Little Thing 327: Stuck on a Replay

The project we worked on for the past two months didn’t end well, and I’m still trying to make sense of what went wrong. It’s hard not to replay the mistakes and imagine what we could have done differently. While I wasn’t physically present during the two critical days when things unfolded, I was still part of the team. We invested time, effort, and a lot of energy into this project, and that makes the weight of it difficult to shake.

So here I am, at 5 a.m. on a Saturday morning, still sitting with the grief.

I keep circling back to the idea of reciprocity, how we expect effort to be met with outcome, energy with return. When that balance breaks, it leaves something unresolved. Nothing feels unfinished in terms of work, yet emotionally, the exchange feels incomplete, and I don’t quite know what to do with that yet.

Reciprocity assumes balance: effort in, outcome out. But human systems aren’t closed systems. You can put in energy, time, and care, and still receive something that doesn’t reflect that investment. I understand this intellectually, but the emotional imbalance still persists. I don’t have a resolution here. Just the awareness that when you give deeply, and the return comes back distorted, it leaves a quiet ache that takes time to settle. 

You know the feeling when you give, and give, and give, believing that something will come back in return. It’s almost instinctive, as if our brains are wired to expect balance. But the truth is, we don’t get to control what comes back to us. And maybe that’s where I am right now, sitting with the very human disappointment of hopes and dreams that didn’t land where I thought they would. 

Hm.

Little Thing 326: Different Spacetimes

Let us sit around my campfire. 

I recently learned about relativity. Big term, I know, but it led to a major, eye-opening realization for me. At its core, relativity tells me that there is no single, absolute perspective. There is always more than one way to see everything in life, depending on where you stand, your experiences, your biases, desires, belief systems, name it.

An event can happen at the same time and yet become two entirely different experiences for two observers, and both can be right. The observer’s perspective shapes what they perceive as reality and how they make sense of the experience. Two people can walk away with wildly different feelings from the same moment, because they were never in the same spacetime to begin with.

We see things based on our own perspective, and we are quick to judge others through that lens. Today, you might judge someone for a decision they make. Five years later, you might judge that same person, for the same decision, very differently. What changed? Your perspective. Where you are in your spacetime. You are the same person, and yet not the same at all.

Relativity taught me that understanding isn’t about agreeing on one truth, but about asking where someone was standing when it happened. Sometimes, that understanding invites empathy. Sometimes, it asks me to pause and not invest emotionally. Sometimes, it allows me to acknowledge my own pain without gaslighting myself or rushing to judgment.

To try, at least, to see from where they stood.

But you need to understand that it is not an agreement. Perspective can be acknowledged without being absorbed. Empathy does not require self-betrayal. You can stand your ground, in your own reality. After all, you are not in the same spacetime anyway. 

And Einstein might agree.

Little Thing 325: How Very Human

Schopenhauer would say heartbreak hurts because the illusion collapses, but he never warned how physical it feels. Lately, there are these tiny, ambush moments; small triggers, stray thoughts that remind me heartbreak isn’t abstract at all. It feels as if someone reaches straight into my chest and crushes my heart over and over, slow and deliberate. What an odd thing, kan, that something happening entirely inside my mind can manifest like a bodily injury. How powerful thoughts are, how unforgiving.

What unsettles me most is how the pain arrives in waves I never invited. I can be working, reading, washing a cup, eating my third piece of chocolate and suddenly a thought slips in, harmless at first, then sharp, then crushing. Schopenhauer would probably say this is the Will asserting itself again, reminding me that suffering follows wherever desire once lived. But living through it feels less philosophical and more like being ambushed by my own nervous system. Thoughts shouldn’t have this kind of power, yet here they are, turning memory into muscle ache, disappointment into something that feels carved into bone.

I told my brother last week that pain is inevitable, but suffering is a choice. Healing, in that sense, isn’t gentle work, it requires walking straight into the fire. There’s no shortcut, no numbness that won’t eventually wear off. You go through the hell, you feel every degree of the heat, and only then do you reach the other side. You arrive at the door burned and crisp, but alive. And maybe the bitterness follows you for years, maybe forever, but it’s the bitterness of someone who survived the flames, not someone consumed by them. I hope.

Standing here in the middle of my own wreckage, I’m reminding myself that the point isn’t to avoid the hurt. It’s to learn the shape of it, to understand how it moves through the body, how it teaches, how it burns without fully destroying. The illusion collapses, the pain arrives, the waves come and go and somehow, we are still here. 

I can close my eyes and pretend it doesn’t feel like I’m slowly dying inside, but honestly, we’re all dying anyway. That part isn’t new. Pain just makes the whole thing louder. Still, it has its uses. Pain writes better than I do. Pain paints. Pain gives me one more day where I get to say something almost beautiful about being alive. 

How very human of us, to hurt this much and call it art ❤︎

Let’s rejoice, I guess.

Little Stories 325: December Post

Year-end Wrap Up

My ultimate stressful project is finally happening next week. I’ve finished almost all the designs, especially the printed materials, after all the chaos of preparation and planning. These two wild months passed like an epic rainstorm and somehow I survived. Lots of tears, zero sweat (I had no energy to run), no caffeine (GERD said “hi” the moment stress peaked), and way too much ranting to the poor souls who had to listen. I don’t even know how many times I said, “I want to quit and move somewhere rural.”

But hey, I made it. (Not yet, but almost)

And right after I hit “send” on those files, I applied my long leave. I wasn’t even sure I’d dare to, but I clicked it anyway.

I’m going to shut off from all the work stress and recalibrate.

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Padang & Bukittinggi Trip

I still can’t believe that two weeks ago I was in Indonesia.

I didn’t even have time to process it in the middle of all the project chaos. But surprise, surprise; the trip was actually okay. Everyone behaved, everyone tried. We were all relieved it went well. But mother nature was not in the mood. It rained heavily even before we arrived. We had gloomy hours, then drizzle, then heavy rain again, repeat on loop. We went through episodes of landslides, floods, broken branches everywhere. Our driver was a legend, always finding safe detours and getting us from point to point without fail.

The trip was honestly scary and a little dangerous (I hated that I was bringing Sofi into something like that), so I stayed tense until the very last day. But our tour guide? He was calm as a monk with a mic. He talked non-stop; stories, history, culture, geography, food, religion, language. He sang, joked, kept us entertained for hours, even in the rain and pitch darkness on those wet, hilly roads. He distracted us; never once mentioned his own worries. He just did his job incredibly well.

Despite the really bad weather and temperature below I could handle, we came home in one piece.

And that family trip, was an eye-opening experience. My dad asked us what did we learned on this trip. I learned that when someone wants to make an effort, they will. Full stop. Being accountable for your behaviour is something you learn, not something you dodge by saying, “I can’t change, this is just who I am,” and wearing it like a badge.

Because, to be real, every single day of my life is a deliberate choice to be a better person than the version I’d be if I stopped trying. I’m not perfect, I’m just someone who tries to show up, adjusts, reflects, apologises, and tries again. Accountability isn’t a personality trait. It’s a practice. Do you seriously think I’d still have any trust in humanity if I didn’t rein in my own thoughts?

I was still the party-pooper.

But I'm glad, we all had a decent time.

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Machine vs Human

We had a conversation at the office about how I mostly work with machines and honestly, I prefer it that way. We were talking about dealing with different types of humans, based on their nature of work, and I realized how thankful I am that I don’t have to interact with clients directly anymore.

And then I started noticing a pattern in how I’ve been shaped; how the little sequences of my childhood were imprinted on me and now feel woven into my personality. I love machines, and I prefer avoiding human drama. I think it comes from growing up with parents who had very distinct personalities; I learned early on to avoid conflict and unnecessary interactions. I preferred burying my face in books, shutting the world out with earphones everywhere I could.

This isn’t to justify my anti-social tendencies, because I do make an effort to carve out space for human interaction from time to time. That’s also why it’s rare for me to genuinely like anyone. And when I do, I’m often surprised by the very human nature that can emerge - even from someone like me. My sister has been asking me to try to meet new people, but ugh, the idea. 

Machines don’t ask for much. 

Humans do, and we are awfully reckless creatures. 

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