It hurts... so bad

Anna was looking at her reflection on the mirror, and suddenly felt so depressed, again. She felt like she could not take anymore all pressures that all people have been given to her. She felt like she did not want to get up tomorrow in the morning, and see all of her friends anymore. She knew that sooner or later those words, those painful words, would come out of those mouths again, and again, and would break her heart again, and again. That afternoon, she spent alone in her room looking at, pitying herself.

She heard a knock on the door. She did not feel like answering so she stayed in her blanket. The door knob was moving slowly, and Mother was standing there. She brought a cup of tomato soup for Anna to have supper. She did not feel like eating, not even talking to Mother. Mother was walking silently towards Anna. Anna did not want to talk, so she covered her up deeper with her blanket. Anna heard that Mother wept, and Mother said weakly, “Bono bought this soup from this morning’s market. He was here just now.”

Anna loved Bono, in fact she was crazy about him. She knew that Bono cared about her. But talking to him had been the most tiring argument for Anna lately. She felt that Bono has been not telling what he actually needed to say. She knew that somehow she found relieving of what Bone said, but she scared that Bono would make her even worst. In fact, Bono had been the only person, besides her family, who had been saying that Anna is beautiful just the way she was. But Anna could not be sure if that is right.

Anna could not stand hearing Mother weeping. She unwrapped herself and at last wanted to talk to Mother. She did not know where to start though, because this was the first time in her life she ever talked about her private thoughts to Mother. She felt that Mother might know what to do, and she soon would end this misery, so she started.

“Mother, I have been feeling ugly”.

“Why is it like that Honey? What makes you feel that?”

“I don’t know Mother, but it is just people keep saying that to me? Do you know what is wrong with me Mother?”

“Honestly, I don’t know Honey. ‘Cause for me you seem fine, except that you have not been eating properly lately, so I guess you look a bit pale now.”

“If so Mother, why people are doing that to me? I never felt so bad like this before Mother. It feels like no one likes me for the way I am. It seems that they enjoy commenting on me Mother. It hurts so bad Mother when people say that I am fat, or I am ugly, or sometimes that I am not interesting enough as a person. Am I that bad Mother?”

“Oh Honey, who has been saying those things to you?”

“I don’t know anymore Mother. I hate those people for saying those to me. In fact they are actually no one Mother. They are people who are not close to me, but I cannot understand why they do this to me. They never know me as a person Mother, we never are friends really, but whenever we are in class, or anywhere where we are bumped into each other, there were always occasions where they can always say those sorts of things. I never know what I did wrong to them, I never said that they were ugly or they were fat or they were eating too much Mother. I felt like I let them be happy. But they seem to enjoy telling me those things. When they did that to me, it looks to me that they don't feel anything. It looks like it was not wrong to them, like it was just a chit chat really. But Mother, it hurts... so bad. I’ve been saying to myself Mother, that I am in fact not that bad. Although I eat probably more that them, and I feel that I eat normal, and I am not fat or overweight or anything, am I Mother? When they said that I am not interesting as a person, I said to myself that I do have some friends, good friends, and Bono, he is a lovely boyfriend, and a happy family, don’t I Mother? Don’t those things prove that some people actually find me interesting, and like me for what I am really? So Mother, I’ve been mad to myself. I am mad because I don’t know why I am still talking to those people, do they really deserve it Mother? I am mad because two hours ago I was pitying myself in front of that mirror and was asking myself what is wrong with me. I am mad because I thought that I still need those people, while I actually don’t know what good they bring to me. They are not there when I am crying like this Mother. They were not there Mother when I run out of money. I realized that they solely there for the laughs. I don’t need that Mother, do I? I am so depressed Mother, I am.”

“Oh Anna, I really don’t know what to say. There are bad people out there, and they should really think about what they could have done with their comments. And I think from now on you just need to care about yourself and people you care about. Not people that you think you care about, but people who can really be there for the ups and the downs, for the laughs and the sadness. I think from now you have to start to give and take, and stop giving all you have for those who don’t give to you. Believe in yourself, and believe in what you see and feel about yourself. Believe me Dear, I love you just the way you are, inside out. I believe that people are different, some have beauties all over their bodies, and some have beauties inside, which others might not see. But you will see later that beauties that naked eyes can see, that those people have cared and talked about, are only skin deep. Beauties that are kept inside are purer and harder to change. Those beauties are meant to bloom later, and eventually to be seen later. And you, you are one of those pure beauties. That is why you have people that care about you when you cry and when you smile.”

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I dedicate this post for those who have been having lack of self-confidence because of people's saying mortifying opinions about them. I guess from now on, we really have to think twice, or even more, before we actually say what we meant to say. There is never a good reason that qualifies a person to hurt others, even when we don't mean to.

A story about a smile

No matter what we try, and no matter how strong we are, human never have a power to push away Monday. Monday always comes. And its presence makes all smiles that human can ever have disappear. Probably not for some workaholics, and for some people with some special happiness-related cases. But I am certain that most of the normal people do feel like erasing Monday. For all the sake of happiness, the smiles needed to be reborn.

Some people decided to rewrite their smiles with a cup of the blackest coffee, without sugar, without milk, with an extra shot. Good choice to reopen their eyes, but I don't think smile would come from coffee. The only possibility might happen is the opposite of happiness, bitterness. Obviously the coffee must have tasted bitter, the smile is still a fetus.

Some people thought that lying to themselves might help. They came to their offices about half an hour to an hour late, and said hopelessly to their colleagues who drank their coffee, "Good Morning, monday again!". People would give a slight look, and said bitterly, "Yeah I know it's monday again. Good Morning". I would right away suggest them to rather say, "Bad Morning people, monday again", and people should have replied, "Yeah I know it's monday again. Bad Morning!". Simple, don't lie. Again, the smile is not yet reborn.

Some people just did not have a special concern about Monday anymore. They realized that they would not ever beat Monday, and force it to not come. They got up on time, and were in the office on time. They right away went to their working spot and faced the fact that the world will keep moving, without noticing every wish of its habitants. I am guessing that this kind of people must have somekind of dream, or whatsoever that makes the world of Monday is so worth it to live. They even put a slight smile while answering the first phone call on Monday. They went by the rule, be mainstream. I suppose that the smile is ready to be born on Tuesday.
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Born: Tuesday

Died: Sunday

Smile is born to the mainstream people.

The Search

I had a little talk with my flatmate two days ago. It was about the belief. I usually tend to avoid this kind of conversation, as usually it is down to religion. And religion is personal to me. Personal, in the same way as talking about my family matter. But that night, I did it anyway.

It appeared that she is jealous because I believe in something. And I've never heard such thing before. That was why I stayed.

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I admit that I do not really practice my belief. Although I also admit that I do still believe and always will. Practicing or not, one thing that I will always keep in mind, that I do what I do because I believe that is the right way, I do everything in my own way, and I keep that only between me and Him.

But it is really hard to actually stay on one belief. I keep reading books. I talk to people, but I am still not sure. Why I envy you is because you can have something to hold on. You believe in something.

I do not believe to have something to hold on to. To be honest I keep my belief only for leading my life to a good way, my own good way. I use my belief to keep the good from the bad, the bad from the good. Although the actual difference between those is subtle. Some people think that the belief is a part from our identity. I'd say it is more the way of life that results in our identity. In short, I would not let people know me because I am a muslim then I am a good person. I'd prefer people know me because I am a good person because I am a muslim. If we think like this, no one would do stereotyping in this world anymore.

I admit that I also believe in something bigger than us, but there are just too much doubts already along that belief that make me rather not go for it.

Doubts. The only question would be.. about what?

About which one. About why I should choose.

Who says that you have to stick in one of those. You don't always get to choose if you see believing in the same way as I do. By the end of the day, being good and happy are the ultimate goal. Those two might be cliche, but I guess with those two you can almost always survive from anything, but death of course. If I were you, I would treat my beliefs as I have been treating my cultural experience for the past four years. I tend not to avoid anything, instead I filter them. I have been collecting the cultural essences to make my own culture. This way I kinda enrich myself with the things I believe are good. I guess the basic concept of having differences applies here. That's also why companies have been campaigning about diversity program or internationalization. They all adapt one concept. Differences do not always lead to a conflict. Synergy should be the way we approach the differences. It is the same with the beliefs. Let's go with the trends I'd say.

It sounds like positive. Have you ever had some doubts about it thou?

I of course did. Especially after about the whole of my life learning about the same thing. I thought it would have been like learning math. If you do not understand you'd ask for sure, until you get the right formula to solve the equation. Doubt in believing for me does not work like that. You do not get to always ask. The more questions you have, sometimes it will bring you futher. One day a person told me to stop asking. It was so absurd I thought. But now I understand that the beliefs are not supposed to be thought in the same way as we thought about science, that everything can be explained. Those are the unreachable, the beliefs, should be somehow preserved by not asking. As time goes by, you are getting wiser, with your preserved belief you'd understand.

I am also telling myself, again, now, that that time will come.

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Based on a nice talk with Aimee van Dinten. Details of the story do not refer to the actual conversation.

A short dialogue with a Painter

He was once a businessman, running a quite successful small business in Holland. He is married with 2 children, Jessica and Marteen. He woke up every morning, went downstairs for a cup of coffee and made pancakes for the children. On the lazy days, he stayed upstairs faking his sleep to let his wife, Rieke, fed the children. He loved his life more than anything. He loved his routines. He loved his stressful work and to see his secretary having a secret affair with a guy on the 2nd floor. He loved his weekends in the garden during spring with his children, with his mother overlooking them from the veranda. It was obvious when people saw him walking in the neighborhood, or walking through the office corridor, or in the supermarket busy with his plastic bags, or just jogging around the corner, they definitely would say 'a good life is his life' and that always left a slight smile on their faces.

Until one day, on Wednesday morning, in a windy spring. It was no way an ordinary wind that day. That day trees were down, people are sent home and forced to be home, no school and children playing outside, instead of blossom flower, the wind took the flower along. For him it was like the other business day. He was on the way to a business appointment. He took his car. He listened to his new U2, and did not turn his news-switcher on, that made him isolated from the latest news. He was on the road, 80km/h, and it was raining cats and dogs. The phone suddenly was ringing, once, twice, third times, and....

still. silence was all over him. silentness. mute. nothing.

Three weeks after that, all he knew was that something bad happened that day. How, when, what, no one knew exactly. The doctor said that there were some damages with his skull that had impacted his way of thinking. That made working in a company was no longer an option. For him, for his family, for his company too, that day was the longest day of his life.

He was then referred to a psychiatrist, and spent hours of talking with him. About life, love, money, past, future, children, mother, any single thing he could think about. One day he was asked to stop seeing the psychiatrist and left with a single piece of advice, "find your hobby to make yourself happy again".

It was the most absurd thing he ever heard. He hated the psychiatrist for leaving him, for letting him thought that life is hard again, even harder. He then stayed home. He started watching TV. boring. He moved to radio. boring. He started with photography. Too expensive after a while. Then cooking. Tasteless. Then reading. His eyes got tired after thousands of books and his brain got full. Then music. Still music. Stayed a while in the music. Pretty good one. Then he got inspiration to paint. Red. Blue. Green. Lines. Circles. People. People. Women. Monster. Anything. He fell in love, with painting.

He continued going back and forth a hobby shop around the corner to buy another canvas, sometimes the guy gave him something for free. Black canvas, new type of acrylic, painting books, story about painting, some brushes, even glass palette. His painting started to make his small apartment full of his painting. He then started to go around the neighborhood to sell his painting. To a tall guy with a nerd daughter. To a former business partner, he sold a big one. To an artist who is a cousin of his former supplier. To his children's teacher. He gave three also to his children's school. One to the city library, the darkest one because he thought the library was too colorful. One, the one with a lot of yellow on it, to his mother, because he thought his mother shines for some reasons. And one, the one he liked the most, he wrapped that for his 14th marriage anniversary, and gave it as a surprise present to his wife.

He enjoys painting.

It has been five years since those days. Now, he lives in Belgium in a small city about three hours from Holland. He paints for living, with a title of 'Levenskunstenaar' stated on his brochure and business card. He does abstact most of the time, with people as the centre of the story. He is invited by big companies to paint for them. His creations now are hung on companies' wall. He paints around 40 paintings every year. His life is back. Some differences here and there. No fake sleep anymore. No 9-5 in the office. No secretary. No weekdays and weekends. His days are just days, where he can work on the weekends and sleep on the weekdays. Although those are not parts of his life anymore, 4 people are still the same, Rieke, Jessica and Marteen. Once again, smile has been brought to his, their life. Once again people look at them and say 'a good life is his life', with an additional thought of 'when you can do what you love to do'.

He is back on business, without supplier, without partner, without office. Just the business. He calls his new life, an enjoyable life.

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This story is based on a short dialogue with an artist, Pim Smit, who told me to not think when I start paint, in Eindhoven, while he was painting in a food court during lunch hour, on a windy shiny spring of Holland.

Shit!

When you are trapped in a shitty life, all you can do is saying
Shit!
Shit!
Shit!
without having any power of walking away.

Same old scenario

I hate your mother because the way she tells what she does not like. I also hate your mother because the way she behaves toward my family. I also hate your mother for not admitting me as the breadwinner of the family, that I am the suppose to be the respected one. I also hate your mother because she is so careless. I also hate your mother because she would not ever care about me and family, for every little detail. I hate your mother because she always makes trouble for me. I hate your mother because she always hides everything from me. I hate your mother because she is insensitive. I hate your mother because she always sleeps all the time, even when it is unnecessary and when we have guest in our house. I hate your mother because I am stuck with her, because I married her, 21 years ago.

Yes I know, I have been told. Yes I know, I have been told yesterday. Yes I know, I have been told last week. Yes I know, I have been told last month. Yes I know, I remember, it is the same story that I heard last year, or was it 2 years ago, or probably 5 years ago. Yes I must know, It must be the same old scenario as I have been told a very long time ago.

I hate your father because he is so lazy. I hate your father because he never tries to understand me. I hate your father because he does not want to move forward, or it seems so at least. I hate your father, I actually hate as well your father's family. I hate your father because he is full of judgement. I hate your father because he made me not able to have all my dreams. I hate your father because he always us to respect him. I hate your father because he is so boring. I hate your father because every morning all I see is him sitting in the living room, looks like thinking something serious, while basically doing nothing. I hate your father because I am stuck with him because I married him, 21 years ago.

Yes I know, I have been told. Yes I know, I have been told yesterday. Yes I know, I have been told last week. Yes I know, I have been told last month. Yes I know, I remember, it is the same story that I heard last year, or was it 2 years ago, or probably5 years ago. Yes I must know, It must be the same old scenario as I have been told a very long time ago.

Ibu Bernyawa 5

Beberapa minggu yang lalu saya mendengar cerita yang benar-benar membuat saya menangis. Ini tentang seorang ibu yang saya kenal dekat, namun panggil saja ia Ibu. Sudah beberapa tahun belakangan setelah keadaan ekonomi keluarganya menurun, pusat perbelanjaan keluaganya berpindah ke pasar tebet barat. Selain murah, relatif dekat dari rumah, dan disana sangat lengkap. Walaupun memang harus menahan panas dan sesak. Pada hari sang ibu pergi ke pasar tebet untuk membeli keperluan obat-obatan harian. Ia juga membeli obat disana, karena bisa ditawar dan kadang ada yang bisa dibeli setengah. Lalu ia tertarik pada sebuah lipstick pada saat melihat-lihat. Ia lihat lipstick itu beberapa saat, dicobanya ke punggung tangannya untuk melihat warnanya dan ia kembalikan ke si penjual, ia menyebutnya Uda. Ia sang pemilik toko kosmetik langganan si ibu. "Nanti deh yah da, liat-liat dulu" kata ibu.

Ia benar-benar ingin lipstick itu, entah karena memang butuh atau tertarik saja. Tapi menurutku itu adalah hal yang wajar karena toch ia adalah juga seorang wanita yang ingin tampil cantik. Lalu ia berpikir-pikir sambil berputar-putar pasar. Dan setelah beberapa lama, tak terasa ia telah memutari seluruh pasar lima kali. Dan ia memutuskan untuk pulang dan tidak jadi membeli lipstick itu. Ketika saya bertanya kepada adik saya yang menceritakan kisah ini kepada saya.

"Emang berapa harganya sih lipsticknya??"
"20 ribu". Hati saya terasa mau copot mendengarnya. Lalu apa sebabnya saya tanyakan lagi ke adik saya.
"Lah, kenapa ga dibeli terus?
"Soalnya 20 ribu bisa buat uang makan besok"

Serta merta perasaan campur aduk datang. Seumur hidup saya tidak pernah mendengar kisah seperti ini, apalagi tentang seseorang yang saya kenal baik. Ternyata memang susah sekali menjadi seorang ibu. Ia benar-benar tidak mempunyai satu hidup. Tapi 4 hidup lainnya, keluarganya. Milik anaknya yang pertama, milik anaknya yang kedua, milik anaknya yang ketiga, dan milik suaminya. Saya jadi menyadari bahwa saya harus siap untuk berpikir seperti itu juga nanti jika saya menjadi seorang ibu. Siap untuk mempunyai lebih dari satu hidup. Hidup untuk orang lain. Memang seorang ibu itu selalu mulia.