Losing Is Gaining
Never once in my life did I imagine I would lose two of my friends within such a short time, just a week apart. I still haven’t finished grieving Ricky in April, and by May, I had lost Moegky and Dhana.
Beyond those deaths, I’ve also been mourning something else—something internal. The loss of my self-confidence. My self-worth. And a very potential, very promising relationship with someone. Adults and their mess, right?
Since the beginning of May, I knew I was on autopilot. Making decisions out of habit. My thought process? Scattered. Untethered. But life goes on. Time moves forward. I only had control over what I could grasp in that moment—and that didn’t include my emotions. I was drowning in them.
Sleep-deprived.
Back to binge drinking.
Popping pills just to close my eyes.
Losing myself, bit by bit.
I could function just enough during business hours, but after that?
I’d stare at the ceiling. Or the rice fields.
Chain-smoking with my left hand, Jägermeister or Sake in my right.
Rinse. Repeat.
I’m writing this not for pity. Not for sympathy. And hell no, not for exposure.
I’m writing this because I want to be honest about what happens when grief goes unregulated.
When pain steers the wheel.
When poor choices become a habit.
Because this could happen to you, too.
And I don’t want that.
That’s why I’m back here—writing.
Sharing my unfiltered chaos.
I hit my lowest point in May. Rock bottom. One of the darkest hours of my life. And even then, I still had faith.
I still believed in God and Goddesses.
I still had my best friends checking in.
I still had my siblings to lean on.
But I felt completely alone.
I saw the light at the end of the tunnel—And I froze.
I didn’t even want to move toward it.
I was beyond exhausted.
Beaten down by disappointment, rage, and regret.
I haven’t stopped blaming myself.
I haven’t stopped crying.
Crying myself to sleep.
Crying in silence.
Crying and screaming at the same time.
Honestly?
Right now, crying feels like the only thing I’m capable of.
Then, today, in the middle of my team’s weekly temp check, I realized:
Even through the loss, I gained something.
Clarity.
I looked around and saw the team I built, the boss I chose, and the business partners still holding space.
We share this pain.
We’re in the same storm.
Still rowing—slowly, steadily—with faith in each other.
Letting go of what weighs us down, so we don’t sink.
Deadweight has no place on this boat.
And I’ve come to accept—
Nothing is permanent.
Everything is impermanent.
Even this bitter, gut-wrenching heartbreak.
Do I wish I had found a better way to mend this broken heart?
Absolutely.
Something other than binge drinking and pill-popping.
Something that didn’t involve self-sabotage while being completely aware of it.
But judge me if you want—I really don’t give a single fuck.
I just… I want someone to carry me.
Just this once.
It’s been heavy.
Too much to bear.
I want to unload what’s been spiraling inside me to someone who actually cares.
Not to fix me. Just… to listen.
And hey—
I see you, my best friends, my siblings, my counsellor, my psychologist, my psychiatrist—probably scoffing at this and saying,
“What am I to you then?”
You’ve all been my rock.
You’ve held me.
You’ve given me time and space.
And I appreciate you deeply.
But I know—I know—you understand what I mean here.
I need to let this go, right?
So I don’t keep carrying this deadweight.
But it’s hard.
These emotions, this grief, this pain—they’ve shaped me.
But they don’t serve me anymore.
They’ve become poison.
And I don’t want to live with that anymore.
I don’t want to be defined by my pain.
Or my past mistakes.
Or my baggage.
I want to be defined by me.
The me who keeps learning.
Growing.
Evolving.
Refusing to break.
It’s exhausting.
And hard as fuck.
But it is what it is.
From these losses, I’ve gained lessons.
I just hope… I still have time to finish learning them.
P.S.
Dedicated to my team at AI Brands—especially to the one we’ve lost, Pradhana Levhadi Sugiarto. This island has lost one of its legends in Motion Graphic Design. And may this island keep holding us, helping us cope, and guiding us toward acceptance.
Ubud, 5th June 2025
"The Night Does Not Belong To God" - Sleep Token
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