The Sisyphus in me

I’m no philosopher. Although it’s pretty ironic that I hold a degree that says “master of philosophy”. I can’t remember when the word Sisyphus manifested itself in my consciousness. Perhaps it’s some Greek-inspired books I read years ago, or maybe it’s written somewhere out of context and I had googled it. Like how it silently, secretly, made its concept known to my brain… it too, has silently, secretly, made its way into the core of my being.

If you don’t know Sisyphus yet, he’s the guy punished to constantly roll a huge rock up the hill — neverending. Yikes. If you’re feeling g(r)eeky, google Homer’s Iliad and you’ll find out more about him.

But this entry isn’t about our guy Sisyphus per se. It’s about me and my Sisyphus-ness. Or maybe it’s about our Sisyphus-ness, who knows. I can assure you it’s not me being narcissistic — it’s about an understanding of myself, my unhappiness, and maybe how I’m trying to live with my Sisyphus.

If you notice from the first few sentences — I am an achievement person. There’s no denying this when I think of my identity from what I have achieved, the label I can put on myself, that I’m a literal Enneagram Type 3. I suppose my whole life has always been about either being academically excellent so that I can secure an even better academic achievement, and eventually a good career and a better future for myself.

From primary school up until I finish my 12 years of mandatory schooling, I have consistently ranked first (with an exception of a few semesters and midterms in my senior high school years). I won competitions, was offered a full scholarship to study at a top business school at home which I chose to pass for a chance to study at a decent university for my undergrad in the UK, and took office in the Student Council. After that four years, I received an offer to do a Master’s degree at Cambridge, and I now work at one of the finance/tech giants. While doing all these, I have never been just a “[role]”. Was never just a student — I was also a vice chair of our Indonesian association, built an education non-profit, interned in a startup, created content on YouTube, volunteered in a social politics media... You name it, I’ve done it all AND at once.

Ok, I don’t want to bore you with all these but… doesn't this seem like a typical “achievement” person?

People around me say I achieve so much. That I should be proud. But deep down there are days I do not feel content and am genuinely unhappy. Let’s be real here: I still feel envious. “Even after achieving a lot yourself?!” Yeah, sadly. And it’s not a trait to be proud of or have a lot of control over, when it happens, I reprimand myself for feeling the way I feel. What is it about me that feels small in face of others’ achievements? It’s not a pleasant feeling and every time I am struck with it, I just want to leave my body — it actually makes me feel… embarrassed of myself. The kind where you want to dig a hole so deep into the earth and just disappear. Why do I have to feel that way? I could never find why.

Until today.

I was journaling and my entry kind of sounded like this:

You know what’s funny? I feel this weird ache when I see someone else’s achievement… Why? Perhaps because I could not yet accept myself if I were stripped of my own achievement. The things that made me who I am. The badges I wear, the armour I clothe myself with. The callouses and the wounds that turn into tattoos of remembrance of my hard work and turbulence. But then again — walao (this is a Singlish slang btw), what was hard about my life? My family lives a comfortable life, though we’re not loaded and can spend like there's no tomorrow. It’s not that I faced a particularly hard situation where I had to quit my education to fend for myself or work alongside my studies (I did it because I just wanted to, not because I had to — mostly for the learning opportunity) or failed my exams or experienced near-death situations or whatnots. Failures yes I have a lot of them — but so do everyone else. Frankly, my life is pretty boring. So why are there times I feel extremely discontent with myself when contrasted with others’ achievements? Maybe it’s in the story. I love stories, yet I know I would never get to tell a moving story because I do not possess that contrast. I don’t think I ever had to climb mountains over mountains. I have a pretty normal and average life I would say.

So then what?

Exactly because I have a boring life I turned to like getting things that are hard to get. Or maybe it’s not about the boring life. Please scratch that part. Maybe it’s just because I want something not everyone can get. Proof that I, too, work hard like a horse (this is an Indonesian slang btw).

Yet many of the things I thought were hard, weren’t that hard. People often point out I’m being too hard on myself. But… really? Maybe I just like to be hard on myself because easy things don’t give you anything. I don’t like easy. Easy makes me feel like I’m slacking and like I just received some shortcut or VIP pass somewhere. Hell, I don’t want a red carpet reserved for me. I want a battle. An uphill one.

So maybe this is it.

The way I willingly curse myself into a Sisyphus. For the easy battles aren’t mine to fight, yet the hard ones are surefire ways I will fall, crushed by the unbearable heaviness of the rock rolling down the hill — killing me again and again. Yet the only way I can go back up is when I, the Sisyphus, crawl back up with the same rock and heaviness that killed me. Killed, but never destroyed.

Point of me writing this?

First, I think acknowledging this feels liberating (plus, shoutout to journaling to help you untangle thoughts. guys please if you haven’t, try it). Perhaps this is just the very paradox of my being, and a lot of our beings. And to accept it is to escape it.

Secondly, I’m sure I’m not the only one. I hope this resonates as always.

And finally. Perhaps, just perhaps, we need to not just accept or tolerate, but embrace the Sisyphus in us. They are just as tired as we are, but as the myth goes, we have to keep going. There’s only one way to go: up (the hill).

In all honesty, sometimes I just want to hug myself to tell myself I’m okay. That I still love this me regardless of the accolades — and what people perceive me as. And I love this me for the quirks and the fire and the things this me does that sometimes don't make sense to the world but make perfect sense to herself. That the Sisyphus isn’t here forever. The punishment will end. Eventually.