Little Thing 341: The Architecture of Moving On

Af asked me what I do when I’m feeling stuck, and I’ve been reflecting on that question.

I’m impatient, goal-oriented, methodical. My instinct has always been to solve things. If something feels wrong, I go straight to the core and look for the real problem instead of treating the symptoms. I don't avoid things whenever something feels uncomfortable and I don’t really know how to do surface level. I tend to see several layers deep.

The problem is that some things cannot be solved immediately. Some problems require time, or grief, or experience. There are layers to move through, levels to graduate from. But for me to feel fully at ease, I need every loose thread tied up. My brain works like a spider web of information. Everything connects to everything else. Plan A links to Plan B, which depends on solving Plan C first. Every decision branches into ten possible consequences.

So I never really relax. Not completely anyway.

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Right now, I’m dealing with some sort of heartbreak. So naturally, I’m trying to intellectualize everything that’s happening to me: waking up at 3:30 a.m., losing weight, the inability to eat, the mild depression, struggling to focus on work, the absurd amount of caffeine I’m consuming just to function, the crying. Oh my God, the crying. Full heartbreak starter pack.

And I don’t have the patience for it. That’s the thing.

I’m completely aware of what’s happening to me, almost clinically aware, but awareness and control are two very different things. I can explain the mechanisms behind every symptom and still be unable to stop any of it. That’s the part that annoys me the most. Not even the sadness itself anymore, but the loss of authority over my own mind and body. Like suddenly I’m no longer the architect of the system, just another person trapped inside it, watching alarms go off in every room. 

So, back to the question: what do I do when I’m feeling stuck?

I have a whole toolkit for surviving difficult things, and I don’t really want to list all the rituals required just to keep functioning. But one thing I’ve been doing lately is this: I do the things that scare me. The things that challenge me. The things I normally would have postponed until I felt more ready, more stable, or more certain.

For example:

• I bought a small space for me and Sofi.
• I submitted my short story for a contest.
• I applied for Japanese language classes. (Rejected - Full)
• I started going on solo dates.
• I submitted an application for something big. (I’ll talk about it if it happens)
• I shared the songs I wrote with singer-songwriters.
• I bought Joji tix !
• I reached out.

Every week, I try to do things that scare me, partly to remind myself that I’m still alive, and partly because heartbreak has this strange effect where disappointment loses some of its power. Like once your nervous system has already declared a national emergency, rejection emails start feeling almost administrative. What do I have to loose, kan. Alang2, I'm in pain, let's use this efficiently. 

The idea behind it is that the more new things slotted into your brain, the more your mind starts believing that life is still moving, still expanding, still within your control. New experiences interrupt the depressive loop. Slowly, you begin teaching your brain to move on, telling it: “Hey, this is good. We can continue. We are expanding. We’re okay.”

That's the light of hope and that's your past dream

Some doors might eventually open, new opportunities, who knows.  

You should try it. It’s strangely refreshing. Almost funny, even.

Little Thing 340: Access Tickets

I came out from my deep well and looked outside for a bit. An old friend reached out, and I responded.

I had erased her whole existence for the past few years while I was in crisis, and she told me I had done it before. Once when my parents were separating and getting divorced. Once when I fell in love with someone I shouldn’t have. And then again these past few years. The same pattern repeating itself whenever I am faced with something too big for me to handle.

I can see my own red flag in how I handle crisis. When life becomes too much, I cave inward. It is not new. I feel safer inside my own box, protecting my heart while I try to process whatever enormous thing is happening in my head. I think the people close to me know this by now. The solitary confinement I retreat into just to survive my own thoughts.

The things that happen in my brain when there is “too much” sound like noise. Sometimes fast, sometimes unbearably slow, but always loud in their own way. In Inside Out 2, there is a scene where Anxiety becomes overwhelmed and starts doing everything at once. The mind moves frantically, but right in the middle of all that chaos, it becomes stuck. Frozen. Overwhelmed by the sheer volume of things happening at once. I thought that was depicted beautifully.

When something like this happens, I usually turn everything else off and go into safe mode. I focus only on the things I can control. I stop making decisions. I find space to breathe and take things one step at a time. Usually, I shut everything else out because I need silence in order to listen. My brain can already be unbearably loud, so I do not let anyone else in.

I know it is not the best way to handle difficult phases in life, but it became my default survival method.

These days, though, I give smaller access tickets to my siblings so they can check in on me because I knowwwww they are concerned. (Okay, okay, fine.) I am also more aware of what is happening while it is happening, so sometimes I will say, “I’m overwhelmed, please give me space,” instead of disappearing completely. I try to ride the wave of emotion instead of avoiding it. Then I sit with it long enough until I can finally find a solution, or at least a decision.

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Maybe this is not growth in the dramatic sense. Maybe it is just learning how to leave the door slightly open while I disappear for a while. Not everyone needs to enter. But at least now, someone knows where I went. 

Tiny improvement ✦

Go awayyyh

Note: I noticed that people that stay in my circle are orang2 degil in my life, because dorang tak bagi I chan lari jauh sorg2 🙄

Little Thing 339: The Life Grid

I got inspired after watching Beef a few weeks ago, and decided to design and code something I call The Life Grid. 

The idea is simple. On average, a human lives about 80 years.

So:

80 years = 960 months = 960 little boxes

Each box represents one month of your life:

When you open the file in your browser, you key in your birth year and month.

It then calculates how many months you’ve already lived, and how many boxes you have left.

• Filled boxes are your past.
• Empty boxes are your remaining time.

Yes, I know. It sounds a bit morbid, maybe it is a bit morbid. But for me, it creates clarity. A quiet reminder that time is finite and not all of us will even reach all 960 boxes. Every time I look at it, I find myself asking a simple question: Do I still have enough time? 

I also added a few small features:

• You can mark milestones using different colors for different phases of life
• Add notes to specific boxes as little memory anchors
• Drop in emojis (a ring for marriage, a star for accomplishments, etc.)
• Export a printable version
• Switch between color and black-and-white modes
• .html file (so data is locally saved in your browser until you reset it)

Ultimately, this started as a side quest on a random office day. I designed it, then prompted AI to help with the coding so I could interact with it. It’s fairly basic, I’ve been tweaking parts of the coding myself along the way. I didn’t make it to measure productivity or to optimize life into something efficient. I made it because I wanted to see time differently, perhaps visually. 

It makes me be a bit more intentional, and pay more attention to the passing time.

Note: Let me know if you want the .html file, I can email it to you. 

Little Thing 338: Pain is Pain, Kan

A week ago, I had a mini surgery on my right eyelid. I’ve been having repeated eye infections for over a month (ketumbit), so I went to a normal clinic for a consult, and they referred me to a specialist on Sunday. I went after work on Monday. The doctor said we should just do the minor surgery that day. I was not mentally ready, but suddenly I was lying down on a surgery bed being prepped. No one even knew I was there, because I didn’t plan on it.

The nurse covered me with those fabric things over my upper body, I couldn’t see anything, and the doctor started doing some uncomfortable stuff on my eye. Thank God I didn’t see anything, because he really just went in and did what he needed to do. I only heard and felt things. He made a small incision, took out the pus, cleaned everything. It was probably done in 20 minutes. I walked out with an eye bandage like a pirate, went home on a Grab, and got myself two days of medical leave. And another course of antibiotics, which just ended today as I’m writing this.

On the same day I had the surgery, I was also heartbroken over something quite major in my life. I was actually waiting to go home from work just so I could cry, so the surgery ended up being this very impromptu, unplanned thing on the worst day possible. And for the next two days, I had to stop myself from crying because the cut was still wet. That was probably the hardest part. Not being able to physically cry. Having to hold everything in.

Thankfully the cut healed quite fast. And I’ve been crying every day since.

Both my sisters knew I was having a hard time, but my brother didn’t. Or maybe he did, and he gave me the space. I’m going to be a bit stereotypical here and say men don’t always process emotions the same way we do. So I’ve been avoiding him because I don’t feel like explaining things that might not even land. He asked me how long I’ll be “closing” this blog. I just rolled my eyes and ignored him for a while.

I told my sisters not to worry. I’m okay. I’m eating. I’m not suicidal. I’m just heartbroken, and I will go through this. I always do. My sister has been texting me a lot these days because she’s “concerned” - I have a history with breaking down dramatically. So I’ve just been openly vulnerable with them. Because whatever, it’s just pain, and I’ve been in pain for the longest time anyway, kan. What difference does it make?

When she asked how am I doing: “I die every day. Tp every morning I bangun”.

At this point, I think I’ve become a bit nonchalant with my pain. Not because it doesn’t hurt, it does, it is amazing how much we can feel inside but because I’ve decided to just ride it out until God decides it’s time for me to move on to the next level. You might feel uncomfortable with how good I am in talking about my pain because we are living in a society that hides uncomfortable truth and I don't answer "how are you doing" with "I'm good". I hate to feel like a victim, so I choose to accept the truth whatever hard it might be because that is the reality of it.

And I’ve been thinking that maybe I should just use this ability I have, to articulate what’s happening in my mind into written words. I’ve been practising this for almost 20 years. I know a lot of people struggle to put their feelings into words. Maybe if they read how I process things, they’ll feel like it’s something they can learn too. Yesterday I saw Ocean Vuong's interview and I noticed he can write so beautifully because he let himself feel the emotions, he accepted them. 

So I’m just going to say it out loud now. I’m a writer and I'll write.

Because I write as honestly as I can and if I die tomorrow, at least I know I’ve been doing this consistently for the past 20 years. So, maybe closing this blog isn't the right choice because I don't want to make myself much smaller than how I already feel. 

Let my words take a space. 

And you shouldn't be here. This is a space for people who are not afraid to feel.