Sometimes it's okay to let other people peel your oranges,
Rama is my high school friend, just like a brother to me—more than a decade of friendship. He’s among the first people I reach out to, whether I have good or bad news. Someone I’ve explored dozens of countries with, and now my business partner as well. The only person who can match my very fast walk—both in pace and in purpose. I said yes. It would be my first time meeting him since I had gone back to Indonesia after studying in England for two years.
As the clock ticked closer to five, I glanced at the Jakarta traffic outside my office window. Familiar chaos. It reminded me that some things never change. Yet, I had changed—or at least, I thought I had.
By the time I arrived at Grand Indonesia, the air felt heavy with the buzz of the city. I spotted Rama standing near the entrance of the restaurant, waving at me. He hadn’t changed much—still the same confident grin, the same energy. “Welcome home!” he said. We laughed as we stepped inside, the smell of sizzling meat and spices wrapping around us. The restaurant was cosy but bustling, the kind of place where conversations mixed with the sound of clinking plates. Rama ordered without hesitation—everything on the menu, as usual. We always ate so much together.
Over the next hour, we fell into an easy rhythm, catching up on everything and nothing all at once. He talked about his new business ideas and the fun of raising his two daughters, who were growing up fast. I told him about my time in England—the cold mornings, the cosy pubs, and the strange sense of freedom I had felt.
“You’re still adapting back. Give it some time, it’ll click,” he said when I finished my story.
Just as I reached for my bag, I noticed water running out of it. I opened it to find my tumbler had spilt because the lid wasn’t tight. I couldn’t help but blame myself for not checking it. Now, I had to deal with the mess.
Rama quickly grabbed my laptop, took out a tissue, and wiped it down. He laughed, “You haven’t changed much—still the careless one,” and helped me clean up the water in my bag. His small gesture touched me in a way I hadn’t expected. It made me realize how much I had always handled things alone, thinking I could do everything by myself. I never really expected help from anyone, so when it did come, it always caught me off guard. For a moment, I felt something shift—like I’d been running on my own for so long that I’d forgotten how it felt to lean on someone else.
While driving back to my apartment, I started reflecting on how I had lived my life so far. Growing up, I had been taught to be independent. I didn’t come from a poor family, but we weren’t wealthy either. If I wanted something, I had to work for it. As a kid, I had always been taught that if I wanted something, I had to figure it out myself. Want a car? Work for it. Want to study abroad? Find your own way. Nothing was handed to me. I had learned early on that nothing was going to save me except myself. I had been fully financially independent since I was 21. Maybe that was why I always came across as ambitious—constantly pushing forward, always striving for more. It wasn’t just about achieving goals; it was about proving to myself that I could do it, no matter what.
As I thought about it more, I realized how used to being alone I had become. Sometimes, I didn’t even feel the need for company. I was fine doing things by myself—whether it was cooking my own meals, sitting down to watch a movie, enjoying a meal at a restaurant, or hitting the gym. I had gotten used to the independence of these activities, finding comfort in doing them solo. Cooking gave me control over what I ate, how much oil I used, and the ingredients I chose. I could make sure the food fit my needs and preferences. Going to the movies or dining out alone allowed me to enjoy the experience without needing anyone else’s opinion or schedule to sync with mine. Even at the gym, I preferred working out on my own, setting my own rhythm, and pushing myself without distractions. I also was perfectly content travelling across Europe for a whole month on my own. Even far away from everything I knew in Indonesia, I was doing okay in England. I had learned to not rely on anyone. In fact, when I looked back at the relationships I had had, or even the circumstances around them, I realized that they often taught me I’d rather be alone. I had grown used to standing on my own and feeling stronger and more functional when I was just with myself.
Then I remembered how I tended to isolate myself when things weren’t going my way. I thought back to a conversation with my therapist at BU Student Wellbeing, where she pointed out that I had a tendency to push people away—especially those who cared about me or tried to love me. Yes, I had been in counselling once, trying to be a better man. I also struggled with asking for help, and it’s something I’ve never fully understood about myself. It’s not that I didn’t want support, but somewhere along the way, I had convinced myself that needing help made me weak or incapable. But over time, I realized this mindset only isolated me more. It wasn’t that I couldn’t handle challenges, but there was a difference between handling things alone and pushing away the people who might make the journey a little easier. I was slowly learning that asking for help didn’t make me weak—it just meant I was human. And it’s okay to let people in, especially when they offer love or support.
In the busy traffic of Jakarta that evening, as the car crawled through the familiar chaos, this epiphany kept lingering in my mind. It made me think about the "Peeling Orange Theory." It wasn’t that I couldn’t peel my own orange—I had done it countless times—but letting someone else do it for me? That was something different. The quiet willingness to let someone in, to trust them with something small but meaningful. It was a reminder that while I was perfectly capable of handling everything on my own, sometimes it was okay to let others take part in the journey. As I reflected on this, I realized how much I had been holding onto the idea that I must always be strong, independent, and self-sufficient. But that didn’t mean I had to close myself off to the people who cared. Sometimes, we need a little help, a little kindness, even in the smallest gestures. I was learning that it’s okay to accept love, to let someone help me peel the orange, and to simply be human. After all, we’re all just doing our best, trying to be better versions of ourselves, one step at a time.
Jakarta, 27 January 2025
Hans Febrian
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