In the Reze Arc of Chainsaw Man, there’s a scene that has stayed with me long after watching.

Denji and Reze are trapped inside a school during a storm, taking shelter after she taught him to swim.

At that moment, Reze asks him a question:

“Would you rather be a city mouse or a country mouse?”

The scene cuts to Aki and the Angel Devil, also waiting out the rain. Almost offhandedly, the Angel Devil mentions that the question comes from an Aesop fable.

Like Denji and Aki, I didn’t really understand what the question meant when I first heard it.

It was only months later that it finally clicked. The question is an allegory that reveals what each character values most.

The reference is to a classic fable titled The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse. It tells the story of two mice living vastly different lives.

The Town Mouse enjoys luxury and abundance in the city, while the Country Mouse lives simply and quietly in the countryside.

Curious about city life, the Country Mouse follows her friend to experience its riches, only to discover that comfort there comes with constant fear and danger.

In the end, realizing that peace and safety matter more than luxury, she chooses to return to her modest, peaceful home.

Back to Denji and Reze’s conversation. Denji answers that he’d choose to be the Town Mouse. The city has more food and is more fun, he says. Denji is a simple guy, focusing on what’s right in front of him.

It’s not hard to see why. He grew up in unimaginable hardship. From childhood, he struggled to find decent food and shelter, never received an education, and never experienced real affection or care.

Reze sees it differently. She thinks being the Country Mouse is far better.

“Nothing beats peace,” she says.

And it’s not without reason because Reze has lived a life saturated with trauma, used as nothing more than a tool by military forces, with no real freedom to choose.

If I were asked the same question, I think I’d hesitate. Both choices come with their own rewards and consequences.

The city mouse enjoys abundance and comfort, yet lives under constant threat. The country mouse lives a simpler, more carefree life, even if it lacks the pleasures and conveniences the city offers.

The city promises excitement, opportunity, and abundance, but it also demands resilience in the face of stress and uncertainty.

The countryside offers peace and steadiness, but sometimes at the cost of growth or new experiences.

Yet like Denji, I have to face life realistically. Looking at my circumstances, I haven’t lived in comfort, and the reality is, I need to hustle as Denji does as a devil hunter.

There are bills to pay, savings to build, a family to provide for, and the freedom to make time for the things I love to chase.

Not to mention how the economy declines every day as we face bad news that shows how we slowly destroy the whole world we live in now.

So if I were asked the same question as what Reze asked Denji.

Right now, I am a city mouse by necessity. I repress all those feelings. I endure the noise, the pressure, and the uncertainty because this is how I can survive, and opportunity exists for me, at least for now.

To be completely honest, I don’t want to do this. Everything I’m working toward feels like chased by ‘cats’, and I’m never at ease.

When I eat, I vomit.

When I sleep, I can’t rest.

When I walk, I stagger.

But this is the only way I know how. And perhaps you feel the same.

That’s why in my heart, I know that I just can’t do this in the long run. So I turn my focus to find exactly what I’m working toward.

Not abundance for its own sake, not excitement that never rests, but the freedom to choose peace.

Maybe one day, when the struggle quiets down, I’ll finally be able to answer without hesitation. And when that day comes, I know I’ll choose to be the country mouse.

And I don’t think I’m alone in this.

People of the same age share the same dream that, after battling the uncertainty and chaos of the city, they too hope to one day settle down and enjoy life in the countryside.

You can see them as the city mouse now, but in their hearts, they want to be the country mouse.

Leaving all the stressors behind. Choosing peace over anything. Moving to a place where they won’t be anxious to say hi to people.

Away from ‘the cats’ that threaten their life.

How about you? Would you choose to have luxuries and dainties but live with constant worry or a simple life with peace and security?

Would you rather be a city mouse or a country mouse?

Would you rather be a city mouse or a country mouse? was originally published in Journal Kita on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Twenty years ago, Mom taught me that saying “Ndasmu” was rude. For those who don’t know, ndasmu in Javanese means “your head.” Just a part of the human body that holds our brain, mouth, ears, nose, etc.

But the moment I said it, Mom shut it down: “That’s rude.” In Javanese culture, especially when you’re talking to strangers, respected elders, or authority figures, that word is completely inappropriate. It’s a rude and harsh utterance.

When I started school, my friends threw around insults like it was nothing. Profanity, dirty words, you name it. Me? Total square. Even though I hung out with them every single day, running around, playing with those cheap plastic soccer balls.

Kids that age usually swear to express frustration, anger, or other strong emotions when they don’t really have the words to say what they’re feeling. But honestly, whenever I asked my friends what those curse words even meant, they’d just shrug and say, “No idea, I’m just saying what everyone else says.”

Thanks to Mom, I just had zero interest in cursing. Looking back at that now, I totally get it if you’re thinking I sound like a total pick-me. Hey, at least she got to sleep peacefully at night. I grew up as a kid who didn’t give in to peer pressure, who actually tried to speak respectfully.

Or maybe it’s just my family values. Putting politeness over anything.

Without even realizing it, I was building this whole identity around putting politeness first. That meant never letting my disappointment, anger, or any negative feelings come out as words directed at other people.

The result? Years and years of built-up frustration, anger, and resentment that I just kept pretending weren’t there.

Then I moved miles away from home for college. Spent four years hearing every kind of unfiltered conversation you can imagine. Swearing mixed with laughter, crude jokes, dark humor, and plenty of things that would get me canceled if I posted them online.

Despite all that, I still hold my principles. I stayed gentle, as Mom taught me. Avoid using harsh words to someone. Kept my anger in check, didn’t let rage take over, and avoided anything that could hurt someone’s feelings.

Now I’m working. Grinding every day, barely keeping it together, trying to make it on my own. And boy, oh boy, Mom would be shocked if she saw who I’ve become.

Every single day, every hour, curse words just pour out of me. I’ve turned into a full-of-anger person, grumpy as hell. I curse, I swear, I let it all fly, from 9 AM when I’m staring at my laptop to 5 PM when I finally finish dealing with all the work bullshit.

It’s like all the anger I bottled up for twenty years is finally exploding. Like an investment that’s been compounding, growing more and more valuable, and now it’s all erupting at once.

I’m not that gentle kid Mom was so proud of anymore. I lose my temper the second something doesn’t go my way. I take everything way too seriously. I rush into decisions. The smallest inconvenience and I’m already cursing.

My mind’s just a constant loop of worry and anxiety, just like a bowl of soup someone stirred with zero care. A ticking time bomb waiting to go off. I’ve got a sharp tongue. Hateful thoughts. Sometimes I literally pray for the world to just end already.

And then I ask myself: Have I always been like this? Or did life force me to change?

Maybe deep down, I’ve always been angry, bitter, foul-mouthed, full of hate. But somehow Mom kept all that buried way down inside. She covered it up with gentleness, empathy, understanding, and love.

Don’t get me wrong, Mom’s no saint. She got mad plenty. The difference? She just raised her voice. Never cursed. She’d yell sometimes, sure, but she never crossed that line.

I think the only time I ever heard something crude from her was when she was mimicking someone who’d cursed at her.

No matter how rough things got, no matter how many people cornered or mistreated her, even when people swore at her or disrespected her, she’d always say the same thing,

“Yawes, Gusti sing mbales”

which means “It’s okay, let God handle it.”

Mom always hoped I’d love whatever job I ended up doing. She wanted me to be kind, gentle, and happy.

But here I am, full of rage. Starting every day with curse words, my head was packed with profanity. Waking up anxious every morning. Nowhere near happy.

Will Mom be disappointed? And for that, all I can say is:

Sorry, Mom. I am not as gentle as I was.

They say bad days don’t exist on the calendar. But if you ask me, I’d probably argue otherwise.

Lately, it feels like bad luck has been tagging along wherever I go. Not the life-shattering kind, but just enough to make me wonder: why does life feel so messy these days?

It all started on what should’ve been a chill afternoon. My girl and I had planned to meet up after work, just to blow off steam after a long day. As soon as the clock struck five, I packed up and headed out, strolling toward the MRT station.

On the way, I watched traffic pile up endlessly around Lebak Bulus, my mind already wandering to what food we’d order later. But the moment I reached the station gate, I froze. I reached into my pocket, feeling for my wallet where my e-money card should’ve been.

But nothing is there.

I rifled through my bag, hoping it had slipped inside. Still nothing. That’s when it hit me: I’d left my wallet at home. Great. Just great.

All I could do was sigh and wonder, is this the start of a streak of bad days Turns out, it was.

Two days later, another misfortune struck. My favorite watch, the one I’d proudly bought secondhand, slipped off my wrist just as I was opening a door. The strap, always a little loose, finally gave way.

The watch free-fell, smacking hard onto the floor. For a second, I just stared, hoping maybe it had survived. But when I flipped it over, the glass was shattered, scattered into little shards.

I stood there in disbelief, asking myself: am I really this clumsy, or just plain unlucky?

And then, without warning, bad luck showed up again on a really important day. I had to wake up at 4 a.m. for a campaign shoot.

The night before, I made one fatal mistake: ordering an iced aren latte in the late afternoon. The caffeine had me wide awake, tossing and turning, eyes stubbornly refusing to close.

By the time my alarm rang, I was up on schedule but felt like my skull had been stuffed with needles. I dragged myself to the shoot anyway, moving on autopilot, more zombie than human.

Maybe It’s Not Bad Luck — Maybe It’s Just Me

Three months in Jakarta have felt like three months of nonstop tests.

Forgetting to reply to important messages, messing up follow-ups, and getting scolded by a Transjakarta driver. Every day seems like a rerun of the last screw-up. At some point, I caught myself wondering: why does my life feel so many bad luck?

Then another thought hit me: is my life really getting worse, or am I just too fixated on the bad stuff? I tend to cling to negative moments far longer than the small, happy ones.

Psychologists even have a name for this: negativity bias. In The Negativity Bias Revisited: Evidence From Neuroscience Measures And Individual Differences Approach (2021), Catherine Norris explains that when everything else is equal, bad things hit harder than good ones.

Negative information grabs more of our attention, sticks in our memory, and impacts our emotions, behavior, and decisions far more than equally intense positive experiences.

This bias is rooted in survival instincts. Hundreds of years ago, paying closer attention to danger and threats meant a higher chance of survival. Neuroscience research backs this up too that our brains literally react more strongly to negative stimuli than positive ones.

But if I really stop to think about it, aren’t there still plenty of things going just fine?

I still have my job, I still get to laugh with my friends, and I can still splurge on overpriced sushi every now and then.

It’s Not a Shitty Life, Just a Shitty Day

One small moment reminded me to look for the silver lining in all this.

One morning, when I was on the verge of being late for work, a friend casually offered me a ride without me even asking.

That day, it hit me: even when things suck, little bits of luck still sneak in to make me smile.

Instead of cursing every bad day, I may need to flip the perspective. Easier said than done, but mindset does matter. As cliché as it sounds, there’s truth in it.

Bad days are just part of life. I can’t avoid them, but I can choose

how to respond. After all, life is 10% what happens and 90% how we deal with it.

So I’m choosing hope. If today sucks, maybe tomorrow will be better. Because really, it’s not a shitty life, it’s just a shitty day.

We get seven days in a week for a reason — maybe one or two are rough, but the next few might surprise you.

Maybe that’s why I keep replaying White Chorus’s Minggu, humming along to the lyrics: “Sial… ini bukan hariku, sungguh malang hariku. Namun kuharap Mingguku indah.”

Dang…. This Just Isn’t My Day was originally published in Journal Kita on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Beberapa percakapan paling jujur sering kali terjadi di jam-jam yang tidak masuk akal — saat malam sudah terlalu larut, dan dunia sudah menjadi lebih sunyi.

Waktu-waktu itulah yang sering menjadi ruang aman bagi perasaan yang biasanya terkunci rapat di siang hari. Itulah kenapa, ketika mendengar Lomba Sihir akan merilis album keduanya yang bertajuk Obrolan Jam 3 Pagi, saya langsung merasa ingin mendengarkannya dengan saksama.

Selasa, 6 Mei 2025, saya dan pasangan akhirnya punya kesempatan mewujudkan keinginan kecil kami: menyaksikan Lomba Sihir secara langsung.

Kami memang bukan tipe penikmat konser yang sering datang ke acara musik — bahkan saya sendiri bisa menghitung jumlah kehadiran saya di konser. Tapi kami punya kesepakatan: kalau suatu saat ada kesempatan nonton Lomba Sihir, ayo nonton bareng.

Dan hari itu, semesta mengiyakan.

Acara ini bukan konser besar. Bukan pula peluncuran album yang gegap gempita. Ini adalah sebuah intimate listening session, di mana 250 penonton terpilih duduk bersama di satu ruangan untuk mendengarkan keseluruhan lagu dalam album Obrolan Jam 3 Pagi — ditemani visualizer, lirik yang ditampilkan, serta suasana yang intim beserta Peserta Lomba Sihir (fans Lomba Sihir).

Saya sengaja tidak memutar ulang lagu-lagu yang sudah lebih dulu dirilis sebagai single. Bukan karena tidak berkenan, tapi karena saya ingin pengalaman mendengarkan ini terasa penuh, utuh, dan jujur. Sama seperti ketika menonton film yang ditunggu-tunggu — saya ingin datang tanpa ekspektasi, membiarkan musiknya yang bicara.

Dan setiap track itu memang berbicara. Dari track pertama hingga kesembilan Lomba Sihir seperti sedang menggenggam tangan saya dan penonton lainnya, mengajak kami berjalan mengarungi perjalanan mereka selama ini setelah perilisan album pertama, Selamat Datang di Ujung Dunia.

Bukannya membuat kami mengantuk, track-track di awal ini justru memberi energi baru. Seluruh alunan musik menggoda saya untuk setidaknya berdendang karena kegirangan. Alih-alih jam 3 pagi, rasanya seperti jam 7 pagi yang sangat penuh semangat untuk menyambut hari.

Sampai akhirnya track kesepuluh, Sofa, diputar.

Lomba Sihir sendiri pernah menceritakan bahwa Sofa menceritakan sebuah sofa yang menjadi bagian dari proses kreatif mereka, yang menjadi tempat duduk, bersantai, berbagi cerita, dan brainstorming tentang musik.

Takjub, mereka berhasil mengemas track tentang salah satu furnitur yang biasa kita temui di ruang tengah dan ruang tamu ini dengan penuh emosi sehingga ketika dilemparkan kepada pendengar, saya jadi ikut larut lalu merefleksikannya dengan pengalaman saya sendiri.

Saya mendengar ada yang berbeda dari track kesepuluh dalam album Obrolan Jam 3 Pagi ini. Track ini tak mengajak berdansa atau berteriak seperti track-track sebelumnya. Ia seolah hanya duduk di samping saya, memeluk perlahan, lalu menghembuskan kenangan.

Bahkan ketika Tristan Juliano mendentingkan keys pertamanya, saya seolah sudah diarahkan menelisik kembali memori. Ingatan saya melayang ke malam-malam pada pukul 3 pagi, bersama beberapa teman yang mungkin saat ini sudah terpisah secara jarak.

Ingat sekali ketika kami duduk melingkar. Ada yang merokok, ada yang menuang-nuang ‘minuman’, ada yang bercerita panjang lebar, dan ada yang hanya menyimak dengan mata sedikit mengantuk. Hanya obrolan jujur — pembicaraan soal keluarga, teori konspirasi, masa depan, dan cinta bercampur jadi satu. Tidak semuanya masuk akal, bahkan cenderung ngelantur.

Berkaca dari ingatan saya tersebut, saya jadi melihat bahwa sofa seperti sebuah sosok/ruang yang kita merasa aman (safe space). Ia tidak bicara, tapi menyimak. Tidak menilai, hanya menemani. Ia menjadi saksi bisu dari segala yang tidak bisa kita katakan di depan dunia. Tempat kita duduk dalam diam dan akhirnya menemukan: tidak apa-apa merasa lelah.

Vokal Natasha Udu, Rayhan Noor, dan Baskara Putra silih berganti menyampaikan lirik dengan kelembutan yang menggigit. Dinamika downtempo yang Enrico Octaviano bangun di chorus-nya semakin memperkuat narasi yang mau dibangun dalam lagu. Rasanya perpaduan ini seperti pemantik yang membantu saya membangun suatu nuansa tertentu.

Nuansa yang membuat saya ingin terdiam dan mengingat semua percakapan yang pernah saya lakukan pada pukul 3 pagi, seperti membuka kembali kotak sepatu berisi surat-surat lama, catatan kecil, dan potongan malam yang pernah saya lalui bersama orang-orang yang sekarang saya sudah tidak bertegur sapa.

Sembari menikmati alunan musik, mata saya memaku membaca lirik pada awal chorus:

Obrolan jam tiga pagi / Abu rokok, remah makanan / Berantakan

Tiga baris dalam chorus ini menjadi potret kecil dari kehidupan nyata yang tak banyak orang rayakan. Tapi Lomba Sihir justru memotret fragmen itu dan menempatkannya sebagai highlight, bahwa keintiman bukan hanya soal pelukan dan kata-kata indah, tapi juga soal mau hadir di tengah berantakan.

Rebahlah, kau tahu ku s’lalu di sini.

Baris ini membuat saya menitihkan air mata. Ada sesuatu yang begitu menyentuh dari apa yang ditulis oleh Lomba Sihir di sini. Tidak ada kesan menyuruh, hanya menawarkan kehadiran.

Dalam dunia yang seringkali menilai kita dari seberapa produktif kita hari ini, kita dituntut untuk kuat, sigap, sempurna. Tapi di hadapan sofa, kita boleh rapuh. Kita boleh jatuh.Rasanya seperti ada seseorang yang bilang, “Nggak apa-apa. Kalau capek, aku ada untukmu.”

Saya juga tersentuh oleh bagaimana track ini menuliskan bagaimana waktu yang berjalan:

Helai rambutmu di sela lipatanku / Ada yang memutih…

Saat bagian ini muncul, saya sempat diam beberapa detik. Saya takjub betapa dekat dan relevannya penulisan ini. Ini bukan cuma tentang sofa yang sudah dipakai lama — tapi tentang waktu yang terus berjalan tanpa kita sadari. Tentang orang-orang yang tetap bertahan di samping kita, meski hidup sudah melalui berbagai macam halang rintang.

Seperti si sofa ini bilang: “Aku tahu kamu berubah, dan itu nggak masalah. Aku juga berubah. Tapi kita masih di sini, kan?”

Busaku menipis, semoga masih nyaman untuk kau bersandar.

Sofa pun menua. Tapi ia tidak menuntut untuk diganti. Ia hanya berharap, meski sudah tak seperti dulu, ia masih bisa jadi tempat bersandar. Di situlah saya melihat makna cinta yang paling tulus, yaitu tetap hadir dengan setia untuk orang yang sudah bersama menerjang berbagai hal.

Dan saat lirik Sofa sampai pada bagian ini:

Tak seburuk yang kaubayangkan / Pergulatan batinmu selesai dengan besar hatimu.

Rasanya, sofa dapat diibaratkan seperti seorang teman yang tidak selalu bicara, tapi selalu hadir. Ia adalah pengingat bahwa hidup yang kita jalani — dengan segala letih, tanya, dan tangis — tidak perlu selalu dihadapi dengan kepala tegak. Ia teman yang menepuk punggung kita setelah sudah bergulat sekuat tenaga dengan dunia.

Teman yang masih rela hadir untuk kita bahkan pada pukul 3 pagi.

Pengalaman malam itu memang berhasil menyihir saya. Secara utuh, album Obrolan Jam 3 Pagi dari Lomba Sihir berhasil menghadirkan musik yang terasa hangat, jujur, dan penuh ruang untuk melihat kembali.

Terkhusus Sofa.

Bagi saya, track ini menjadi titik temu di mana segala obrolan jam 3 pagi terjadi. Kadang, kita hanya perlu duduk bercengkrama sebentar. Menyiapkan diri. Menyandar. Menangis, mungkin. Lalu tidur sebentar.

Dan ketika pagi datang, kita tahu: kita bersiap lagi. Masih bernapas. Masih bisa melanjutkan.

Satu hal lagi. Satu keinginan lagi. Satu doa lagi. Satu hari lagi.

I feel like I was born with gifts as if I could do anything. Growing up in a supportive environment, feeling that I can be the best of the best. But as a child, I didn’t know the world that much.

I forget that there’s always a sky above another sky. As I grew older, I encountered many people and witnessed that they were “bigger” than me. Maybe they are in a phase of life that I perceived as “success.”

As a naive child, I believed that success meant owning a car, having a big house, being able to buy things easily, and traveling abroad. After graduating from college, my definition of success narrowed down a bit — I started seeing it as having freedom in life.

Freedom to use my time as I please, to fully be myself without living up to others’ expectations, and financial freedom in various forms. For real, what a pity…

However, as I grow older, I feel like someone who is never truly satisfied and lacks gratitude. Let’s be real, I have an incredibly supportive family, graduated with honors, and landed a job that aligns with what I’ve always wanted and enjoyed.

Yet, why do I still feel like the grass is greener on the other side?

My toxic trait is perceiving that my surroundings are way more successful than I am. If I write it all down, it might become a list of my envy toward my friends’ achievements.

Some are traveling the world, some are marrying the love of their life, some are buying homes, some are getting promotions at work, some are purchasing their dream cars, and some are earning their master’s degrees.

And yeah, guys (and girls), you are doing great and I’m really happy for you!

Always Greener on the Other Side

“The grass is always greener on the other side” — that’s what people tell me whenever I compare myself to others.

This phrase speaks to me in two different ways. When I feel good, it means that people are doing well in their lives. And when I feel bad, it means that people are doing well in their lives.

As I’ve grown and heard more about people’s stories, I’ve come to realize something important: “My grass is actually green enough.”

Maybe Mom was right, “It’s that damn phone.” With the constant flood of information, we endlessly scroll through stories, feeds, and videos on our smartphones — whether from celebrities, brands, or friends we never talk to anymore.

At first, I feel content with my life, simply relaxing, but somehow, after seeing it all, the thought creeps in: “How are they so successful while I’m just… here?”

The problem might be how I define success—whether it’s something I’ve picked up from my surroundings or what I’ve come to believe over time.

The Cambridge Online Dictionary writes that success is the achievement of desired or hoped-for results. It can take the form of triumph or accomplishment in various areas—personal, professional, or social.

Success is subjective; what it means to me might be completely different for someone else. But we tend to get caught up in measuring it through things like money, popularity, traveling, or even finding inner peace.

It’s just human nature, but what I don’t realize is that this subjectivity will lead me to endless comparison between me and the illusion of success.

Moreover, I have this weird habit of zooming in on what I don’t have while completely ignoring what I do. Perhaps we see greener grass elsewhere because we’re not paying attention to our own.

At the end of the day, the grass looks greener because we’re too busy staring at someone else’s lawn instead of tending our own.

The Grass is Greener where You Water It

I’m pretty sure the tendency to think that the other side has greener grass will never completely go away. Especially with the bloom of social media, it’s like the walls around us have been torn down, flooding our minds with information.

The more we see, the more we feel like our lives aren’t as great as everyone else’s. (But thanks to the internet, I can write this and share it with you!)

And how if maybe it’s not greener; maybe it’s just different?

To deal with this, I’ve been trying to stop looking outward and start looking inward instead. I’ve spent so much time focusing on other people’s grass, but what about mine?

When I took a closer look, I realized that my grass is actually green enough. It’s thriving, well-nourished, and feels as cozy as a carpet stretched across a living room.

Around it, beautiful flowers—dahlias, daffodils, jasmine, and orchids—bloom, attracting bees and butterflies.

But even so, my garden isn’t perfect. There are patches of bare soil, a few scattered pieces of trash, and trees that are growing, but not quite in full bloom yet.

Looking outside will never end, so maybe it’s time to focus on what’s inside and water my own grass.

Because, actually, my grass is green enough.

Actually, My Grass is Green Enough was originally published in Journal Kita on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Adulthood nudges me to move again — to a new city, a new environment, and new faces. Time seems to have flown by. Nearly two years have passed here, and now it’s time to move on.

Like anyone preparing for a move, I have to pack up everything I own: clothes, a desk, chairs, books, pillows, electronics, and so much more. If I listed everything, this writing might look like my inventory notes.

But what interests me isn’t the items themselves — it’s the process of sorting through and letting go.

More Than Just Things

To be honest, I’ve accumulated more than I thought in this cramped, sun-deprived 3x3 meter room. It’s now packed to the brim with the distinct aroma of belongings left to linger for too long.

At a glance, it’s clear that most of my possessions are clothes. There’s a slightly snug pair of tracksuit pants I bought during a fleeting fitness kick, a winter jacket from a highland concert trip, and a T-shirt given by someone I no longer speak to.

These all sit in a fabric wardrobe with a flimsy stainless-steel frame that seems to be begging for mercy under the weight of my clothes.

I start emptying the wardrobe, moving everything to the bed. One by one, I sort them into two piles: clothes to bring to my new home and clothes to donate or repurpose. As I sift through them, I examine each piece closely.

It turns out that deciding what to keep and what to leave behind isn’t as easy as it seems. A small voice whispers doubt in my ear: “What if you need this someday?” That thought makes the sorting process feel like a final exam.

I pause for a moment, sitting amidst the scattered clothes on my bed. My mind drifts to the pandemic, back when I watched Tidying Up with Marie Kondo. One phrase from that show has stuck with me ever since: “Does this spark joy?”

Letting Go of What Doesn’t Spark Joy

As a disclaimer, I’m not an avid Marie Kondo’s follower or her KonMari method, but I’ve always loved the “spark joy” quote. It’s taught me to be more mindful about what I choose to hold onto and has become a tool for reflecting on whether something still brings happiness — or if it’s time to let it go.

Initially, this question was a guide for tidying up physical belongings. But for me, it’s become a deeper metaphor — a way to evaluate happiness across all areas of life, be it relationships, living spaces, or even work. It’s a nudge to live intentionally, focusing on what truly adds value and joy to life.

As the year comes to a close, I find myself asking the same question: “Does this spark joy?” — about my job, my home, my relationships, and yes, the piles of belongings around me. Should I keep holding onto them, or is it time to let go?

In asking this, doubts inevitably arise: “Will my next job meet my needs?”; “Will I connect with the new people I meet?”; “Will my new room be as comfortable as this one?”

These uncertainties tempted me to abandon my plans and stay put.

The Courage to Choose

But life moves in directions we often don’t anticipate. Doubts emerge because uncertainty is an inherent part of existence.

Uncertainty is the only certainty in life. As humans, we face countless transitions and changes, each with its own weight and significance. But amidst that uncertainty lies the possibility of happiness. Happiness belongs to those who dare to choose.

This process required careful thought and discussion. Some supported my decision; others disagreed. Was it a dilemma? Of course. But as someone with free will, I resolved to take that step forward — toward what truly brings me happiness.

So, when I close the door to this room for the last time, I’ll be grateful for every encounter, memory, story, and item that has shaped my life. With all my heart, I’ll leave behind what no longer matters to make room for what truly brings joy.

And as someone who believes in the dichotomy of control, if I don’t find that joy? I’ll keep creating it.

Things I Left Behind: Does This Spark Joy? was originally published in Journal Kita on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Disclaimer: Content contains explicit language that may be considered offensive.

If you’ve been scrolling through social media lately, you’ve been stumbling upon the “chill guy” meme.

Maybe he keeps showing up in your feed because friends keep sliding into your DMs with it. Or perhaps, like me, the algorithm has decided you’re so deeply relatable to his vibe that it floods your timeline with every meme version.

And honestly? Fair enough. Because if there’s one thing the “chill guy” gets, it’s how done we all are with, well… everything.

For those who don’t know, the meme features an anthropomorphic brown dog (or capybara, depending on your perspective) rocking a grey sweater, blue rolled-up jeans, and red sneakers, hands tucked casually in his pockets.

With a slight smirk on his face, he oozes that “too cool to care” energy. Created by Philip Banks, the character debuted on X with the caption, “My new character. His whole deal is he’s a chill guy that lowkey doesn’t give a fuck.”

And just like that, the “chill guy” became the internet’s new favorite personality — because let’s be real, isn’t this exactly who we all wish we could be?

The Chillness We Wish We Had

When I look deeper, more than the humor, this meme reflects how we wish we could navigate the chaos of this modern life.

Is your partner mad at you? Bro just shrugs it out and says, “It is what it is.” Messy deadlines, social drama, existential dread? The little fella just faces it with a smirk.

Sure, it’s funny, but it also hits on something deeper. It foreshadows how we’re all completely tired — can’t-be-bothered kind of tired.

Between the nonstop hustle culture, the constant online noise, and the pressure to be everything for everyone, burnout feels like our generation’s default mode.

We’re balancing careers, relationships, and maybe side hustles, all while trying to carve out time for self-care — and let’s be real, it’s exhausting.

So when we see this chill meme that depicts life unbothered, it feels like a glimpse of what attitude we are supposed to have, to not give a damn.

“Nah, I’ll be Chill” Kind of Attitude

Other than the attitude we wish we had, the “chill guy” is a satire of our current modern life. In a world that constantly tells us to hustle harder, care more, and chase the next big thing, the guy saying, “Nah, I’ll just be chill.”

In a time when burnout has become almost a badge of honor and constant busyness is glorified, the “chill guy” meme offers a counterpoint. It is a statement of us who choose calm over chaos, a reminder that not everything deserves our stress.

Sometimes, the overwhelming presence of digital noise clouds our ability to focus on the things that truly matter and it makes our stress level increase.

Imagine you’re scrolling through Instagram and seeing countless posts about people achieving promotions or going to your dream destination.

Without realizing it, you start feeling the pressure to measure up, even though you were content with your life just minutes ago.

Caring Enough About The Right Things

Even so, there’s a point where this chill attitude can tip into being detached, ignorant, or even careless — something we need to watch out for.

There’s a fine line between being chill and being completely detached. While the humor of the “chill guy” is in taking that carefree vibe to the extreme, real life often calls for a little more nuance.

Ignoring your partner’s feelings, skipping deadlines, or shrugging off responsibilities might feel “chill” in the moment, but those choices can lead to consequences that aren’t so easy to laugh off.

It’s about finding the sweet spot between not sweating the small stuff and showing up for the things — and people — that really matter.

For instance, listening to your partner’s emotions or owning up to a mistake doesn’t make you less chill. If anything, it makes things easier for both of you, focus on the problem and communicate the win-win solution for both.

And then, you can actually be chill together. Because ignoring their emotions in the name of protecting your inner peace isn’t chill at all.

At its core, the “chill guy” mindset is a reminder to focus on what’s really worth your energy. But being truly chill isn’t about not caring at all — it’s about caring just enough, and about the right things.

If There is a Will, You would Be Chill

So why are we all so obsessed with this chill canine? The “chill guy” becomes a reflection of our current state. We laugh because it’s a meme, but we stick around because of how deeply relatable it feels.

It feels the same for me.

Life feels overwhelming, and we’re all craving a moment to step back and breathe. The “chill guy” permits us to laugh at the absurdity of our struggles and maybe even encourages us to let go of a few things that don’t matter.

Let go of the things that don’t really matter.

Be chill about it.

Let got the feelings, burdens, others’ perceptions, and self-criticism that that don’t really matter.

If there is a will, you would be chill. Maybe, we might not be able to fully embody his carefree vibe, but we can take a page out of the guy: “Sometimes, it’s okay to shrug, smirk, and not give a fuck”.

Should We All Be the “Chill Guy”? was originally published in Journal Kita on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A friend came over to me that night while ordering instant Indomie at our regular cafe and said,

“It’s so hard to fall in love with this kind of economy. I have to go see her every day, and plan surprises for every important occasion. Can you imagine? It’s so tough, right? What do you think?”

Anyway, we were supposed to talk about the next test.

Loving isn’t easy. There’s always a price to pay and one or two things to sacrifice. Loving means being ready to give the world to the one we cherish, letting go of what we have for their sake.

As a quote often attributed to Jane Austen goes, although it actually originates from the 2005 film adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, directed by Joe Wright:

“To love is to burn, to be on fire.”

At least, that’s what the media and romance films taught me also. Building a thousand temples in a single night, crafting a giant boat in a day (that gets kicked into a mountain — strange, right?), drinking poison together, or building a monument that later becomes one of the seven wonders of the world. As if the bigger the gesture, the greater the love seems.

But when I look back, I don’t fully agree with all that.

Relax everyone, put down your pitchforks. I’m not saying I reject that kind of love.

Expressing love with big or even reckless gestures isn’t cringeworthy or embarrassing. I, myself, am happy when I see love celebrated in grand ways. That’s the way it should be: love deserves to be celebrated.

What I don’t agree with is the idea that the bigger the thing given, the greater the love. The same goes for sacrifice — as if the greater the sacrifice, the stronger the love.

This is what makes love seem complicated because there’s always something that must be paid for or sacrificed.

To me, as Rex Orange County puts it, loving is easy. Love shouldn’t be tangled, hurtful, or a headache. If loving feels hard, the essence of love itself starts to shift. If that’s the case, then why don’t we just call it “suffer”?

Love is simple. We’re born from love, we grow in love, and eventually, love will guide us in the end. Love is close to us, ever-present in daily life, yet somehow we still seek out ultra-massive forms to express it.

Since love is simple, why not show love through simple acts? These are things we often overlook, even though they carry much deeper meaning.

As simple as, saying good morning every day, sharing our favorite foods, listening to the their rant endlessly even if it’s late, ensuring they get home safely, and peeling an orange for them.

All of these small actions, while simple, often go unnoticed. We frequently overlook the importance of simply being present for them, wishing them safety, and even making their life a little easier.

As a note, grand gestures won’t matter if we ignore the small things that are truly important. Real love is about paying attention to the details that may seem trivial but make everything warmer.

So, to love, I choose small, simple steps—like being willing to peel an orange for them. Because for me, love lives in the little acts strung together in simplicity.

With you, it just flows was originally published in Journal Kita on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The flight attendant had just announced that the plane had safely landed. Even so, she reminded everyone to remain seated until the plane had come to a complete stop. But for some reason, some people don’t give a damn to the announcement.

As soon as the announcement was delivered, passengers rose from their seats. They swiftly opened the overhead compartments and retrieved their belongings.

One by one, passengers emptied their seats and filled the narrow aisle in the plane’s center. And yet, the plane hadn’t fully stopped, and the doors hadn’t even opened.

This was my first time flying, and I couldn’t help but feel puzzled by what I saw. The aisle was barely wide enough for one adult to stand comfortably, yet the passengers were lining up, ready to get out.

I sat still, watching and wondering what was going through these people’s minds. Why did they feel the need to get up so quickly? Was the announcement not loud enough or was the flight attendant’s pronunciation unclear? Were these people intentionally ignoring the instructions?

or were they simply in a rush?

I knew that the passengers would be allowed to disembark in order, so I decided to wait for my turn. I listened to the flight attendant, waited for the plane to completely stop, and let the passengers at the front exit first.

To Be the Fastest

At that moment, I reflected on how this plane aisle seemed like a mirror of our lives. Impatient to wait our turn, we race to be the fastest, not realizing that our time to move forward will come when it’s meant to.

In life, we often get caught up in the idea that whoever moves the fastest will be the first to reach their destination. As the passengers eager to exit the plane, many of us believe life is an endless race.

We’re impatient to get what we want — wealth, careers, love, popularity — and in the process, we forget that everyone, eventually, will have their turn.

But, just like on a plane, life has its “rules of play.” There are steps we can’t skip. We can’t force ourselves to arrive faster without considering the process we’ll need to go through.

If we rush, sure, we might trip or fail because we’re unprepared for a situation that hasn’t yet reached its time. Just as we wait for the plane to stop completely, we must wait for the right moment in life to step into the next phase.

The Exit Door

No matter how quickly we rush, there are circumstances beyond our control. Every passenger will eventually get their chance to exit the plane — there’s no need to be hasty or feel the urge to go first.

Everyone has their “exit door” that will open when the time is right, whether it’s in work, relationships, or personal goals.

What we often forget is that hurrying doesn’t guarantee a better result. Just like those passengers who stood up early but still had to wait for the plane door to open, the same goes for our lives.

Being first or fastest doesn’t always bring us greater happiness or success. Sometimes, by waiting, we become more prepared and mature for the next stage of life.

Yes, I admit, my thoughts may seem a bit naive, perhaps tone-deaf to the fast-paced world that demands we always be ready and quick to act. But if rushing leads to failure, what’s the point?

Not Fast, But Right

The process is an inseparable part of life. Just as passengers are called to exit the plane one by one, life also presents us with phases that we must go through in order.

If we rush, we might miss the opportunity to learn from the process itself. The chance to grow, develop, and prepare ourselves for the next chapter in life.

In this process, there’s a message we can uncover. Just like during a flight, we can’t always control when the plane will stop or when the door will open, but we can choose to be patient, calm, and enjoy the journey.

Life isn’t about who moves the fastest, but about how we move at the right moment, in the right way.

Waiting for Our Turn to Exit the Airplane was originally published in Journal Kita on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

4th grade was the last time I celebrated my birthday. Since then, my birthdays have just been days when I get a year older.

There were no colorful balloons, no candle-blowing, no feasts, no gift-giving, no invitations to close friends, or even big parties at that slightly spicy fried chicken franchise. They congratulated me, but there were no more celebrations.

From there, I grew into someone who isn’t used to celebrating or being celebrated. To the extreme, I even thought that celebrations were tacky, wasteful, unimportant, and pointless.

Crave and Desire

To me, all those celebrations were just temporary euphoria, a way to distract from the fleeting nature of life.

Consciously and humbly, I realize that these thoughts in my head are merely a defense mechanism — a way to mask the fact that deep down, I actually want to experience a celebration. I crave people who wholeheartedly celebrate my presence.

Perhaps this is the seed of the narcissistic and self-centered tendencies that are so rampant these days, but "Oh, how delightful” it would be to be surrounded by people who are grateful and happy for our existence.

Aside from my desire for attention, all these conditions have influenced how I relate to others. Emotional closeness with a few dear ones feels hollow.

Sure, I remember when they had a birthday, graduated, got a new job, or earned a promotion. But it never crossed my mind to celebrate or give a gift for each of their moments.

How Should I React?

My unfamiliarity with celebrations also confuses me about how to react when receiving a gift. In these economic struggles, who wouldn’t be happy to receive a gift? We all love free stuff. Moreover, it is delightful to have someone who truly cares about what we want or need.

Two months ago, my sweet-cute-lovely girlfriend organized a small celebration for my birthday, and it was truly amazing. She surprised me with a ticket to a professional musical theater performance — something I never imagined I’d get to experience.

Afterward, she bought me a late-night artisan burger and gave me some personalized gifts. It was all so incredible, but somehow, I felt like I expressed less than I actually felt. It was deeply meaningful and wonderful to me, but I ended up looking like I wasn’t happy.

Some acquaintances — especially men — are in the same boat. Since they’re not used to celebrations, they often feel unsure about how to react when being celebrated. Even though they’re genuinely happy, many of us grew up in environments where expressing emotions openly was discouraged, leaving us confused about how to show our feelings.

If needed, I would borrow the Avengers’ time machine to go back to those moments, to be present and celebrate each one with my closest people. I would show joy when receiving every gift and demonstrate that I enjoy being celebrated.

Celebrating a Fleeting Life

However, what’s the point of living in the past? It’s all over and done with. I can’t deny that the stories I’ve been through have shaped who I am today. It would be a shame if I regretted each phase of that journey.

My task now is to move forward, celebrating every aspect of life, celebrating every smile, celebrating every bit of hard work, celebrating the fleeting, celebrating every small step towards who knows where. For the record, all this chatter applies on an individual level, not to an institution or organization that neglects its primary responsibilities.

Celebration isn’t always about reaching a big milestone in life. Every small thing we take for granted is precisely what we need to celebrate. As wise people say, a big achievement wouldn’t be considered big without small steps.

Going back to my earlier statement, all those celebrations are just temporary euphoria in this fleeting life. And because life is fleeting, that very impermanence is what we need to celebrate.

Being Celebrated in a Fleeting Life was originally published in Journal Kita on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.