Unbearably Instant

Just some things to ponder about.

When I was in Jakarta, my littlest sister one day threw tantrums to her boyfriend because he had not replied her text messages for several hours. Or not @-replying her on Twitter. Whichever it was.

I was like, “Seriously, sis? Maybe he’s just busy doing something else?”. And my sister shot me a blank look, depicting something like “Even if he’s busy he should be able to reply me”.

Isn’t that the bane of today’s world? It’s unbearably instant (borrowing phrase from my friend Putu). Decades ago, lovers will send each other love letters and wait weeks, even months, for a reply. To even receive a reply is a lovely surprise.

Right now we have text messages, IMs, Twitter, and many other applications that claim to bring people closer together, but create attention-deficit impatient people instead. We don’t even send long e-mails anymore (except perhaps when your groupmate is acting really obnoxious. SMU joke – if you don’t get it never mind). When was the last time you sent an e-mail like a real mail? Something like how are you, how is it like at your place, what has been going on, and yadda yadda yadda. Never? I am not surprised. Too often the longest emails I received are from my aunt who just caught the e-mail forwarding virus (yes, in 2010!).

Do we not have enough time to stop and wait? Or are we expected NOT to have time? Because everything is unbearably instant…

Here’s a suggestion. You don’t even need to send a real hand-written letter via post (do people even know that postal service still exists?). Try sending long e-mails. Write to a friend. Tell him/her how you are doing, what have you been up to. Ask him/her about what he/she has been planning to do, or even about his/her quirky hobbies.

Send the e-mail.

And then wait for the reply.

Savour the time.

Depending on Yourself

Some days ago I wrote to my fellow choristers that people can help them sing better by singing the notes to them, giving tips and tricks for better sound production, making recordings/midi files to listen to, but no one can magically transform them into a songbird overnight.

And I thought, heh, isn’t it also relevant to other stuff beside singing in choir?

Maybe I, or you, or other people, depend too much on other people to change ourselves. Perhaps it’s rooted in the education system (Indonesia’s or Singapore’s at least) where we were conditioned to expect our teachers to spoon-feed us with information and knowledge (and test and exams!). We become so passive, believing that we will change once we find somebody who can help us.

But to change ourselves need the conscious effort, just like the conscious effort I took in practicing for my choir singing. The effort I took in utilizing my back muscles, positioning my voice so that it resonates, raising my eyebrows, and every single little thing to make my voice clearer.

But sometimes the bigger question lies in whether you want to do the conscious effort. Thinking of doing it and really doing it are two different things, and taking action to move from thinking to doing takes quite some time, or even bravery, for some people.

So, have you moved from thinking to doing yet?

I don’t believe in fairytales

Girls, and boys, grow up with fairytales. We were filled with positive thoughts, dreams, and hopes.

And then reality hit us when we’re growing up. Things are never easy. Things are not beautiful. After tears and letdowns, sometimes there’s still no happy ending. After crying because the evil stepmom never allowed us to go to the party, there’s still no fairy godmother coming and helping to meet the prince. There’s never a perfect thing in the world.

But sometimes we hold so dear to the thoughts that there really is a perfect thing. Perfect relationship. Perfect friendship. Perfect life. Perfect luck.

When do hopes become false hopes? When do dreams become unrealistic dreams? When do you draw the line?

I guess no one knows the exact answer, but I believe that people should, at some point of time, stop for a while and look at the big picture.

Somehow, I think, part of growing up is really knowing that fairytales don’t exist. Knowing that hopes and dreams, no matter how beautiful, can be impossible sometimes. Preparing for the worst. Getting ready for the unimaginable.

I’m not saying that I’ve stopped dreaming though. I think what still keeps me going is my own dream of seeing better days.

But I’ve stopped believing in fairytales. I’ve stopped hoping that everything is going to be fine, everything is going to be more or less perfect.

Things don’t happen that way and I’m glad that I know it early.

And at the same time I’m also sad. Innocence has lost. Please welcome, the bitter and cold me.

Fairytales, go to hell.