I got bitten by a wasp and became philosophical

 

Last night, for the first time in my life, I got bitten by a wasp. On my right palm, right under my pointer finger. And let me tell you, no amount of pain metaphor I can think of will ever do it justice. It wasn’t just a sting; it was a full-body betrayal. My nerves were on fire, my mind spiraled. I actually stood there wondering, “Is this venomous? What if my hand goes numb and I can’t use it again? How do I audit with one hand - left hand?”

So of course, in true small-town audit fieldwork fashion, my team took me to an orang pintar nearby. He cleaned the sting, gave me five different types of mystery pills (which I didn't take because, no thank you, random unlabeled substances). By the time I got back to the hotel, the pain had eased a little. And by morning, it was like it never happened. And maybe because I’m perpetually tired and slightly philosophical these days, I started thinking about how much this whole thing reminds me of my life in the last 3 years.

The Gift of Time

 For many of us, time is just... Well, time. That 24 hours everyone has to live. "Another day" . 

We have time clues within our reach, on our hands, wall, table, phone. We 'sense' time by looking at the sky, or how long we think we've been doing something. Time expands and shrinks based on what we do and feel. Time flies when we talk to the ones we love. Two hours went just like that. Time slows down when we're waiting. Five minutes feels like a lifetime.

But time, you see, is always there. It may be rushed, slow in motion, or slippery in our hand, but it is not impossible to hold on to. 

I want to hold on to time. 

By recognizing its movements and the passing seconds I could never get back. I hold on to it by being aware of the changes surrounding me. I look at my face in the mirror and see dark spots and soft wrinkles under my eyes. That's time. I touch my hand and remember that the surface used to be thinner and softer. That's time. I count my husband's grey hairs, and feel the thickening skin on his face. And don't even get me started on my daughter. That's time. Going away. Leaving traces.

Sometimes, time is rough, when I see the people I care about starting to lose hope after their years of struggle. I want to slow down the time for them, help them to take a breathe and maybe find a tiny hint of love in my presence. But more often than that, time is like a breeze. I lean in to it, and know when to just let go and ride its currents.

Time is our gift, but only if we are paying attention to it. Only if we learn how to tame it.

SKB and a Worrying Wave of Anxiety

 It was 16.09 as I checked my watch after my assessor wrapped up my interview. I remember being called into the room not even 30 minutes before. I remember standing up from my chair, walking like a zombie to gather my bags, processing all the questions in my head like an old Android phone. 

Already?

I still have a lot to tell.

I haven't told her about this and that, and a lot more.

Did I say something wrong? 

Or is it possible she already made an assumption about me? 

Trying to see a bigger picture of me as a person based on the very limited information I provided?

But she didn't ask me about this and that, and a lot of things.

But I have prepared myself for tens and tens of questions, but how I only got very few?

My head spun, wondering if it went wrong. Maybe I set my expectations too high, hoping she'd dig deeper because I was 100% ready to be brutally honest and open up about myself. I cried on my way home listening to Taylor Swift, feeling so heavy-hearted. I felt like I wasn't properly interviewed. Was I not interesting enough to be asked more? Seriously, my anxiety just shot through the roof the minute I walked out of the room. 

Overwhelmingly Overwhelmed

When things start to feel overwhelming, I stop and take a step back. Sometimes one step. Sometimes more… up to a perfect distance from where I could view myself as an object rather than myself. 

Then I think about what I can control. What I can decide right now. For myself. What I can slow down, speed up, or pass over. 

One thing I ALWAYS get the chance to do regardless of the time and circumstances: taking a deep breath.

Deep down…

Feeling the air travel slowly and lightly from my nose, to my throat, to my lung, all the way down to my belly. Nice and full. Instead of merely breathing in my chest where I only feel half breathing.

What else can I control?

To Allah we all belong, and to Him we'll return

 

Today, I'm reminded again how this life is but a stepping stone to the afterlife. Covid took away my thesis supervisor, my professor. Our most recent conversation took place just a few days ago. We got Covid around the same time in early August, but he's old and could only handle herbal remedies. We talked a lot during that time. Even in sick, he wrote research articles with his colleagues and me. He told me at the end of August that he was starting to feel better.

When I heard the news, I didn't quite understand how to react. It was clearly shocking, and I just froze as my brain struggled to process what was going on. Later that afternoon, I looked him up on Google and found his channel. He wrote his last poetry 2 weeks ago, narrated it with photographs of his house and garden, entitled it "going home". As I listened to his voice, that's when the feeling hit. Nothing could stop my tears for a good 20 minutes. 

He was a quiet man who kept to himself. Never talked more than necessary. His voice was soft and he spoke slowly. But when he read poetry on stage, he was a completely different person. His voice loud, saying each word as if it’s the soundtrack of a battle he’s fighting. His passion has always been literature (sastra). I could say he lived up to his name, as he looked most alive when he talked about the power of words.