2190 days

 

My daughter just turned 6 last week. 

Six years. 

That's 2190 days and 52.560 hours of witnessing her growing up. 

Six years.

Six suddenly sounds like a big number.

When she's small, I used to carry her and she used to follow me everywhere. 

She was like an extension of me in this world. 

There are times I wonder where she got her attitude from. 

Then I realized...

Her thoughts and behavior mirrored mine and her father.

Then she started to grow her own color. 

I used to write down each new skill she acquired. 

The first time she ate all by herself. 

The first time she chose her toys.

When I saw how excited she got when making new friends.

The first time she told me she wanted to be a dancer. Then a writer. Then a doctor. Then an artist.

The first time she told me she had a crush on a boy in her class.

Those first times...

One after the other.

Until I couldn't keep track anymore.

In the last 6 years,

I learned how to work on my own feelings, too. Because it affected my action, and what I did, she would see and do.

In those 2190 days, 

I've changed my views on parenting a few times. From a tips-and-tricks to the long-term approach. It's been about finding what matters in the long run.

In those 52.560 hours,

Every day, we learn how to be good for her to grow up among. 

Happy birthday, my little one.

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. 

It was 21.13. I came home to my husband's proud smile despite all my whining on the phone. We talked until past midnight. He patiently listened to me whining all over again, saying the same things over and over. He then said something that woke me up.

"Ainun, don't you think you're a bit selfish towards the interviewer? She has interviewed maybe hundreds of people before you, and obviously more after you. It was past 4 pm. Obviously, she was tired. You expecting the interview would last 2 hours sounds a bit silly. Try to see this from her point of view."

I was offended at first. I mean, he's my husband and he should be on my side, right?. But now, today, after a good night's sleep and some more this morning, I can see the light in his answer. Yes, she did seem tired. Her voice and eyes were weak. And yes, now I feel selfish for what I said. Hahahha... Men, they seem to have better logic than us women.

Well, anyway. It's past 28 hours since the interview. I can't dwell on something I cannot control (anymore), so I'm writing this post to celebrate my hard work. I take pride in my effort because it's the only thing I can control. If my result weren't as expected, obviously I'd be heartbroken, but I would never regret it because I tried my very best. I never wanna look back and wonder what if I could do more, or why I didn't take a chance.

The highlight of my 2021 has been these CPNS tests, and I'm super grateful for it. I learned a lot about myself, to be honest. Some people say when you're past your 30 and having kid(s), you don't have the grit and persistence anymore for this kind of competition. But I proved myself, and I never felt this good about something I've done even when I haven't got the result yet. I also learned that I have an amazing support system. My family, husband, best friends, my daughter. They were rooting for me all the way. They celebrated my hard work. And for that, I feel like the luckiest person to be alive.

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?

Hm…

I can wake up early when the world is quiet and cold. Or… I can sleep in, wake up late when my body needs to rest longer.

I can take a walk. Slow walk. Run. While listening to my favourite songs blasting through my earphones. Or… I can sit down and read on my bed, curled up in a thick blanket like a lazy bear.

I can close my eyes and feel the water touch my skin in my wudhu. I can pray longer, wish more good things for more people. 

I can control what I consume for my body. Some days I need a cup of strong coffee to jumpstart my day. Some days I want to slow down and make green tea. 

I can choose what I want to learn about. I can learn tons of materials in a day, or none for days. When I think about it, it’s a form of luxury, isn’t it? To be able to choose what you study and how you do it.

I can choose my words. I can choose who I want to talk to. What I want to talk about. 

Even though I can’t always choose my thoughts – they just flow like a river all day, I can try to control which thoughts I give my energy and time to.

What can you control today? For yourself?

Please know that it’s perfectly okay to be upset, sad and frustrated. 

We can still hold feelings of gratitude while holding the feelings of everything else.

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.

Losing a good teacher feels like losing a good friend. When you lose someone, you often realize how much they meant to you. Then the worst part came: the regrets. Of not being able to do enough, or to do more.

The researches we're doing, that I keep postponing. The articles we're writing - I wish I could contribute more words and more grand ideas. The gift I wanted to give his family, but never had the chance to due to pandemic. 

He repeatedly told me that we're gonna make an amazing team of researchers, along with my friend and his colleagues in Bali. We're gonna study male and female brains and how much the physiological differences alone contribute to how both think and act. Now I don't know what to do with the drafts. Sometimes I wish I knew he was sick so I could do more, give more. 

I've been going through his Facebook photos and notes. He lived an amazing life and raised wonderful daughters who will carry on his legacy. Three bright young women who, just like him, appear shy yet are all incredible writers. 

But life… it goes on whatever happens. The hundreds of condolence messages in the university group have stopped coming, replaced by another online seminar info to attend. People move on, only a few still mourn. 

---

There will come a time when you and I and all we love will be dust, buried underground and forgotten. Our names will not be written down in any history book. But if we measure our lives by what the world does when we’re gone, we’re all insignificant and life seems pointless. 

Instead, take a look at the few people we will leave behind, who still say our names in their prayers, who carry on pieces of us forever. Our action, our voice, our character matter. Our influence matters, even when small. 

Rest in Peace, Pak… Years from now, I may forget everything you said, but I will always remember your voice and character.

Covid Note

 We live in a time where we are constantly reaching outward. 

We reach out our hands as far out into the world as we can, trying to grip onto external sources that shine like gold and promise good times. Friends to see. Hands to shake. Bodies to hug. Laughter to share. Stories to tell. Our world seems so big when our hands can easily stretch so far, and our feet can go places. But when that ability was put on hold… We struggle.

I, have been struggling, with my world suddenly became so tiny, and suffocating. For the last few consecutive days, my world has been a 3x4 square room with the lights mostly off, making the room feel even smaller.

We've all had our moments of breakdown. Fortunately, none of us fell apart at the exact same time. So there's always one of us waiting to pull the other out. Until I got Covid last week. Husband caught the virus within 3 days of my isolation making this time more difficult. He had to isolate himself in another room, leaving my daughter alone. No one to help for a while. Just two helpless parents and one (alhamdulillah) healthy 5-year old girl, all just waiting until it gets better.

It broke my heart to see her doing the best she could to help herself. Coping with this new strange situation. She read her favorite storybooks to me, sitting on her little pink chair 2 meters away from my door. Every single day.

Human physical contact is the most underrated blessing. We've been taking it for granted. Until right this second, I've never craved this much to touch the skin of another human being. But the hardest thing for me has been not having answers for my daughter. Mothers are supposed to have all the answers, right? 

Bunda, when can you go out of your room and play with me? 

I don’t know. 

Bunda, I miss going out. When can we go? 

I don’t know.

Bunda, should I go to school today? 

I don’t know. Wait, no.

Bunda, when will this be over? 

I'm sorry I just don’t know.

Who are we moms without all the answers? 

I don’t know. ⁣

But I do know that this will end. We're getting better. Things will go back to normal. I am not old, but I am not young, so somewhere in between I’ve gathered enough lessons to know that there will be an “after this”.

------------------------------

This piece was written during the time I got Covid19, 8-16 August 2021. Always stay safe, people. And please get vaccinated as soon as you can. My husband has had his two doses of vaccine and he was doing a LOT better than I did, recovered ONLY in 3 days.

Tentang 'Miswanting'

Barusan saya membaca sebuah tulisan di CNBC(dot)com tentang sebuah kelas populer di Yale yang berjudul The Science of Well-Being. Artinya kira-kira Sains Kebahagiaan. Kelas tersebut diisi oleh seorang profesor psikologi dan sains kognitif bernama Laurie Santos tentang hal-hal yang kita inginkan dalam hidup yang belum tentu membuat kita bahagia, seperti yang kita bayangkan sebelum mendapatkannya.

Miswanting secara sederhana dapat diartikan sebagai sebuah ide di mana manusia seringkali salah memprediksi sebahagia apa mereka setelah memiliki sesuatu di masa depan (how much they’ll enjoy something in the future). Saya belum mengikuti kelasnya, dan berencana nanti setelah waktu agak lapang akan ikut. Dalam tulisan tersebut, yang ditulis oleh Dave Schools, salah satu hal yang sering jadi miswanting oleh manusia adalah, tidak lain dan bukan, uang.

Santor mengatakan: "Money doesn’t increase happiness in the way that we think. Our minds are lying to us about how much of an impact extra cash will have on our happiness.” (Uang tidak menambah kebahagiaan dengan cara yang kita pikirkan. Pikiran kita membohongi diri kita sendiri dengan menganggap bahwa lebih banyak uang adalah jawabannya).

Frasa "money can't buy happiness" sudah terkenal di mana-mana lah ya. Namun yang berbeda adalah sampai sejauh apa. Di kampung, mungkin 500rb sebulan sudah bisa memenuhi kebutuhan pokok dan jajaln. Di kota besar, 500rb mungkin tidak cukup untuk memenuhi kebutuhan harian. Perdebatan ini menurut saya akan selalu jadi diskusi hangat di semua generasi, jadi tidak akan saya bahasa dalam tulisan ini.

Satu hal yang membuat saya ingin menulis adalah kalimat berikut: "Practices like meditation, gratitude and making time for social connections have the biggest effect on our well-being, she says, adding that they’re much easier to attain" (Meditasi, rasa syukur, dan bersosialisasi memberi dampak paling besar terhadap kebahagiaan manusia. Salah satu alasannya adalah karena ketiganya mudah dilakukan). Kebetulan baru saja kemarin saya diskusi buku dengan teman mengenai keutamaan ibadah untuk rezeki, dan bagi saya rezeki terbesar adalah kebahagiaan, bukan?

Kenapa kalimat tersebut menjadi sorotan? Karena pada usia 32 tahun ini, saya baru menyadari betul esensi ibadah yang sejak kecil lebih sering saya praktikkan seperti robot. Kenapa shalat, bersyukur, dan muamalah sangat diatur? Karena dampaknya yang sangat krusial bagi well-being kita. Ketiga aktivitas ini mungkin terselihat sepele dan biasa, tapi percayalah… Ketika pikiran sedang kalut, bagi orang yang depresi, kesepian, biasanya jawabannya adalah salah satu atau bukan ketiga di atas.

Seberapa sering kita mendengar berita milioner bunuh diri. Uang banyak, tetapi tidak sanggup melanjutkan hidup. Seberapa sering kita melihat di sekitar kita orang yang bergelimangan harta, tetapi dihinggapi banyak penyakit karena depresi? Tapi kenapa hingga saat ini, uang masih menjadi semacam orientasi utama dalam menjalani hidup?

Saya tidak sedang menafikan kebutuhan materialistis. Tentu kita perlu makan, tempat berlindung, pakaian, keluarga, dan teman untuk merasa lengkap. Saya juga pernah hampir depresi karena dompet dan rekening yang sudah lama kosong, dan tentu membuat saya sengsara. Yang saya sorot disini bukanlah uangnya, atau jumlahnya. Tetapi niat, tujuan, dan prinsip. Ketika mencari uang diniatkan untuk menghidupi keluarga, membahagiakan orang tua, membantu yang kesulitan, saya yakin seberapa banyakpun uang yang kita miliki, kita akan tetap bahagia.

Menurut Santor, apa yang benar-benar membuat kita bahagia sangat berbeda-beda pada setiap individu. Karena prioritas, tujuan hidup, prinsip, dan idealisme yang berbeda pula. Namun pada prinsipnya, apapun tujuan hidup kita, yang membuat kita bahagia seharusnya tidak sulit didapatkan sesuai kapasitas kita. Hidup ini singkat, sebentar saja. Selain ingin meninggalkan jejak dan kontribusi untuk yang akan kita tinggalkan, jangan sampai kita lupa untuk membahagiakan diri dengan cara yang sederhana saja.

Untuk mengakhiri tulisan ini, saya ingin membagian temuan sebuah artikel yang ditulis oleh Nanum Sofia dan Endah Puspita Sari yang berjudul Indikator Kebahagiaan (Al-Sa’adah) dalam Perspektif Alquran dan Hadis. Terdapat 164 ayat dari 122 surat Alquran dan 24 dalil hadis tentang kebahagiaan (alsa’adah). Dari keseluruhannya, penulis merangkum 17 indikator kebahagiaan menurut Alquran dan Hadis.