Twenty-Six<\/p>\n
Note: This article represents the author\u2019s personal opinion and does\nnot reflect the views of CNBCIndonesia.com\u2019s editorial team.<\/p>\n
Introduction to the series The Death of Economics: In a world that\nkeeps moving faster yet feels increasingly empty, we invite you to\npause, look back, look within and look ahead.<\/p>\n
The Death of Economics series is not merely a collection of\ncriticisms. It is an honest attempt to view economics from an angle that\nis rarely illuminated: a side that is not always efficient, not always\nrational, but entirely human.<\/p>\n
Here, we want to refresh our memory of why economics exists\u2014not\nmerely as a tool for calculation, but as a reflection of the joy,\nachievement, suffering, inequality and hope of our times.<\/p>\n
At the age of 26, I once looked at my future and saw it as empty. I\nwas sitting alone at Coffee Bean in Plaza Senayan when I saw a woman\u2019s\nFacebook status change to \u201cin a relationship\u201d. I stared at the screen\nfor a long time. That woman was not my girlfriend.<\/p>\n
To be honest, I had no right to feel that I had lost anything. We had\nnever been in a relationship, there had been no promises, no arguments\nand no break-up. I was simply too late.<\/p>\n
Apparently, it is possible to have a broken heart over losing\nsomething you never had. I closed Facebook and, I don\u2019t know how much\nlater, stood up and walked out.<\/p>\n
That afternoon, Plaza Senayan was as usual. People carried shopping\nbags, restaurants began to fill up, and the escalators kept going up and\ndown. People talked, laughed and chose somewhere to eat.<\/p>\n
Nothing had changed, except my life\u2014or at least, that was how it felt\nat the time. I walked faster and faster. Whether from anger, sadness or\nembarrassment at myself, I nearly smashed the bag I was carrying. I\nstopped, as though a broken bag would only make my thoughts heavier.<\/p>\n
I was only 26 then. I did not have much; my career and identity had\nyet to take shape. I did not know what I would become, where I would\nlive or who would eventually be by my side.<\/p>\n
Strangely, just when I knew almost nothing about the future, that\nafternoon I felt certain of one thing: I would be alone for a very long\ntime. And the part that still feels strange when I think about it now is\nthat I was not entirely wrong.<\/p>\n
A few months before that afternoon, I had actually tried. It was\nRamadan, and I bought a cake from Colette & Lola. A close friend\naccompanied me to deliver it. We went in his car, a BMW 750iL, the one\nthat reminds you of Tomorrow Never Dies. I no longer remember what we\ntalked about.<\/p>\n
Perhaps my friend knew I was nervous; perhaps he teased me. Maybe we\ntalked about something else entirely. We were still in our twenties. At\nthat age, we often think there are so many tomorrows ahead.<\/p>\n
When we arrived, the woman was not there; her mother accepted the\ncake instead. I was briefly confused. It seemed sensible to take the\ncake back, go home and pretend the trip had never happened. But I had\nalready made it there, so I handed it over. The next day, a message came\nthrough BlackBerry Messenger: \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I was happy. It was as simple as that. After that, somehow, I did\nnothing more. Life suddenly became busy. One day passed, then the next;\na few days became weeks. There was always work to finish first. There\nwas always something that seemed more urgent.<\/p>\n
And there was always tomorrow. Until one day, there was nothing left\nto do. It seems some things do not end because we decide to end them. We\nsimply realise too late that they are over.<\/p>\n
The day after that afternoon at Coffee Bean, my alarm still rang. I\ngot up and went to work. The next day, I did the same. There was no\nmusic playing, no one came to save me, and there was no morning when I\nopened my eyes and suddenly understood why everything had happened that\nway.<\/p>\n
Life, it seems, has a very undramatic way of carrying on. We shower,\ngo to work, have lunch and go home. Then one day we laugh again without\nplanning to. And some time later, we even forget there was ever a time\nwhen laughter seemed impossible.<\/p>\n
Years passed. Jobs changed, incomes changed, friends changed. The\ncity grew noisier. I met people I had not known on that afternoon at\nCoffee Bean. I went to places I had never imagined. I read books I had\nnever heard of back then. Some people came briefly, some stayed longer,\nand some simply disappeared.<\/p>\n
Some things I desperately wanted never happened. Strangely, some\nthings I never wanted at all became important parts of my life.\nGradually, without any official announcement, the future that once\nseemed empty began to fill up. Not with the things I had imagined, but\nwith things whose existence I had not even known.<\/p>\n
Perhaps we have a peculiar weakness when it comes to looking at the\nfuture. We can only imagine it using what is available today: the people\nwe know today, the jobs we have today, the fears we feel today. We take\nthe world in front of us and extend its lines forward. That is why, when\nsomething very important disappears, it is easy to feel that the future\nhas disappeared with it.<\/p>\n
I have seen something similar in many areas of life. There are times\nwhen a company seems unable to recover. There are cities once considered\nfinished, countries that have felt their best days were behind them, and\nfamilies who lost almost everything and, a few years later, found a\ndifferent way of living.<\/p>\n
We are very good at seeing what has been lost, but much worse at\nimagining what has not yet been born. Perhaps that is because something\nthat does not yet exist has no shape for us to see.<\/p>\n
I do not want to say that the fear felt by that 26-year-old man was\nwrong. That would be too easy. Parts of his life really were empty for\nquite a while; there were nights he spent alone, and some losses were\nnever replaced by anything. The life that came later did not bring back\nwhat had been lost. It simply grew around it.<\/p>\n
I have come to appreciate this way of looking at life. A tree does\nnot erase a scar on its trunk as it grows; the scar remains. But a few\nyears later, we have to look more closely to find it, because so much\nnew wood has grown around it.<\/p>\n
Perhaps people are the same. Being all right does not mean never\nbeing hurt again. Nor does it mean that every empty space is eventually\nfilled. Sometimes being all right simply means that our lives have\nbecome large enough for an emptiness no longer to constitute the whole\nof our lives.<\/p>\n
Some time ago, I thought again about that trip to deliver the cake.\nNot mainly because of the cake, nor because of the woman who was meant\nto receive it. I remembered the person who sat beside me in the car that\nafternoon. That friend had since passed away.<\/p>\n
Since then, the trip has felt different. I tried to remember what we\ntalked about in the car. I could not. I tried to remember whether we\nlaughed. Perhaps we did.<\/p>\n
I tried to remember which road we took. Nothing remains clear. I\nregret not paying closer attention then. But of course, we could not\nhave known. We did not know that one day one of us would be trying to\nremember that afternoon alone.<\/p>\n
We were just going to deliver a cake. That is how life preserves\nitself\u2014not always in the days we consider important. Sometimes it is in\nan ordinary journey, a car, a box of cake, a conversation already\nforgotten and a friend we thought would always be there.<\/p>\n
The Coffee Bean where I sat that afternoon is no longer there either.\nThe site has become PAUL. I do not remember exactly when it disappeared.\nPerhaps one day its sign was taken down, its tables moved and its coffee\nmachine carried away; then people came to work and built something new\nin the same place.<\/p>\n
Plaza Senayan is still standing, and people still sit there. They\norder coffee, look at their phones, meet and wait for someone. No one\nknows that years earlier, in one corner of the place, a 26-year-old man\nstared at a screen and felt that his future was over.<\/p>\n
Sometimes I imagine that I could sit across from him again. I would\nnot want to tell him that everything would be all right, because I know\nhe would ask in return: \u201cAll right in what way?\u201d<\/p>\n
And I would not have a simple answer. Some people he loves will\nleave; some of his dreams will not come true. He will gain things he\ncannot imagine now and lose things he thinks will always be there. He\nwill change, and the world will change too. Even the Coffee Bean where\nwe sat will no longer exist.<\/p>\n
So I would not make a prediction for him. I think I would simply sit\nbeside him, perhaps let him look at that BlackBerry screen a little\nlonger. And when he finally asked whether his life would be empty after\nthis, I would say something he might not believe at 26: \u201cI don\u2019t\nknow.\u201d<\/p>\n
Because now I understand that empty and yet to happen are two very\ndifferent things. The future I saw back then never came to pass. Another\nfuture did, and strangely, I am all right.<\/p>", "url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/twenty-six-1791773524", "image": "" }, "sponsor": "Okusi Associates", "sponsor_url": "https:\/\/okusiassociates.com" }