“Disdain the things you cannot have; it is best for your peace of mind.”
– Bertrand Russell (1872-1970) was a British philosopher, logician, mathematician, historian and social critic – one of the most influential intellectuals of the 20th century.
JAMI had always believed in the fairness of life. He worked hard, loved deeply, and dreamt in colour. But life, as he would come to learn, often has its own plans, indifferent to the hopes of men.
The moment of his awakening came on a warm and breezy afternoon, beneath the shade of a jambu air tree (water apple) that stood at the edge of his family’s paddy fields. It was where he had sat countless times before, dreaming of a future with her. Her name was Sula, and in his mind, she was everything a man could ever ask for – graceful, kind, and radiant in a way that made the world feel lighter in her presence.
He had proposed to her under a tree of the same species, but in front of her family’s farmhouse, while inside, her mother was singing a lullaby to put her little brother to sleep.
His voice trembled, his hands clammy as he held out a small ring he had saved up for months to buy. She listened, her head slightly tilted, her expression soft but unreadable. And when she finally spoke, her words, though gentle, fell like stones into his heart.
“Jami,” she had said, her voice steady, “you are a good man. But my heart belongs elsewhere. I hope you can understand.”
Understand? At that moment, Jami understood nothing. He felt the earth shift beneath him, as if the ground itself had rejected him. He managed a weak nod, muttered something incoherent, and walked away with the weight of her words pressing down on him like a boulder.
The Hollow Days
In the weeks that followed, Jami became a shadow of his former self. The once vibrant fields he tended with pride now seemed dull and lifeless.
He went through the motions of his daily tasks – ploughing, watering, harvesting – but his heart was elsewhere.
At night, he lay awake, replaying the scene under the tree, searching for some hidden meaning in her words.
Was he not good enough? Had he misread her kindness for love?
His family noticed his withdrawal but said little. In their village, emotions were a private affair, and heartbreak was something you bore quietly, like a scar hidden under a long sleeve.
Jami’s thoughts darkened with each passing day. He envied the man who had won Sula’s heart, though he didn’t even know his name. He envied the ease with which others seemed to move through life, unburdened by the weight that now sat heavily on his chest.
But then, one morning, something shifted.
The Turning Point
It was a dawn like any other, the sky tinged with hues of orange and pink. Jami woke up and sat by the window, staring out at the fields that stretched endlessly before him. For the first time in months, his mind felt … clear. Not free of pain, but clear.
He realised that he had been clinging to something that no longer existed – a dream that had shattered the moment Sula had spoken her truth. Holding onto it was like gripping the sharp edge of a blade; the tighter he held, the deeper it cut.
“If I can’t have her,” he thought, “then why should I let her absence destroy me?”
It wasn’t a moment of revelation so much as a quiet decision, born out of the sheer exhaustion of carrying his grief. He decided to let go – not of Sula entirely, but of the idea that his happiness depended on her.
The Art of Disdain
At first, it felt unnatural, even cruel. How could he disdain something – or someone – he had once cherished so deeply? But Jami wasn’t disdaining Sula herself; he was disdaining the longing that had consumed him, the belief that he could not be complete without her.
He began to tell himself, “What I cannot have is not worth wanting.”
It was a simple mantra, repeated in the quiet moments of his day – while tending the crops, while eating his meals, while lying in bed at night. With time, it began to take root.
Slowly, the fog lifted. Jami found that he could focus again, not on what was out of reach, but on what was within his grasp.
He took pride in his work, in the rhythmic dance of planting and harvesting that had sustained his family for generations.
He spent more time with his younger siblings, teaching them the tricks of the trade and laughing at their clumsy attempts to emulate him.
His heart, once heavy with longing, grew lighter.
A New Perspective
Months later, news reached him that Sula was engaged. The man she had chosen was a merchant from another village, well-liked and respected. Jami felt a pang of something – regret, perhaps – but it was fleeting.
When he saw her again, visiting her parents during Gawai Dayak, she greeted him warmly, her face glowing with happiness. He congratulated her sincerely, surprising even himself.
Later, as he watched her from a distance, he thought, “She was never mine to begin with. I’m glad she’s found her path.”
In that moment, Jami felt a sense of peace he hadn’t known in years. He realised that by disdaining the unattainable, he had freed himself – not just from the pain of rejection, but from the illusion that his worth was tied to what he could not have.
Takeaways from My Friendship with Jami
Jami and I became friends during a formative time in my life – I was in my late teens in the early 1970s, and he was in his late twenties. I had just finished high school, whereas he was enjoying a pause in the farming cycle of 1971. It was during this brief respite that we found ourselves working together at a construction site in Kuching, earning some extra spending money for that year’s Gawai Dayak, our annual harvest festival.
For me, the work was gruelling. My strengths were more cerebral than physical, and the challenges of manual labour often left me drained. But Jami, with his maturity and quiet resolve, became both a guide and an anchor.
Through his calm stoicism, he taught me invaluable lessons about resilience, perspective, and emotional growth. His favourite saying, one he often repeated, was: “Life isn’t always fair, and that’s okay.”
Jami was a firm believer in hard work, love, and good intentions. Yet, he had also learned – sometimes painfully – that life does not always reward effort in the ways we expect.
His experience with heartbreak, particularly his tender but unfulfilled love for Sula, revealed to him the unpredictable nature of life. It was a love that could never be, and the weight of that realisation shaped much of his outlook.
Though Jami was semi-literate and not particularly articulate, he had an innate wisdom about the dangers of clinging to the unattainable.
His heartbreak left him with a profound understanding: holding onto something that could never be his would only consume him, distorting his daily life and peace of mind.
Over time, he came to recognise that an emotional attachment to unachievable desires leads to stagnation, envy, and needless suffering.
Healing, for Jami, was not a sudden epiphany but rather a quiet, deliberate process. Letting go of Sula did not mean forgetting her; instead, it meant reframing his feelings and desires.
He made a conscious choice to move forward, shifting his focus from what he couldn’t have to what he could control. It wasn’t easy, but it was transformative.
As I grew older, gaining a little more maturity and insight through both experience and book learning, I began to understand the wisdom in Jami’s approach.
I realised that “disdaining” what one cannot have is not about bitterness or rejection; it is a coping mechanism to reclaim personal peace. True happiness, I came to see, is rooted in appreciation, not possession.
Jami’s story taught me that balance is crucial – the balance between desire and detachment. Too much detachment can breed cynicism, while clinging too tightly to desires only leads to suffering. Emotional maturity lies in learning to hope without obsession, to desire without losing oneself.
In the years that followed, I watched how Jami redirected his energy. He poured himself into his work, his family, and the small joys of daily life. Fulfilment, for him, became something independent of his romantic loss.
His final reflections on Sula were not bitter but filled with gratitude. He chose to see his experience not as a source of regret, but as a lesson in resilience, self-understanding, and inner peace.
In essence, Jami’s journey encapsulated a profound truth: life is often unfair, but pain and disappointment from it are not the end of the road. They are opportunities to grow, to let go of what cannot be, and to focus on the beauty of the present.
By finding joy in what we have and releasing our grip on unattainable desires, we can discover a deeper, more enduring contentment.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at hayhenlin@gmail.com
