What cemeteries have taught me about life
a sense of pleasure or pain.
We’re always in pain and difficulty, and one of the most popular pieces of advice we hear is, “choose the difficulty you want.”
Hii, again.
We’re always in pain and difficulty, and one of the most popular pieces of advice we hear is, “choose the difficulty you want.”
But most of the time, pain isn’t something we can choose—it chooses us. Sometimes, we’re just innocent players in a system manipulated by marketing, pushed to buy certain products, like sports gear, under the guise of self-improvement. Ah, that might not be the best example, so let’s move on.
Since I’ve been living in my father’s house for over a year now, I’ve become more prone to visiting my mom’s grave on Sundays. There’s an urge to see the dry soil, feel the silence, and let the cold wind wash over me every time I arrive at her grave. Some people might find this habit strange, but let me tell you—these visits have made me realize how small I am in this world.
I could spend hours telling you about how beautiful and amazing my mom was, not because she was my mom, but because she was simply a human being I wish I had more time with in this life. But at the end of the day, she passed away, her body turning to ashes in the wind. Her difficulties, her memories, her good deeds—they’re just memories now.
Every time I visit her grave, I talk to her. To others, this might seem like the act of a pathetic person, but for me, it’s a reflection on her existence. I often ask myself, “Did she ever have the chance to choose her difficulties?” I don’t think so. And even if she could have chosen, she left all her struggles and the fruits of her labor behind when she passed. It’s only me now who remembers her kindness and the life she endured. She went through so much, had so many stories to tell, but never got the chance to share them fully. So, can I conclude that we don’t get to choose our difficulties after all? I’m still not sure I can relate to the idea of “choosing your difficulty.”
Maybe it means choosing your path, even when you don’t know where it might lead. In simpler terms, going with the flow. Following the stream, as they say. But even then, you have to choose wisely, not letting yourself be corrupted by the greed and desires of this world.
So here’s another question: When we say “choose your difficulties,” does it mean finding the ones that please us more? Is it about finding satisfaction in the struggles we face?
Maybe it’s just human nature—we tend to choose things we love, things that might not hurt us too much, things that align with our instincts to survive. We prefer difficulties that go hand in hand with our survival skills. But is it fair to balance our struggles with pleasure or our ability to endure? At the end of the day, we’re all chasing the same thing: an imagined better world.
The difficulties I face—like speaking to people—might seem trivial to others, but they arise because my thoughts and consciousness often feel nebulous, like a mist.
Franz Kafka once wrote about this: “The content of my consciousness is entirely nebulous...yet conversation demands pointedness, solidity, and sustained coherence.” I can’t expel this mist from my mind, and when I try to connect with others, it dissipates into nothing. No one wants to lie in a cloud of mist with me, and perhaps that’s why I struggle.
In the end, it doesn’t matter how hard we try to choose the difficulties we want. What truly matters is how we treat other people and how we carry ourselves through it all.
Appreciate you reading.
Melva Bintang
