Life’s So Far
Such an irony.
Outside, I can listen to the trickling water coming from the sewer beside my house. Sometimes, I can hear a spotted dove. It feels peaceful in my hometown, even though it’s still a city.
Now, day by day, I live in a 15th-floor apartment where I have to guess whether it’s raining outside or not. As far as I remember, I can’t hear night crickets anymore, or even birds. Well, I spotted one on the balcony at Maghrib time—but that’s it.
I keep scrolling through my Instagram reels and feel a longing whenever beautiful scenery appears on my feed. Liking it. And longing for it. Inside, I wish I could escape from this crowded city and all the it-needs-to-be-done-right-away tasks that keep making me anxious all the time.
Yes, the slow-living life that keeps showing up in my feed—implanted into a million burned-out heads.
Ramadan is over, and once again I feel regret because I didn’t use that time to pray more. But I remember one night when I longed for a peaceful life—a life in a clouded place, with beautiful fog every morning, where I can fully put my heart into my hobbies and wake up without worries.
Not this kind of life.
Such an ungrateful creature I am.
I just received a big bonus from my job, and once again my bank account has reached a three-digit number. Meanwhile, my feed keeps showing the unfortunate—people complaining about THR that isn’t enough, stories of toxic families shared in long Twitter threads, relationship affairs that make me nauseated.
I don’t have a toxic family. I’m not worried about money. I have a wonderful partner. I have a job in a reputable company.
But then come the other noises.
How my bonus comes with a huge amount of taxes taken by the government—money that, in my frustration, feels like it goes to useless officials who don’t do their jobs. How I can’t even spend my bonus freely, because not everything I see in stores suits my taste. How I can’t fully enjoy fancy food because my appetite has its limits. How I don’t like most new modern gadgets because they all look the same as the one I already have. And with the ongoing war, buying a new car is not a wise decision.
Even with more money, I can’t fully enjoy it. I don’t have the capacity to consume more.
My brother once said, “It’s better to feel confused about the money you have than to be confused about the money you don’t have.”
And he’s right.
This afternoon, I visited my aunt. She lost her job in 2023. When I looked at her face, it was puffy—like she had been holding back tears. We’re not very close, but I could feel the tension in her. She doesn’t have the same stability anymore. Now she holds on to a small dimsum business. It’s good, actually. But everywhere you go, someone is selling dimsum. That’s all she has now, for her and her family. I remember how my mother used to talk about her company—Ericsson—with pride. But now, it doesn’t have as many projects as before. I grew up hearing about Nokia too, and it’s no secret that its glory days are long gone.
Maybe one day, the same will happen to Apple. Or Android. Or even my company. Time is ruthless. Nothing stays at its peak forever.
I think about that often—that nothing is permanent. Maybe that’s the noise I can’t turn off. Maybe that’s why, even with everything I have, I still struggle to enjoy life fully. Even as the reminders to “be grateful” keep whispering in my ears, over and over again.
Maybe “being grateful” is not the answer. Maybe this is just the way my mind works. And maybe I have to accept this irony—because this is who I am.















