The Most Effective Cure for Loneliness

“Where there is sugar, there are ants.” It seems almost destined that living beings are drawn to anything they perceive as beneficial. Before building a settlement, humans typically search for one essential resource first: water. This “sweet” water is used and managed so that no one feels deprived. It becomes a timeless idol, valued by everyone—young or old, across every era and passing trend. And yet, humans remain like “ants” who leave as soon as the sugar runs out, or once its sweetness turns bitter.

A country blessed with abundant natural resources is much like that sugar—coveted by multinational corporations and other sovereign states alike. Its potential draws attention, though not every introduction leads to friendship, let alone lasting partnership. Since this “sugar” is governed by people, it has the agency to decide its stance, ideally allowing only the well-intentioned “ants” to gather around it. Total isolation is nearly impossible, however, because ants are destined to find sugar, even in the narrowest and darkest corners. 

Yet the entity that plays the role of “sugar” cannot always escape loneliness. It understands why so many suddenly rush to extend friendship, and it knows those relationships are rarely permanent. The clear water once adored by all becomes the subject of ridicule when it turns brown from human activity. A wealthy and generous nation will be abandoned the moment it stops handing out gifts. Praise and sweet words can quickly turn into insults and mockery when fortune shifts and the “sugar” loses its sweetness.

Illustration: Goa Tetes, Lumajang

The Sugar That Never Loses Its Sweetness

For the people of Turkmenistan, this “sugar” takes the form of parents, elders, and community seniors. In a culture deeply rooted in traditional Turkmen beliefs, there is a saying: “Gold and silver never age, but father and mother are beyond value.” There are unwritten rules that continue to guide how people treat their elders. They must be respectful, never talk back, and certainly never raise their voices to them.

Elders hold a high place in Turkmen society’s unspoken hierarchy, especially in rural areas. Not every elderly person can assume this role—it is reserved for those with rich life experience and a strong sense of judgment. People turn to them for advice in all kinds of situations, and their voices often carry more weight than others, even religious figures such as mullahs.

This kind of privilege is rare outside Turkmenistan, a country that has remained relatively untouched by the glare of social media and travel influencers. This is partly due to the government’s strict and selective visa policies for foreign visitors. While Turkmenistan actively promotes its historical sites and breathtaking landscapes online, there is a clear sense that money is not everything to them. This outlook is shaped, in no small part, by the guidance of their elders, whose perspectives are formed through long and careful reflection on life’s many complexities.

Never Walks Alone

It’s understandable if you tend to overlook Turkmenistan, as it doesn’t rank among the world’s most prominent or developed nations. Yet its elderly population does not suffer from deep loneliness, because their presence is always needed. Even when they are no longer physically strong enough to work, they are not pushed to the margins of society—nor are they seen as a burden by younger generations.

They are trusted with meaningful roles, becoming the grandparents their grandchildren long for. This culture of honoring ancestors creates a sense of balance, one that helps spread happiness more evenly across the community.

Because the younger generation continues to rely on them for guidance, elders retain a sense of purpose even as time takes its toll. It is a purpose that restores meaning to the later chapters of their lives. (dswas).

A Secret to "Conquer" The Nature

The tragic incidents involving several climbers on Mount Rinjani, including the death of a Brazilian climber some time ago, have dealt a heavy blow to the area. Local communities who depend on small-scale tourism—guides, porters, toilet providers, food vendors, small shop owners, instant noodle stalls, and others—have felt the impact deeply after Mount Rinjani was labeled an unsafe and even deadly tourist destination.

Regardless of what later emerged (including claims that the news of the climber’s death was deliberately amplified to support plans for building an escalator on Mount Rinjani), this sorrowful event has reminded the public of something fundamental: behind every kind of beauty, there is always risk. Seeking entertainment for personal enjoyment should be done with careful thought, proper preparation, humility, and sincerity. Otherwise, we become nothing more than a group of people that wasting our money just to enjoy a breathtaking view. 

Illustration: Mount Kelud, Blitar 

Because of global inflation, nearly everyone on Earth has had to lower their standard of living. People cut back on expenses they consider less essential in order to save for more pressing needs. Entertainment budgets are often the first to go, seen as nonessential in difficult times. Yet in periods like these, people arguably need entertainment even more—to help them rediscover and pursue what truly matters to them, what we might call their passion.

During working hours, we surrender our will to rules, targets, goals, and the demands of our professions. It is a basic human right to experience joy, peace, and happiness. But fear of poverty and financial hardship often leads us to treat entertainment as a way to gain social recognition, as if it were proof that we are wealthy.

A “Win-Win Solution”

Followers of Zoroastrianism in Uzbekistan celebrate the transition from winter to spring with a ritual called Navruz (meaning “new day” in Persian). This tradition is recognized by UNESCO as an Intangible Cultural Heritage and by the United Nations as an international holiday, as it is also celebrated in several other countries such as Kazakhstan, Azerbaijan, Afghanistan, Iran, Pakistan, and northern India. This celebration, which embodies hospitality and humanity, draws international tourists and consistently provides income for the communities that observe it.

Behind the traditional foods, songs, and dances lies a deeper purpose: to please the “guardians of nature,” so they remain generous and kind. It is a way of hoping that those who have worked hard cultivating fields and gardens will receive fair rewards. This is not a form of bribery directed at nature, even though the recited verses sometimes include wishes such as asking for no rain during spring, since it could damage crops.

Uzbek indigenous communities combine their need for entertainment with reverence for nature and their ancestors through such recitals. These performances brought joy not only to those who listen, but also to those who perform them. During Navruz, people do not work. Once the celebration ends, the entire community returns to their daily lives carrying a sense of peace and happiness, trusting that nature will “cooperate” with them until harvest season arrives. 

More Than Just Seeking Pleasure

As someone who has spent considerable time chasing worldly pleasures, I can say this: pleasure has no limits. The more you chase it, the further it seems to move away. The harder you try to satisfy that craving, the more insatiable it becomes. 

Through the Navruz ritual, Uzbek indigenous communities offer a lesson in balancing recreation with respect for the natural world. Seasonal change is seen as a sign that nature is alive, because weather and seasons are never static. Modern society often treats this as a simple scientific phenomenon, and from that perspective grows a certain arrogance in how we relate to nature.

The traditional dish sumalak, cooked collectively by women in the community while singing together, is a way of nurturing optimism as they welcome a new season. Meanwhile, the ritual called Sust xotin (“Poor Woman”) is meant to preserve compassion for ancestors, symbolized by a doll. During Navruz, the doll is bathed in water in turns by the participants—who are all women—while they sing songs expressing their hopes.

Rather than feeling anxious about the uncertainties that come with a new phase in life, these women ease their worries by gathering and sharing activities. They “sacrifice” food ingredients that could have been kept for themselves and their families as offerings to their ancestors, which are later shared and eaten together by the community. It becomes a celebration of survival and gratitude for having made it through the harshness of winter. (dswas).

A Nightmare: When Superstition and Myth Become Reality

Mystical logic—superstition—woven into traditional belief systems is often cited as a key reason why a nation fails to progress. That was once said by a prominent historical figure in my country. After tracing his life story, I learned that he had studied in a European nation long before my own country even came into existence.

But I won’t dwell on his identity here. Nor his motives. Nor any conspiracy theories. In the context I want to explore, myths spark curiosity and often inspire thousands of horror films. More than that, they reflect a community’s collective anxieties—fears of things they hope will never come to pass.

When modern society came to recognize the Mekong giant catfish (Pangasianodon gigas) as the world’s largest freshwater fish—especially after one was famously caught in Thailand in 2005—local belief communities living along the river in Thailand, Laos, and Cambodia had long regarded it as sacred. They treated it as a holy creature.

When a Thai director won the Palme d’Or for the indie film Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (2010), inspired by the existence of this giant catfish, it turned out that ancient cave dwellers in Thailand had already immortalized the fish in cave paintings over 3,000 years ago.

The Mekong River has long united the communities along its banks through their shared respect and gratitude for water and nature. They believed the giant catfish to be the embodiment of a guardian spirit of the river—something to be honored, never captured. Offerings were made not only as a gesture of gratitude to the water source, but also to the giant catfish themselves, thanking them for protecting the river.

Naturally, myths were created to ensure future generations would never dare catch the sacred fish. Stories of disaster awaited anyone who broke the taboo.

Because the region was fertile and rich in natural resources, outsiders from other continents were drawn to exploit it. In return, they introduced knowledge and culture that promised freedom from what they framed as irrational constraints. The people of the Mekong basin engaged with these “new” ideas and were suddenly led to believe that their ancestors had misled them all along. 

Illustration: Pura Tirta Empul, Bali. 

When the River’s Guardian Was Erased

What began as a desire for recognition and validation turned into disaster once news of the sacred fish being caught spread worldwide. Local communities began racing to capture it, newly convinced that the fish was not as powerful as their ancestors had claimed.

Gradually, the population of the Mekong giant catfish declined.

Alongside this decline, locals also witnessed a drop in other fish populations—even though the Mekong River itself still had better water quality than many cities in Southeast Asia (including my own).

Research later revealed that this so-called “herbivorous ghost” had played a crucial ecological role. It helped clean the river by consuming decaying organic matter on the riverbed. Without it, the bottom of the Mekong turned into an overgrowth of algae that depleted oxygen for other aquatic life.

The river’s guardian had been eliminated—by humans who misunderstood the nature of its “power.”

A “Nightmare” or Mere Coincidence?

Long ago, when the Mekong ecosystem was still untouched by human greed, the giant catfish migrated from Tonle Sap Lake in Cambodia to the Mekong River at the start of the rainy season. They swam up to five kilometers a day, passing Phnom Penh and deep pools, heading toward the Thailand–Laos border to spawn.

After hatching, their larvae would drift with the Mekong’s rising currents back to Cambodia’s swamp forests, where they would grow and eventually repeat the cycle.

As this natural cycle came to a halt, the world began to see Cambodia gain a darker reputation—as a hub for large-scale scams. A place where thousands of young people from neighboring countries travel in search of work, some never returning.

At the same time, Cambodia and Thailand found themselves in conflict over disputes shaped by outside influences. Laos, caught in between, was forced to take sides, straining its position with Cambodia. Meanwhile, Thailand faced mounting problems driven by overtourism. (dswas).

Stay Healthy and Keep Your Spirit Up Despite Losing Your Job

 Stagflation—a period when people around the world face rising living costs amid scarce job opportunities—is a direct consequence of large-scale money printing by central banks worldwide. What was intended as a solution to the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic has turned into a long-term issue, with no clear end in sight.

About a year ago, many people managed to survive by lowering their standard of living and cutting all non-essential expenses. This wasn’t easy. For some, it required real strength to endure the “pain” of letting go of their previous lifestyle. It wasn’t just about pride, but also the lingering memories of more comfortable and enjoyable times when money was plentiful. There was also regret—thinking back on overly lavish spending habits, or money that was wasted without clear purpose.

Yet, this is a natural part of life. Hardship often accompanies ease. Modern humans struggle to find happiness because they are trapped in illusions about light and darkness—seeing them as opposing forces driven by “evil” and “good.” There is a belief that one day evil will be erased by virtue, that sins will be washed away by good deeds, and so on. In reality, some people will do anything to preserve pleasure, even things that once violated their own values or standards. That, among other reasons, is why happiness can feel so elusive.

Illustration: Candi Rambut Monte, Blitar.

Shock Resistance

People who lived thousands of years ago didn’t need to be bulletproof—bullets didn’t exist in their time. What they needed was the ability to maintain harmony and balance among different elements of life. This was their way of training themselves to remain steady in any situation.

For this reason, the Turkic Indigenous Faith known as Tengriism teaches that dualities—darkness and light—can coexist in harmony, with human participation playing a key role. Today, followers of Tengriism in places like Mongolia and Kazakhstan express this through practices such as protecting water sources from pollution and tying cloths to certain trees considered vital for continuity and life. 

To accept death—one representation of darkness—as a natural part of life, Tengriism followers hold communal meals on the 7th and 49th days after someone passes away. To some outsiders, preparing large amounts of food may seem like an added burden for the grieving family.

In simple terms, the family left behind must rise from their grief to continue living. Letting go of a loved one is symbolized through preparing food for these gatherings. However, because Tengriist communities tend to live communally, people work together to support the grieving family in preparing the meals for the funeral ceremonies.

Anti-spoiled

In some countries, people who lose their jobs receive unemployment benefits from the government. Those who don’t receive such support shouldn’t feel envious—after all, “everyone’s sustenance is already arranged.” Just as there’s no need to envy stories of people elsewhere who live entirely on government support without working.

While such systems are often justified as a form of government care for citizens’ welfare and happiness, their long-term impact on a nation’s mindset is rarely discussed. Even less attention is given to how they shape the way that nation interacts with the outside world.

We exercise to maintain physical health. In the same way, the sacrifices and traditions practiced by our ancestors—through offerings and various rules—were meant to strengthen mental resilience. They trained people not to become fragile, easily discouraged, shocked, hysterical, or overwhelmed by stress, depression, or sudden change.

Mental resilience is just as important as having ballistic missiles, attack drones, or even kamikaze drones. (dswas)