It has been a while since the last time I posted on this blog. Writing has always one of my favourite things, yet, I had no impulse to play the tuts on the keyboard lately.
This takes me back to last year when I was a tour guide. At that time, on a holiday season, I took too many tourists to too many places, which nauseated me. It bores me. By then, I cannot differentiate working to vacationing. Everything is mingled into a greyish dough of monotonous boredom. I did not know what to do when I was not working since I associated vacationing with working.
This scares me. I am afraid my current job, which involves a lot of writing, has turned another colour in my life into other monochromatic radiations. I am now associating writing with working.
What scares me more is that the possibility that writing is not really my passion, which means that, at this moment, I have nothing to lean on and to project into, which means that another meaning of my life is gone, which means that my life is getting more and more meaningless than the meaningless state of what it has been.
I guess I am turning into the man of this new era. I am good at nothing. I am only doing something for the betterment of my life, to purchase things for the sake of my survival and petty needs of instant self-gratification.
I am only a meaningless-replaceable spectator, watching other people success and excel at whatever they are doing. I watch football/movies, see successful entrepreneurs or read novels/books without being able to properly play, start a business, act or write. I do not even know what my true passion is, let alone to go for it.
As far as I can think, I am very good at being a sheep, walking only to the direction set by the shepherds, or by fear of their dogs. I am a very good citizen, I work hard to buy many things.
I exchange my labour with junk food I ate more than what my body could handle, and sometimes buy some fancy stuffs to feed my fragile ego that needs constant confirmations and acknowledgments.
I wish I were born in Mecca or Medina 14 hundreds years ago. I would have struggled and fought side by side with Muhammad PBUH. Else, I would prefer to be born a century ago, so I could be with Soekarno, defending my country.
Sometimes a part of me wonders, ‘why am I here? What contribution do I make? What in this world is better because of me?’
…and then, another part of me answers, ‘Nothing I can think of’.
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