To Belong

"You're a bit of a rarity nowadays, you know that?"

That was the conclusion that Mr. Chatty GoJek Driver had come to. Along the ride back home from school, we conversed about a myriad of things. He told me a bit about his life and he later asked about mine. At some point, I forgot how it came about precisely, he asked about whether or not I drank or smoked. I told him I did neither. Thus, the quote.

It certainly wasn't the first time someone had ever said that about me, but for some reason, that particular one stuck with me the most. It's so vivid, the memory still as crystal clear now as it was the day after. 

Of course, it is most definitely not the last time someone's said that about me. Ever since then, people would similarly describe me as such.

"An oddball".

"Different".

"Uncommon".

"Hard to come by".

I understand that some, if not most... hell, probably all of them were meant in a benevolent way, harmless at worst. On the off chance they did have ill intent behind them, I'd still give them the benefit of the doubt and take them as compliments. To some degree, I even take pride in it. Yet for some reason, it would always make me feel... 

Lonely. Out of place. Alienated, almost.

I am lucky enough to have inner circles that never pressured me into doing either of those two things. They've always respected this decision of mine. Naturally, I respect theirs. I could understand that from the outside looking in, it may seem a bit hypocritical on my part. I am very judgmental of both smokers and drinkers, yet most of my friends either drink or smoke, in some cases both. My only defense for that is, well, they are my friends first and foremost. Before the smoking and drinking, first came the basketball in grandma's backyard. The late, late nights where we talked about our feelings, things we had never told anyone else before. The incalculable amount of time we spent with each other, forming unbreakable, lifelong bonds. They are nothing short of spectacular people that had helped me through the lowest points of my life and were a big contributor to the peaks. They will forever be my closest and dearest friends. I am eternally grateful for their existence.

That said, there are moments where I simply feel like I don't belong. A killjoy, almost, holding back my friends from having the most fun they could. This is by no means a knock on my friends, I am fully aware that this is a "me" problem. Like that time when my high school friends and I were in Singapore. They were planning on going to clubs and have some liquid happiness, but didn't. Or that time in Bali, where my whole class went for a graduation trip. Everyone was letting loose, having fun, holding nothing back. I was just there sitting amongst the drunken crowd. A fish out of water.

How can one be this proud, but so insecure at the same time?

Honestly, who knows anymore. This pink noodle of mine is wired in such a peculiar way that even I have trouble making sense of it.

I think everyone knows already, the reason behind my abstinence. If you didn't know, well, I'll keep it simple for ya.

Growing up, I was never really surrounded by smokers or... drinkers? (I dunno man, saying "alcoholics" feels a bit too strong an expression). Neither of my parents smoked, nor do they drink. Neither did my grandparents, whom I spent most of my childhood with. Plus, I was raised in a relatively conservative family. Not too religious, but I did go to Islamic-oriented schools. I was always taught that those two things are inherently bad, so it is undeniable that there were several influences throughout my upbringing that shaped the way I view the world.

However, I feel like those things pale in comparison to the one act that ultimately became the defining moment for who I would become as a person.

I fell in love. 

A long time ago. Not with a girl. Not even with a human, funnily enough. No, I fell in love with basketball. It was 8th grade. Circa 2010. Up until that point, I had never had any passions, nor any "real" hobbies (besides playing video games and writing, both of which were invalidated by my parents because I was a short, scrawny, unsocial kid that lacked physical exercise). Cheesy as it sounds, that's the fact of the matter. That's what happened to me, because when I tell ya I was head over heels for it, oh boy I meant every single word.

I played, day and night, after school, on the weekends, alone, with my friends. And oh, speaking of friends, how could I forget? Basketball gave me two of my longtime best friends. Even if we're not very close anymore now, being adults and stuff, they still hold a special place in my heart. Beyond any words could ever describe. But yes, all I could think of back then was basketball. Obviously, this little obsession of mine turned into a life passion. I set my dreams (which feels more like a delusion now) sky high, an optimistic, happy-go-lucky pre-teen just absolutely drunk on his own ambitions.

I wanted to be nothing but the best version of myself. The best athlete. At all times. Hence, I made a promise to myself.

I will never, in my life, consume alcohol or smoke any kind of substance. No matter what.

And just like that, the Rory you know was born. 

A promise made by myself, to myself, conceived from sheer willpower. Not forced upon by anything or anyone, be it religion, parents, and what have you. A promise that took me through a path none could've possibly foreseen. A kid with a dream, who's grown into a hopeless shell of what he used to be. A man who stuck to his ideals until the bitter end.

That being said, I wasn't always that rockheaded about this self-promise. Before going to Bali, I actually said, out loud, to my friends, that I would drink and get absolutely wasted. I was more than inclined to join in the festivities, finally pop my alcohol virginity. When the time came, you know what happened. I couldn't do it. It felt like I was betraying myself. It simply did not feel like... me. 

I was not religious by any means, I've done a fair share of sinful acts myself, but I just... couldn't. My friends tried and tried, peer pressuring me like you wouldn't believe, but I refused. And refused. And refused. In a blink of an eye, the trip ended, and I was still sober.

Guess the cold feet got to me.

Ever since then, it felt as if the world had thrown everything my way to get me to falter. Everything it took to shake my core. And shaken I was.

After high school, the dream I once had pretty much all but faded. I still love basketball, but reality hit me hard for the first time. With my graduation, a romantic breakup, and going to a foreign island alone, my optimistic outlook on life started shifting. I began resenting people for simply being, becoming more reclusive than ever. I began using the fact that I don't drink and smoke to feel better about myself, turning ever so self-righteous. I judged people, just because I was insecure about my inability to blend in. Once again, I was an outsider, by no force of anyone but myself. I got high off of my own ego, but at the same time, life became a lot more straightforward. Boring? Sure. Lonely? Most definitely. But it was oh so simple.

Life throughout college was not one to remember, yet it serves as a lifelong lesson for me. It was, as I described, dull. It is no exaggeration when I tell you I virtually had no social life outside of group projects, part-time jobs, and weekly basketball with the Indonesian community. I stayed in my room most of the time, only going out to class, work, or the supermarket. That was it. Didn't even try to change in the slightest. Simple, right? 

Painting my surroundings in black and white, seeing things as absolutes, being able to shut the world out. It was so easy! I had no attachment to anyone, I could stay in my bubble, ride my high horse, and not give a single care. I lived for myself and only myself! Until, until,

Well, u-until...

I fell in love. Again. A girl. A woman. This event inspired two of my most esteemed works, Fondess for a Friend and Pins & Bubbles. Definitely worth a read if you have the time.

It was all great and dandy, heaven on earth. Until it wasn't.

Like any other relationship, this one had its highs and lows. At one of the highest, I dreamed of a lifetime spent with her. At one of the lowest, I was ready to throw away my own ideals and principles for no good reason. She had not asked it out of me, but I was willing to dispose of it of my own volition. I had thought that by doing so, it would take the relationship back on the right track. It would make us good again. It would get us out of the mud. My insecurity was so far gone that it had completely flipped all the common sense and reason within me.

Somehow, some way, I managed to avoid breaking my promise once again. It is a long story that I'm not sure I'm ready to tell just yet. A long, complicated, arduous tale of two individuals.

What I can say, though, is this. Throughout said relationship, especially after the lowest point, I felt similar to how I felt with my friends. I felt lonely. Lonelier than I was back in college when I was actually alone. With a companion on one's side, one should not feel lonely, says the logical part of my brain. Despite so, that is exactly what I felt. I felt lonely. With the person whom I declared to love more than anything and anyone, I felt the loneliest.

Something had gone awry. That much I knew. It should've been obvious in hindsight, but what was I to do?

Was it all... fake? A mere illusion? No, I think not. It was real. We were simply too naïve and selfish for our own good. When I say "we", I of course meant "I". I cannot and do not want to put any blame on her. I am fully aware that there are more than plenty of faults on my end that eventually ran the relationship into the ground and I am willing to bear that responsibility on my own.

In the midst of it all, however, I stuck to the promise. I had moments of weakness, but I pushed through, held onto it still, now stronger than ever. I realized that breaking that promise, throwing it away, would mean betraying myself. The promise had become a part of my identity, a defining trait of who I am. It had become my anchor, the sole thing that kept me from going off the rails. The dream had been reduced to nothing but a flicker, but I stuck to my principles nonetheless. My ideals. Because with it, I know I am choosing to live my life, and I will find happiness and contentment in it. 

Before long, life decided to show that it is not a journey through an eternal storm. Perhaps, I had finally reached the eye. Through the chaos that ensued, I found a calm, peaceful place for me to rest. The waves were no longer harsh, the wind was naught but a light breeze, the boat sailing smoothly at long last. After being flung from port to starboard for what felt like forever, hanging on for dear life, tranquility blessed me with its presence. I have finally reached safe waters.

Back in April 2022, my middle school friend introduced me to his high school alumni's basketball circle. I'll call it the "Alumni Basketball Club", or "ABC" for the sake of convenience. It was held weekly every Saturday morning which, at first, kind of deterred me from coming due to my tendency of slumbering 'til midday on the weekends. Despite so, my desire to get back to playing basketball was bigger than my need for sleep. 

There were other non-alumnus that came to play, basically a friend brought in by an alumnus, like myself. As a socially impaired man, I mostly stuck with my buddy throughout the scrimmage. I didn't really try to mix in or talk to anyone since socializing was never my aim in the first place. I just had my longest vacuum from basketball and I wanted a place where I could start playing routinely again, ABC was exactly that. 

The scrimmages were competitive, but not to the point where tempers flare. The people were also relatively skilled, nowhere near professional level obviously, but they weren't laymen that only wanted a bit of a fun exercise either. It's a perfect balance of fun and competition, the right amount of highlights and bloopers, the exact tempo that matched mine. For every moment of intensity, there would always be an equal proportion of laughs. Slowly but surely, I was warming up to the rest of the ABC.

From then on, I would constantly ask my friend's help to register my name on the attendee list for ABC. There was, unfortunately, a quota for each week, a limit of 25 people. It was pretty much first come first served. I didn't always get a spot so it was inevitable that I would miss a few Saturdays, and those weeks would end up being the worst, most grueling weeks in recent memory. Basketball has always served as an escape for me, more so than writing. After a long week of dealing with work, an ass of a manager, a dysfunctional long-distance relationship, and many more of life's nonsense, Saturday mornings became something I highly looked forward to. Dare I say the only thing I looked forward to. A sanctuary where I could let go of all the past week's bother. Without it, I have no checkpoint to let go of all my burdens.

It wasn't until October 2022 that I would go directly to the Person in Charge (an alumnus, of course) and ask him to put my name on the list, and from then on, I would always be guaranteed a spot. I don't know why I didn't think of doing this a lot sooner. 

The more I played, the more I became well acquainted with ABC's members. A certain level of awkwardness was definitely there in the beginning. For some reason, it did not occur to me to introduce myself to the other members immediately when we were about to play. I kind of just rolled with it and would only introduce myself when someone asked for my name. Don't worry, I know better now. I won't forget to promptly introduce myself on future social occasions. But if you didn't know, how guys get to know each other's names is pretty inconvenient. There would usually be one guy who'd actually ask and remember your name, and everyone else would just wait for that one guy to call your name out. I don't know actually, I guess it is pretty convenient in a way. How do I know this? I did that. And several other guys told me they did it too. So yeah, a pretty cut-and-dry case methinks.

Before I knew it, I had become a regular member, more so than some of the actual alumni. I became a familiar face within the ABC. After more than a year, with almost no Saturdays skipped, it felt as if I was awarded the title of "honorary alumnus". They even entrusted the game ball to me, knowing that I would always be there every Saturday morning at 7AM on the dot. 

It's funny looking back because like I said, I had no intentions of building any sort of social relations in ABC. I was simply looking for a place to sweat out my worries, play the game that I love. But the more I attended, the more I felt at home. The other members, who all started out as strangers, accepted me for who I am. They didn't see me as an outsider, even though by all definitions, I am. They saw that I share the same passion and love for basketball as they do, and that was all they needed to see. They never said I was "rare", they never saw me as an oddity or any of the likes. Some even share the same life choices as I do, lifelong sobriety and a healthy pair of lungs. They didn't flinch when they discovered that I didn't smoke or drink. It didn't alter how they viewed me as a person. 

They see me as Rory, a guy who loves basketball and a perfectly normal human being. 

For the first time in a long time, the first time in my adulthood, I feel like I truly belong. 

Every Saturday morning, I am the truest version of myself. 

Strangers turned into acquaintances. Acquaintances, unexpectedly enough, turned into friends. Some I even consider to be great friends, who I could open up to about things outside of basketball, about life and all of its joys and mishaps. They would also open up to me, sharing stories of their woes, their past, everything. A group of friends that shares the same passion and way of living. After a long time searching, I have finally found my people. I can be comfortable around them just by being me. It is a joy that I never thought I'd ever experience in my whole entire life.

There's this belief that's been going around for a while, basically saying how difficult it is to find, keep, and maintain friendships in their 20s. Here I am, a quarter of a century old, just finding my place in the world. Maybe this is what they call being a "late bloomer".

Now, of course, I am aware. I am fully aware. Just like everything else, this sanctuary I have stumbled upon will not be forever. Like past friendships and social circles, this, too, will only be temporary. But hey, does a song open only for it to end? Does a book begin purely to finish? No, a song opens for us to listen through, to enjoy the beautiful melody it plays. A book begins to tell a story, a story that could enthrall its readers with all the twists and turns it presents.

Where there's a beginning, there's an end. Where there's hello, there will be goodbye. But that does not mean we can't enjoy the moments in between. The end is inevitable, but it should be of no importance. What's important is everything we do with our given time, everything we do before the end comes. And with that in mind, I will cherish every single moment I have with my friends at ABC. I will be present every Saturday, 7AM, for as long as I possibly could.

None of us were born to die. We were born to live. It took me a while to get to that conclusion, but I will do exactly that. I will not dwell on the inevitable. I will live and embrace every moment.

I will live. No matter what.

And well, actually, there is another thing but...

Nah. I don't wanna jinx myself. I'm just gonna keep my fingers crossed for the time being. :)

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