. That was why I always ended up settling for second bests – thinking it was okay for not being treated exactly the way I wanted to and that I would prefer to be a part of a couple rather than sitting at home alone on Saturday nights and flicking furiously over the TV channels.

But when you are being with the wrong person, there are so many signs telling you that it isn’t right.

Like always feeling lonely even if he is right beside you.
Or missing him purely out of physical presence but when you meet him and all the missing is done, there is nothing left for you to feel.
Always wanting to work things out – or even struggling to make things work, even though deep down you are exhausted by it.
Feeling exasperated for not being able to understand what goes on in his mind, and not being able to communicate the way you want to that you end up consulting those who are closest to you for some answers.
Reading so many self-help books on love and in the end feeling even more confused than before. And even if there is nothing specifically wrong with your relationship, you still feel hollow inside.

Like wearing a dress that somewhat doesn’t fit you right – the arm-holes being too high, or the waist a tad bit too tight, or the sleeves too firm to your liking. And no matter what alterations you’ve done to it, you are still not satisfied with it. That upon finding the dress and knowing that it’s not for you, you go a head and purchase it anyway, simply because you want it so bad to be yours. Until you realize that what you are wearing is probably reserved for someone else, not you.

Sometimes this realization hits you hard in the heart, and when I think of the people around me having had to mend their broken hearts because of having to make so many alterations to their hearts, it pains me to know that I am powerless to prevent them from hurting, when all I can do is say soothing words and let them take their lives to their own courses.

Maybe it’s just my own selfish reaction to things – I want to prevent what could have gone wrong. Let it only be me who have done it, experienced it, lived it and went through it. But I know that’s not how life works. Everyone must go through their own ups and downs to truly learn what they really want. But still – I feel so helpless.

If Faith is so easy to gather, I could have stayed in the right track. I could have saved myself from the histories of life I wish had never happened, of which I am still ashamed of up to this day. If Faith could have saved me earlier, I would have not done the things that I would regret.

But Faith only comes when you are sitting in your bed in the darkness of the night, when all things around you seem dead and lifeless, and you are crying for no reason but the sadness within you that doesn’t seem to want to go away. When you feel that nothing can save you. No one is hearing you. When you feel completely, heartbreakingly alone. Just a tiny speckle of dust in this immensely frightful world.

I don’t think people are afraid of being alone. It’s not the feeling of loneliness that frightens them, but the feeling that they are not understood. That there is no one out there who can see them for who they are. That they are born into this world for a lifelong journey in search for their other halves, because only through those people that they can see themselves clearly and find their purpose in life.

But I did not know all this before. All I knew was that I had to keep hoping, no matter how insignificant it might seem to me. Having parents who no longer speak to each other let alone live under the same roof, being stuck to a dead-end job and feeling worthless because the overseas degree that I earned didn’t prepare me for the ruthless life of the politics at work, and having no sense of purpose whatsoever in my life – it was hard for me to stay positive.

But I started by saying thank you – for everything. For such a beautiful morning. For all the food I was blessed to have. For having a job. For not being disabled. For being alive.

I knew of this – I wasn’t tired of life. I just didn’t want to go through it alone. I might have ignored the presence of something greater than me, hovering about and waiting patiently for me to ask for help. And I was thankful that I didn’t leave it out too late.

And I finally recognized it – all this time my hand was being held. That I have something in me that is more magnificent than anything else. Although it could not be seen to the naked eyes, it felt incredibly real right up to my solar plexus.

And that, is Faith.

Survivor II: Jakarta Wellcovered

Still on the topics regarding vehicles and the likes, I have summed up the conclusion that driving in Jakarta means entirely submitting your life and death to the Lord above. The reason why I feel strongly pessimistic about this is because the whole traffic system lies on trust – which is a big word for something that is supposed to be based on a set of rules.

First of all, it’s the trust that because you have driven as slowly and carefully as you can, that other people will considerably do the same.

Secondly, it’s the trust that, like most people in Jakarta, they will drive based purely on experience and instincts, therefore knowing the signs when something was about to go awry even before it happened – like for example, you are driving a car and you are signaling to go right but there is a motorcycle on your right who is stubbornly ignoring you, and as well all know, most motorcycle drivers are insane, they will not give you a chance unless you force them to it, so when you slowly move your car to the right they will have to obey to slow down to give you way, and this would never have happened if both you and the motorcycle driver has no experience with the ruthless ways of Jakarta’s traffic menace.

Thirdly, it’s the trust that other road users have already mastered the “silent traffic language” – which can only be achieved through daily gruesome activity on the road and some minor or major accidental experiences. Because there are no other ways of communicating with other road users apart from using the light indicators and honk, honk, honk away. Some truck and bus drivers often improve themselves by using hand gestures, which can either piss you off or make you feel deflated for not driving a vehicle a size bigger than theirs.

Last but not least, of course, trust yourself and your whole safety of your passengers – if there are any – to the God Almighty. I always uttered a small prayer before I drive, because even if I get involved in an accident, without the protection of God, who knows I might end up being in an even more tragic accident which might cause me to be amputated or even worse, die.

And now that the monsoon season has arrived earlier than expected – it was still warm and sunny this time around last year – I can only expect that the traffic in Jakarta will get worse than before. Every time it rains, there is always traffic congestion guaranteed, and it puts me right off ever having the thought of working in the CBD area. Even without the rain, there is congestion guaranteed, but the rain makes it miles worse – like, two to three hours endurance-worse. And I haven’t even mentioned road accidents.

Sometimes I fear phone calls that get through my mobile, thinking it might be some companies wanting to interview me and to think that all those are located right in the business district. Having a job is swell, but being stuck for four hours back to back on a daily basis is beyond bearable. I imagine it will make me age ten more years. Even so if I end up having ridiculous salary – and even if it isn’t, sometimes, for the love of God, I think the whole stress combined from work and driving is just not worth it.

When I was on my way home from an interview at Menara Batavia last week, I had a chat with a taxi driver – taxi drivers love to chat with me, especially concerning politics and the likes -I told him I would rather own a small grocery shop at home rather than working in the CBD of Jakarta. This he responded by laughing bashfully, thinking I must had been joking, but then I insisted that to have worked a nine-to-five job and be stuck in traffic for another four hours is no way to lead a meaningful life. Surprisingly, he told me that I was not the first passenger that he had heard for saying the same thing.

Sometimes the simplest thing the one that is hardest to get.

Just To Show How Much I Loved It

A few weeks ago I was telling my maid to clean the house more properly because there were some areas in which she did not pay enough attention to and left them dusty and dirty.

Now she overcompensated her lacking by cleaning everything in the house using wet towels, including my room. This would have been perfectly fine, except that she somewhat decided to sweep through the top of my laptop with the same wet towel – which she had used to clean many other things before.

She probably didn’t think this would do any harm, but naturally a wet dirty towel would leave a mark on my milky white Fujitsu, and this I found not to my liking. The markings would not come off, even though I had used a fiber-cloth which had worked on many other stubborn stains before, which was the last solution after the wet tissue and napkin worked to no avail. I dare not using any agents that I could find around the house because – hello – it is a white-colored surface material and what if it would only make things worse?

For those who didn’t know, might I reinform you that I had to part with my hard-earned cash to purchase this laptop, and to find it sullied by something so simple and yet so destructive rendered me absolutely hysterical. Sulking and cursing over how unbelievably stupid my maid was, I decided to vent off the anger by hitting the shops. So I dragged my boyfriend along and when we passed Ace Hardware, I suddenly made a sharp turn and went straight in – in hoping that somewhere between the tall racks displaying arrays of cleaning agents, would be a perfect solution to my sodding-stained laptop.

My boyfriend approached one of the shop assistants and kindly explained our situation, in which she reassuredly led us to a small display which had sponges, foams and fiber cloths hung on display. She took a small package containing somewhat insignificant looking white sponge and claimed that by using water only, this sponge could wipe clean even the most stubborn stain like paint sprays and ink. She even offered a demonstration, and we obliged for one immediately.

The demo proved to impress us nevertheless, so we decided to give it a try. And guess what? It works. It really, bloody works. All I have to do is cut a tiny bit off the sponge, wet it with water, and brush the stain with it and the markings easily comes off – leaving my laptop back to its sparkling milky white glamour. I felt like I had been given second chance to reincarnate back from death – or something as equally dramatic.

It’s unbelievable what technology can do these days, and they are getting much more environmentally-friendly, which is something I strongly approve.

On a different topic – my car has been fixed (earlier than I expected!) and it’s now parked back in inside the house. All the ruined bits and wreckage have gone, and now it looks as good as new.

Halleluiah!