Gebi Sihotang

A Short-Lived Contentment

Jul 10, 2020 4 years ago

The first-time corona out shined the rest of the world, I was in the middle of figuring out something. I find the question--the "what you want to do with your life"--is very adaptable. They world is changing and yet the question remains. It took a couple of turns and tolls. I am not even sure where I am now. But again, a couple of wrong turns tend to lead you to places you probably should have been from the first place. Too many quiet times can be too much for some people. I had my fair share on some of that. But during these lock-downs I've learned that the silence can liberate you. It forces you to listen because silence has its own voice. Sometimes, it fills you in with things that you don't want to listen because it's scary, demanding, and judgmental. But the rest of the time, the voice can be kind, tender, and loving. During this pandemic, I start to do my workout routine at 5am in the morning. Before this, I barely have one. Every time I tie my shoes for the run, the morning always starts with darkness--a complete darkness. But, its subtlety turns into something that always steady. Always there. The steadiness is loyal even though, it doesn't have reasons to be. We don't exactly have an extravagant view in Jakarta. But, it's still a view and I have reasons to love it. Sometimes I envy people with a better sunrise. But I guess it's all the same at some point. That tingling sensation that you feel in your heart when you see that sun can be exactly the same with those people who see the sunrise on the top of some mountain. It's the same sun and probably the same tingling sensation, but with a different twist to get there. In an everlasting changing world, I need something constant. And the sun is funnily always there. It whispers quietly, everyday, "Don't you worry, kid. I'll be here. I'll be gone at some point, but I'll be back. I always do." And that promise is somehow good enough for me. In general, all of these lock-downs tend to make me aware of my noetic freedom and the only reasonable thing that I can come up to express it is by writing. I never thought that I will miss that glaring sound of the street in Jakarta or how much I love writing. I sit myself down one day and I am typing and typing, writing and writing, and realize it's late and I haven't eaten anything. The ample time of idleness has been reminded me to appreciate some tiny details that I wouldn't be notice if I walk with the speed of gazelle. It's the sun. It's the street. It's the voice. It's you and it's the silence. It's an invisible artifact of your perpetually short-lived contentment. You're going to continue your day and your life with a pretend poise and a silicon happiness just to substitute that short-lived equanimity. But you will not replace it. You won't be able to. You might try with more work, more money, or more relationships. You'll be gone and you'll be lost. You'll be stranded and out of nowhere. And when it reappears, you might be confused. You'll reject it. You sense its familiarity yet it feels a little bit unknown--an alien. But, sooner or later, you'll find your way back. But you're going to be back with the same amount of wholeness and you'll be complete. And "enough enough enough" will be your new mantra. You'll be there, again. Just like the sun. And you'll whisper together, "I am back."

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