Archive for January 2014

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."

Trains

Saturday, January 18, 2014 Comments Off

This year, I'm turning twenty. In only a matter of four weeks, I'm going to be twenty. And soon, as they say, everything will change.
I can already feel everything changing.

I used to wait. Waiting and patience had become my best friends for the past years, well, perhaps I did not get along enough with patience, but they had been around--in which loneliness became their own little lovechild that manifested overtime so we became the infamous foursome that gathered almost all the time.

But we grew restless on the train. We were promised a stop would come soon so we could hop off and continue our journey from there--the journey to find our home. These people keep changing tracks, creating false beliefs that safe haven would be just around the corner-- that we will be there, soon. We were given makeshift places that they wanted us to call it as "home". But it wasn't. It isn't. This isn't.


I think, I'm getting off the train. I cannot accept the terms of being with the three other companies in that makeshift home. This is not my life. I can't be happy like this. I can't live like this.

Colours

Tuesday, January 14, 2014 Comments Off

The minute struck 10:56
We overslept. Again.

In our defence it was Saturday, no one would come by knocking at our door at this hour on Sunday. Both of us also didn't have to work on Sunday, it was a worry-free day. We were expected, by each other and ourselves, to wear lazy clothes; my favourite attires are his his button-downs and my panties, while his usually consist of his day-old boxer, sans any shirts. It was our day, we had declared, years ago; before the bills, before the paycheques, before the boxes-in-the-attics, before home offices.

The decision was made when we were still in our college years. Both of us were "major go-getters" as some would call--as we used to call ourselves. We didn't have much time lazying around in our pyjamas: we were too busy chasing incredibly-close-to-perfect GPAs, attending many of our friends music shows and theatrical productions, and building our lives by doing part-time jobs on Saturdays.

If we didn't have that, each of us knew that each other and ourselves were total mental case, not saying that in a psychological way, but our minds just could never stop thinking and blurting out things. We would know when one another was having their mental gears running up until the speed that topics changed rapidly. We would then say one of these safewords: blue, black, red, or white.

Usually, when we were in the middle of exams, we would say blue, since our bodies were too tired but our heads could not stop thinking about the exams or could not stop having anxieties; we would go by the pub or plug in mic to the laptop to sing some songs to relieve the tensions and the anxieties.
Black was different. It was rare, but we never had to feel it at the same time. It was when we were tired of our routine and decided to stop altogether, or when we constantly thought we were not good enough. More often than not, it took a trip to another city for three days straight to mend black. But we rarely had it, so we never left town.
We would uttered red when we thoughts things would go wrong and we needed each others presence to make it go away. Sometimes, we would dress up as posh as we could and go to one of the most expensive restaurants in town (mind you, it was a city for students, usually the most expensive ones par up to the mediocre ones in big cities). We would treat ourselves and each others as king and queen on a trip to a small town, laughing at objects that we spotted along the way. We had fun.

Now, Sundays were usually treated as white days. White days usually consisted of us cannot stopping each others (including our own) thoughts that went as fast as the speed of light, therefore we would stay up all night, numbly watching TV series in each others arms, drinking wine and eating cheese. We would wind down easier that way, we would eventually fell asleep holding onto each other like little babes.


You know when people in love they say they prefer to be awake? In our case, we prefer the other way around, because when we found out that we had actually fallen asleep, we knew that each others were near; for we could never fall asleep without each other to numb the pain and share the spell of lazing.

Darling, Can You Help

Sunday, January 12, 2014 Comments Off

Darling, can you help me move out of this city?
My darling liquored friends no longer could help me--for they are finding ways to cure themselves from their own perpetual world-hangover. They are also trying to find their own places in this world; the world that is heavy of liquor and dark secluded places.

But not me.

I've seen the scene. And the actions, plus some of the wonders that entail, that could be found in that certain places. But for the life of me, I could not, cannot, could never share the same feelings that all of my friends feel. There are always something missing in that particular site. Something inexplicably powerfully small and strong. That calling, that hums, that beats, and that pulsing being. I used to guess that it was that feeling that supposed to make you feel complete--but no, it was something else, it is something else. Something that I cannot find in this particular affair. And, oh, how I long to finally find the answer to that missing point.

The restless thrill of finding another place to quench this nostalgic thirst is supposed to be easy. Or so they say. But maybe, when I've found that position--parallel to what I've been looking for and perpendicular to what I've always known-- that pulsing being could be found and finally settle with the same purring ways of my revolving atoms inside of my being.

Perhaps I should ditch all of the things that add up as my beings instead. Perhaps I should go somewhere, start anew. Without the burdens of the past weighing on my soul.

Perhaps, I finally be.
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