The Shadow I Keep Running From
“We had a great run, didn’t we, Ega? Ten years is enough to prove yourself. You need to outgrow all of this, especially the failures. Yeah, you hate looking around when all you can find are failure after failure. Leave it there. Make peace. Let’s restart.”
That was me, almost five years ago, exactly in this month, talking to myself, making one of the biggest decisions of my life: getting out of Jakarta. And I’m telling you, with zero superiority complex, Jakarta isn’t for everybody. Even I, born and raised there, had to hit rock bottom countless times, then stand up, get shit done, repeat on a loop.
I thought I had finally made my peace because I finally felt peace. I felt content. I’m happier than ever. I can finally have a healthy relationship with myself. I can sit with myself without feeling disgusted. I can fall in love with myself again, over and over.
Yet, to some extent, I still keep running. Not from the world anymore, but from myself. Past wounds keep finding their way back, knocking on the door like they never left.
It’s mind-blowing how one person’s existence can hand you a whole platter of epiphany. This person has always been one of the “safest harbors” I’ve ever had in my life. We crossed paths years ago; we shared stories, old wounds, childhood traumas, towards our parents, towards ourselves, towards the damn world. Back then, it felt like us against the world. One of the few people I could be “alone together” with, without needing to take a breather.
I never stopped admiring this person.
I never stopped worshipping this person from afar.
Stubbornly wishing we still had a second chance at whatever it was we used to share. The way we found time for each other despite insane work hours… that was rare.
And here I am now, under Ubud’s gloomy sky, staring at the lush green rice field from my bedroom window, typing this. Hoping I can finally let the past wounds rise, so I can face them. So I can face my own shadow. Shadow work isn’t mambo jumbo, especially after re-learning it. Carl Jung was right all along. And hell, what the fuck am I talking about? This is Carl Jung, the founder of analytical psychology, the man behind archetypes and the collective unconscious.
Then it hit me: it wasn’t this person I was afraid of. It was the shadow of my old self, the version I refused to talk to. All the memories and all the time we shared… they weren’t just memories or some old flame altar. It became clear: this person was my mirror. They reflected everything I was too scared to ask myself. They carried exactly what I wanted and needed, a strong façade, soft yet firm inside, like that childhood plush toy we all clung to.
I’ll be back in the capital next week, and for crying out loud, I’ve been trying my best not to fuck this up. Because the last time I was there, burying my oldest uncle, I wasn’t in a good place, physically or mentally. Drained out. Holding everyone else’s hands while realizing no one was holding mine. It was fucking lonely. I was the anchor and the safe harbor for everyone, all at once.
It wasn’t the city that made people evil or turned them into complete assholes.
It was their shadows.
It was the parts of themselves they kept locked behind closed doors.
Slowly, those shadows ate them alive.
They were eating me alive, under my own supervision.
And I let it happen, in the name of “living in the city.”
Everything had to be fast-paced.
Everything had to be accessible.
Everything had to be “me, me, me” first.
And no, not the Me First and the Gimme Gimmes.
This wasn’t that punk rock supergroup.
This was the reality we shaped under our own watch, year after year…
And it became us.
Like it or not.
It wasn’t the city that made people evil.
If it were, I wouldn’t have met this person, a genuinely good person, someone I still think and speak highly of.
It was me, my habits, my patterns, my bullshit, that made the city feel evil.
It was my own bitter truth I couldn’t handle.
It was the battle I kept claiming was “out there,” when it was actually happening inside me.
But if I hadn’t left, I probably wouldn’t have gained any of this, the mandatory lessons of a lifelong journey, the humbling epiphanies, the self-awareness of my own mistakes and shadows. The versions of myself I didn’t even know existed.
I don’t know if I’ll be a better person tomorrow or next week.
All I know is I’m gonna try my best.
To face my shadows.
To have these fucking heavy conversations with myself.
To not lose this battle, ever.
Our greatest enemies aren’t out there.
They’re right here, within ourselves.
And it sucks balls. Big time.
Ubud, 15th November 2025
“I Try” - Macy Gray
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