Suci B.Y.T.'s Blog

I used to like rain. The sound of it. The rain of September, especially. Now we can't really hear the sound of it sputtering on the rooftop. But the sound of rain falling on billions of corn leaves makes a pretty good substitute these days. It’s just not from here. It's just not from here, […]

I am a nobody. Not in the sense of not having a name or identity or existence, like the Face-less cult's No One in the Game of Thrones world. But, yes, I am a nobody. Still, with all of this nothingness, I'm entitled to have an overwhelming feeling—a compilation of anger, disappointment, hopelessness, sadness, and […]

 The Graduation JAKARTA, 2060 The thing about invisible doors is I always forget to snap my fingers and show my face to the censor on the ceiling. It’s the blaring alarm that makes me stop before I hit the actual invisible door. I don’t hate that I almost smash the door with my face; I […]

Unlike the tip of my fingers  That feels like they burned  When one or two songs  Finally sounds like it should  When I learned  Neither was the surface of my hand That gets thicker in places Some for all those years  I spent riding a bike Some for holding on to my pen  a little […]

Aren't you all starting to feel it? This inexplicable weariness that resists all attempts at remedy, its origins stubbornly elusive. Is it a physical burden, or is it a weight carried solely within the confines of our minds? Those individuals who seem to effortlessly navigate a constant stream of social engagements, their energy reserves apparently boundless as they party, travel, and frequent public spaces – aren't they weary?

Have I ever told you probably I fell in love the first time around with your confidence? With how you’re being so sure about your body language and the way you talk. How you’re being so neat with the way you say things and rolling your eyes every now and then. Sometimes in my life, I think about how one soul needs a pair of its insecurity and that’s probably what one searches for. It’s probably what one hopes to find or nothing at all. But then in other times, I come to a realization that that one insecure soul is rather mine. The fact is apparently, that soul of mine fell in love with the confidence in you.

I drove you to the first place we needed to go. You had an office event, and I went to a coffee shop. I tried to remember why I had this feeling. Why I needed to feel this anger and the feeling of hating you was right for me. Because there was no conversation between you and me this morning from our house to your office event’s place. 

Tragedy. When we heard this word, the first image that came to mind probably was a scene of a shipwreck in the middle of a vast ocean swallowing a hundred souls alive. Or just a vivid memory of a massive crack on the town’s road after a deadly earthquake. Some might envision a friend’s grave after a car accident. The list could go on and on to describe what a tragedy could mean to some of us.

The meaning of tragedy is subjective and can vary greatly depending on individual experiences, cultural backgrounds, and philosophical beliefs.

Some of us. Well the rest could probably think of something abstract when we hear the word tragedy. One could think of what a tragedy it was that her dad was born in a poor family that he couldn’t get enough education to take him to be a teacher and ended up being a cop instead, because that was what he could afford at that time while everyone knows that being a teacher seems like his truest calling. Another could have thought about the joyful sound of family laughter at the dinner table when they hear that word but instead are face to face with the senseless empty room full of cold air and stillness because that’s what distance does. Probably when a dog was taught about the word tragedy and heard it for the second time, it probably would imagine chasing a moving tail in the corner of the couch that turned out to be its own. Or for instance, we could think about how messed up it is when the roles of power in some organization, a country even, is filled with people who—if not capable—are just not suitable for the responsibility, the impact could be catastrophic and can cause widespread suffering. And by suffer I mean stress inducing, rage boiling, traumatizing kind of suffering. Tragedy for some is when you did all the work but it’s your bosses taking all the credit with all that annual bonus. What a tragic tragedy.

So if what we are imagining and thinking of when hearing it are variously different, what is the true meaning of a tragedy then? 

Is it when something is supposed to happen but it doesn’t? Is it when what you want is not what you get? Is it when something broke you to the very core of your being that even the beauty of a bedazzled skyscraper couldn’t entertain you anymore? Or is it when you have something so unimaginably dreamy you wish to share it to the whole world but couldn’t because then it would ruin it? Is it something that you know  is so true and to share it can change how the system works but then the external factors get in the way that you might never get the chance to tell the tale?

Oh, to find the definition of tragedy is easy these days. In ancient Greece, tragedy was a ritual performance of the downfall of a great man—usually a king or nobleman— brought low because of some sort of fault. In Psychology, tragedy is defined as an event or sequence of events that can occur singly or collectively resulting in pain and suffering that impact us on so many levels (emotional, social, physical, coping, creative and spiritual).  In the writing world, tragedy is defined as a genre that focuses around a noble character who struggles against strong external challenges.

But, oh, how I forget what I really want to tell you about tragedy in the first place as I start writing about all the things swirling in my brain when I start typing the word and got distracted that I write about all sorts of things before I get to this part where I suppose to tell you what I really want say.

Well, to really define tragedy and understand its meaning is to have multiple layers of understanding and acceptance. Some would say one can only understand tragedy from experience. But I wouldn’t wish any of such to occur in anyone’s life. It’s just when I happen to have some experience with tragedy I just know now that it helped me to be the I am today. In my case and I believe a lot of us out here believe the same; that tragedy is this coarse sandpaper that shapes our edges, tuning it into the fine angle for the perfect curve, the straight line, the pretty outline and perfect footing.

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Oh, I really can’t seem to remember what I want to say in the first place talking all about tragedy and  humbly brag that I’ve earned my wisdom to accept the fact that life is a mix of bliss and tragedy, a perfect combination of ups and down, an artistic scramble of good and bad, a collaboration of strength and weakness. But I do remember one part of it. I remember to put this sentence at the end of this short piece; when you look at it from one side, sure things can seem ugly sometimes, but have you tried another angle? You’re welcome!

The post So What’s Your Tragedy? appeared first on SUCI BYT.

San,
It’s alright.
I am alright.
I have a perfect life.
The love of my life,
Well, they have everything
I never knew I needed.

So San,
It’s alright.
I don’t mind not having a new you.
I got them by my side,
And you’re there sending signs
That you watch,
That you worry,
That you care,
And still cheering
For my good times.

San, it is alright.
We talked on Facebook, your Mom and I,

We got it.
It’s alright,
San.

The post It’s Alright, San appeared first on SUCI BYT.

My Chaotic Calm: The Many Moods of a Simple Woman

I’m a simple woman. On a deeper level, I’m a confused simple woman. On bright days, I’m a laid-back, confused simple woman. On the other side of those days, I’m an angry, explosive simple woman. A simple woman whose morning was ruined by the smell of horrendous, sweaty man’s armpit. She had humbly just walked out of her apartment building when this man jogged from the other side of the road. After passing her spot by 10 meters, his unwashed, sweaty armpit smell lingered. She gagged, literally.

I’m a simple woman. I want a simple life, simple day-to-day routines, simple food. I give simple answers and provide simple gateways for people to interact with me. I’m a simple woman who sometimes lets other people’s stupidity and crimes punish her just because she hates conflict and avoids complicated situations. But lately, I find that it’s okay to say what you want to say, no matter what it might sound like or how others might react to it.

Keeping it Simple: From My Closet to My Words

I’m a simple woman. My go-to outfit is a pair of light-colored jeans paired with a plaid shirt with an earthy color palette. A simple woman who never looks twice in the mirror checking on her appearance because it’s just that, but when people around her are looking nice she would graciously give them her compliment because it’s a simple formula in human interaction, she believes.

I’m a simple woman. Tiny things could make me happy just as much as the slightest dumb behavior people shown could give me certain level of anger. A simple woman whose cigarette break became totally joyful just by the presence of tiny butterfly that land on her lap and stayed there for a couple of minutes. A simple woman whose her way back to the working station after the break made the joy she had, ruined by a little anger she felt when some people have the audacity to talk annoyingly loud inside the elevator.

I’m a simple woman. You show me a slightest respect, l might feel like I owe you everything and probably going to do everything to make you feel good when you’re around me. A simple woman who can turn red by just the mention of your name because the amount of hatred, disgust, and anger she has because of your existence is unbearable if you managed to do something ignorance, stupid, cruel, mean, and anything but nice. I’m a simple woman. If I’m not a talker enough around you, take notes that I might hate your gut and I don’t feel comfortable enough to share even a small part of me to your face, it might mean that I just don’t trust you.

I’m a simple woman, so simple that my face can’t hide the facial gesture expressing how I feel. No matter how hard she tried to keep it to herself, this simple woman’s feeling was always shown obviously by the number of lines in her forehead, by the dim light in her eyes, or the burning anger that changed the intensity of her stares.

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The Rant of a Simple Woman in a World Gone Mad

But what’s the point of all this simplicity if the world around us is a mess? That’s when it hits me, now I’m just a simple woman who now finds it hard not to sarcastically laugh at someone’s statement just because it was a stupid, fake, total lie, and just so untrue thing.

But I’m still a simple woman. I can’t stop telling you this, nor will I stop screaming it on top of my lungs to the world however complicated and messy it gets. I’m just a simple one, so simple that it all makes sense to me now in the simplest way possible of why I was so full of rage lately. For the sake of simplicity, let me tell you that it’s so normal and simple to understand why people like me feel angry, because if the fakeness, the cruel toxicity, the tantrum-inducing environment and systemic error keeps on being fed to you every day, who wouldn’t?

Oh, I’m such a simple woman living in a simple world and by simple, I mean; there are places where the system makes true winners running on the hamster wheel. And those simplicity is not as simple to digest.

That simple unwritten rule, is not as simple to accept.

But in life it’s always just as simple as Toda Mariko in Shogun always said;We live and we die, we control nothing beyond that.

The post Simple Woman, Complex World: How to Find Joy When Everything Sucks appeared first on SUCI BYT.