Archive for 2014

Selamat Malam, Peraih Mimpi

Sunday, December 14, 2014 Comments Off

Mungkin ini hanya sebatas rindu.
Mungkin ini cuma salah satu tulisan yang aku buat di kala gelap memayungi semua yang ingin ternyenyak dan semua yang ingin melupakan realitas di kala fajar menyapa.
Mungkin ini kugubah dikarenakan aku melihat wajahmu, terpampang manis, tertera di layar ponselku ketika kamu unggah fotomu--bersamanya, tentunya.

Meskipun begitu, aku kangen.
Bukan, bukan padamu.
Bukan pada lelaki yang kini sedang menatapi langit biru muda terhiaskan oleh butiran salju.
Tetapi kepada seorang sosok yang pernah kukenal,

dulu sekali.

Ketika rasa kehilangan masih terasa asing dilidahku--setidaknya kehilangan secara fisik.
Ketika kita tak harus mencari bahan obrolan.
Ketika tempat kita makan siang masih bersama--menghadapi dan mencomot makanan satu sama lain.
Ketika mimpiku dan mimpimu masih sama--lulus dan menanggalkan seragam putih-abu.
Ketika aku hanya mengenal rasanya memilikimu.

Percaya padaku.
(Tolong, tolong percaya kepadaku)
Bahwa aku tidak menginginkan untuk menjadi milikmu.
Aku sudah menerima fakta kalau,
aku dan kamu seperti malamku dan senjamu
paralel, terjalin, namun tak akan pernah bersama lagi.
Tidak, tidak lagi.
Aku hanya mencari apa yang pernah kurasakan kepadamu, dengan orang lain.
Tanpa jeda,
Tanpa imigrasi harus memisahkan ku dengannya.


Quid Pro Quo

Wednesday, November 12, 2014 Comments Off

"Universal exchange of personal pains and joys."

The lyrics hit me hard. I have forgotten this song, as I have with other trivial things that I noticed and felt from the same exact year when I discovered it. All of the sudden I was taken to this place where I was sitting in my car when it was raining, listening to this song for the first time and thinking, 'how poetic it must be to have someone to share all of your feelings to.'

There is this part inside me that thinks about how much people don't actually get what I am feeling. And how often they ignore my need for being selfish, because frankly I have been the gatekeeper of their secrets and their thoughts, while none has been able to do the same for me.

As a human being, there are days when I feel like shit and all I want to do is just talk to people about it or make them do what I want to do. You know, being selfish. Often times I have found myself doing things for other people. I have done things for them sincerely. But I have never go the chance to do things the way I want them to be carried out.

I've listened, God knows how much I've listened, but people do not actually want to be in my shoes for me.

And I believe in the term of quid pro quo.

And at the same time I know that they would not be as accepting as I have been to them if I rage at everything or if I am being selfish and do things in my way. I know they would scold me or brand me as a bitch for being selfish, from time to time.

All I ask is for people to understand that, at times, I don't need to do anything their way.


Monday, November 10, 2014 Comments Off

a/ sleep: what is the most comforting thing at night time for you?
drinking tea and putting on baggy clothes.

b/ visitor: what creature visits your dreams most often?
humans(?) and snakes.

c/ chimes: what sounds are your favorite?
raindrops or heavy rain. and any of my favourite actors' voice. and the sound of nothing.

d/ times: when do you normally awaken?
depends. normally, at seven or eight.

e/ marking: describe your tattoos, or tattoos you would like in the future?
oh! this is my favourite question. if I ever to have some in the future, these are probably the things that came in mind: a pisces constellation on my wrist, my birth date and location on the side of my ribcage, my initial on the web between my left thumb and point, 19/07/12 on my ankle because it was the day I met the love of my life and I have lived without him ever since, and quaintrelle on the nape of my neck.

f/ reverie: think of somewhere otherworldly u wish to be within, what is it like there?
peaceful. children could grow without fear of not having anything in the future. serene. everyone has equal chances to try on anything and everything. love is received and given selflessly and fully. and I am loved romantically there.

g/ warmth: what do you find most charming in others?
their confidence. the way they make the crowd stares at them. and their warmth towards the people that do not hold any importance in their life. their manners.

h/ treat: your favorite sweets?
can I just pick dessert? ice cream.

i/ nestle: your most precious plush toy?
Lotso bear!

j/ posy: your favorite herbs?
oh this is hard. juniper, probably. (remember the previous name of this blog?)

k/ stories: books you remember from your childhood?
there was this book series about life under the sea. it was colourful and the pages were thick. it was my favourite! I also had the complete series of Beatrix Potter's rabbit.

l/ folk: who is the most fantastical being u have known?
anyone that would willingly love me

m/ elder: what do u expect to be like in your elder years?
satisfied. with every decision and every path that I've taken. full with love that I've received. have contributed enough to this world.

n/ home: in what type of environment do you feel most safe?
where everything is in order, the law enforcement that actually enforces law, where the people are polite, and the public transportations that work. basically, London.

o/ finds: what kind of item would you most likely buy from an antique store?
any kind of engraved jewelries that actually fit

p/ offering: how do you show others you are fond of them?
by spending time with them or dedicating some time of my life for them, e.g. buying them their favourite things, replying their messages, supporting their ideas.

q/ lore: if your life were a tale, how do u expect it would end?
peacefully and with closure.


Sunday, November 9, 2014 § 0

Due to my being exhausted by my own thoughts of not receiving acceptance from the most supportive people in my life, I have decided that I will put my thoughts at rest by forming them in my most trusted companion. My blog. Furthermore, I have yet to know anyone else, beside a small selected few, that would be open to my thoughts about marriage and kids.

The exact idea about writing this came upon learning that my friend basically wrote something similar to what I am about to tell, even though hers is more based on her religious point of view, while mine is a bit far off. This post would probably be very honest and I open to any discussions, thoughts, or even rants that you may have. It is open to any interpretation, I will try to give this as blunt as possible, but, at the same time, express my voice in a way that would not insult anyone.

For the first time in my blog, I will put a read more section so people could choose ignore this one and this will be a really long post. And the comment section is open if anyone wants to give your thoughts or express anything. Who am I kidding, this blog has zero hit

Read more »

Yes, To You

Wednesday, November 5, 2014 Comments Off

The limbs of my being are heavy. Overweighted with the memories of the people that I could not hug anymore. Worn by years of holding on to things that cannot be relied on anymore. Scratched and marked by mountains of heavy silence. Exerted all day, every day, by people who has shown me affection and attention.

There is a faraway look in my eyes. Presences of physically absent people could be seen there, hiding in secret between the stupendous d'être and my hold on the present. Always halfway between staring at the past and glaring at the future. Swarming with faint recollections of people and places. (mostly when I was alone in the middle of nowhere town.) My lips are repeating the same words, over and over again, "I'm here, in the present."

My heart is full, somewhat returned. The memories and love I receive are overflowing. At some point will threaten to break the skin. A tough expanse that's thinning overtime with the dedication and time that innumerable people have shown me throughout the years of post-solitary. Not damaged, no, never, but flexed to accommodate the received fondness.

(And I am sorry if I can't be your light-limbed, baggage-less, unworried, confident girl with the twinkling eyes with inexperienced heart that sprawls on your afghan-covered sofa.)

(And I am sorry if I can't have you as my sole friend; I have other people, whose existence have preceded yours, that need my rapt assistance. You will be the first––in any way you could interpret it––but I can't have you as the only one that I live for.)


Tuesday, November 4, 2014 Comments Off

"There is a lot of love lost when you chose to love something. Lots of time and dedication and effort got taken away just to please this something, or please yourself for this special something. It may be hurtful for the others, but if they understand you and love you in return, they would not complain––as a matter of fact they would love you, for finally taking notice of a love that has been hovering there while you were busy not noticing. It is the most selfless thing in the world when you finally love something."

"A lot of time wasted for naught, I bet." I said, the forever hopeless romantic realist. "There is no way of knowing whether they love you back."

"But they say action speak louder than words."

I was about to say, true, especially in cases when one partner is typically more introverted than the other or when one of them has anxiety issues, but the words were swallowed by my intake of beer and my nerve to speak was drowned in the joined hands of loud locals and drinks being served. "Loads of bull," I ended up saying.

"How could you be––you were once my," a sigh could be heard, or perhaps I imagined it as so, "You've changed so much. Too much."

Maybe it was true. The design and complexity of my new world was different from what both of us had known for a long time. Scenery of it was, quite possibly, a stark contrast of what we had (years and years ago). I could not tell if it was for the better. Or for worse. There was this ethereal serenity that I found by being something that I was.

Maybe it was true. They said I had this twinkle in my eyes that people had not seen before, a recently discovered enigma that was buried deep between the possibility of relapsing and nestled behind my self-control. My eyes now focused on the dartboard next to the bar. People were bee-lining to get pumped. (I did not know anything about infatuation, not anymore.)

Maybe it was true. The early stages were predicted, by science, humanity, and psychology. But these aftereffects were unknown to mankind unless their experience it. It was a personal combat between the mind, the conscience, and the heart. Ethereal, yes, but it was also lonely. Cumbersome.

"Did love changed you? The love of others that had served you for years and now they chose to change you. This is not who you are." it was almost delivered as a scream, but the tone was changed on the last part. Instead of anger, it was disappointment. To self or to me, I could not tell.

"It is called family. They don't serve me. But it was not love. It was hatred." I could tell, a flicker in the eyes changed from disappointment to curiosity. Perhaps I did not phrase it perfectly. "What I meant was that my hatred towards everything that used to make and identify me was the sole key to changed me. This hatred is another form of love that I wish you could experience."

"Life-changing, I bet." this time, it was a sneer. A condescending experience that I had seen thousands of times before.

"I could not do that anymore. It was not even the drugs that ticked me off. Recreational drugs are not something that people should take lightly, but in this case, it should be. The simple reason was the whole cult. The celebration of something that should not be loved. Worshipping something that's living is not a way to live. Dedicating your life for someone else, that's not guaranteed would love you back or even think about you the same way you think about them was not healthy. Not for me. Have you seen the tricks behind the miracles? All staged act. It's time to take time for myself. This is my life. I would not give another thought or any dispensable and indispensable things for it. I could not tolerate it. Not anymore." my speech was delivered without feeling or emotion, the best way to make someone understand.

"You were my husband. We were supposed to live with each other forever. I could not––"

I put some bills on the table and proceeded to leave.

Maybe hatred that pulled me out. But it was love that made me leave.

Ziplocked Jelly Beans

Wednesday, October 15, 2014 Comments Off

He was a lot of things.

All at once.

He was the kitten-like creature that rolled out of his bed at eleven a.m. in a sleepy rainy Sunday. He was the hoarder in the Summer, refused to discard anything besides trash, refused to wear any other attire beside his plain shirts that only come in two colours: washed and from-yesteryear.

He was the kind of person that would forget all of his promises of spending time with his friends––including, but not limited to, lunches, dinners, workout sessions, museum-hopping, Sunday cookouts––for his job even though he never forgot birthdays.

Even though he always proclaimed that he was a tech-savvy (his words, not mine), but he kept on forgetting to change the lightbulb in his closet, claiming that changing lightbulbs were not what he did for work and straight up defended that being a tech-savvy was not equal as being handy with lightings.

He tried the hipster beanie (only once), rocking it failingly for a day and then he gave up––trying on the bowler hat the next day, effectively stretching two of my favourite hats.

Drunk himself crazy with my two bottles of strong red wine in one sitting; claiming that he was not drunk, he was, as a matter of fact, totally mad at me for not introducing him to my twin sister that he just met.

Self-taught himself the name of the flowers in this continent alone just to impress his little friends that often came to work, the week after, he studied loudly how to sound like owls.

He downloaded The Sims just to create characters and dress them up similarly to what his colleagues normally dressed, even though he usually degraded them by not letting them to get jobs or even live in a house.

Had himself an idea that he would stash jelly beans (ziplocked and colour-coded) on his jacket pockets as an ice-breaker––he remembered that he had them two years later, they were not beans anymore.

Took me driving to countrysides just to taste how the ice cream was like there––they were the same and he was bummed.

He made me so angry, that I did not talk to him for the whole week, this occurred three times per year minimum.

He taught me about feminism and the best cafe to buy sourdough bread all in one breath.

He was too much to handle sometimes.

A lot of things. All the time.

But he was not mine.

Aku Terdiam

Friday, October 10, 2014 Comments Off

"Biarin yang kebates sama lautan dan kedaulatan, tetap di sana."

Pada waktu itu, aku sebenarnya tengah berbicara mengenai sesuatu mengenai kejadian politik internal di salah satu negara yang di belahan dunia lain. Namun, temenku, Bimo, tiba-tiba nyeletuk. Bukan hal aneh bagi dia untuk dapat menciptakan kalimat-kalimat puitis yang sudah dia praktekan kepada beberapa temen perempuannya––yang kebanyakannya ketemu dari beberapa grup pertemenanku––sebagai kata pemanis untuk menjadikan mereka sebagai salah satu "teman di kala malam" yang kerap kali tidak berujung baik, namun kalimat yang baru saja ia lontarkan kepadaku hampir membuatku tersedak.

Aku tidak tersedak, tetapi aku hampir memuncratkan air putih yang baru saja kuteguk.

Dia tertawa, senyumnya tipis. "Lo ngerti tapi, kan? Apapun yang kebates sama lautan dan kedaulatan, seharusnya gak perlu lo pikirin kalo gak nyambung sama apa yang terjadi sama lo sekarang. Kecuali emang lo dibayar untuk itu. Which I highly doubt karena lo masih di sini sekarang bareng gue buat nungguin kelas kita selanjutnya."

Aku tetap terdiam. Nasi uduk beserta lauknya yang kuidam-idamkan sejak kelas pagi Pak Ben kubiarkan mendingin di depanku, menjadi gumpalan yang tidak menarik bahkan seolah memualkan. Bukan salah Bu Eka, makanannya selalu nikmat dan seringkali harganya diturunkan dikarenakan aku sudah menjadi langganan warung kecilnya, namun makanan tersebut langsung terlihat asing bagiku. Aku mendadak ingin memuntahkan semuanya. "Kenapa lo tiba-tiba ngomong gitu sih?"

"Emang lo maunya gue ngomong kayak apa?"

"Gak usah bangkit-bangkit apa yang seharusnya mati deh, Bim." ujarku. Meskipun aku tahu aku agak berbicara kasar kepadanya, namun nadaku datar dan pandanganku tertuju kepada motor yang berjejer di seberang warung Bu Eka.

"Masih gak bisa move on? Kenapa sih? Dia udah punya kehidupannya sendiri sekarang. Gelar pascasarjananya dia juga tinggal ditandatangan sama dosen di sana. Gak mungkin dia pack up and come home cuma karena lo ngerengek. Lo juga udah bisa hidup tanpa dia juga kan. He wasn't yours to begin with," nadanya tinggi, cara berbicaranya pun ketus, tetapi dia tidak mau menatapku. "Lo juga punya kehidupan lo sendiri. Lo bisa survive tanpa dia, gak perlu nungguin instruksi dia kayak apa yang temen-temen lo lakuin kalo mereka abis putus––atau mungkin karena lo gak pernah jadian, lo jadi lebih gampang untuk ngelepas dia. Terus mau lo kayak gimana? Gue gak bisa ngungkit sedikit aja tentang kedaulatan dan tetekbengek lainnya yang terkait tentang international affairs cuma karena dia lagi ngambil subject itu di sana? Apa gue gak boleh bicara pake bahasa Inggris juga karena dia sekarang lagi ngegunain bahasa itu di Amerika?"

"Kenapa lo malah marah-marah sama gue, Bim? Gue tadi cuma ngebahas tentang politik, kenapa malah harus ngungkit-ngungkit lagi sesuatu yang bikin gue gila dan nyesel?" aku mengamuk dan menangis pada saat yang bersamaan.

Dingin menyelimuti tubuhku, entah kedinginan apa ini yang aku rasakan sekarang, tetapi aku tidak pernah merasakan apapun seperti ini.

"Gue pengen lo buruan lupain dia. Putra udah nggak tinggal di Indonesia lagi! Dia bahkan udah siap-siap jadi wakil Indonesia buat Amerika. Lisa bakal dinikahin sama dia setelah dia dapet gelarnya. Kapan lo bakal nyadar itu semua?"

Aku menangis kejer. Air mata turun berlimpah lebih mudah daripada semua kata-kata yang sudah aku siapkan untuk kulontarkan ketika ada seseorang yang menyuruhku untuk melupakan Putra. Mataku sudah mulai terasa sembap, bibirku sudah mulai bengkak dikarenakan aku menggigitnya untuk menjaga agar aku tidak teriak. Rasa dingin yang kuderita di kulitku perlahan-lahan menyelinap ke perutku dan dadaku. Diikuti dengan rasa kekosongan yang besar––rasa kehilangan arah yang ekstrem. Apakah ini semua cuma aku yang mengalaminya? Aku yakin semua orang yang pernah merasakan kesakitan ketika ditinggali seslalu dapat merasakan hal ini, bukan? Rasa seperti seseorang mengambil jantungmu kemudian menggantikannya dengan kedinginan yang menusuk tulang dan kehampaan yang mengambil alih pikiranmu. Aku merasa kehilangan seseorang penting dari kehidupanku,  terlepas dari fakta bahwa aku menyadari aku telah mencintainya selama ini. Terlepas dari fakta bahwa ia dulunya adalah lelaki yang kujadikan support system.

Bimo menghela nafasnya. "Apa mungkin ini cuma misguided love yang lo rasain? Gak mungkin ini semua tuh cinta yang romantis. Mungkin lo cuma kehilangan panduan hidup tapi bukan hati lo. Bukan kehilangan sesuatu yang ngegerakin lo buat hidup. Bukan akal pikiran lo."

Apa yang Bimo katakan ada benarnya. Mungkin. Aku tidak tahu. Semua ini terlalu cepat dan terlalu banyak untuk aku cerna secara cepat. Sakit hatiku masih baru.

"Lihat baik-baik, Ella." ketika ia akhirnya menyebut namaku, aku mendongak. Menatap matanya yang terlalu sayu untuk ukuran mukanya yang terbilang lembut, meskipun antitesis yang kuat bagi badannya yang besar dan tinggi. Dia bagai paradoks berjalan. Terkadang auranya yang memperlihatkan bahwa ia adalah lelaki yang pendiam, padahal dia sebenarnya salah satu lelaki termanja yang pernah kukenal––sebenarnya dia adalah teman termanja yang aku punya. Mungkin bukan manja yang diartikan sebagai lelaki yang tidak mau melakukan apapun sendiri, namun manja yang memperlihatkan bahwa dia membutuhkan perhatian lebih dari orang lain. Khususnya aku. "Kapan lo bisa lihat kalo gue yang selama ini sayang sama lo. Kalo gue yang selama ini ada buat lo."

Aku terdiam, sudah tak lagi menangis.

Kemudian aku tertawa.

Dan menciumnya di hidung.


Thursday, October 9, 2014 Comments Off

It is at time like this I feel so melancholy for the times I will experience. For the time that I will lose. For the time that I will leave behind. For the feelings that I will feel in the future, for the emptiness that I will feel for thinking about this exact time, this wholeness that I feel from being loved by my environment so much, for this moment that I will lose, for these friends that I will leave behind.

At the afternoon. This heavy limbo between sleepy day and glamorous night.

At the afternoon. When the golden ray of sunshine hit the right spots, turning some of the objects into ethereal-like entities. These glittering delightful items, spotlighted for mere moments––the true epitome of the term 'from the rags to riches.'

I know I will never have this again. That this silence between my future and my past would surely swiftly turn into invisible ashes. It feels so completely empty. Like these irreplaceable moments would soon become just one of the nameless days in my life that I would only look back once or twice––if ever––in the future. That I would soon not become this person anymore. My friends would not be the same anymore. I would leave this place that I have grown to love. I would soon forget the feeling of contentment that I found in this bleak small city life.

Perhaps one day in the future, when I would be found huddling under a heavy yellow cloak that would bear the same resemblance as that year's most sought after design thinking about this exact circumstance. I would find myself, while warming up with the coat and a cup of hot gunpowder green tea, it was only the circumstance that helped me grow my fondness of this bleak small city life. Or mayhap the reason was that I have found friends––and enemies––that would turn my previously dull life into more interesting one. Perhaps.

In these rare moments of golden rays that turn my skin into its most exquisite form, I confess that I am afraid of leaving this moment. I am afraid of the unforeseen future that would bring certain things like dull sunlight or cold friends. I am afraid to find something that is as not quite as lovely as this moment right now.

There are immeasurable aspects that I have regarded that make me love everything that this moment have to offer… my full and returned heart is one of them. This heart is unusually filled with the equal amount of hope and melancholy. A wonderfully surprising melancholy for the time that I will lose.

Skin Hunger

Saturday, August 16, 2014 § 0

It is a fancy idea to be in a relationship and fall in love. To breathe in the life of others that had a life before you exist in their life. To simultaneously exist for one another. To keep each other working by rotating your gear-like beings that are held by chains of interactions. To answer truthfully to the question "How are you today?". To finally sleep peacefully, nestled under the cocoons of warm limbs and thick covers in the Winter. To explain things in silence. To satisfy the skin hunger. To connect seamlessly.

But love is not the only driving force for people to be in a relationship. It's lust, it's the moment, it's the circumstance, it's the unromantic skin hunger, it's the similar journey that both endure, it's the thrill, it's the joined grief and tragedy, it's the cute meet––it's not romantic love.

Perhaps, some would turn into that magical crossroad where expectations, reality and lust meet.

But not everyone can have the same thing, now can they?

They could only satisfy the skin hunger––somewhat.

Now... which one that makes you hustle?

3007 / 0808

§ 0

European Summer was brilliant. The air tasted sweet in my lips, though Dutch air smelled a bit salty, while German air smelled like the best of its kind. The small towns' scenery were majestic with a different kind of green that my mind's palette had never seen before. They were lush and heavy of the memories that some people left behind. I have always thought that they grew from the traces of the connection that they had with humans. This Summer was magical.

"There is a saying, in German, about chemistry in your body. Since, as you said before, the chemicals in every one are different, that's why perfume smells differently on everyone. But, we have a saying, it cannot be translated––would have sounded funny if I tried––, about not being able to connect with some people because their chemistry cannot connect well with yours. The chemistry is off. I think it's nice."

"Take it from me, I've worked hard for my son. Nothing feels greater than being independent. Be nice to people, stay humble, but keep on donning the armour. Never get fooled by stupid boys. Stay smart. Keep your chin up."

"I am no ser"   "Please don't call me, Sir. I'm still young. Call me P–––."

"I think that happens to travellers. I've been to A––––, and I still think it's a better place than in here."

2024: Morgana

Tuesday, August 12, 2014 § 0

The first time I understood that I fell for him was not the time when he bared his true soul for me––that time I barely understood my own self, let alone others. Nor was our first date. Nor our fifth. Nor the time we decided to move in to a bigger loft––that intricate space that we had sparsely decorated with furnitures but were covered with our extended collections of books, knick knacks, tea, polaroid pictures, and our own private stuff. Nor the time when we found out that our interests aligned perfectly with each other––be it our favourite fandoms (seriously, have you heard of A Song of Fire and Ice, Doctor Who, and Marvel? Don't they worth going gaga over?), be it our favourite food to hate (anything spicy), be it our favourite poison when we occasionally hit the bar to meet our friends, or other small unmentionable things like our favourite type of cheese. No, none of the said things made me realise how deep my love had gone for him.

The time that I was aware of my heart belonging to him was when his father died.

It was the second time that I've found myself in a circumstance where fate put us together in a morgue. The first time we were in a morgue was years ago, when he was doing his internship after med school and I was just an errand girl for my country's embassy in his hometown. I was supposed to get the medical history of my supervisor, but I got lost to the morgue instead. If you have ever been in the morgue, you would have probably known that the sight of it was not the worst thing, but it was the scent wafting in the air, making you believe that there was no clean air supply in the world anymore. As a sane person, I closed the door immediately and let out a string of creative puny curses that my friends had taught me the night before. But, as a result, the door to the morgue was opened with a bang and he launched himself to yell at me. In which I yelled back. Of course, you know what happened after.

Anyway, the second time we were in a morgue, it was a Rumi's poetry situation. Meaning, the entangled unriddled feelings of ours that could not unravel itself reflected similarly to our favourite poetry. We couldn't fathom the ridiculous irony that life had brought us to. We embraced his father’s death with each foot on two sides of opposing feelings, hopeful and remorseful. A sense of relief was notably the second to our sense of grief. Our mournings made me realise how easy death could touch us

I used to embrace death since I felt like I had nothing that I could call my own––those lonely days when you were in your mid-twenty could destroy you. However, after that bulb of realisation got turned on in the back of my head, I could not embrace death; neither mine, nor his. Especially his.

I agree more than most to the fact that he was an aloof guy who would seemingly show indifference towards every single important moment. But that day, he broke down in front of me. True, we were close back then––the bases and phases were no longer a concern for us, since we have been and done it all. But, I had never felt that gratifying sense of grateful to God for making me existed right there for him to console him, and to be his anchor. The only trusted person in this world that could access his deep inner thoughts. And how beautifully sad they were.

It was funny how fate turned out for me and a handful of my friends. I was close with these two people who adored the idea of being with men that had cold façade, and we actually had them. I ended up with him, Raphael. The true embodiment of a an enigmatic mysterious healer. My enigmatic mysterious healer.

My home––years of travelling back and forth due to my job at the embassy (and years of figuring out which one of the two fields, defence or culture, was best for me) taught me that home was the place where you made it so. Years of smouldering in the background dissolved quickly when I learned that he was truly mine as unequivocally as I was his. And I could tell, he felt the same. He was not a verbal person, but we shared looks. We could tell each other's feelings just by glancing at one another. This union of ours humbled me to no end. I would never had thought that I could feel this complete.

I would not sugarcoat our relationship by saying that since the beginning it was a walk in the park. Or that we got more positive each day. Or we improved ourselves better for each other. No, Rafael and I was not like that. We did not improve ourselves better for each other, but for ourselves because we knew that one another would appreciate it. We changed bits by bits everyday, but still one another would love each other for it. Especially Raphael. He showed me his true nature, his own comfortable zone that he had left awhile ago because he had to toughen up. By normal standard, he was still not quite bright and cheery, but he was more fun to be with and his eyes would light up every time he mentioned to me about something he loved.

Now, five years later, we have grown into a small family consisted of us and two beautiful puppies, Arya and Aegon––a matching name with my friends' OTP-named pets. The topic of kids, as common as it was between two person in a consenting relationship, did not come to us as quick as it was with our other friends. We have decided, from early on before we decided to settle down with each other, that kids would come later on when we have agreed that the world was a better place or when we have decided the place we live in would be the perfect place to nurture our children––one of my friends retorted something about living in a countryside England, which was fine by our standard. But we would consider moving to countryside places years from now, when we have grown weary of travelling and enjoying life. When we have decided that we had enough love to give to such precious innocent beings.

Phantom in a Limbo

Monday, August 11, 2014 Comments Off

My friend was right when he said that I was going to find some answers this Summer.

As always, Summers have been a mysterious and intriguing companion. It sometimes brought forth some unresolved questions, but often some of the answers were thrown to me in ways that made me baffled. At these days, my inexperienced heart often stuttered and my mind often drew a blank––perhaps deep down I always kind of knew that these different yet repetitive petrifying questions would always be waiting for me to answer or, at the very least, give closure to.

To tell you the truth, I prepped myself for the unequivocally near future where the answers lied. I was quite leaning towards the positive possible outcomes which, as it turned out, was inconceivable. And then the Universe fixed me up by giving me beautiful sceneries and exciting new friends.

A startling realisation also came upon my head. This unbidden thought had led me to a knowledge which speaks greatly of what I actually felt throughout those years––a situation that I had been in. A heavy limbo of a phantom feeling to an exact person who didn't exist anymore. A place that was filled with something that wasn't living anymore. I was basking in the glorious unmet feeling for a person that could not reciprocated––not because the nature forbids the physical matters to do so, but because it is impossible to have your feelings returned by a person that is not the person he used to.

It was fulfilling, in a way I could not speak of and due to reasons I could not even fathom.

There was not even a farewell tour or a fabulous send off that gave me closures. There was only me, the nature, and my thoughts.

"Maybe it's always best not to deal with the unfinished"

Few Questions

Sunday, July 27, 2014 Comments Off

How long have you lied to yourself?

How many convincing lies have you lived?

Do you feel vulnerable now, after shedding so many untruths and scrubbing off so many façades––baring yourself fully without restraint, without unnecessary extra layer of skin, and without any guarded actions? Or do you feel empowered––finally not exhausted from having to shine differently from your natural light? Perhaps only a state of at peace with yourself, a sense of relief?

Do you regret for having to act every single one of them in the past? Especially after knowing that you could have this sense of relief, this state of peace sooner? Do you grieve over your wasted youth and its state of dark days? Have they paid off––worth their agony for this feeling?

Has love finally gotten into your system, absolving the decades of your very low view of your self-worth with delicate seconds of patience, attention, affection, and adventures?

Have you loved yourself at this very second more than any other time in the world?

Have you realised, this is it?


Monday, June 23, 2014 Comments Off

It is funny how I have always been the pursuer of misunderstood fictional characters with the scars, dark attitude, brooder and permanent scowls. I have always thought that these misunderstood men (or, in some cases, women) are not capable in showing positive emotions, and they have emotional ties with such ignorant women (or men).

I have always thought that these people are the ones who need love the most. That they deserve my time, attention and love.

But I forgot to see you, to realise that someone doesn't have to be brooding, dark, or almost villainous to be misunderstood by everyone.

I forgot to see someone that needed my attention the most.

Small Deaths

Thursday, June 12, 2014 Comments Off

There are many kinds of deaths, I've noticed.
Real death, when one's body stops functioning and turns into a state of decay, could only be called true death when every single living people that knew the person no longer gives any thought. The dead will continue on living in someone's mind. Whether it is when they are sipping mojito in the world's paradise or when they are standing in the middle of a mosh pit. The dead's small mementos keep on living.

But there are other kinds of death, like small deaths.
Small deaths occur when one disappears from the people's mind, be it with deliberate intention or not. More often than not, the person who does it changes their course of life in order to do so. More certainly, the state they change into never in the form of something that their crowd disapproves or, at least, does not endorse it as much. There is a paradox in small deaths. Small deaths could also be seen as a much needed escapism that one could use in order to feel alive again––being dead to the world so that one could feel alive. Becoming off the radar is another way of being dead. It occurs naturally, sometimes, to the people who does not engage with each other anymore under the norms of exchanging informations. Or it could be intended, like shedding off one's dead skin for being pure again. Healthy again.

And both kind are equally terrifying and sad.

Prom Dance

Sunday, June 8, 2014 Comments Off

"You owe me a prom dance." she said nonchalantly, fingers dancing lightly on top of the silverwares.
He stopped drinking the coffee for a moment and then continued on without any slightest hint of being apprehensive about the subject. His phone buzzed, an incoming call that he ignored but was not unaware of. A polite smile creeped up his soft thick lips and then, as if a breeze suddenly blew near the pair, it went away swiftly. The guy continued on sipping on his hot dark liquid while occasionally put it on the table to bite on his brunch.
The woman in front of him did not flinch at all, her fingers were still grazing the surface of the table, sometimes tap dancing in front of his plate. "How did it come to this?" she asked, her eyes were focused on the weeping babe that sat few seats behind him––as if she was the mother of the babe herself, who thought having a baby equaled to having more cheerful laughters.
He had not said one word throughout the whole exchange. Just a smile, here and there, as if he did not speak her language or her wordings lost their meanings.
"Are you... that is to say... are we..." she breathed.
Silence. Pretty silence.

Later at night, when the woman had settled in for the night and under her trusted black comforter, she kissed him on his neck. Smiling, she whispered, "Thank you for letting me do that."
He nodded. "I know, you don't have to say it; you can't say about anything properly. I understand. I know that every now and then you need to do this. To just say whatever it is that comes in your mind without any remorse. I get it."
"Thank you. I love you."
"And, wife? I think I've paid my debt. I did not get to dance with you at our prom, but at least we had our wedding dance... and others." his statement were followed with generous laughters from both throats.


Friday, June 6, 2014 Comments Off

I once watched a pretty movie that described this exact exhilarating excitement. Even though the beauty of it lied in the events that followed, mine didn't. It stopped right there, like some unfinished poetry waiting to be read but never finished. A tale that was better left that way, without even trying to make up pretences about how it could have been or would have been if I had acted in certain ways. But, no. This real snippet was quite reassuring to my soul, perhaps not to the length of changing my point of view, but at least it softened the way I hold my interactions with another being.

It all started just like any other day, but I took that one small hairbreadth leap, I went on a different route and ended up going to a dollar store. I saw this mug. A mug that I instantly loved because of its exquisite simplicity and the rare occurrence where the market supply matched my personal demand. A mug that matched up to my own love. This mug, with its plain design, brought me another whole degree of unsuspected happiness.

It was only a two minute conversation. I was smiling for politeness and he returned it. His eyes twinkled, like a laughter suppressed or an unvoiced thought. We did not pass the subject of mutual likings of a good cup of hot beverages and the best pastimes to accompany the enjoyment of drinking such liquid. It ended right when a feminine hand rested itself on top of his muscled arm.

There was not any chemistry, only the cosmic coincidence that pushed us together both for an infinitesimal amount of time. But each of our parting smiles said the same thing: in another life.

Drabble Series: Smartphone

Monday, May 19, 2014 Comments Off

Maybe you weren't quite listening to what was going on around you.
Maybe you weren't quite staring at what was there the whole time.

But I was.

It was blatantly obvious, for sure. The looks and the smiles. The giggles and the cuddles. The calming caresses and the fist bumps. The silent exchanges and the hugs.

For an inanimate object, I could point out how much you two click with each other.

I thought you weren’t into him.

But when I noticed you were crying when he moved away,
I knew right then.

You loved him with all your heart.

Zsa zsa zsu

Thursday, May 15, 2014 Comments Off

It is alarmingly impressive of me to be able to find someone of my age attractive and impossibly handsome. For twenty years, I have always been attracted to older men with life experience or foreigners that have exciting stories to tell. For certain, there have been notable exceptions, but these special cases never last long or the person that I am after usually flies off somewhere to provide a better living for himself. These attractions I held towards those who are impossible to reach are often became a part of my life similar to how a commuter sees passerby—another organic being with their own stories and insecurities that would soon become strangers.

It changed overnight; it only took an impulsive decision of my part and a bizarre cosmic coincidence.

I saw him looking. It was not the same like he was noticing me, but I was. Noticing him, that is. It was impossible not to. To this day I can never understand my attraction to bearded men, usually it was towards older men or older foreign actors with biceps as big as my thighs, but that night my eyes were reserved to this guy. Sure, there were plenty of other men who appeared decidedly alluring with their wide arms and warm smiles—even though they all acted the same when they were trashed—yet, again, I kept my gaze on him.

It is not hard to describe this guy. Beard, short hair, wide chest, smelled exclusive, and exuded confidence that came along with power and dominance. Encased with black long shirt and washed-out jeans, he looked powerful and charismatic. The instant our eyes met, zsa zsa zsu washed over me like a smell of botanical garden in the summer. And as I strolled that garden, I couldn't help but feel relieved for being right there. Engulfed with the overpowering feeling of zsa zsa zsu and that exact moment.

Do not get me wrong, I did not act anything to quench the thirst of my running in the garden of zsa zsa zsu. I had never been drunk enough to do such thing, to drunkenly and publicly reach out for a total stranger. But for some reason, he did. He was tipsy, but I had no alcohol running in my veins to give me that extra little push. My sober friend actually almost pushed me to do something with him since he was practically sitting next to me, while keeping his stretched arms towards me. Even then the pull was strong. I almost gave in, but he gave up and asked his friend to accompany him to the toilet. I had to restrain myself or I would only be a foggy remembrance of something he would soon forget as soon as his head hit the pillow. Another event, another girl. Another event, another drunken stupor. Another event, another night to forget.

The next night, a friend of mine sent me a picture of him. Another friend recognised who he was—small world, no need to remind me—so she told me bits and pieces about him. I smiled at her, he was attractive. But that was it. A stranger for the night. A stranger to fall to for just one night. A stranger to kiss away the cold midnight air. A stranger to have small private moments with.

But, I have to admit, he had opened up my eyes.

Thank you for giving me zsa zsa zsu.


Sunday, May 11, 2014 Comments Off

"We are all addicted to our own conveniences"

My conveniences lie in the form of my loyal friends, the best beings I've ever came across. They have seen me through everything and yet they stayed. They have been with me through the worst possible circumstances and yet they supported me. It is quite astonishing how one can feel so at ease with another person. How I can philosophically, metaphorically, and literally walk around naked amongst these people and they would not bat an eye. Their best virtues are their honesty and their helpful hands.

It is true, I have yet to feel the warm caress of a lover and their loving gaze towards my own, perhaps I won't even have the chance to feel it. But there is this particular self-assurance that I fundamentally feel when I am around them. Not completely invincible, but truthfully and exquisitely optimistic. It feels like I can overcome everything with them down to its tiny little details, no matter what kind of crisis I face. With them, I do not have anything to hide--I have this openness that I do not share with just anybody and it does not cause by any alcohol in my physical being. No liquid courage, nothing that could invoke any truth besides my own consent to actually reveal them. Everything is out in the open, from my opinions to my sadness. Nothing hinders me.

They do not always relay to me verbally on how much they care for me and how much they love me. However, they do thoughtful things that would make me feel special. "Have you eaten yet?" "Take care, it's raining. Did you bring your umbrella?" "Watch your steps, it's slippery." "It's getting colder, do you want to order some hot tea?" "Do you need me to drive?" "Here, let me help you with that."

All I want to say right now is how I am grateful for the Universe and its thoughtful idea to introduce them to me at the right time.

"You'll learn a lot from the right person"

Secondhand Love

Monday, April 21, 2014 Comments Off

It was my friend's big breakup with her longterm boyfriend that punched me right in the gut. Knocked me off balance about how I perceive the love I think I deserve. You see, as much as it fears me to have it, I have never thought of myself highly enough to be loved so much by someone that is magnificent and glorious or even to be held so dearly and so faithfully by someone that could love me for who I am. It is a strange concept to accept it--to acknowledge it, but it is embedded in my mind all the same, how I could never feel the caresses of a lover. That this person that I'd end up with would probably still mourn over his past love; his past perfect love.

But it never occurred to me that there was another type of secondhand love. A type that burns you just the same like the aforementioned relationship. Where one of the pairs expect the other to expect them to be similar to their expectations. It can be quite hard to live in that retrospect. How our own expectations of how others treat us is actually what kills us the most--not their actual expectations of us. Our own imaginative head manages to make us suffer more exponentially than before. Funny how our own thoughts could be the source of our state of decay, but also could be the cure.

Have you ever felt that way?

Homesick Ghosts

Tuesday, April 15, 2014 Comments Off

There are these homesick ghosts inside my head. Ghosts that are tearing up my insides to the part where I can never breathe properly. Or even function normally. These ghosts are unabridged longings of something that could never decently here in the same importances.

Something like the soft caresses of a lover gathering your hair at the nape of your neck.
Something like the whispered kisses over the telephone.
Something like the lover's gentle greeting in the dawn in front of your house.
Something like the touch of their eyelashes on your collarbone as they fall asleep.
Something like the lingering whiff of their body balm on your favourite throw.
Something like the art of borrowing one another's articles of clothing.

This is what a soul could ever want.
A connectivity with someone that is not doomed it from the start.

A Tale of Two Cities

Sunday, April 13, 2014 Comments Off

It felt kind of funny, sitting here in the park in the middle of a bright afternoon all by myself. It was an odd day. I said that not because I was trying to make the day seemed more interesting than it actually was, but honestly, the day started off as weird and impossible. A strange vibe lurked around me like some kind of personal cloud. I could not pinpoint what caused this thing actually, but it felt off.

But perhaps I just miss you.

All around everyone was enjoying this oddly bright and warm day in the middle of Fall. Mothers pulled out their worn age-old picnic baskets stuffed with sandwiches and cold sodas, kids running around and playing with their friends, old people were permitted to go out and enjoyed the magic, and there were couples. Couples.

Couples that did not have to wait for the right time to go on Skype because of the far-stretched time differences because they lived in the same town and timezone. Couples that got to go on surprise date. Couples that could share and live moments after moments together instead of having to tell and explain it to them later on the day. Couples that were able to celebrate milestones of their lives together. Couples that were able to be in the same pictures together on those milestones events, not showing them off through social media applications. Couples that were able to buy groceries together and cook, or even had night in. Couples that were able to go to the clubs at Friday nights just to let loose. Couples that weren't us.

Perhaps I shouldn't wish for the circumstances to change. I should accept this even more, but I miss you. Too much. Having to wait perhaps is the hardest part of all. The timing was just not right, as you've always said. Maybe the Universe determined that this could be our ultimate test to determine whether or not we were right for each other.

But at times like this, you were just to far away.

As I stood up, leaving my spot on the park and walking through a commotion. I was not paying any attention to anything, therefor I ended up bumping to someone.

The person said, "I missed having you in my arms."


Friday, April 4, 2014 Comments Off

(not enough)

(perhaps it's your intention)

(isn't that your girlfriend's newest tattoo)

(remembering how we used to listen by sharing headset)

(perhaps I wasn't quite good at finding a new one)

(still are--mighty and powerful)

(searching for the embodiment of my undying wish, the touch of a lover)

(the blurry figures still urging me to find you)

(a complete stranger holding a briefcase filled with the void of his past and the darkness of his soul)

(should I open it up and let it consume me wholly?)

2024: Eli

Wednesday, April 2, 2014 Comments Off

"Come back home to me. Stay safe."

A tough job like his would require much more than being "safe". But as I sighed, gazing from the balcony at the place where his car was parked, I couldn't help but remember the time we met. It was a "cute meet" as my friend described to me one day, inspired by a movie that was released two decades ago. But unlike the movie, I didn't meet him at some department store looking for pjs, but instead I was at a science function.
Its theme was interesting enough for me to join. I, for one, was not the kind of person who got involved in this type of event, but since it looked different from other kinds of science function, I signed up my name. Little did I know, by signing up my name on that breezy Summer day meant also signing up my fate to be intertwined to his.
The function consisted of a lengthy presentation and then a small gatherings with the presenter afterwards with free-flowing of those fuzzy bubbly stuff and there were bottles of good red wine. The presentation was fun, the presenter (a renown professor from the equally renown university) was friendly. He was the type of guy that could engage with other people easily and without much fuss--to be honest, he reminded me of one of my close friends during college that I heard was expecting her first this Summer.
Anyway, the topic was a bridge between my interest with the scientific world. You see, our brain function had not yet fully developed and we could not yet crack what good the rest of it would do. Some might said that they could make you into superhuman, but the most celebrated theory in that function was that our brain stored many memories of our ancestors, but we just could not decode it yet. Therefore, the professor interjected that our partially developed brain could be the answer to why we had déjà vu all the time and it could also be related to the explanation of our "past lives"--which, according to my tarot readings, explained that I was a travelling gypsy once. These past lives could have been our ancestors', not actually our own and not actually belonged to our soul, but it passed on to us. Perhaps it could also dated back until the year where the first human was born into this world. No one actually knows. Very interesting, don't you think?

Well, anyway, it was the first time I saw him. All brooding in the corner, being what he was and what he represented. Unlike him, his partners were mingling. Those guys were extremely nice even though they were investigating, just like he did. In fact, think I was the only that he didn't interview that day. Unlike, Sherlock, however, he didn't quite need much of deducing and talk nonsense while doing it. He only needed to question some people and then he found out.
Oh, I haven't told you that he was there to investigate one of the prominent attendees? This politician was caught doing something bad--I forgot what it was--and Seth was hired to do some findings on him. But this politician was off before Seth could get there. It was why the other audiences were being questioned.

Our real cute meet didn't happen in the middle of the gathering, it happened in the restroom. I went back to retrieve my hat that fell off earlier when I didn't notice it and he was there holding it. I knew it was cliché, but I felt like he had this aura that drew me in. We actually talked. I didn't know why I had the nerve to struck up a conversation with that kind of guy--all dark and silent, even though, I admit, it was my perfect kryptonite.

And then, onwards. Since we have discovered that we had the same passion (classical music, paintings and tasty desserts) we got along really well. The first few years were tough, though. His barricades were tougher than those needed to contain the most highly corrupted people on Earth. His walls were too thick, not even the assembly of all heroes in the Universes (parallels or not) with all the ancient magic in the world, could smash them all in one punch. It took me years to decode him. Years of unravelling, only to find another giant roll of tangled mess that needed to be unknotted.
He rewarded me with European trips, going in and out of the theatres, listening to Bach in the middle of the night while eating some leftover croissants, stargazing in the middle of Hyde Park, taking long walks in the middle of Vienna, visiting some of my friends (noticeably the aforementioned friend who was at the time still engaged with her beau), reading many classic novels in some cafes in Zurich, and numerous others that made me love him even more.

He was my equal counterpart. I didn't know that I could find such love. I didn't know I could find such happiness. But this was it.

He was it.

Details and Precisions

Tuesday, March 25, 2014 Comments Off

I saw you in someone else.

His eyes were deep, loving,
with longing for something that isn't there.
His words were gentle, cautious,
but was not as moving as yours

And the way he drove . . .

It was like watching you all over again
with me next to you, listening to your chatters.
I had to sit next to him
but it was not the same

And the way he move . . .

Constant trust was all I could see
with rehearsed precision of teasing gestures.
He plunged, dove, clashed and collided
but it was a different strategy altogether

And the way he love . . .

He gave others the spotlight they deserved
with all the small comforting gestures when they talked.
It was encouraging
but not in the same way you did it to me

And the way he throve . . .

Sounded completely different,
complex, barely enough and inaccurate.
His idea of challenging himself was notable
but extremely different from yours

I saw someone else in you.
(the same way that I saw you with someone else)

"It's The Smoke"

Wednesday, March 19, 2014 Comments Off

If you were here, I'd be nodding my head to your blurry figure from across the room. We would smile to each other. Your eyes would look like you were just about to cry, or just did. It's the smoke, you'd say. You have never been good with having those kind of situation, but funnily enough that kind is supposed to be your crowd. With the overly excess amount of bass thrumming the walls and the overflowing money being spent on small amount liquid on tiny glasses, you once exaggerated about how this place changed you--and I don't know if it's for the better or worse.

But at least you'd be there, smiling at me. We'd come to the place together, you wouldn't fuss at my spending time too much on curling my eyelashes or finding the right shoes or going through numerous of outfits--because you have known my family for years and you'd end up sleeping on my brother's bed anyway, like usual. I'd smile at your antics, pointed out the humming of heavy traffic outside before you could fall into deeper slumber. We would immediately go to your car, that was park nicely in front of my dark wooden fence. I'd mess up your dashboard. Or perhaps sitting awkwardly. Or maybe staring at your face, hung at your words and the way you explain things to me.

By the looks of it, it would be forever until we'd reach our destination. But we would be okay, we would be packed with our words, with your stories and your informations and your hand gestures. We would discuss about our mutual friend, how so-and-so was doing really well with her study but not with her love life, how that buzzcut guy was now doing oration and how most of our inner circle friends seem to have scandals with one another.

Then we would laugh. Our eyes would tell each other secrets that the mouth, nor the head or the heart, could not convey. Mutual understanding--simple agreement between both parties that neither acknowledge nor realise until it is too late. We would pass it as another affection-like adoration. Again, platonic. We would pass another traffic light. And then another, and then another.

And at one point, one of our favourite songs would come up on the radio and you would sing along with me. It would end at the exact time you park your car and let me out of it-- our temporary mode of transportation, because you prefer riding the tube or walking. My arm would hang itself through your purposefully created loop with my hand grip tightly on your forearm, the place where your temporary tattoo was once made. You would kiss my head, once (or perhaps twice, discreetly). And I would know then, I have fallen in love with you. You would be someone that I love.

You would be my predestined soulmate.
(but now all I got is only a lousy hello)

Leather Boots and Jeans

Monday, March 10, 2014 Comments Off

This is not love. I know.
It's an almost love--it is deeper than love, but much weaker since it has not known any perfect redemption that love provide and it is also more naïve, a tender feeling that last longer than a whole bottle of wine (which the owner tried to drown in order to forget about said feeling).

But this almost love is so pretty, like poetry.

Uneasy, perhaps at one point seems ethereal, and loving. So much loving. The absence of hatred that could be caused by the mutual agreement of a relationship is the most appealing part of it all. But I guess it is because I have experienced what some would have perceived as "romantic notions of a relationship" with you.

We've gone to the museums together--even science museums where we tried to detect each other's heart beats but failed amusingly. We dined--lots and lots of time we ended up at my place, eating leftovers and created some unearthly food that we ate anyway. We shared secrets--nothing deep, we decided, but we knew it was enough to show that our presence were important for one another. We have shared each other's arms--protective and safe cocoon in the worst of circumstances possible. We have travelled together--not to mention you have successfully persuaded my mother to let me go on a road trip with you. We've watched movies together--horrors, your favourite, and mine, thrillers. We have made similar temporary tattoos--from the week we spend by the beach eating grilled mahi-mahi.

Our touches in another's skin were some welcoming comfort--it was not foreign, like when you have once told me when there was someone else touching you, I loved (still do) the sensation of being touched by your being. Especially when we were being incredibly clingy.

You were endearing, lovely, exquisite, rare and kind.
I was yours, platonically.

And we were.
Even though we aren't anymore.

Fish and Chips

Thursday, March 6, 2014 Comments Off

"A dollar more, a dollar less
Who are you trying to impress?"
And I'd sigh, exponentially tired.
You were smiling, never smoking.
Beer in your hand, taste of defeat in your lips.

Maybe the best thing of us is our what-could-have-beens. Our scenarios that we purposefully almost otherworldly create with the thoughts of each other but not actually with each other. Scenarios that are filled with wide-eyed kids with curly hair and thick lips, with vivid colour of annual summer trips, with honeymoons in London eating fish and chips. Scenarios that are just too far, too otherworldly, yet absurdly purposefully close to home if we chose to go through it. These are creation of my own interpretation of what I saw in us--what I've failed to notice (years and years ago).

What we had was something that all the philosophers, scientists and human behaviour specialists unsuccessfully try to solve--the intimate unromantic platonic friendship. Such things couldn't have happened, since more often than not, either one of the parties would fall for the other. I did. For you. Especially, exclusively, irrevocably.

You've had enough--I haven't tasted it all. Funny, how, all these years I've been longing for a certain hypothetical person--but I was too busy to take notice of your full-grown heart, mature head, your endless patience, your tired sleepy eyes, the warmth of your hug, your accepting smiles, that playful tug on my hair when you were not patient, and everything that made you who you are. I was too busy for my person.

But that person is gone. Your phase in my life is over. It's time for me to move on.
You are now blurry, far away, and with your back on me.
(Please come home soon)

Lost in Sensation

Sunday, March 2, 2014 Comments Off

Our love for each other was like that certain clothing articles from the past that made their comeback in the recent years--they didn't quite match with the era they were born to, out-of-place but not quite out of date. They should have been reborn into another masterpieces, ahead of its time, they are supposed to be enjoyed later in time when it is right, when they are ready.

I think you and I are the same, no?

We were right for each other. Our flaws mixed together incredibly and our fears mingled in each other's minds like the taste of that awful beer in our lips. Our lips were hopeful, but our eyes were hiding itself from the truth--lost in translation, lost in sensation. We were none, but you and I were exceptionally made to be one.

We've always had a head start from everything, you mostly more than me. In life, we had it all first--you knew where you would end up and I knew what kind of things that I dislike, but I suppose not in romantic feelings towards each other. These unmentionable feelings were perhaps always skulking around us, even at the times when I shared my food with you, and especially at the times we were in a beautiful trance when you drove me home.

You were too eager to start your next life.
I was too eager for that guy.

Now I love you. Now I need you. Now I long to be yours.
(but you don't need me.
you don't love me.
and you are certainly not mine)

Now we are metaphorically here, reduced into strangers that do not even send birthday greetings through the unknown realm of internet. Now we are physically apart. Now we live in different moments, moments that could have been shared with each other.

Now I fall asleep while you are waking up.
Now I am dreaming of you in my sleep while you aren't here.

Midnight Music

Thursday, February 27, 2014 Comments Off

The year I lost you to a country halfway across the world was the year I had my first hypothetical heartbreak.

At the time, I did not realise that it was you. I did not take notice of the larger void that hid itself somewhere in my heart and in my head--I only knew the void that was caused by this certain TV series.

We lost each other in the same way, too.

They were friends, close one at that. They spent years with each other, running, laughing, and being best at what they did. But they had to move away from each other--they had to stay far apart. Fate told them to do so, like fate asked me to stay apart from you.

Unlike the mentioned TV series, our parting was less dramatic but more memorable--at first it did not cause me any pain, but as the years withered by and as the same darkening weather still instilled upon my heart, I grew weary and tired of having this feeling for you. This larger void does not hurt as much as my hypothetical heartbreak, but it lasts longer--it still hurts even mentioning about our days that we spent together. Our glorious days with midnight music, scary movies, fast foods and desserts.

I lost you.

My head is now half-filled with the scenarios of something that could have been. My favourite scenario: you love me with the same intensity as I love you and we are still together, worlds apart, but I'm still yours. Worlds apart and you are still mine. Worlds apart but our bonds are more forceful than the Sun's gravitational pull. Worlds apart but you still unconsciously carry my name in your daily prayer as you go to sleep. Worlds apart but you still remember to stay somewhat sober during your late night outs because you will Skype me in the dawn. Worlds apart and we are still together.

The other half is filled with the nightly remembrance of our time together. Times that I thought we were platonic. Times that I cherish with all my might. Times that you were platonically mine, and I yours.

Organic Shampoo

Wednesday, February 12, 2014 Comments Off

My friend told me that I subtly changed. "Odd," she said, after I sent her a picture of a pair of black Nike Cortez, "You were never one who wear such things. Why changed?"
I contemplated. I could answer, because I spotted so-and-so wore similar thing on her blog and I thought that I could pull that off too. But, she didn't deserve the lie. As one of my closest friends, she deserves the world and more, it wouldn't feel good, at least not morally so, if I lied to her. So, I simply answered, "No, it's just that there is a part of me that's changing, I can feel it. And I think I am changing."
She replied, "Like what you were wearing today?"
I haven't changed that moment, so I looked down at my black jeans and grey shirt attire, both were form-fitting. Oh, my shoes were another rare occurrence--black beaten-up converse. "Yes, I suppose. Yes. Quite similar. Yes."

I think I am changing. I can't explain it to you what exactly is being shaped into another matter entirely, but there are ticking sounds like clocks, something is changing their gears--something is moving. I feel calm, I can't explain how calm I feel right now and why do I all of the sudden eat food in less portion of I normally have. It is alarming how the way I live could be changed without any reasons or any affairs. Nothing happened, but I feel like something is trying to burst out of me and fighting to take over this vision of a person that my friends had known for years.

Maybe in all of those small steps (changing my drugstore brand shampoo to organic shampoo, using more natural products and buying certain article of clothing that don't bear the resemblance of what I used to wear/presented myself with during the past few years), I've found another spectrum of physical illusion that currently seems like the best go-to option for me. Ridiculous, I know--but it doesn't change the fact that I could move out of something that has been literally close to my skin, something that become what people have been voicing out as my style, that easily, even though a bit subtly.

Do you think I can change the way I feel about you the same way I change the way I look?


Friday, February 7, 2014 Comments Off

February. Get ink, shed tears.
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing,
While torrential slush that roars
Burns in the blackness of the spring
Boris Pasternak

It's February.
The month when I found you--yes, the only blossoming flower in the spring. Your heavy branches was calling me home--years, years ago.
The month when I bonded with you--something tighter than those of physical bonds. Spiritual bond, you once said, was much more stronger than anything, it surpassed any physical bonds--afterwards, I tried to cut my hair, the same hair that you adored, but the feelings were still there.
The month when I trusted you--falling asleep was one of the forms of trusting people, no? (It is harder to imagine someplace else to sleep)
The month when I lost you--too soon, my soul ached. My soul lost its counterpart far too soon. It hadn't even exchanging breaths. Too soon--too early, not enough.

Will it be the month that you come back to me?

Surface Area

Monday, January 27, 2014 Comments Off

They say it's important to have a relationship with yourself.

I've been in an on-off relationship with myself for the past couple of years. It took me a precious journey to the land of heavy rain and the equally heavy accent, numerous conversations with a certain Russian man (that will turn 24 this February, happy birthday bro) and other significant human beings that I met there (thank you for the long walks and talks, theatre watching, people "stalking"; parts of my heart shall always be yours), strangers that convinced me that I was enough (and especially this security for a sport museum that said someday men would worship the very ground that I walk upon), and my beautiful beautiful roommates (holler to Switzerland, Russia and Japan).

It took quite a lot.

But I cherish myself even more. Especially for the part that I could withstand the thought of being physically alone (taking trips with tubes, eating and reading at small cafes, walking to some halal shops, talking with strangers about Haruki Murakami, exchanging ideas about Islam with fellow muslim from Africa, finding self in a debate with a shop owner about the best actor who played The Doctor and it's Chris Eccleston sir I insist and it's not because I love him in general but oh wait it is, and spending a day alone in a packed mall looking for the best leather jacket for myself). And it is the best relationship I've had.

And I am not saying this because I worship myself. But, because I've found out that I could love myself this much. And all of my past problems I got with myself (I was going to put my insecurities in this bracket, but right now I cannot even think if there was anything wrong with me in the past) was gone; my mind got purged by the heavy rain. I love myself even more. I enjoy myself. I am happy with myself.

For that exact reasons, I want to travel the world by myself because I know I won't be a bore to myself. Because I know that I can get lost with myself, without no one who speaks my native language, but live happily with it. And I've done that. And I was happy. It is important, isn't it? To stay sane when you cannot count anyone but yourself. And I did that, I could do that again.

I have to do that again.

(Side note: in the spirit and honour of wearing your scent, I would like to get a tattoo myself. The calculated surface of the Earth: 510,072,000 km2 on my wrist, so that I won't forget, no matter how big my problems are, the big world is there for me to explore and get lost in)

Caribbean Sun and Russian Winters

Wednesday, January 22, 2014 Comments Off

I don't know how to live in the now.

All I've been doing is just a series of continuous monotonous activities that would ensure the security of my place in the future and my happiness that entails. My sweet host mum practically begged me to have fun. "You're still young," she said, "It's okay for you to have fun." But what if my version of fun isn't having it now, rather being happy with myself alone in the future. I suppose I could argue with her logic, if she retorted something along the line of pointing the fact that I am just still in my almost-twenty, by saying that I can actually have fun; but I cannot rest and have fun if I can't secure my place in the future. Because I don't know what to do if I were to fail everything that I've fought for, that I am done dying for. Perhaps I would wither like a small flower that failed to bloom in the midsummer night.

I promise you, however, I am living. I am living for my past and for my future.
My past, because she deserves a good journey. A great adventure that she had always dreamed of when she was forced to stuck in her own little mind place. She deserves to gaze at the stars where the pollution and night lights don't spoil the majestic twinkles. She deserves a full year living under the Caribbean sun, finally getting her skin tanned the way she always wanted to have. She deserves getting lost in a crowd of dancing mosh pit. She deserves wearing layers upon layers of thick clothing in order to keep her from the Russian winter. She deserves great conversations with strangers in hipster cafes. She deserves happiness.
And my future, for keeping me alive.

Without Love

Sunday, January 19, 2014 Comments Off

"Maybe I no longer care if I won't fall in love." she said, blurting it out to the moon as it was one of the things she was gazing that night. "Maybe it's not for me, you know?"
She twirled the lock of her hair, inhaling the sweet smell of her own name-brand shampoo. It intoxicated her to the point of remembering things that never were. "Maybe falling in love is just some kind of false advertisement for the poor. They say with a good job comes a good partner, house, ride and, ergo, love. But I don't think that's true and love is a bourgeois construct."

"Or maybe love is just that special thing, like smelling a whiff of daisies in the morning when you actually live in downtown LA in winter, to keep you going from falling apart. It's just one of those lucks in life that not everyone can enjoy or have." her hips swayed to the nonexistent music.

"Or maybe love is a form of worldwide sickness where everyone is getting praised for having it and pitied upon when they are diagnosed without it. A form of insanity that got misread along the history of humankind as something nurturing. I want to know what happened years back, you know? When we were just humans without knowledge, when we were much simpler and primal human beings... I mean, what were we thinking about having that feeling when we like someone to borderline insanity, why we chose to accept is as normal and we even promoted the idea of sharing it with someone else. Love is a weird concept for me."

She sighed, licking her lips and drinking in the sight before her. "And not having it is not a problem to me. Right now, it doesn't feel like I'm missing out on something or needing something that I don't have. You know what? Not having it means like I am able to say, without a doubt, that I survive without romantic love. Sure some people love me or at least they once did, but not experiencing romantic love that could change the course of one's life means so much to me because I can do it alone. I can actually live alone. By myself."

She smiled widely, her pearly white teeth glistening in the dark. "Living alone is not actually that bad. I've been doing that all my life. I've been forced to accept my seclusion without anyone on the opposite gender--which I currently like--who I can actually relay any of my thoughts to. So, yeah. I can live alone."

"And you know what? I ain't scared."
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