becomingego

[becomingego]

Something missing (?)

There’s something strangely common, even fashionable, about being drawn to chaos. About choosing the person who keeps you on edge, whose attention is an unstable currency, whose love you have to earn and re-earn and then lose again because the rhythm of that cycle feels like home.

We live in a time that romanticizes emotional volatility. That teaches us to mistake peace for dullness. That encourages us to seek “spark” in places where the fire only burns, but never warms. And so, many of you walk past the calm ones. The grounded ones. The people who don't need saving, who don't provoke your insecurity, who don't invite you to relive the same panic you've always known, because they’re not playing that game.

The uncomfortable truth is, most people who grew up in emotional instability unconsciously associate unpredictability with love. This is not metaphorical, it’s neurological. The brain, especially the limbic system, thrives on patterns it knows, even if those patterns are painful. The amygdala and nucleus accumbens become hyperactive in environments of reward and punishment cycles, creating a biochemical feedback loop not unlike gambling. In fact, research has shown that romantic uncertainty activates the same neural circuitry as slot machines the ventral tegmental area lights up not because love is real, but because the outcome is unknown.

Which is why some of you find stability deeply threatening. Because to be with someone who is consistent, calm, emotionally regulated, and clear in his intentions requires you to face something you’ve spent your whole life avoiding: your own inability to be still.

So you tell yourself he’s boring. You tell yourself there’s no chemistry. But what you really mean is: “He doesn’t trigger the anxiety I’m used to mistaking for attraction.” You long for fire, but not warmth. You crave the rush of pursuit, but not the discomfort of being seen without the drama. Because without the emotional high-stakes, you’re not sure who you are anymore.

And then you pick someone you can shape, control, fix because deep down, you're still trying to win a game you never needed to play in the first place.

This pattern isn’t random. It’s what attachment theory has been screaming for decades: those with insecure attachment styles are drawn to the familiar, even if the familiar hurts. Not because you enjoy suffering, but because your nervous system confuses familiarity with safety.

That’s why you’re often uninterested in men who are calm and self contained. Not because they lack substance, but because they don’t mirror your internal turbulence. They don’t require you to manage them emotionally and that feels foreign. You’re so used to anchoring your worth in being needed, that when someone doesn’t need you to fix them, you feel invisible. So you walk away. Or worse, you test them.

But here’s what you don’t see: the calm ones notice everything. They know you’re testing them. They know you’re pretending not to care. They know you’re speaking in riddles and reverse psychology. They’ve seen the performance before and they’ve chosen not to clap.

Because they don’t want a relationship that’s built on guessing games. They don’t want a love that requires constant decoding. They want someone who can sit beside them in silence and not mistake it for absence.

You say you want real love. But how can you have real love if you’re not willing to show your real self?

So instead, you choose poorly. Repeatedly. It’s not even romantic anymore it’s just gambling. You know the odds are terrible. You know the table is rigged. But you keep placing bets on people who don’t see you, because losing feels more familiar than being loved.

The question is: are you living to truly live or simply performing a life that feels safe to your trauma?

If your relationships are chosen not from alignment but from addiction to control, then you’re not loving. You’re managing. If you need to be the one with the upper hand to feel safe, then you’re not building a partnership. You’re reinforcing a prison.

And all the while, there’s someone perhaps someone you once dismissed who is quietly building a life of depth, peace, and emotional clarity. Not because they’re emotionless, but because they’ve faced their shadows and chosen not to bleed on people who didn’t cut them. They’ve sat through their storms and no longer seek lightning to feel alive.

I used to chase stoicism like it was a prize. I trained myself to not react. To hold composure. But that was just the beginning. Over time, something deeper took root. Not detachment, but perspective. Not resistance, but surrender. My sibling once joked that I had become “zuhud” a spiritual form of detachment in Islamic thought. And maybe that’s what this is: not indifference, but a choice to love without needing to control the outcome.

Zuhud is not about denying the world. It’s about no longer letting the world own you. It’s about seeing that peace is not passive. It’s the most active, deliberate rebellion against a life built on noise.

And while you chase the next temporary thrill, and dress it up as chemistry, there are people out there choosing meaning. Choosing stillness. Choosing someone not because they can fix them, but because they can grow with them.

You might think money will make this better. That financial success or comfort will settle the storm. But studies from Kahneman to contemporary neuroeconomics have made it clear, after basic needs are met, more income doesn’t significantly increase happiness. Because what the brain really craves isn’t more it’s meaning. It’s not the number in your account, but the quality of your attachments. No amount of wealth can fix the emptiness that comes from living a life misaligned with your emotional truth.

If you cannot sit in a room with your partner and say, without performance or defense, how your soul really feels then the relationship is already failing. Even if the Instagram pictures look perfect, even if the bills are paid, even if the house is aesthetic, even they have big land, or even their high social status. Love that cannot be spoken is not love, we can agree that we call "negotiation and transactional".

And if you still find yourself reaching out to someone else someone who once showed up fully, calmly, without drama and you find yourself wanting to “just talk,” even though you shouldn’t... that’s your truth leaking through the cracks. That’s your soul trying to come home.

But when you come back, don’t be surprised if they’ve stopped waiting.

You see, calm people don’t stay in rooms where they’re treated like backup plans. They walk away quietly, not because they’re weak, but because their peace is not for sale. They know who they are. And they no longer need to prove it to someone who only understands love when it hurts.

So the next time you feel the urge to call someone "boring," pause. Ask yourself,... Do I really want love or do I just want to relive the chaos I call home?

And if one day, you look back and regret leaving someone who offered you peace, presence, and emotional maturity… I hope you remember this:

They weren’t boring.

You just weren’t ready~

[becomingego]

Dua Arah

Kubuka mata dan kulihat dunia T'lah kuterima anugerah cintanya Tak pernah aku menyesali yang kupunya Tapi kusadari ada lubang dalam hati - Letto, "Lubang di Hati"

Mas Sabrang vokalis band Letto pernah bilang bahwa positive reinforcement itu sederhana: kalau ada orang berbuat baik, ya hargai. Sesederhana itu. Bukan supaya mereka jadi manja, tapi karena bahkan kebaikan pun bisa mati kalau terus-menerus diabaikan. Kita kadang lupa, orang baik itu juga bisa lelah. Mereka bukan mesin produksi empati. Kalau terus dibiarkan sendirian, mereka akan berhenti. Bukan karena berubah jadi buruk, tapi karena capek jadi satu-satunya yang peduli.

Menariknya, cara kita merespons atau mengabaikan apresiasi itu seringkali berkaitan dengan gaya keterikatan kita. Yang punya anxious attachment biasanya akan terus-menerus cari pengakuan. Mereka jadi people pleaser, takut ditinggal, takut nggak cukup. Mereka ingin dicintai, bahkan kalau harus mengorbankan dirinya sendiri. Lalu ada yang avoidant, yang tampak tenang dan tidak butuh siapa pun. Tapi di balik sikap acuh itu, sering kali ada luka lama yang belum pernah diberi ruang untuk sembuh. Mereka menarik diri karena tak percaya bahwa kedekatan bisa aman. Yang lebih kompleks lagi adalah fearful-avoidant konflik batin antara ingin dekat dan takut disakiti. Seperti rem dan gas ditekan bersamaan, mereka seringkali membuat pasangannya bingung dan lelah.

Dan terakhir yang sangat langkah yaitu secure attachment. Mereka yang tahu bahwa kedekatan bukan ancaman, bahwa perbedaan bukan sinyal bahaya. Mereka tahu cara hadir, mendengarkan, memberi ruang tanpa menghilang. Mereka tidak sempurna, tapi mereka stabil. Dan di sinilah apresiasi memainkan peran penting. Karena tiap gaya keterikatan butuh rasa aman untuk bisa tumbuh sehat. Jadi saat kamu mengatakan terima kasih, saat kamu bilang "aku lihat usahamu," kamu sedang menumbuhkan sesuatu. Bukan cuma hubungan, tapi juga jiwa seseorang, ya selama ini aku berusaha demikian, h e h e.

Pernahkah kamu berada dalam sebuah hubungan dan merasa sudah memberikan segalanya? Bukan hanya perhatian, tapi juga waktu, energi, empati, bahkan kadang harga dirimu. Tapi tetap saja... ada ruang kosong yang tak pernah bisa terisi. Lubang itu perlahan melebar, meski kamu terus berusaha menambalnya. Dalam psikologi, perasaan ini bukan sekadar rasa hampa biasa. Ini berkaitan erat dengan teori keterikatan attachment theory yang menjelaskan bagaimana pola hubungan kita dengan figur pengasuh utama di masa kecil atau "rangsangan sexual" (yang nanti kapan-kapan kita bahas tapi sekarang cukup tipis-tipis aja) membentuk cara kita merasakan dan merespons kedekatan di masa dewasa. Ketika kebutuhan emosional mendasar yang dulu tak terpenuhi, seperti rasa aman dan pengakuan/validasi, muncul kembali lewat interaksi dengan pasangan, kita bisa jadi terjebak dalam siklus keinginan yang tak pernah puas. Otak kita, yang dirancang untuk mencari rasa aman, seringkali malah bertarung antara harapan dan kekecewaan. Aku tahu, kamu mungkin bilang aku terlalu Freudian, dan ya, aku memang suka mengaitkan hal-hal ini dengan teori klasik itu, meski aku sendiri kadang merasa skeptis. Tapi jujur, aku juga masih konservatif dalam hal ini karena pada akhirnya, akar luka dan kerinduan itu tetap saja mengakar kuat di dalam diri kita.

Aku paham, setiap kita memang punya standar tapi pertanyaannya, apakah standar itu benar-benar tepat? Dalam tulisanku sebelumnya aku sempat menyinggung soal kompatibilitas. Ini bukan cuma soal kesamaan hobi atau, status sosial, kemampuan ekonomi, serta pendidikan yang sering kita pakai sebagai patokan. Kompatibilitas, secara psikologis, adalah bagaimana dua individu mampu saling mengisi kekosongan emosional satu sama lain. Bagaimana mereka bisa bertumbuh bersama, bukan sekadar berdampingan tanpa kejelasan arah. Jika ada yang membaca ini dan ngobrol dengan ku aku pasti tanya "apa yang kamu cari?" kan?

Kalau standar yang kamu pegang ternyata bikin kamu merasa sendiri di tengah keramaian, atau terus-terusan merasa tak dihargai, mungkin itu tanda bahwa standar itu perlu dikaji ulang atau bahkan dikritisi. akan tetapi mungkin tidak semua orang dapat merasakan senisitifitas sedalam itu. Kompatibilitas sebenarnya adalah soal bagaimana dua orang dapat merasa aman secara emosional, mampu menghadapi luka lama masing-masing tanpa menambah luka baru. Ini bukan sesuatu yang bisa diukur dengan seragam sosial, tapi lebih pada keselarasan cara kamu dan dia mengekspresikan dan menerima cinta.

Jadi, saat fase honeymoon berlalu dan kamu mulai merasakan "tamparan keras" realita, itu sebenarnya momen untuk mengevaluasi apakah dia memang kompatibel dengan kamu? Apakah dia benar-benar hadir untuk mengisi kekosongan, kehampaan, lubang di hati yang selama ini kamu rasakan? Atau hanya sekadar penjawab tanya "Udah nikah? Udah punya pacar?"

Kalau kompatibilitas tidak terpenuhi, bahkan dengan standar yang kamu anggap tinggi sekalipun, maka jangan heran lubang di hati itu tetap ada, menganga, seolah menunggu seseorang yang benar-benar mengerti.

Hubungan yang sehat bukanlah tentang siapa yang lebih aktif mencintai. Melainkan tentang dua orang yang sama-sama memilih untuk tetap hadir, walau dalam ketidaksempurnaan. Di sinilah paradoks cinta bukan tentang pasif yang menyerah, tapi pasif yang aktif. Sebuah diam yang sebenarnya penuh perjuangan. Layaknya pohon yang diam di musim dingin, akarnya terus merambat mencari sumber kehidupan, menyimpan energi untuk musim semi. Dalam hubungan, pasif yang aktif adalah ketenangan yang tidak berarti pasrah, melainkan usaha sadar untuk tetap hadir, memahami, bahkan beradaptasi. Dan lagi tidak semua orang mampu untuk kesana, sebab jujur saja itu merupakan hal besar, pun jika kamu sudah menyadari bisa jadi terlambat atau butuh waktu yang sangat lama untuk membuat penyesuaian itu works.

Psikologinya, ini mirip dengan konsep "emotion regulation" dan "mindful presence" kita tidak harus selalu bertindak keras atau agresif untuk menjaga cinta; kadang diam yang terjaga, mendengarkan yang tidak terucap, adalah bentuk cinta yang lebih kuat dan tahan lama. Namun, ini juga menuntut adanya komitmen agar kehadiran itu bukan sekadar fisik, melainkan emosi yang terlibat penuh. sebagai contoh yang pernagh aku alami bagaimana mereka yang pernah dekat dengan ku tidak tau nama panjang ku, maka itu sinyal yang tak boleh diabaikan. bukan mejadi lebay, bukan karena dia tidak tahu, tapi karena dia tidak peduli untuk tahu kita sebut saja sebagai ignorace. Ketidakhadiran semacam itu, kecil tapi merusak. Itu seperti sebuah lubang kecil yang makin lama bisa membesarkan jarak, menimbulkan rasa terasing. Ya itu hanya contoh kecil saja, kamu sendiri pasti punya hal-hal demikan kan?

Gini,. Ini bukan soal lupa. Ini soal prioritas yang sebenarnya merupakan cerminan dari nilai dan komitmen seseorang terhadap hubungan itu sendiri. Ketika seseorang tidak tertarik mengenalmu lebih dalam, itu bukan sekadar kesibukan atau ketidaktahuan, melainkan tanda bahwa koneksi emosional antara kalian sangat minim, bahkan bisa jadi tidak hadir.

Nah, mari kita masuk lebih dalam sedikit tentang "kemungkinan", dalam psikologi klinis, kita membedakan antara Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) salah satu bagian dari cluster B, yang merupakan gangguan kepribadian serius, dengan sifat narsistik yang bisa muncul pada siapa saja dalam derajat yang berbeda. Namun, keduanya punya inti yang sama: ketidakmampuan untuk melihat dan memenuhi kebutuhan emosional orang lain kecuali kebutuhan tersebut berdampak langsung pada diri mereka sendiri.

Jika kamu merasa seperti tidak terlihat, atau invisible, dalam hubunganmu, itu bukan hal yang sepele. Itu adalah manifestasi nyata dari kegagalan hubungan itu sendiri kegagalan untuk membangun ikatan emosional yang sehat dan saling mendukung. Dalam situasi seperti ini, penting untuk mengakui bahwa bukan hanya pasanganmu yang gagal, tapi juga kamu harus mengambil tanggung jawab untuk menilai apakah kamu berinvestasi dalam sesuatu yang layak.

Oke anggaplah kalau itu bukan NPD dan mari kita coba melakuakan pendekatan lainnya,. Cinta bukan soal menunggu atau berharap tanpa usaha. Cinta adalah pilihan aktif dan bukan menjadi pasif yang dilakukan secara diam-diam, tanpa suara, tapi dengan keberanian mengakui serta bergerak meski dalam skala kecil, bahkan jika perlu kita menjadi begitu brutal dan terang-terangan. Namun ketika itu hilang (menjadi pasif) bisa jadi sebab culture atau lingkungan atau bahkan diri kita sendiri yang memiliki kemungkian pemasalahan mental seperti yang sudah aku sebutkan sebelumnya, lantas cinta akan perlahan layu. Dan kita pun tahu, bahwa untuk bertumbuh bersama, kita perlu lebih dari sekadar kehadiran fisik kita perlu kehadiran jiwa yang penuh perhatian dan kasih secara menyeluruh, lengkap.

Di sisi lain, mungkin saja kita memilih untuk tetap terluka karena rasa sakit itu satu-satunya koneksi yang tersisa dengan masa lalu dan karena koneksi itu, kita merasa punya alasan untuk tetap bertahan, meski tak bahagia. Seperti kata Yasmin Mogahed yang katanya malah dari Ibnu Sina kalau di IG "Sometimes we don't want to heal because the pain is the last connection to what we lost." Tapi berapa lama kamu akan membiarkan dirimu terikat pada luka, hanya karena itu yang familiar?

Sayangnya, luka yang tidak disembuhkan akan membuat kita terus menarik orang yang sama dalam tubuh yang berbeda. Karena tanpa sadar, kita bukan mencari cinta, tapi mencari pengulangan-pengulangan yang memberi ilusi kontrol atas luka lama (ya kamu tau F A M I L I A R I T Y) . Healing pun terasa seperti mengkhianati siapa kita dulu, seperti mematikan bagian dari diri yang sudah lama menemani. Padahal, kamu tidak bisa bertumbuh dalam rumah yang penuh bara. Dan pertanyaannya adalah: apakah kamu mau terus tinggal di sana hanya karena sudah terlanjur hapal denahnya? Meskipun demikian bentuk respondnya bisa berbeda-beda,. dalam artian mendekati familiarty itu menerima atau bahkan menolak, tentu analisa ini butuh lebih dalam dan sangat personal, namun secara garis besar demikian.

Kalau cinta adalah soal memilih, maka bertahan bukan selalu bentuk kesetiaan. Bisa jadi itu bentuk penyangkalan. Kamu tahu bahwa kamu salah memilih, tapi kamu takut menyesal. Dalam psikologi, ini disebut regret aversion: ketakutan akan penyesalan membuat kita bertahan dalam relasi yang sebenarnya kita tahu menyakitkan. Kita lebih takut menyesal karena pergi, daripada terus tersiksa karena tinggal.

Tapi apa kamu bahagia sekarang? Atau kamu hanya mengulang cerita yang sama, berharap akhirnya berbeda? Apakah kamu merasa dipahami, dilihat, diterima... atau kamu hanya sekadar aktor pendukung dalam kisah orang lain?

Dan kalau cinta bukan tentang menunggu tanpa usaha, maka mungkin inilah waktunya kamu juga berhenti menunggu versi 'dia' yang tidak pernah benar-benar ada. Karena luka yang tidak disadari akan terus mengarahkan pilihan kita, membentuk preferensi yang merusak, dan akhirnya... membuat kita jauh dari cinta yang sesungguhnya kita butuhkan.

Dan bagi kamu yang belum memilih, sudah berapa orang baik yang kamu lewatkan hanya karena kamu fokus pada hal-hal dangkal? Sudah berapa hati tulus yang kamu tolak karena kamu mengejar sesuatu yang kamu sendiri bahkan belum pahami? ayolah jujur saja pada dirimu sendiri.

Waktu tidak bisa diulang. Dan orang-orang baik tidak selalu menunggu. Kalau kamu terus gagal membedakan yang tulus dari yang mempesona, maka suatu hari kamu akan duduk sendiri dan berkata, "Seandainya aku memilih dia. Yang saat itu... Yang ingin tahu kenapa aku takut A B C. Yang tidak hanya tahu warna favoritku, tapi juga luka-lukaku, dia tau bagaimana berbicara pada ku." dan kamu bisa merasakan itu sejujurnya bagaimana dia berusaha untuk menata lebih rapih diri mu, membuat kamu kenal dengan diri mu yang bahkan kamu tidak sadari.

Pilihan yang salah tidak hanya menyakitkan. Ia bisa menghancurkan dirimu perlahan-lahan, tak terlihat, namun kamu bisa membacanya sampai kamu lupa siapa dirimu sebenarnya.

Aku pribadi, bukan tanpa cela. Tapi aku selalu mencoba untuk memberi yang terbaik: lebih aktif bertanya, menyesuaikan sikap, belajar mencintai dengan cara yang sehat. Tapi sesederhana ini... apakah dia tahu nama panjangku? Mereka tidak tahu. Dan ini bukan soal aku tidak bilang, tapi lebih pada: apakah dia pernah benar-benar tertarik ingin tahu?

Dalam psikologi, ketertarikan emosional ditunjukkan bukan dari frekuensi/banyaknya komunikasi, tapi dari kualitas keterlibatan. Apakah kamu benar-benar hadir dalam percakapan? Atau hanya mendengar sambil menunggu giliran bicara? Atau bahkah lebih parahnya, kamu hanya mau ditanya saja tanpa ada timbal baik?

Eh tapi,.... jika kamu membaca ini sekarang, mungkin kamu sedang merasakan kekosongan yang sama. Mungkin kamu tahu kamu salah memilih. Dan kamu tahu... waktu tidak bisa ditarik mundur. Tapi kamu juga tahu, kamu masih punya pilihan untuk memperbaikinya. Bahkan jika itu berarti mengakhiri. Bahkan jika itu berarti kembali menatap seseorang yang dulu kamu tolak, tapi ternyata dia adalah satu-satunya yang benar-benar melihatmu.

Lubang di hati itu tidak datang karena kamu tidak punya cinta. Tapi karena kamu tidak pernah menerima cinta yang kamu butuhkan.

Apakah itu kamu? Apakah itu dia? Selama ini kucari tanpa henti Apakah itu cinta? Apakah itu cita? Yang mampu melengkapi lubang di dalam hati - Letto, "Lubang di Hati"

Nb: Sementara aku menulis mendengarkan lagu We Don’t Talk Anymore dari Charlie Puth namun mengquote lagu letto,. what a joke Dz,. no i mean, if you notice someting from this you know what i try to tell,. hahaha.

[becomingego]

Sepintas Soal Komunikasi

Dalam lanskap relasi interpersonal, cinta kerap dianggap sebagai prima facie evidence bagi keberlanjutan hubungan. Namun, premis ini menyamarkan kompleksitas psikodinamika yang mendasari sebuah ikatan. Cinta, dalam banyak kasus, hanyalah stimulus awal yang memantik keterikatan emosional sementara kompatibilitas, dengan segala konstruksi neuropsikososialnya, merupakan parameter yang menentukan kelangsungan, stabilitas, dan kesehatan hubungan itu sendiri.

Di balik narasi romantis yang didikte oleh budaya populer seperti film, trend media sosial, musik, dan lainnya banyak individu secara sadar maupun tidak mengadopsi peran sebagai pribadi yang membawa luka psikis masa lalu namun justru menjadikannya sebagai fondasi untuk menyembuhkan orang lain kita menyebutnya sebagai wounded healer. Fenomena ini, yang sering kali diasosiasikan dengan dinamika codependency, menjebak seseorang dalam pola relasi di mana kebutuhan untuk merasa dibutuhkan mengaburkan batas antara penyembuhan dan pengorbanan diri.

Dalam spektrum yang lebih subtil, kita menemukan peran sebagai unpaid emotional laborer mereka yang, dengan ketekunan nyaris ritualistik, memikul beban afektif relasinya tanpa adanya timbal balik yang setara. Ini bukan hanya tentang mendengarkan keluh kesah pasangan setelah hari yang melelahkan, tetapi tentang menjadi primary emotional container tanpa pernah mendapat ruang untuk mengekspresikan diri secara setara.

Tak jarang, posisi ini bermetamorfosis menjadi apa yang disebut invisible counselor paradox di mana individu berfungsi sebagai sistem dukungan emosional permanen, tetapi tetap tidak dikenali sebagai subjek yang juga membutuhkan validasi dan dukungan. Mereka menjadi emotionally hypervisible dalam peran fungsional, namun intrapersonally invisible dalam kebutuhan mereka sendiri.

Akumulasi dari dinamika ini sering kali memunculkan kelelahan empatik. Ini bukan semata-mata keletihan karena memberi, tetapi bentuk keausan psikis akibat empati yang kronis tanpa regenerasi afektif yang memadai. Dari sinilah muncul helper’s shadow sebuah sisi gelap dari altruistik yang muncul ketika motif memberi ternyata berakar dari luka yang tidak pernah sembuh, atau dari kebutuhan untuk mempertahankan relasi yang sebenarnya sudah timpang secara struktural.

Semua gejala ini biasanya berakar dari sebuah kondisi di mana hanya satu pihak yang beroperasi sebagai emotional anchor, sementara yang lain (orang lain/lawan bicara/pasangan) tetap menjadi emotional consumer. Ketimpangan ini bukan hanya melelahkan, tetapi juga membentuk relasi yang disfungsional, meskipun sering kali tersamarkan oleh narasi cinta yang intens.

Di sinilah pentingnya emotional intelligence dan communicative competence dua komponen krusial dalam menciptakan emotional availability yang sehat dan bersifat nyata mutualistik. Relasi yang bukan hanya tentang mampu mencintai, tetapi juga tentang kemampuan untuk hadir secara emosional, menavigasi kebutuhan psikis maupun mental masing-masing, serta mengembangkan dialog yang memungkinkan keterbukaan tanpa rasa takut akan penghakiman atau pengabaian atau bahkan perubahan sikap extrim yang berdampak pada berjaraknya keterikatan emosional.

Dengan demikian, cinta, jika tidak diimbangi oleh kompatibilitas struktural dan keterampilan emosional, hanyalah sebuah eksperimentasi afektif berupa pilihan (salah satunya) ku sebut dengan keputusan "politis" (dalam menentukan pasangan yang disebabkan oleh perasaan familiar yang disebabkan trauma) yang rentan berujung pada psychological erosion sederhannya terkikisnya keadan mental yang membentuk pola atau bentuk baru (cenderung lebih negatif outputnya). Sebab, pada akhirnya, hubungan yang sehat bukan hanya tentang siapa yang sanggup mencintai lebih dalam, tetapi siapa yang sanggup mencintai lebih cerdas.

[becomingego]

Soal Emotional Avaliability

Secara sederhana, emotional availability dapat dipahami sebagai kapasitas seseorang untuk hadir secara emosional dalam sebuah hubungan untuk merasakan, memproses, dan mengekspresikan emosi, serta membuka diri terhadap kerentanan dan koneksi yang autentik. Namun di balik definisi ini, tersembunyi arsitektur psikis yang kompleks: sebuah jaringan pertahanan bawah sadar, pola ikatan masa kecil, hingga konflik diri/batin antara keinginan untuk dicintai dan ketakutan akan kehilangan kendali atas diri sendiri.

Dalam pendekatan psikologi, seseorang emotionally unavailable bisa saja menunjukkan tanda-tanda seperti alexithymia yaitu ketidakmampuan untuk mengenali dan mengungkapkan emosi diri sendiri secara verbal. Di sisi lain, bisa juga muncul insecure attachment style, yakni pola hubungan yang dibentuk dari pengalaman masa kecil yang penuh ketidakpastian emosional, serta cognitive-emotional decoupling, yaitu kecenderungan untuk memisahkan pikiran dari emosi agar tidak terlalu terlibat atau 'terluka' Istilah-istilah ini memang terdengar keren, tetapi pada kenyataannya, kita semua mengenalnya dalam bentuk yang lebih membumi: ghosting, kebingungan mau serius atau main-main, atau ketakutan akut terhadap "chat balasan yang terlalu cepat atau terlalu lama."

Fenomena ini juga dibahas oleh Dr. K dari HealthyGamerGG salah satu pisikolog yang aku ikuti podcast maupun kajiannya di spotify, ia menyebut bahwa banyak individu saat ini mengalami emotional dysregulation karena tidak pernah diajarkan bagaimana menghadapi emosi mereka sendiri, apalagi emosi orang lain. Mereka tumbuh dengan narasi bahwa emosi adalah sesuatu yang harus diatur, ditekan, atau dikompensasi melalui produktivitas dan pencapaian. Maka ketika menghadapi hubungan, respons default-nya adalah avoidant: mundur, menjauh, atau bermain aman melalui persona online yang disusun rapi. Seperti kata Dr. K, “You can’t love someone properly if you’re scared of your own feelings.” Dan sayangnya, banyak dari kita justru takut bukan pada orang lain, tapi pada kemungkinan diri kita sendiri merasa terlalu dalam.

Dalam filsafat cinta modern, seperti yang dikupas dengan jenaka dan jujur oleh Alain de Botton (cari tau sendiri noh wkwk), menggarisbawahi hal ini dengan sangat manusiawi. Kita memasuki hubungan bukan karena kita sudah sembuh, tetapi justru karena kita sedang mencari tempat untuk menyembuhkan. Namun alih-alih saling menyembuhkan, kita justru sering bertemu dalam kondisi belum selesai. Dua orang yang saling tidak tersedia secara emosional akan terlibat dalam pseudo-intimacy: kedekatan palsu yang terasa manis di awal, penuh cerita masa lalu, luka batin, dan janji bahwa “kita beda dari yang lain.” Namun di balik semua itu, tidak ada komitmen terhadap pertumbuhan bersama. Yang ada hanyalah dua luka yang saling mencari plester sementara.

Dalam konteks sosial Indonesia yang masih sangat dipengaruhi nilai-nilai kolektif dan ekspektasi kultural seperti menikah di usia tertentu, menjaga nama keluarga, dan romantisme akan stabilitas emosi sering kali menjadi tamu tak diundang dalam relasi. Seseorang bisa terlihat sempurna di atas kertas mapan, sopan, menarik namun tetap gagal membangun hubungan yang bermakna karena tidak siap membuka dirinya secara emosional. Ketersediaan emosional tidak bisa diwariskan, tidak bisa dipelajari lewat seminar, dan tidak bisa dipalsukan lewat story Instagram. Ia tumbuh dari keberanian menghadapi konflik internal: konflik antara ingin menjadi diri sendiri dan takut tidak diterima.

Dalam ruang dating digital, emotional withholding strategi menahan emosi demi menjaga kontrol telah menjadi semacam norma tak tertulis. Tidak balas chat demi menjaga "misteri", pura-pura tidak tertarik agar terlihat "dingin", atau bahkan memulai hubungan hanya untuk menguji validasi. Semua ini pada dasarnya adalah manifestasi dari ketakutan akan cinta yang tidak bisa dikendalikan. Ironisnya, kita menghindari kedalaman karena takut tenggelam, padahal tanpa menyelam, kita hanya akan mengambang di permukaan relasi yang hampa.

Dari perspektif psiko-filosofis, ketersediaan emosional bukan sekadar keterampilan sosial, tetapi bentuk keberanian eksistensial. Ia menuntut kesediaan untuk introspectively confront the self menghadapi bagian terdalam dan tergelap dari diri kita, bukan untuk menghakimi, tetapi untuk mengerti. Kita tidak benar-benar bisa hadir untuk orang lain jika kita sendiri tidak tahu siapa yang sedang hadir dalam diri kita.

Lucunya? Kita butuh akun alter untuk menjadi "diri kita sediri" atau bahakan terknologi bernama AI untuk jujur pada diri sendiri, memang bercerita dengan topeng diri yang berbeda menajadi lebih terasa aman atau soal AI, mereka jauh lebih empati terhadap diri kita, ironi haha.

Kesimpulannya, dalam dunia percintaan modern yang penuh ekspektasi dan tekanan sosial, emotional availability adalah oase yang langka namun esensial. Ia adalah syarat dasar bagi hubungan yang bukan hanya berlangsung, tapi bertumbuh. Mencintai tidak selalu berarti tahu harus berkata apa atau memberikan solusi. Kadang, itu hanya berarti berani duduk dalam diam, dalam keheningan yang tidak nyaman, sambil berkata dalam hati: “Aku disini, dan aku tetap dengan kamu, beri tau aku apa yang bisa aku lakukan untuk membantu mu, ceritakan semua yang kamu rasakan saat ini, apa yang jadi beban pikiran mu/ dan lainnya.”

Dan dalam dunia yang dipenuhi pelarian, mungkin itulah bentuk cinta paling radikal sekaligus paling sehat dan berdasar a.k.a based.

[becomingego]

Rin-du You Still Miss Me?

There’s a peculiar kind of emotional torture reserved only for the emotionally literate.

You sense things. Tiny shifts. A half-second delay in a reply. A sentence that feels like it was rewritten three times before being sent. You don't have proof. Just pattern recognition.

I’ve noticed you’ve changed slightly. Not drastically, just enough to make my intuition start clearing its throat.

And while most people would gaslight themselves back into silence, I’ve learned to listen. Not to accuse but to understand.

See, I believe in honesty. Not just the polite, socially digestible kind that says, “I like your haircut,” when in fact it resembles a lawnmower accident. No I mean radical honesty. The kind that says:

“This is what I feel. This is what I fear. This is what I hope you’ll tell me, even if it hurts.”

Because I’ve discovered and here psychology agrees that we don’t suffer from too much truth.

We suffer from the absence of it.

Emotional confusion is not caused by pain, but by uncertainty. We can survive heartbreak. We can’t survive ambiguity.

And so, while we’re not speaking while the air between us remains untexted I wonder:

Do you think of me?

Not in a tragic, violin-playing kind of way. But in that quiet moment between a sip of coffee and the next notification does my name pass through you like a shadow?

Because you pass through me like a hymn I keep forgetting the words to.

I hear Roosevelt’s Elliot playing in the background. And I can’t help but hear the line:

“Tell me you know nothing was meant for you.”

It’s brutal. It’s honest. It’s a voice trying to shake someone awake before it’s too late.

Maybe it’s me...

And here’s the part that stings maybe you’ve met someone else.

A man with better jokes.

A better job.

A bigger... bookshelf...

And I get it. You’re beautiful. You’re young. You’re the kind of woman people don’t just like they want to consume.

But that’s the difference, isn’t it?

Most people don’t want to love you. They want to taste you.

And I...

I wanted to grow with you.

We were never about performance. We were about presence.

And so, I wait not for a grand gesture, or a message sent at 3am. I wait for the moment when your "segan" that quiet wall of hesitation crumbles just enough for a simple:

“How are you?"

Not as a test. Not as a trap. But as a measurement.

Because if I mean something l anything it will show. Even in silence, affection leaks through the cracks.

I am not hoping. I am not begging. I am simply… loving.

Which, contrary to how movies portray it, isn’t always loud.

Sometimes, it’s just sitting with the ache. The questions. The tenderness.

"My love for you grows, quietly, every day. And you deserve to know that, even if you no longer want to hold it"

[becomingego]

Distance (?)

When the messages stop coming, the world doesn’t end.

It just shrinks. Quietly. Like a room with the windows sealed shut.

At first, it feels like nothing an unremarkable day, a regular lull.

But your brain feels the void before you do.

The anterior cingulate cortex, responsible for processing social discomfort, registers this absence not with words, but with a subtle flicker of discontent.

There’s a dip in the usual rush of connections, a shift from active engagement to isolation.

This isn’t something you notice immediately; it settles in like an old chair you’ve stopped noticing in the corner of a room.

But when your world gets quieter, so does your sense of direction.

Soon, you find yourself reaching less, trying less, hoping less.

It isn’t an active decision; it’s more like the dopaminergic system simply stopping its work.

No rewards. No surprise. The brain ceases to expect. And the prefrontal cortex the executive that used to steer your social efforts slows its commands.

What was once a pattern of outreach becomes an echo, like trying to shout in an empty canyon. The energy it once took to maintain those social gestures begins to feel wasted.

You stop.

Not out of anger or sadness, but out of an awareness that the emotional returns are too few to justify the investment.

Then comes the inevitable next phase: learned helplessness.

This isn't about giving up it’s about understanding the futility of trying to change what is beyond your control.

The brain, through repetition, decides that it’s better to wait than to act.

The hippocampus stores these failed attempts in its archives, neatly labeling them as "events not worth revisiting."

The amygdala, designed to protect you from pain, recognizes this pattern and becomes more alert to social risks.

Eventually, trying doesn’t seem worth the cost.

It’s simpler not to reach out, because the effort feels like a doomed experiment.

As the days pass, anhedonia settles in.

This isn't a melancholy, not the kind you’d expect. It's a slow erosion of joy a dimming of the circuits that once sparked pleasure in the smallest things.

The ventral striatum, which once lit up with anticipation and reward, now barely flickers.

Food tastes fine, but not special.

A song you used to love plays in the background like noise you can’t escape.

Your emotions don’t stop they just blur.

You don’t cry. You don’t laugh. You just... exist.

Things still happen around you, but the connection to them feels distant, like you're watching your life from a glass window, unable to reach in.

You’ve become efficient, functional even.

The routines continue, one task after another, because there is no longer a question of motivation. You do because doing is the path of least resistance.

But even in your productivity, there is no joy. There is only rhythm, like a clock ticking in a quiet room.

Others might see this and assume it’s normal, even admirable. You get things done. You respond. You keep moving.

But all the while, the insula, the part of your brain responsible for emotional awareness, grows quieter, more distant.

It’s not that you don’t feel. You feel it all. But it’s from a distance, as though you’re watching your life unfold without truly participating in it.

This is what happens when the silence goes uninterrupted for too long.

The absence of others' voices doesn't break you.

It shapes you.

It reprograms your response systems, rewiring how you react, how you process, and how you conserve your energy.

Social cues, once vibrant, become abstract patterns. You learn to navigate the world in a way that doesn’t require the validation of others.

You learn not because you want to be alone, but because the silence has taught you to be self-sufficient.

You stop needing others to confirm your existence.

And in that space, you become something else entirely.

Not better. Not worse. Just different.

You stop looking for the knock at the door, and when it comes, you don’t rush to answer.

You’re no longer dependent on others to define your rhythm. You’ve found your own.

And sometimes, that rhythm feels quieter.

But it’s yours.

And that’s a strange kind of freedom,. Maybe..

[becomingego]

Huft

There is a very specific type of heartbreak that comes from falling in love with someone simply because they read. Not because they loved you. Not because they offered emotional stability or knew how to communicate during conflict. But because they read Murakami and once quoted Alain de Botton correctly.

It starts innocently. You see her at a bookstore. She’s holding The Alchemist in one hand and a tote bag that says “Read more, scroll less” in the other. You think: Finally, someone who understands the quiet ache of existence. You imagine long walks, deep conversations about Camus, shared playlists with obscure French jazz or casualy lisening Yussef Dayes. You believe, somehow, that because she reads the same authors, she might also read you.

This is what I call the “Literary Soulmate Delusion.” It’s the belief that emotional compatibility is just a few shared Goodreads entries away. That because we both underlined the same line from Norwegian Wood, we must be cosmically aligned.

Spoiler: We were not. ha..ha...ha....

In fact, the only thing we shared deeply was a mutual ability to intellectualize our traumas and avoid intimacy through analysis. We'd sit in cafés talking about Freud’s death drive while emotionally ghosting each other in real time. A therapy session disguised as a date... Damn...

And yet, I kept repeating this. As if reading Nietzsche together somehow inoculated us from relational dysfunction. Ironically, most people I’ve met who read Nietzsche eventually declare themselves atheists not because they understand Nietzsche, but because it’s the fastest route to sounding deep at tongkrongan. They confuse God’s symbolic death with a reason to wear all black and overshare how smart they are on Instagram or Tik Tok..

You haven’t laugh enough until you've heard someone quote Beyond Good and Evil and then say something like, “Yeah, I just think morality is a social construct so I don’t believe in labels... or commitment.” see how funny that is when you don't understand the context.

Well... Back again...

The most tragic part? I thought I understood them. Because we both read Kafka. As if that was enough to fill the emotional black hole that is basic human intimacy.

There’s a silent arrogance in assuming readers must be emotionally available. That someone who journals daily is less likely to gaslight you. That someone who loves poetry won’t leave you on read after a deeply vulnerable text.

Reading books doesn’t guarantee emotional intelligence. Sometimes, it just gives people better vocabulary for their red flags.

And yet, I return again and again to these literary women. These intellectual enigmas who quote Rumi, paint with oil, and say things like “I’m just really working on myself right now” while softly ruining your entire month or just make you meet again with your doctor after long time no therapy.

So what’s the lesson? Perhaps none. Maybe this is just the price of believing in metaphysical compatibility based on shared neuroses disguised as taste. Or.. it just fully psusdo science or logical fallacy.

But I’ve accepted it now. I will always be a little too drawn to the kind of woman who annotates her existential dread. Who quotes Kierkegaard during sleep call and leaves when the emotional narrative gets too real.

Maybe the problem isn’t that I love readers. Maybe it’s that I confuse shared bookshelves with shared souls. Still, one can hope. Hope that the next woman who reads Nietzsche and Camus… also reads me.

But until then, I’ll be here alone, romanticizing my own emotional literacy, drinking cheap coffee, and writing this essay no one asked for.

[becomingego]

People who lack the capacity for genuine communication often mistake disagreement for hostility. They interpret differences in opinion not as opportunities for understanding, but as personal threats. Rather than listening to comprehend, they listen merely to respond. Instead of engaging in dialogue aimed at mutual truth seeking, they default to debate as if every conversation were a contest to be won rather than a problem to be solved. But the purpose of speaking, fundamentally, is not to triumph over the other. It is to bring clarity to chaos to negotiate meaning in a world already burdened by confusion.

[becomingego]

The end of the day

He loved her in the most inefficient way possible,. with hope. Like many who trust too much in romantic ideals, he paid dearly for believing that sincerity alone could bridge the distance between two souls still strangers to themselves.

At first, it all seemed promising. Messages came quickly, coffee tasted warmer, and plans though never spoken aloud, felt quietly certain. But life, as always, remained indifferent to the sentimental stories we write out of our fear of being alone.

When the distance began to grow, he didn’t notice right away. We often think love will continue to bloom if we simply water it with patience and sacrifice. But he forgot: even a cactus can drown if given too much care.

Eventually, she left.. not with anger, but with a silence far more painful. Not because she was cruel, but because she was tired. Tired of being someone’s meaning while still uncertain of her own.

And today, he heard the news. It’s a good day for her. She is now officially part of someone else’s family, dressed in what might be the most beautiful outfit of her life. Life has, perhaps, offered her something steadier, something quieter.

“I’m happy,” he told himself.

Yes, just happy. Nothing more, nothing less.

Not in celebration. Not in sarcasm. Just a simple, honest gladness, detached from want, stripped of longing. That’s the kind of feeling that remains when love has already burned all its pages, and what’s left is simply the ash of memory.. light, grey, and no longer warm.

That night, he sat alone on the balcony as usual. The old song played. The lyrics hit him like a quiet truth, not a lament:

“In the end, it doesn’t even matter.”

Not as despair but as understanding. That so many things we believe to be vital sacrifice, promises, even love are simply guests passing through the room of time. And perhaps, that’s not a tragedy. Perhaps it is the quiet education of adulthood:

to realize we don’t need to win in order to matter, and that pain isn’t always a sign of failure, but a witness to how deeply we’ve loved.

He didn’t resent her. Nor did he resent himself. He merely looked out the window, smiled faintly, and thought: maybe things become more beautiful precisely because they don’t last because we dared to love, knowing it could vanish.

And that is the quiet bravery of being human: to give wholly, to feel entirely, even when we know that, in the end, it may not survive.

Because sometimes, the only reason we love... is because we know we never truly own anything to begin with.

[becomingego]

Why I Chose the Name "Ego" in 7 Blog I Have

If we are honest, each of us whether in the stillness of our own minds or amidst the noise of the world is constantly trying to build a small, fragile world inside our heads.

Freud once proposed that this inner world is governed by three forces:

there is the ID, the impatient, greedy, childlike part of us;

there is the Superego, the stern voice of parents, teachers, and society, endlessly reminding us of what we ought to do;

and between them stands the Ego tasked with the delicate job of keeping these two powers from tearing us apart.

Yet Jung took us further.

For him, the ego was not just a negotiator; it was a doorway

a modest, often trembling gate into a vast unconscious realm,

where ancient fears, collective dreams, and forgotten selves dance in the mist.

I chose "ego" not because I wished to glorify the conscious self,

but because I recognize how fragile and heroic that conscious self really is.

And if you only know this one of ego,. Yet... You better try to find the other to understand the puzzle~

Cuz each day, our egos small, imperfect, often lost navigate vast seas of desire and expectation.

And it is precisely in this daily navigation, often clumsy and always incomplete, that we become most human:

not through perfection, but through the persistence to keep trying.

"Ego," here, serves as a quiet reminder:

that every thought, every writing, every misstep even, is part of the larger struggle to remain awake

to resist being swallowed whole by blind instinct or rigid morality,

and to sometimes, if we are brave enough, peer into the abyss within us not with fear, but with a fragile curiosity.

Perhaps, in the end, this "project" is not so much about "me" in the ordinary sense,

but about how all of us are unfinished journeys

moving between the desire to be free and the need to be responsible,

between great dreams and darker shadows we rarely dare to name.

[becomingego]

A question (?)

I’m just… wondering. And maybe, just maybe, making you wonder too.

Tell me—when he looks at you, does it feel like being seen… or scanned?

When he touches you, is it your soul he’s reaching for, or just skin that’s warm and convenient?

Because there’s a difference between a man who wants to know you, and one who just wants to feel you.

Did he ever pause—not for his own breath, but for yours?

Not for the rise and fall of your chest, but the quiet between your words?

Did he ask you how you feel after, or did he only remember to hold you when it was him who finished first?

You deserve someone who sees your body not as a conquest, but as a conversation.

One who doesn’t just unzip your dress, but unbuttons your thoughts.

But him?

Did he learn you or just use the cliff notes of women he’s touched before?

You’d know, wouldn't you?

If he was studying the curve of your thoughts the way he studies your waist.

If his lips tasted your silences as carefully as your skin.

Does he kiss you because he’s hungry, or because you’re holy?

Does he touch you like he’s grateful, or like he’s entitled?

You...

you’ve always been magnificent.

Not just beautiful, not just soft.

Magnificent.

You’re made of mood swings and moonlight, of sharp edges hidden under silk.

But does he even notice the storm you carry in your smile?

I’m not saying leave.

I’m not saying stay either.

I’m just… asking.

When the lights are out, and the sheets still smell like him,. Do you feel full, or do you feel… forgotten?

Does he ever make you laugh right after he made you moan? Does he ask how your heart is doing, or only how tight your body feels tonight?

You were not made to be background noise to his ego.

You are not the applause after his performance.

You are not the pause between his distractions.

You’re a whole damn opera,

and yet—he plays you like a looped voicemail.

So tell me, did he ever truly want you, or did he just want someone to make him feel wanted?

You don't have to answer me.

But when you're alone—

when it's quiet again—

ask yourself this:

Are you happy… or just touched?

[becomingego]

The Space Bar On My Keyboard

There is a kind of love that feels noble. The kind that stays through dysfunction, forgives endlessly, and believes sometimes against all evidence that its presence alone can redeem a broken soul. It’s the love that endures sleepless nights, awkward silences, and messages that go unanswered, and still returns with the same warmth, as if nothing happened.

It sounds heroic. It sounds beautiful.

But sometimes it is simply misplaced.

We imagine ourselves as healers. Not because we wear white coats, but because someone has made us believe that our kindness is medicine. And sometimes, it is.

"If someone truly wants to grow, your presence can be powerful. But if they use your kindness as a drug or a weapon, the best healing you can offer… is distance."

- Dz

This is not an easy lesson to learn. Most of us grew up believing that to love means to stay. But there is a quieter, more mature love that knows when to walk away not in anger, but in clarity.

It’s a love that says:

I cannot do your healing for you.

I will not be the thing that prevents your necessary breakdown.

I respect you enough to let you fall and find your own way back.

Of course, we don’t always get there quickly. We often resist. We rationalize. We say, "They just need more time," or "Maybe they’ve never been loved properly." And so we give more. We tolerate more.

And here comes the deeply uncomfortable truth:

"Why are we so flexible with the ones we love, even when they’re broken beyond repair, yet show no tolerance for the honest souls we simply don’t like?What is love, then, if it only blinds us, and never frees us?"

-Dz

Psychologically, we’re not just dealing with love.

We’re often dealing with projection.

With longing.

With old wounds disguised as modern attachments.

We don’t love people as they are. We love the idea of what they could be if only.

And in doing so, we sometimes recreate our own childhood roles. We become the caretaker. The pleaser. The fixer. We replay a dynamic that once made us feel needed, even if it slowly eats away at our soul.

Somewhere deep down, what we fear isn’t that the other person is broken.

What we fear… is being unwanted once we stop being useful.

But healing, the real kind the kind that isn’t Instagrammable isn’t about fixing other people. It’s about finally asking: why do I feel responsible for their chaos in the first place?

And that leads us somewhere deeper.

To the idea that our wounds are trying to complete themselves.

That we are, often, unconsciously drawn to people who reflect our unhealed patterns.

Not because we’re masochistic. But because the psyche is always trying to resolve what it doesn’t yet understand.

So what do we do with this knowledge?

We shift. Gently.

We begin to see that love is not always about saving, nor is distance always about abandonment.

Sometimes, the most faithful act of love is not to stay but to trust someone enough to face their own night alone.

We let go of the fantasy that love is eternal presence.

Instead, we make space for a deeper love: one that respects timing, capacity, and the reality that not all connections are meant to last forever.

That doesn’t mean we become cold. Or detached.

It means we learn to love better.

With humility. With boundaries. With the courage to say, "I will not sacrifice my soul for the sake of feeling needed."

And in doing so, something beautiful happens.

We stop seeing others as projects.

We stop seeing ourselves as saviors.

We meet in the middle two humans, flawed but willing, without illusion or manipulation.

We love not to heal what is broken in them,

but because it brings out what is alive in us.

And if we must part ways,

we do so not in bitterness,

but in quiet gratitude for what we learned,

and for who we can now become.

#story

[becomingego]

"You said you cared, but did you ask me?

You called me yours, but did you know me?"

-Egomengeluh

[becomingego]

A Dayseeker

That morning did not begin with sunlight.

It came instead like a slow step that had forgotten how to run—neither rushed, nor grand. Just a quiet notification from the universe, disguised as a private message. That’s how life greets us sometimes: not with fireworks, nor djent guitar metalcore or something buzzy, but with whispers only half-dead souls can hear.

The request came through quietly: a follow notification from someone I didn’t know—Qodri and I didn’t recognize the name, but I saw we shared one mutual: my sister, Rin.

Something in me stirred—not curiosity, but duty.

There’s this unwritten rule, you know—when you get a follow request, especially from someone, the one who’s followed should open the conversation. I forget where I first picked that up—maybe from kindness, maybe from guilt. But that’s what I did.

“Hi, nice to meet you. What’s up? What can I help you with?” I said.

He replied in a tone segan:

“I’m interested in psychology.”

I let out a small laugh. Not because it was funny. But because I felt far too empty to feel worthy of answering something that large. I told him, “I don’t think I’m the right person to answer that. But I’m happy to share what I know.”

But the truth is—I’ve stopped being sure of what I know for a very long time now.

----------

That afternoon I was on my motorbike, as always. Moving from one job to the next. With my helmet as a confessional booth and the wind as a silent companion who never judges. I spoke to myself in English, as if trying to escape the version of me that thought in my native tongue. Maybe in a different language, the pain felt more neutral, easier to lie to.

Why am I lost?

Why did I lose the reason behind everything?

Was it the failures? Was it the quiet endings?

I had given everything to the things that once lit up my eyes. But now my eyes only blink from dust, not light. And somehow, a sorrow that should have grown old still feels new each time it loops inside my head.

----------

When I got home, I go to family house with my mother. We talked about family, as usual. I sang Without Me by Dayseeker with loud voice,. People turned to look, not because it was beautiful, but because something that hadn’t surfaced in a long time had begun to rise again. A voice that was loud but fragile.

“So don't you hold me if you don't wanna know me

Don't you play dumb when I see what you run from

So don't you leave me empty when it's only in my eyes

How do you feel the same without me?

How do you feel the same when I don't sleep?

Somehow found me but you still doubt me

How do you feel the same without me?”

I kept singing it. Over and over. Like my lungs had memorized it better than my mind ever could.

My mother smiled softly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you like this,” she said. “You used to scream out metal songs while riding your motorbike.”

And I remembered those days.. the days when I’d scream Six by All That Remains, or howl along with Burgerkill, chest wide open. As if, if I didn’t scream, I’d be swallowed by the silence.

But now, I don’t even know what I’d scream for.

----------

Later that night, after the wind had quieted and the roads had emptied, Refa (my sibling) and I were talking. She asked how my day was. I mumbled something vague. Then she leaned against the doorframe and said:

“Did you notice that lyric sounds like you’re talking to yourself?

Maybe that’s why you keep singing it again and again.”

And the room, which had been silent, suddenly felt full of echoes I hadn’t invited. I nodded, but didn’t reply. Some truths don’t need agreement—they just need air.

----------

That night, my fingers were moved by something deeper than consciousness. I opened YouTube with no intent. No plan. A video popped up about an expedition to West Sumatra—a land where I once stood, ran, and get broken heart. In it, a face appeared: Linka Angelia. Someone I used to follow from afar. Not because I loved her, but because she seemed to embody a kind of life I could never reach: tall, young, calm, and have nice energy aura.

I laughed quietly. “Let’s forget that,” I said.

Suddenly the night became a museum of old ghosts. Names I once thought were compasses now returned as mirrors—not to show me who I am, but who I lost along the way.

---

“Something is missing from me.”

That sentence echoed like footsteps in an empty corridor. Repeating, rebounding, but never answering.

Maybe it’s my spirit.

Maybe the “why” behind everything I do.

Or maybe… it’s just fatigue—from loving a world that never really loved me back. Sometimes we don’t feel empty because we have nothing, we feel empty because we’ve lost the will to want and that will seem or feel it’s fragile. It’s not the kind you find in motivational reels or vt.

It’s something that lives behind your eyes and when it dies, you’ll keep moving—but like a shadow, like a soul that hasn’t finished its mourning.

----------

On the second ride home that day,. Between the noise of exhaust pipes and the indifferent streetlights I asked myself:

When was the last time I felt happy, passionate and have big dream.

That one small question from a dusty with light still flickering in my eyes… stirred something unfamiliar inside me,. Not nostalgia. But a sense of grief—for a part of me that used to live, and died without a funeral.

----------

Maybe I never wanted to be great.

Maybe I just wanted to search.

To search for myself in letters, in songs, in screams, in silence.

To find a reason to live, not from achievement, but from conversations that are more honest than the final chapters of philosophy books.

And now, after all these years of searching, I still can’t answer one question.

What keeps me going so far?

---

We are born as wanderers carrying someting that hard to explain sometime its looks like wounds, but it not totally corect if we say that a wounds.

Our souls are shaped not just by love, but by the absence left by those who walked away without explanation.

In a world that promises no meaning, we forge meaning from fragments.

We build purpose from ruins.

In the depths of the unconscious, man loses his will to live not when he fails, but when all his objects of affection disappear, turn away, or fade.

And in the deepest layer of the self, the drive to live does not come from ambition…

But from attachment, and I have lost many of those attachments.

Not just to people, but to the version of myself that once dared to burn.

----------

The modern world forces us to keep walking. Keep running.

But maybe what we need is not a new direction, but the courage to sit still in silence and ask:

Do I love this life… or am I just used to it?

And maybe, the answer to all my questions is not found in milestones or medals.

But in small moments.

In the way a song bursts out for no reason.

In the way a young boy calls me "Om" insted of "abang"... Hahaha

----------

I don’t know why I’m still moving.

But I know one thing:

I want to remain aware enough to ask.

And maybe that, in all its emptiness,

is the beginning of a return..

A return to myself.

A return to meaning that cannot be handed by this world.

A meaning that can only be found… in honest solitude.

Night falls.

I no longer scream.

But in this silence, I know one thing:

I’m not finished.

And maybe that’s enough.

For now.

#story

[becomingego]

The Weight of Almost

You know, there's a peculiar cruelty in modern affection. People reach for you not because they want to carry your soul, but because they need somewhere to place their loneliness for a while. And they smile while doing it. That’s the tragic comedy of it.

See, there’s a kind of touch that doesn’t land. A conversation where words arrive, but meaning doesn’t. You can be held, even kissed, yet remain entirely untouched. That’s what happens when someone engages not with you, but with their idea of who you’re supposed to be.

So I say this don’t hold someone if your hands are shaking from truths you’re too afraid to face. Don’t stay if all you bring is absence dressed as company. Because there’s a difference between leaving and never having arrived in the first place.

And here's what cuts deeper: when you walk away half-heartedly, you leave the other to carry the weight of almost. Almost loved. Almost trusted. Almost known. You hollow out the memory and leave it standing like a house where no one ever lived, only passed through, cold coffee still sitting on the table.

Now let me ask you: how do you move through your days unchanged, as though absence doesn’t settle into the air like dust on old furniture? How do you sleep soundly when someone else is wide awake, remembering the parts of you that even you’ve forgotten?

You say you feel the same. But that sameness it’s not stillness. It’s stagnation. It’s the soul refusing to grow because growth demands loss. Real closeness demands we die to the comfortable versions of ourselves.

You found something real. That’s what frightens you. It wasn’t soft. It was precise. It required you to tell the truth, and perhaps you weren't ready for honesty that didn’t flatter, only freed. And freedom real freedom is terrifying when you’ve built a life from walls.

So no, you don’t feel the same. You feel familiar. And familiarity is not love. It’s just the absence of risk.

And you left not loudly, not with drama but with silence that stretched like winter. And that’s the thing: people don’t always leave by walking away. Sometimes, they just stop showing up where it matters.

#Story

[becomingego]

Another Version of Somewhere

She stared at her iced coffee like it had said something offensive to her soul. Swirled it once. Twice. Let the clinking ice carry the mood she wasn’t ready to put into words.

"I think I’m developing trauma," she muttered.

“From caffeine?” I offered.

"From men," she said. "But sure, let’s blame the espresso."

Mira’s been my friend since university—one of the rare minds you remember long after you’ve forgotten your own student number. She was from English Literature. I wasn’t, but we orbited the same buildings and the same frustrations: deadlines, skripsi, relationship and life.

Now she’s a barista. Still poetic, still underpaid, now slightly more caffeinated.

"Do you know what it feels like," she continued, "to make latte art like it’s love—swirls, symmetry, a whole morning of muscle memory—and hand it to someone who only notices the price?"

I didn’t answer. She wasn’t looking for an answer.

"They treat me like Spotify ads," she said. "Unskippable and definitely not worth paying for, but still works"

I held back a laugh.

"But it’s fine," she added, waving a hand like she was dismissing the entire emotional economy of the dating world. "I’m no one’s backup plan. I’m not a plan at all. I’m a philosophy major in disguise—serving cappuccinos with a side of existential dread."

She leaned in. "Sometimes I quote Simone de Beauvoir under my breath while I steam the milk. You know. Just to curse the patriarchy."

"Since when are you a feminist?" I teased.

She smirked. “I’m not. But I work in customer service—so the rage just builds naturally.”

I laughed.

"You’re the one who started this," she added, pointing at me. “You gave me Camus. You said he was ‘fun.’ Now I can’t even cry without wondering if it’s absurdity or ego.”

"That’s fair," I said. "I have no regrets, though."

"You wouldn’t. You still think your meme collection is ‘philosophical content.’"

I rolled my eyes. “At least I try. I share memes, random stuff, weird analogies…(if they know the hint) But people only like the ones about relationships. If it doesn’t involve heartbreak, ghosting, or "when"question it gets buried faster than my future."

She burst out laughing.

"Abang," she said, "your memes are so niche it’s starting to feel like you’ve created an underground club for existential crises. You’re the elite class of meme culture—and no one invited you."

"It’s not elitist," I said. 'It’s curated."

"It’s lonely," she corrected. "But also kinda romantic and ironic at the same time"

Well, yeah but thanks, just like the taste of a dry joke I knew only two people on the internet would get.

She raised her cup of americano

“To burnt-out philosophers. And men who read memes like they're scripture.”

I raised mine back with espresso "To baristas who quote Beauvoir in a milk frother’s whisper."

And just like that, the afternoon didn’t feel so heavy.

Because even when the world doesn’t laugh with you—there’s always someone who’ll roast you back with friendship.

#story

[becomingego]

Where the Wind Forgot My Name

If you will not walk the path, how will we ever meet beneath the old birch tree?

I have been there, you know where the wind forgets its direction and the grass grows tired of waving. I have been there with my hands in my pockets and a quiet ache blooming inside me like a winter that still carries the scent of spring.

You cannot meet someone who never turns their face toward you. And you cannot keep knocking on a door that only opens when it remembers you're there.

There was a time I thought: If I try just a little harder. If I show up again, and again, and again, maybe this time she’ll see me.

But even hope, when unshared, begins to feel like a secret you're not meant to carry alone.

You can only plant so many wildflowers in someone’s soil before you realize the ground may not be ready but it doesn't mean the flowers were a mistake.

I’ve sent no letters, but I’ve spoken with the wind. Left bits of my hope in the dust of old roads. I thought the sun might carry my longing in the shadows it casts. And maybe it did. Maybe, somewhere, you felt it and just didn’t know how to name it.

And so, I’ll stop not with bitterness, but with a kind of love that understands when to loosen its grip.

If you will not step forward, then I shall step away.

Let the birch tree forget the way I leaned against it.

Let the fields grow wild again.

Let the birds sing songs that no longer carry my waiting.

Because not every absence must be filled, and not every silence needs to be broken.

Sometimes, that the most faithful kind of love we can have right, Dio..

#story