I dedicate this post to myself in years ahead who wills to recall the days he prays for the things he has attained.
First of all, I’m very impressed you’ve managed to keep this blog this far. I’ve created countless sites with abundant usernames on different platforms and they don’t last than a dozen of posts. And who knows that this onymous blog of a foreign-alias-resourceful Indonesian author could bear the seeming vulnerability of ID. Congratulations!
Today, I’m two-week short of being 21, aimless in the adulthood of uncertainty. It’s 9AM and the sun shines my sinister face through the small blocks of glass. I appreciate your endless battle of (uneven) aging, ha! That tomorrow carries something new is the lyric from the song I’m listening to, and I listen to it every day for some time. And also the same, mundane thing I (want to) believe.
I look back at how things were and how I end up here. I managed to excel academics in my early years. I love English since then. I was indifferently simple-minded, though differently weighed than anyone else in the class. Didn’t matter, didn’t even care. Adults seemed to see me with those glittering eyes as if I was gold-hearted and reflected lights to them. The sinless mirage. I didn’t think that far of course. Everyone cherished me, while in fact, it was just the pedestal.
Few years passed and I acknowledged myself no longer obese. Overweight is more lenient. I made great friends. Became internet sophisticated (I made my Facebook account at 14). Put a bit more effort on academics though. Things looked safe and normal, exceeding anyone’s expectations. Complacence at its finest.
Time flew and gradually dissipated those things somehow and it hit hard the moment I fell. It was an insight. A harsh one. When we’re put on a pedestal so high that we can only see the vast blue sky, we lose direction even if you feel you walk a straight line. I realized that I’ve been going around in circles; everyone has parted the start line. I’m left out. Falling into mediocrity is something I never imagined but I coped with that. But is it really a mediocrity? I had a slight doubt.
Later in life, as you know, things happened. The world seems closing in and sucks me in like a quicksand worse than mediocrity, or it’s that I actually have been below that after all. I grew bitter, trapped, and helpless. I feigned that everything is alright. I feigned that I’m able to help while I’m the one who needs one. I had no idea such fine line between the truth and make-believe.
Then suddenly here I am. Can’t move forward, can’t go back. My papers are still waiting endlessly. Thinking back how I chose to live for else’s sake, I started to have regrets. I’ve walked so far to somewhere I don’t desire. It’s disheartening that I wasted the choice while knowing people out there don’t have anything to pick in the first place. It’s pitch black. Self-hatred grows thorns of iron, capturing me inside. I can hear voices of people but the blinding darkness drags me into a deafening loneliness. Do these make sense to you? Shouldn’t there be a limit of tolerating human irrationality?
I began to ponder over the past few months. The freedom I long for can’t only wait. It needs to be found. It’s waiting to be found. It’s waiting for me to break the chain. I need to find a way to start a meaningful life. A purposeful one. The one where I can love and be loved. The one without Chekhov’s bitter ends. There has to be a way.
This feeling of hope might waver but this is the reason I write this. This will be the reminder for both of us. A reminder that behind the hope there’s your existence. You, who I’ve always wanted to be even though I can’t see the clear picture–as a better writer, perhaps? A reminder that I’m able to choose to carve my path to be in peace. I want to always remember that whenever I see straight so far away, regardless of the time, I always know you lie somewhere along, or even beyond the horizon.
And I’m on my way…