AN ANSWER THAT’S TRULY MINE
A self-indulgent writing about the courage in being proud of oneself.
by Rossane Putri
by Rossane Putri
A friend asked me this question just some days ago,
“If this is your last day on Earth, what would your last meal be?”
And I just blindly answered “7-11 food”, because I don’t have a special answer. I don’t have a favorite food. I don’t like thinking about lasts. I don’t like to think about death. (And I can’t think of words to prettify this, but I am truly just scared of showing how weak and how affected I was by a question as simple as that.)
At that moment, I thought the heavy feeling I felt was normal, that not wanting to look weak was normal. But when I asked other friends the same question they almost always answered me with—how do I phrase it—answers that really hold weight. Answer that truly came from a careful thought, like they were really weighing whatever food they answered. I noticed that their answers mostly consisted of their favorite foods, or their mother’s cooking, or foods that remind them of a fond memory. I noticed that all their answers, tell me a lot about what they value; about who they are. And I just thought that was beautiful.
and I wanted to cry hearing their answers despite because of how normal they were. Because
I wonder how does it feel! How does it feel to normally answer a very normal question without overthinking the thing that is being asked? How does it feel to not want to throw up when you think of a last, something? How does it feel to not want to curl into yourself because you lack the capacity to actually know what you want to say? How does it feel to know what you like and who you are without reflecting it off of someone else first? How does it feel TO NOT BE WEIRDLY PARANOID ABOUT A SERIOUSLY NORMAL QUESTION?
And it’s ironic because I pride myself often for being detached and keeping my calm, to always be able to see a bigger picture in every situation involving other people like it’s a first instinct. But when it comes to myself, I frankly lack the words to describe the first thing about me. And I mean like it takes 5 seconds for me to answer when someone asks for my name. I’m not lying.
If you’re reading this part, I’m really sorry for rambling. I told you I don’t know how to explain myself. That’s funny really, because my friends would often describe me as “articulate”. I don’t know where that comes from. Why would they think that when I never really know what to say at times where it matters most. I spend lots and lots and lots of time trying to observe how people think but ironically, after all that I still can’t figure out how I even operate most of the time. And I dismiss things I don’t want to bother explaining with a simple “I just had a feeling, you know? haha”. or “Ah it’s a silly thought really,” and divert the topic. You’re probably thinking “Man, that is such a lazy answer.” I mean, at least that’s what I think you’re thinking.
Again, I don’t know where this is going. Just, I really wanted to selfishly and egoistically talk about myself through whatever this is because… I don’t know. I don’t know I don’t have the words to describe why I want to do things, why don’t I know that?! Why is it so scary and difficult to sort me out? I don’t want to be scared of myself. (I don’t know if that is also the case for you but for me, I scare myself. Knowing what you want and why you want something is scary. Realizing you exist and that you have a way of doing things is terrifying to me. Also, okay. I don’t even know if this relates to whatever this letter started with, but I don’t care because at this moment, this is what I am talking about. This being I’m actually going to think of my answer to the What-is-your-last-meal-gonna-be question.
And I’m talking about instead of having a last meal, I would probably hate to think about food at all. If I was dying I think I would be too nauseous to think about anything. I am tuning in to what I’ll actually feel and I’m actually feeling nauseous just thinking about feeling nauseous. Actually, Maybe, I would maybe frantically call everyone I know and ask them to dinner at their favorite restaurants. Or maybe invite all my friends to my house and cook them whatever they want. If I’m going away I want to see their happy faces because they’re glad I was in their lives even for a short period of time. I want to see their happy faces because I would not know how to say Thank you for being in my life when I’m about to die. That’s it. That’s my answer.
And next time, when someone asks me these questions again I won’t answer 7-11 food and I’ll answer what I just told you because that’s how I feel. And I want to say what I feel. And I won’t mind if it’s messy. I won’t mind if it every sentence starts with an ‘and’. And I don’t care if you’ll think I’m cheesy or that I’m reading too much into things but that. is. how. i. feel.
I want to try and be the most me I can ever be. To answer things without faking nonchalance.
And so I hope that next time, I can give you an answer that is truly mine.
“If this is your last day on Earth, what would your last meal be?”
And I just blindly answered “7-11 food”, because I don’t have a special answer. I don’t have a favorite food. I don’t like thinking about lasts. I don’t like to think about death. (And I can’t think of words to prettify this, but I am truly just scared of showing how weak and how affected I was by a question as simple as that.)
At that moment, I thought the heavy feeling I felt was normal, that not wanting to look weak was normal. But when I asked other friends the same question they almost always answered me with—how do I phrase it—answers that really hold weight. Answer that truly came from a careful thought, like they were really weighing whatever food they answered. I noticed that their answers mostly consisted of their favorite foods, or their mother’s cooking, or foods that remind them of a fond memory. I noticed that all their answers, tell me a lot about what they value; about who they are. And I just thought that was beautiful.
and I wanted to cry hearing their answers despite because of how normal they were. Because
I wonder how does it feel! How does it feel to normally answer a very normal question without overthinking the thing that is being asked? How does it feel to not want to throw up when you think of a last, something? How does it feel to not want to curl into yourself because you lack the capacity to actually know what you want to say? How does it feel to know what you like and who you are without reflecting it off of someone else first? How does it feel TO NOT BE WEIRDLY PARANOID ABOUT A SERIOUSLY NORMAL QUESTION?
And it’s ironic because I pride myself often for being detached and keeping my calm, to always be able to see a bigger picture in every situation involving other people like it’s a first instinct. But when it comes to myself, I frankly lack the words to describe the first thing about me. And I mean like it takes 5 seconds for me to answer when someone asks for my name. I’m not lying.
If you’re reading this part, I’m really sorry for rambling. I told you I don’t know how to explain myself. That’s funny really, because my friends would often describe me as “articulate”. I don’t know where that comes from. Why would they think that when I never really know what to say at times where it matters most. I spend lots and lots and lots of time trying to observe how people think but ironically, after all that I still can’t figure out how I even operate most of the time. And I dismiss things I don’t want to bother explaining with a simple “I just had a feeling, you know? haha”. or “Ah it’s a silly thought really,” and divert the topic. You’re probably thinking “Man, that is such a lazy answer.” I mean, at least that’s what I think you’re thinking.
Again, I don’t know where this is going. Just, I really wanted to selfishly and egoistically talk about myself through whatever this is because… I don’t know. I don’t know I don’t have the words to describe why I want to do things, why don’t I know that?! Why is it so scary and difficult to sort me out? I don’t want to be scared of myself. (I don’t know if that is also the case for you but for me, I scare myself. Knowing what you want and why you want something is scary. Realizing you exist and that you have a way of doing things is terrifying to me. Also, okay. I don’t even know if this relates to whatever this letter started with, but I don’t care because at this moment, this is what I am talking about. This being I’m actually going to think of my answer to the What-is-your-last-meal-gonna-be question.
And I’m talking about instead of having a last meal, I would probably hate to think about food at all. If I was dying I think I would be too nauseous to think about anything. I am tuning in to what I’ll actually feel and I’m actually feeling nauseous just thinking about feeling nauseous. Actually, Maybe, I would maybe frantically call everyone I know and ask them to dinner at their favorite restaurants. Or maybe invite all my friends to my house and cook them whatever they want. If I’m going away I want to see their happy faces because they’re glad I was in their lives even for a short period of time. I want to see their happy faces because I would not know how to say Thank you for being in my life when I’m about to die. That’s it. That’s my answer.
And next time, when someone asks me these questions again I won’t answer 7-11 food and I’ll answer what I just told you because that’s how I feel. And I want to say what I feel. And I won’t mind if it’s messy. I won’t mind if it every sentence starts with an ‘and’. And I don’t care if you’ll think I’m cheesy or that I’m reading too much into things but that. is. how. i. feel.
I want to try and be the most me I can ever be. To answer things without faking nonchalance.
And so I hope that next time, I can give you an answer that is truly mine.
OTHER WORKS
IN THIS CATEGORY
︎︎︎ We Will Find Our Way Home
( An essay about Home and
feelings associated around Home. )
︎︎︎ Thoughts On Art
( A reflexive essay on what
Art truly is at its essence. )
IN THIS CATEGORY
︎︎︎ We Will Find Our Way Home
( An essay about Home and
feelings associated around Home. )
︎︎︎ Thoughts On Art
( A reflexive essay on what
Art truly is at its essence. )