Archive for 2015

An Ode to 2015

Sunday, December 27, 2015 Comments Off

My dear December, I want to thank your brothers and sisters for the way they have treated me this year.
January, your days were too short, but it was eventful. I managed to gain some of your courage and performed admirably in your days. I can't believe it has been too long since I last breathed you in, it felt only like a series of coffee drinking ago.

February, you were the loveliest of them all. Everything seemed to happen all at once. Sorrows and joys presented themselves. Have they been hiding within you, February? You have always been my favourite. Maybe it's because of your juxtaposition. Or perhaps you mark the moment my atoms bonded together to form my physical being.

March, you were full of nostalgia and melancholy. We accumulated enough lone long walks, cafe hoppings, and sleepy days. Your days were made of all Bibio's songs. I tried so much to store terabyte's worth of memories, but you said you were overwhelmed by it all, so you passed me along to your sister.

April, you tried so hard to make everything seem stable again, and for that I am thankful. Every single emotion that your sister provided to me gradually stored away to their respective chambers. Thank you for letting me stay sane, even though it was hard going back to a life I left when I was young and naïve.

May, you were interesting. I forgot how it felt like when I was with you, but I remember so vividly and so incredibly the emotions that you have unleashed. Maybe you couldn't keep up what your sister did, so you let me deal with reality my own way: by letting me delved in deep into my own imaginations. Though, you let me in on one secret: I have always been able to pursue my passion in writing, it's only a matter of whether or not I choose to.

June, you let me breathe again. I thought I forgot how to compute with my inability to grasp what kind of reality I should hold on to at that moment, but thank you for allowing me to feel that the reality did not shift its perception at all, that everything stayed the same, even if it was only for a fracture of a second. Your last days were filled with anticipation as well, for your brother got something in store for me that I have longed since perhaps your five cycles ago.

July, you gave me hope. There was a glimpsed of my future hidden within you. For a tenth of you, I felt like I belonged, like everything was in place. The mementos of that hidden future are safely kept within my wallet and within the walls of my bedroom, so they could remind me that you once gave me hope for a better life.

August, you showed me a little truth I did not know about myself. An insatiable appetite for physical affection that would remain alive within me unless there was someone to feed this skinhunger. An age old longing that is shared with my ancestors and descendants––my soul asking its physical representation to find reassurances in the form of touch, cells calling out other cells. My dear August, you were such an eye opener.

September, oh September! You opened up a gate for new experiences and new souls. I always thought I could never be, but here I am, thanks to you. My gratitude to you for showing me everything I never imagined before. But, you have always been interesting, haven't you? There has always been a mixture of melancholy, nostalgia, and hope in your air, and you have always thrown me off guard. I can't wait to see what's in store for me in your next cycle.

October, my dearest. You let me be innocent again; you let me cry, brawl, laugh, and be giddy. You were full of life lessons, even though you gave a lot, but you took something from me too. It was one of life's inevitabilities, but you let me say adieu. I still don't know whether these brand new familiar and strange greetings worth one adieu.

November, you moved too fast, faster than your brother January who I thought ran itself crazy with event after event that I had to attend. But you digressed, you exhausted yourself by establishing so many things, uncovering so many hidden gems, and even bringing back what were once dead––I thought that was supposed to be your brother's job. For everything, I am grateful.

And December, what can I tell you? You blessed me with countable and visible gifts, and with immeasurable and invisible love. You are the year of blessings in disguise and silver linings.

Here is to you, my dears, for accompanying me greatly in this cycle, may the best of this cycle be the worst of the next foreseeable one.

Homage to Self

Saturday, November 21, 2015 § 0

Love,
I am sorry that you have to apologise for the marks
— scarring slashes and throbbing deep wounds —
that others inflicted upon you
(and you keep on screeching every time you try to heal,
alcohol was never a friend)

Love,
I am sorry that there is so much love pouring out
— exhausting your poor overworked heart —
but not much coming in

Love,
I am sorry that you had to be called selfish
(for showing your infinite patience and strength to survive)
by the same mouth that prays for your health

Love,
I am sorry that your brows always furrow at the mention of
home; an indefinite space of the familiars and an infinite room to grow,
but you will never know

Love,
I am sorry that you always have to — without fail —
provide yourself high level of affection
in order to stay sane
(is it working?)

Love,
I am sorry that suffering has different taste on everyone,
and your suffering (oh yours my darling, my sweet)
spat out by the ones who feed you, the ones who nourish you
because your suffering is not enough for them to be swallowed down,
consumed fully by the general mass
— they told you your pain is insufficient
Love,
I am sorry that no one has ever — purposefully —
chosen you and it has made you
inadequate and incomplete

Love,
I am sorry that you always have to be the knight
(unfortunately shining armours not included)
for yourself, the damsel in distress;
and this damsel no longer has faith in any other knights

Love,
I am sorry that you have to always carry around your tiny weapon,
but I apologise even more for you having such little trust
in humans — so your favourite self defence is
walls upon walls of hidden chambers and soft-spoken truths

Love,
I am sorry that your cravings are yet to be satisfied,
this primal hunger shared by your ancestors
(etched deep within your cells, trapped between
what is known and what is loss)
and all you feel is yearn

Love,
I am sorry that you are unable to rest,
barred from swallowed, succumbed, and nestled in placid waters
(because all you have now is raging sea and thunderous weather)

Love,
I am sorry that you have eternity
— and so much more —
of perception with no one to share

[Gabriella Ferreira]

Andi, Part II

Thursday, November 19, 2015 Comments Off

I did not know the aftermath of meeting you would lead into this: numerous servings of tea, biscuits, swapping sweaters, sleepy pillow talks, and money spent on developing infinite amount of film rolls.
You broke all the truths and ideas that I have set up for myself about the world, its inhabitants, and how they should have reacted with each other. Such a magnificent experience to exist alongside with you. You gave me a whole new meaning of friendship, although we have settled on a maybe. Maybe has never been so contradictory; what we had – a maybe – was enough, for now. Our restless search for each other's companionship felt so desirably real. A forced relationship was not what we needed. For now.

It felt too rushed – too cowardly early – to call it as something impactful, yet it felt right. Our lives had been synchronised to match each others' pace. Not perfectly, thankfully, since we still got millions of seconds to learn about each other and adapt to one another.

However, the most important thing I learned from him was his juxtaposition. How can an absence of someone becomes the existence of void in me?

Ruby Sparks

Sunday, October 4, 2015 Comments Off

"I couldn't see you when you were here and, now that you're gone, I see you everywhere."

Since I had nothing to do last night, I watched this movie, Ruby Sparks. Its cinematography and wardrobe choice were beautiful; minimalistic cool tone attires for the taciturn antisocial Calvin, while the bubbly Ruby was almost always dressed in red/burgundy undertone. The plot was not terrible either, it was thoughtful, and the underlying message was accurate.

At first, I thought this movie leaned itself towards the generic "antisocial boy met (or in this case made) quirky girl and fell in love" in which there are cute movie montages of them doing irrelevant exploits with each other. However it set itself apart from the typical romantic comedy which glamorise the life of the perpetually single leading-man by making him more real (with his inability to have friends, dates, or even proper acceptance speech even though he was a writer) instead of sympathising him and forgiving him for being such an obsessive person with a made-up girl.

The movie spoke about the entrapment one would feel when they are in a relationship with someone who idealise them into something that they are not. It relayed to the viewers that a person can be unknowingly controlling, obsessive, possessive, restricting to the point of self-obsessed and narcissistic because this person only wants their significant other to exist solely for them. Calvin portrayed the type of person who was unable to communicate properly with Ruby, even though they talk to each other all the time. He set himself up to the idea that a person whose life revolved around him was the perfect person for him, treasuring and rejoicing in the fact that Ruby only needed him, that she was miserable without him; revelling the fact that he was the only one that could love and accept her. Therefor, when Ruby found another interest, his insecurities slapped him in the face in order to accept her as a human being, no longer a concept of an idealised person whose sole purpose in life was to be his.

Ruby Sparks made me realise a few things: the danger that a writer understands about loving and living as an idealised person, the impact of heavily and completely relying oneself to someone else, the notion of loving someone is different than the actual act of being in love with someone, the incompetency of communicating with someone without being entirely controlling, and the rejection of new cycle in a relationship.

This is one of a few movies that justifies my fear of being committed in a relationship––that it could only just be the temporary solution for loneliness. A momentary gap between similar states of loneliness.

[ricklinklaters]

Day XII

Thursday, October 1, 2015 Comments Off

What is your favourite day of the week?
It depends on how I spend them, and whether or not I achieved small little accomplishments throughout that day.
Though I suppose, if I got to pick, I prefer Wednesday, since there is no pressure. The day seems not as long as both Monday and Friday.
I am more a person that enjoy certain hours of a day instead of the day itself. If it does not make sense, I prefer Sunday evenings and Saturday mornings, while I enjoy Wednesday afternoon, and I detest weekday mornings.
12/30

Day XI

Monday, September 28, 2015 Comments Off

Tell about the time you thought about ending your life.
It was a long, long time ago. To this day, I still don't know whether I should be fortunate or otherwise, for still making it to this day. It has been a journey, I assure you. But when do you consider a journey is at its peak? When you finally see the view? Or when you found bits of what you thought as home on the way there? Or when you found a fellow traveller, in the crossroad of uncertainty? For I am still unsure where is my view, or will I ever see it.

It all started way back when I was in elementary school. With my current mindset, I would probably think that it is a tad bit dramatic for me to have thought that way. But in the darkest, deepest part of my heart, I still think that it was warranted to feel that way. Back then, I wanted to get away––from my school, my parents, my enemies, my friends, my brother, even myself and my own life. It was a dangerous thing, thinking that way; after all, I was only nine years old. But the thought of breaking away from something that was unnecessarily holding you down sounds amazing. A small, little independence that I could get, back when I had nothing to claim as my own. It's the saddest thing when death is being thought as your independence––in retrospect, I was a sad girl.

I can't even be sure about my memories of when I was nine years old. Granted, I was not the happiest child back then, but all I could remember was nothing beautiful; dark and fuzzy mess. That year was more than bleak to me. It was hellish. What could you do, with a vocabulary palette so little, while feeling a whole lot more than the entire mass of your body on Earth? What could you do, with thoughts spinning in your head million miles per seconds, without so much as a handrail to hold on to, let alone the hands of your loved ones? What could you do, with a life, waiting to be lived, but would have met resistance from the Universe itself? Wouldn't it be better if you just end it?

Maybe that's why I have always thought that romantic love would have saved me someday. Even though, now, romantic love is just an impossibility.

With all that I am feeling right now, maybe death was a more practical, logical, proper option for me––since the more I grow up, the more I feel.

And I don't know where to put all these feelings.
11/30

Day X

Comments Off

What do you want to be remembered for?
  1. My perseverance and strength in the worst of times.
  2. My relentless need to survive.
  3. My obligation to never stop making my dreams come true
  4. My childish heart and immortal soul
  5. My hair
  6. My inability to live out a normal life, and
  7. Your inability to box me into certain, common stereotype. Since I am,
  8. A lot of things to everyone
10/30

Day IX

Friday, September 25, 2015 Comments Off

Where would you be in 10 years?
Away, not here.
In a place where I can feel myself. I can breathe in my life for me. Where my past eventually feels like an old reel of films––faded and partially forgotten.

My mind is already so far away. It would be unfortunate,
if my body does not follow.

I am just,
returning back to where I belong.
A homecoming. 
 9/30

Day VIII

Comments Off

Tell your life story from someone else’s point of view.
She's a wicked one, this almost-woman is. You can always catch her looking at pictures of far off places in the hope that she could breathe their air and taste the rain, consequently, you can actually feel that she is not actually there. Adrift, she calls it––when her mind goes away, imagining the life that she would be living if she was not here. Home, she often claimed. I'm looking for my home.

People have different opinions about her, like people often do with other people that they only partially know, and they all claim they know her best. But have you seen her in her element? Living her own life in a place (somewhere not here, she always claimed) where the transportation is always punctual, the air is always fresh (and often cold, more preferably not dry), and the people are warm. Have you seen her there? You could see her, smiles, twinkling eyes, and all that, brightening up her face. Few have seen her that way, it's an unfortunate thing, really, since she is herself when she is not here. A tragic irony.

She likes stories, even more so when other people are the storyteller. It is one of the ways she could live, she supposes. As another person, in another body, living different memories. That's how she lives her life lately, listening to other people chatter about their own lives; a backstory, a life led before it crosses her path. 

She tends to find herself in difficult position concerning about her life path. She would mull over things excessively, and then end up choosing the obvious option, or none at all.

She's a hopeful, hopeless romantic, realist.
8/30

Day VII

Sunday, September 20, 2015 Comments Off

What sets you apart from the crowd?
Physically; my giant nest of hair. Everyone who knows me would probably tell you how they identify me in the crowd, they'd just look for my hair instead of my body shape.

Mentally; my idealism (partly romanticised cynicism), though ironically also my tendency to escape reality by creating straightforwardly and impossibly common scenarios inside my head.

Fashion-wise; I like to mix a lot of colour or none at all. Black becomes more and more preferable these days. I don't keep any specific style, though I do own several key items.

Day VI

Wednesday, September 16, 2015 Comments Off

Write about a person who would buy all of those items in Day 5.
This person would have been very loving, very lovely, for who else would have bought pieces of broken hearts and fix them together? With intense care, immense love, heaps of Beyoncé music, comic cons (Batman costume turned out to be a great investment), tons of baking brownies late at night, followed by journey to the wilderness with boots and bicycles, occasional beers, summers of impromptu barbecue, amazing breakfast food, and other great nights followed by incredible mornings.
6/30

Day V

Comments Off

Pick a letter of the alphabet. Now imagine two aisles of your local supermarket. List everything found in those two aisles that begin with that letter of the alphabet.
Aisle B

There is a market in my neighbourhood. It's unlike any other. Instead of cataloguing their items the way a market would (i.e. separating food and other products), this market actually listed them alphabetically.

For example, in Aisle B you can find (not listed alphabetically):
Beef, boots, balloons, buttermilk, beer, buns, breads, butter, backpack, blazer, blowtorch, bubblegum, bunsen burners, baseball bat (softball bat is on another isle––sorry), blouse, bronzer, batman costume, books (assorted), bedsheets, brownie mix, bicycle, boxers, briefs, (assortment of) broken hearts, batmobile keychain (please seek our employees if you want to purchase the actual batmobile), boxer gloves, and (anything related to) Beyoncé.
5/30

Day IV

Monday, September 14, 2015 Comments Off

Write a story/excerpt to include the line, “Sorry, we can’t insure you for a journey like that.”
The elevator opened with a ding and Phil trudged out to his office with a slow pace since it was still early with no one to impress. As he came near his office, he could see the outline of two people sitting closely together in his office; with his secretary still on his way to the workplace, these two people probably let themselves in. Phil's curiosity piqued when he could finally identify the huddling figures that were whispering to each other about something he did not recognise, his really close friends.

"Tina, Sofia." he addressed both of them.

"Phil, my man!" said Tina enthusiastically, concluding her talk with Sofia. "How's it hanging?"

"Tina, we literally just saw each other last weekend. What did the both of you do and why do you think I could help?"

Sofia rolled her eyes. "Don't be so nonchalant, you clearly love solving problems. And we could really use your help."

"Fine," Phil sighed, sitting down on his leather chair and crossed his arms, "what can I do you for, ladies?"

Both women exchanged glances, this act caused Phil into realising that whatever the problem was, it must have been big. Phil started to guess what kind of monstrosity that they had encountered, or what kind of mayhem that they had caused, in order for them to require his help professionally.

"Well..." Tina began. "We don't know how to begin to explain this, but our company need to find some long lost paper that possibly explain how and where to find this special herb that act anti-ageing ingredient. We were told that Egypt was our best shot to find this paper."

"And the reason to why we need your help is because we need to be insured in your company. We could use some travel insurances just in case something happens to us in Egypt. To be clear, we would probably need an insurance that could cover all of Africa, including the wilderness and such. We would like to apply for insurance in here, in your company." finished Sofia.

Phil's eyebrows immediately went up to his hair after hearing that. "First off, it's not my company, though I really wish it is so that I'd be richer than Richie Rich. Second, that's clearly impossible. Sorry, we can’t insure you for a journey like that. It's just not doable. There is no 'I'm going to Egypt to find this ancient scroll as a map to find this ancient herb' option. I'm sorry. It's just... not normal."

"Of course not, Phil. We just need to upgrade our policies." Sofia exclaimed exasperatedly, "You told us at our wedding that we need to  upgrade them, so we are here to do that."

The only man in the room huffed. "Why didn't you guys start with that?"
 4/30

Day III

Sunday, September 13, 2015 Comments Off

Write about your current relationship; if single, describe how single life is.
Currently, I'm single. For all my life I've always been, though not entirely by my choice. Some people revel in single life, I suppose. They often rejoice in the fact that no one nags them as an unnecessary, excessive burdens. In some cases, I agree that single life is a much better option for them. Though, I do not know if the same can be said about me.

I have found that my thoughts are too much load to carry alone. There are wars inside my mind, armies of great nations fight each other (needlessly in more cases) in order to gain peace, but I'm not sure if peace could be achieved when more nations emerge with specific national interests in mind. I've always thought that having a significant other would mean there would be peace at last in my head, or at the very least this person would help me perform ceasefire with their peacekeeper armies guarding in the border between one nation and the next. My mind would be at rest.

My overflowing emotions are another part of me that I wish I could share with someone. I feel too much, I taste everything in my mouth. All the bitterness, sadness, sweetness, happiness, and all in between. I've always thought that having a significant other would mean there would be someone that could savour this too, kiss these plateful of insanity away, swallow them, exchange parts of them with something new to me. My heart would be content.

Another thing that I found frustrating about being single is that I cannot celebrate the little things without offending someone else or getting an indifferent reply. I appreciate those little accomplishments, small progresses that would accumulate into something huge in the near future. I've always thought that having a significant other would mean there would be another human being proud of me, supporting my silly causes, acknowledging my losses, and expecting the same encouragement from me. My insecurities would be gone.

I do not know whether to consider myself naïve or hopeful.
3/30

Day II

Saturday, September 12, 2015 Comments Off

Tell about a character who lost something important to him/her
The first time she lost something was a long time ago. Back then the sky was clearer, the air was fresher, the forest seemed to hum whenever she passed through, the sunlight always laid itself gently on her skin, the drip drop of rain gentled her soul, and her lips were permanently smiling. Of course, at the time, she was also still had her hair in pigtails, her teeth were still in braces, and her long unruly hair was a mess (some people even called it a bird's nest). But when she just turned eight, she lost her pet. Her oldest companion that was a part of her household long before she was born. He was more than just a friend; a sibling, someone might even say. That year, she learned a very valuable lesson of losing something, and the fact that death was always around the corner.

She could remember precisely the second time she lost something important, her mental innocence. Looking back, she felt silly over the time that she had spent wailing in her room on her window bench, though she honestly thought that if her pet was still there, she would have gone through all these with grace. Neither her father nor her mother was there due to the fact that they were busy with their own lives, which caused her another mental burden that led her into thinking of no such happiness could ever exist again. The trigger was trivial, really. Her crush went out with someone else, her then-best friend. Even so, at the time, she was unprepared for life's brutal truth: you can't always have what you want. From then on, all she felt was self conscious.

It was quite a few years after that when she lost something again. She supposed there was no way of getting around it, she just had to bear it and move on. What was left anyways? Her childhood innocence, her mental innocence, all gone. Her parents became more emotionally unavailable, her sister basically lived in her own life. All she could do was coming back at her house, looking at the strange creatures that were her parents, and even worse, herself. Her mind became so disintegrated with herself that she became another person that she did not know. What was there for her? She lost herself.

But it did not mean that she lost her hope. Hope was the only thing that she got left in her bones, even if it often hid away in tiny crooks and nooks of her ribs. The only reason to her living was hope. She hoped that her life would turn better, that her eyes would not looking at something strange in the mirror anymore, that her lips would finally lose away its permanent scowl, that she would be able to live again within her own reasons and ways. Alas, everyday she was losing more and more of her small dose of hope, getting eaten by self-doubt, harsh truths, and dismissive friends. What would be left of her, if she lost her hope? 
2/30

Day I

Friday, September 11, 2015 Comments Off

Select a book at random in the room. Find a novel or short story, copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story.

"Everyday of her life, every minute of her life, if she could just remember that."
A simple thing, that was. Remembering. It was also an easy enough task to do, remembering something. Our minds have exercise that daily by doing the little things; like taking a shower, drinking, taking out trash, or doing another mundane errands that are staples to everyday life.

In retrospect, that was a humdrum thing. It was an embodiment of something grandeur hidden in the midst of something plain. This humdrum, however normal it was, used to be able to make her earth spins, her sun blazes, her blood boils, and her eyes twinkle.

But the sound of that no longer tasted familiar on her lips. It felt foreign, like a scenic landscape from faraway place she once saw on someone's mantelpiece. Life has a way of robbing you the things that you used to hold dearly.

For example
the name of your lover,
pronounced with a sigh or a quiver.
1/30 

Thirty Days Challenges

Comments Off

Below I have listed thirty writing challenges that I will, hopefully, follow through in the next thirty days. The first of which will be done right away (11/9).
Day 1 —Select a book at random in the room. Find a novel or short story, copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story.
Day 2 —Tell about a character who lost something important to him/her.
Day 3 —Write about your current relationship; if single, describe how single life is.
Day 4 —Write a story/excerpt to include the line, “Sorry, we can’t insure you for a journey like that.”
Day 5 —Pick a letter of the alphabet. Now imagine two aisles of your local supermarket. List everything found in those two aisles that begin with that letter of the alphabet.
Day 6 —Write about a person who would buy all of those items in Day 5.
Day 7 —What sets you apart from the crowd?
Day 8 —Tell your life story from someone else’s point of view.
Day 9 —Where would you be in 10 years?
Day 10 —What do you want to be remembered for?
Day 11 —Tell about the time you thought about ending your life.
Day 12 —What is your favourite day of the week?
Day 13 —Write about the weird things you do when you are alone.
Day 14 —Describe the kind of date you'd like to go to.
Day 15 — Create a character who is falsely accused of a crime.
Day 16 —Describe in detail, without explaining the circumstances, something that you can't seem to get over.
Day 17 — Write a short scenario set in the kitchen of a fast-food restaurant.
Day 18 —Take a reader behind the wheel with the worst driver you’ve ever known.
Day 19 —Write a list of 25 (or just 5!) things you want to do in your life.
Day 20 —If you could go on only one more vacation in your lifetime, where would you go and why?
Day 21 —Find a job ad in the paper. Write about your life if you had that job.
Day 22 —List 16 things that you'd tell your 16 years old self
Day 23 —Pretend you’re a cartoon character. What type of a character would you be? What would a day in your life be like?
Day 24 —Write about the longest amount of time you’ve ever gone without sleeping.
Day 25 —Write a story about ‘What the Neighbors Saw.’
Day 26 —Write about your worst habit.
Day 27 —Make up a near-death experience (unless you have a real one).
Day 28 —List the little things that make you warm and fuzzy.
Day 29 —You are at a cemetery reading gravestones. Write about one of the people you find.
Day 30 —Write a short entry that ends with the line, “The silver dust of moonlight settled coldly on the night.

Never Been To

Sunday, August 30, 2015 Comments Off

The entire book collections in all libraries in the world wouldn't be able to contain all the poetries that I have written for constantly finding––and failingly be with––an almost or a possibility. Almost every blood in my vein could be translated to a series of novels in which the main character is still decidedly without any romantic attachment, not because the lack of willingness in her part, but mostly because life has a way of interfering in something that seems like meant to be.

Every roll of films wouldn't be able to capture the scenarios that I have built in my mind the minute I found a romantic potential in certain someone. Every thrum of my heart constantly reminds me of its neighbour, the void in my chest, that was birthed from life's inability to translate my scenario into reality. In my mind, my lips have tasted the sweet life of requited love, my eyes have witnessed true love, my ears have heard the declaration of domesticity, my nose has woken up to the smell of homemade crepes and to the lingering scent of masculine shampoo on the pillow, and my body has learned that it won't ever get cold or lonely ever again.
Alas, the only sentence that I can formulate right now is, "Of all the places that I have never been to, it's your arms that I want to visit the most."

Skincrave

Monday, August 24, 2015 Comments Off

It is 1:21 AM and I am having skincrave.

I have always felt that way, I suppose. There is this intimacy that I hunger for that can only be satisfied by being physically intertwined with someone else. Some people often mistake this need of mine for sexual relations. Though I cannot deny that having sexual interaction with someone would mean that it would be easier to get that skin to skin contact, satisfying my skincrave requires something more than just interacting sexually with someone without any shared intimacy that has been established before. Romance does not always have to come into the equation, but there should always something intimate shared between the person and I, something sacred that was borne out of mutual respect and understanding.

Perhaps the reason behind this is simply to remind me that I am not alone, even though it has been visibly proven, but oftentimes I need a gentler, more active reminder that this quiet solitude is shared by the society as a whole; sharing your atoms to be comfortably nested in their being as a way to lessen the feeling of incomprehensible loneliness and possibly the feeling of being unimportant.

This torturous endeavour of mine might never be met for it is getting more impossible to find another human being to share my relentless need in sharing the experience of having another's presence right beside yours. But let's just pretend. It is almost two in the morning and I have nothing more important to do.

Let's just pretend that I have one person in my life that I can satisfy my skincrave. Let's just pretend the person is male, relatively older than me, taller than me, larger than me, with thick lashes that framed smouldering eyes and luscious lips. Let's just pretend that we have known each other for awhile, that we have collected enough stories of each other to consider that the intimacy of satisfying skincrave is somehow an act usually shared by people with romantic inclination towards each other, but we currently do not have it. Or maybe we do. Let's just pretend that we have managed the technicality of our relationship, whether it is strictly platonic or the opposite, and we also have decided that sharing skincrave would not affect, or the opposite, our relationship. Let's just pretend that we have resolved that this act is nothing sexual, that this act only involves hours of snuggling under his woollen black afghan, on his couch while watching something––and eventually sleeping. Let's just pretend that he enjoys the feeling of my hands running on his thick dark hair and on his neck. Let's just pretend that I enjoy having him rub my back and tangle his fingers on my mane. Let's just pretend that we acknowledge each other pain and suffering by temporarily unburdening the feeling of total and complete loss, due to the fact that our heart and head are isolated from the world, through physical touch.


Let's just pretend.

[Natasha Vavere]

My Favourite

Wednesday, August 5, 2015 Comments Off

"You are my favourite collection of heartbreaks." I whispered, running my finger slowly on his chest.
"I am forever grateful for the clenching pain on your chest; for all the unhappiness that you have felt over the course of your adulthood, for all the sorrow you had to live with when you were just a mere son of someone, and for all the faults you didn't do. Because they all had led me to you."

A finger touched my chin, causing me to look up from my favourite space––the crook of his neck. "Tell me truly, is that a romanticisation version of me? I am guided by my past, a houseful of haunted halls, hidden chambers, unknown horrors, broken remnants of internal wars, dark heated rage, and cold empty basement. Are you willing to venture? To deal with these dark creatures that I, myself, don't have any idea how to handle? To completely and permanently get rid of them?"

It was very intense;
what he said,
the look in his eyes,
what I felt for him and
the feel of our physical being
together, intertwined, unbroken by reality.

I put a kiss on his lips, briefly. There was this inability that kept me from breaking a magical moment that was blunt, forward honesty in which everything was laid bare, unhindered, and, more importantly, raw.

"Maybe I don't need to get rid of it all," I suggested, "I am already living with you, alongside you, and by your side. Who says that I can't live inside you; inside your inalterably chaotic brain and frequently used heart? I have overflowing love inside of me, that I need some large space––a gigantic container, even––to fill it. Your house has all the space, crooks, and nooks that I possibly need.
The question is, will you let me in? Or are you afraid of not being in the dark?"

As I posed that question, I could tell, because of his raw truths, that there was a possibility where the master key was already in my hand.

Should We Try

Monday, July 6, 2015 Comments Off

"The demons inside me are scared of love." he stated. "I am too used of licking my own wounds, when someone came dabbing at my skin with alcohol, I screeched in pain, wondering about their intentions."

"My demons are afraid of what romantic love would do to me." I admitted. "I think the repercussions of romantic love are much scarier than not having your feelings returned. At least when you have an unrequited love, you won't have to deal with any unnecessary evils such as marriage, kids, insurances or taxes. Maybe loving someone in silence is much better than having to deal with the aftermath of a broken relationship. Romantic love, however destructive it could be, is something that both of us have been wanting for awhile, yet the world does not grant us. As much as I wanted romantic love, I'm always afraid of what it would bring in the future."

He looked at me. This time without judgement or any other emotion, for that matter. I could tell he was silently asking me what kind of thing that I want if neither being in love nor not being in love did not appeal me. We both knew that each others' demons were what keeping us from falling in love, from plunging to the sweet body of water that was the Styx; the irony didn't escape us. Falling in love was like that perfect bowl of ramen that other people consume, yet I can never have because they are always short of ingredients when I ordered. Some said the ramen was hot, the others said it was warm, few said it was too spicy for their taste, and most of them said the portion was enough to make you full.
"We are just two broken people, learning to both complicate and simplify our daily, mundane routines, no? Romantic love has not always been an optimum option for people to escape. There are, fortunately, other less catastrophic ways to lead a better life. But we are still persistently and consciously trying to have something that we ourselves deem as unobtainable, which at the same time strengthens the feeling of being unworthy of such attention." he ended with a smile. It wasn't in a horrifying manner like the way you smiled to your flea-smelling aunt, but it was the way you were smiling at the truth. In both frightening and exciting way, there was nothing else but the truth.

I nodded and remarked, "It's too bad, isn't it? Us, being too mental."

"How so?" I could tell he was able guess what I meant by this.

"Yeah, we understand about the subject of love too much, that it is impossible to be with one another. Because, consciously, we know that romantic love isn't supposed to be forced or cut down into smaller shapes that fit certain boxes. I think we are waiting for our saviours that can bear a certain kind of romantic love that we have always favoured. We could be great together. We would make a pair."

"In another life, we could be. Should we try? Is it better to not have any relationship at all? Is it truly better to not be with someone than to be with them and then lose them?" he pondered, both directly and indirectly questioned that to me.

I looked up to him, searching for some clue in his steely eyes. "What are you saying? Should we try?"

"I think we should."

Perhaps not every great endings start with an equally great beginning.

[hopalila]

Perpetual Potential

Saturday, July 4, 2015 Comments Off

Your scent lingered in the backseat of my friend's car today, an impossible feat, nonetheless it was real. As we drove away from the place that could have been frequently visited by the two of us, I pondered the million possibilities of our unbroken friendship if we had taken another route unlike the one we did take all those years ago. It was the craziest thing, being there. Like all of the sudden I came to a realisation that you could be the one driving, with me next to you as a nagging presence in your life. Not as a perpetual potential romantic interest, but as a pair of intertwined souls, drifting through the space and time without having to cling on to each other the way lovers would.

Can you imagine that? Us, together. Without actually having to be together. Coming home wouldn't be such a dreadful thing to do. There would be a collection of our text messages and birthday dinner invites, filling our inbox. Obligatory dinners, once every month. Infinite amount of school/work papers being sent to one another for proofread. Shared earphones during our daily commuting. Constant reassurances, support, and comfort, without forgetting the need to constructively criticise one another. A life not lived alone.


Alas, nothing of sort was meant to be. Now I know why they value lost items.

Inevitabilities

Friday, June 26, 2015 Comments Off

I adore and admire honesty. It is quite unfortunate that there isn't abundance of it in this strange, cold world that we occupy.

Though, hearing something you've been fearing for all your life coming out of someone else's mouth as a confirmation that it was indeed true is a different matter entirely. My heart broke that day, it was too heavy with the realisation that what I am afraid of is actually substantial. It is one thing to acknowledge and be able to live with your demons inside your head, but it's another when someone actually notice that they are not just the products of your imagination.


For a moment there, I thought it was a full-blown irony that life seems to be an expert in. Yet, there can never be any irony in simple, pure truths, right? When it is laid as it is, without so much cynicism, prejudice, or even hatred. It was straight up truth, an idea solidified by other people's opinion.

I have accepted that fact, even though it was more in the form of recognising my fear. But, since someone has voiced it out loud, it felt more real. It felt like it was one of life's inevitabilities. A life sentence. Imprisoned with the truth, while you watch life unfolds before your eyes as you stand behind the bars. There is literally nothing that I can do, for once the truth is out, pulling it back in would only make the truth more recognisable. How can I even try to compete with the truth? Compete with the very existence that birth the truth? Truths always win. I have accepted that.

But it doesn't mean that the truth did not bleed me out.

It does not mean that it did not break me apart, rip my insides, and affect my being.

It does not mean that it did not make me want to be someone else.

Ten Q's

Thursday, May 14, 2015 Comments Off

This is something that I have not done in awhile. Personally, I'd love to answer questions like these, but it's not easy to find some profound questions.

  1. If you’d grown up in a different environment, do you think you’d have turned out the same?To be completely honest, I don't think I would. Especially if the said environment is somewhere in the Europe. My current mindset is based on the kind of environment that I grew up in; my resisting the country has started since I was young when I felt 'displaced'. My distaste for my country only started as something mild and had grown into something somewhat hostile. Even though there are some mementos that tie me down to this archipelago in southeast, I cannot say that my love for every one that has been very supportive in my life is bigger than my need to live my own life somewhere abroad. The things that make me hustle are basically to achieve a certain lifestyle that I deem appropriate for the state of my being. Therefor, if I wasn't who I am right now, I wouldn't totally be me. I would have different aspirations in life, and different state of mind. I also have an inkling feeling that I wouldn't like me, if I was a different person.
    But, I think my love for watching people falling in love would stay the same, regardless the environment that I grew up in.

  2. Do you love easily?
    I do. And I am not saying this in the term of romantic love. I love strangers. That instant second when the circumstance in this Universe makes me collide myself with an abundant of nice strangers makes me happy. Makes me love them. In the way I fall in love with small houses in the countryside Germany, with the smell of Swiss air, with a cover of an old foreign book, or with postcards. I also love the idea of being in love, it's not something I have experienced myself (and at this point in my life I don't know whether or not I want to) but I have always loved how people fall in love. It is, for me, as simple and as easy as breathing.

  3. Three Four songs that you connect with right now
    "Forever meant nothing when we had nothing"
    "Feel you get closer now, closer than you've been"
    "Even if your heart stops, I'll be there to hold you up"
    "I'd rather have quality than quantity"


  4. When you're alone in the middle of the night and you can't quite get to sleep, what do you think about?
    Life, mostly. With its infinite simplicity and contradicting complexity. The grand butterfly effect of what ifs. The unfinished. The rude awakenings. My fears. I also revisit few places in the darkest pit of my mind, not intentionally (mind you), but its familiarity always pulls me in and apart. I fantasise about things that couldn't happen. Also another thing, feeling that the world's weight is right on my shoulders. Wanting to solve world's hunger, poverty, human suffering, animal abuse, and deforestation. Basically just feeling guilty being human.

  5. What is love to you? What is the opposite of love?
    Acceptance, encouragement, support, and trust.
    A little backstory about this definition of love: it's the kind of love that I know of personally, something that I have experience throughout the entire time I am standing in this giant rock in space. Romantic love, however, is not something that I've tasted. Ergo, I can't give you the definition of romantic love for me.
    I have received love in thousands of different ways, except romantic love. You can romanticise it as something sad, something to be frowned upon, or something to be pitied. But you can also be a realist, knowing that not everyone can experience romantic love. Though, I envy its staying power in few people, I understand that, mayhap, and I am saying this with conviction and without aggravation, I was not born for receiving and giving romantic love to a certain person. I am blessed with thoughtful people who love me, in their own way, that, for now, it is enough to live with it alone without romantic love.

    The opposite of love would be indifference. For me, it is not hatred. When you hate someone or something, there has always been that lingering effect of caring too much that it irritate you when they do not behave similar to what you expect them. When someone is acting indifferent, it hurts more since humans are being with expectations. We expect people to respond in certain ways, either positive or negative, but it would puzzle us when they do not act. We care too much about what other people would do to us.

  6. Do you focus more on the past, the present, or the future?
    If you were to ask me a few months before, I would have answered my past. I wanted little me to finally live a life that would make her proud of me, proud of herself, that she had overcome so many things and finally achieve something grand that she deserves. She honestly deserves the world. What made me hustle was her happiness. I fought for her.
    Nowadays though, I am doing something for my future. My past would be proud of me no matter what. Even if I messed up considerably, but she would still be my number one cheerleader, since I have stayed alive for so long to receive my degree and see my favourite actor.
    I want my future to be able to thank me one day, for taking and declining offers, for publishing something online, for getting off bed to be with my friends, for knowing my own priorities, and for thinking of her well-being, not just my own.

  7. Do you have any special or magical memories you'll always have with you?
    I actually carry that ticket everyday, a personal reminder that I have actually met "the love of my life" when I was 18. Not everyone can say that.

  8. How would you define yourself, without saying your name or giving a physical description of yourself or your obvious personality?
    An ageless, though people often deem as old, soul entraps in tens kilograms of skin, fat, bones, and blood govern by stubborn, deeply curious brain and romantic heart. Currently searching for a way of getting by in this materialistic rock in space that is travelling few hundreds thousands km per hour, while not also losing the identity that differs it from other Earthlings that are atomically and biologically the same. Yearns for something yet unintelligible for some of the minds that it has encountered in her years travelling on this dimension. Questions everything.

  9. Do you believe happiness can exist without sadness?
    No. Life has always been a comparison, yin and yang, darkness and light, night and day. It would be impossible to know whether or not you are happy, if you have never felt sadness before. Being grateful is also another impossible thing if you do not know the contrast between them.

  10. What do you find most beautiful in people?
    Their willingness to be an Earthling, taking part in process that does not only causes progressive change in their life, but also in life of others. Whatever form that may be.

    Makeshift Happiness

    Saturday, April 25, 2015 Comments Off

    What do you call this moment of being displaced? Where you are in a familiar place, with familiar people, but all you can feel is this unfamiliarity with the circumstance you are currently presented? This novel uneasiness that develops slowly and gnawing at your heart; living in the darkest pit of your head. Something discomfiting that is caused by being in a transitional condition. Perhaps the worst thing about this is its existence rather than the way it feels.

    Truthfully, it is something that I have never felt before, since even though I went through numerous temporary occurrences throughout my life, I always have something that I could keep it from consuming the more sane part of my mind. And gratefully, it left me, until now.


    Some people may have been going through something similar to this in their entire life. Purposeless, undirected, aimless. For some people it is no longer a transitional condition, but a permanent solution for the uncertain future, or the unsettling past. They create this makeshift happiness in which the feeling itself is fleeting, shallowly rooted, easily plucked. Something created in the darkness, born out of the shadows of the mind; tricking itself into thinking that it is happiness and it is going to stay for a long time. But it won't, because it is not happiness. It can never be. Before long the soul will want something more. Something a bit more fulfilling, permanent and ethereal. Something that would be nurturing for you if you take care of it. It is not the healthiest way to live.

    And I don't want that. I don't want to be stuck in the maze inside my mind, trying to escape while barely able to breathe in air that is full of defeat. The dimly-lighted labyrinth full of familiar sadness and regrets would only serve as a prison of my own soul. Without sunshine and air, what would become of a tree? Without hope and love, what would become a soul?

    Tell me how to properly be in a permanent situation, other than death.

    [Kristen Lozano]

    Unwrite Me

    Wednesday, April 22, 2015 Comments Off

    Let me be the ashes of your cigar, tossed over without regard and care, but with precise calculation and predictability. No longer your valued engraved gold lighter.
    Let me be the short lunch break, unfinished sandwich half-bitten, with crumbs all over your lap due to the swift munching. No longer your Saturday night gala, those fine-dining events that require tux and bow tie.
    Let me be the overused tennis shoes on the back of the rack, unseen by the eyes, hidden fully in the dark; forgotten and considered missing. No longer your cherished expensive trainers.
    Let me be the broken hanger on the wall, just another interior decoration that your subconscious eventually disregard, filed under 'part of the wall'. No longer your house keys.
    Let me be the stack of old magazines supporting your nightstand, completely invisible to the unsuspecting eyes, the extended leg of your furniture. No longer the signed first edition Pablo Neruda work on your bookshelf.
    Let me be the unfinished letter to your younger self, its existence forgotten the same way you forget about the smell of your mother's shampoo. No longer the poems written on your personalised stationary.
    Let me be the fallen leaves in your autumn, wholly different but predominantly similar to its counterparts. No longer the ever-so-lovely Camellias.
    Let me be the uneventful days of your Winter, a dark bleak existenece that you had to go through. No longer your camping days during the Summer.

    Foolish, Delusional Being

    Saturday, April 4, 2015 Comments Off

    Maybe, instead of romantic love in its truest form, companionship is the most fitting noun to perfectly describe what I am looking for currently. As opposed to romantic love, companionship has an underlying sense of comprehension, between those who shares it, about many aspects in life that romantic love sometimes does not recognise the existence of.

    I actually am delusional for worshiping the idea of romantic love and being romantically loved by your significant other. Perhaps romantic love, with its constricting rules and deceitful self-made reality, is not for me. Romantic love often opt out of recognising and apprehending the harsher truths that are normally conceived in life. Though my nature is more of (some would say and had actually condescendingly said that to me) the foolish kind, I have found that the true romantic love can only be found on the other side of the screen or on paper or in the lost tales of a couple thousands generations before mine. Simply put, romantic love is an old fashion memento that people always try to use and abuse, not to mention an excuse for doing something partly (or wholly) deviant in nature. Disillusionment also occurs and, as I have encountered, rarely produces anything positive in the long run.

    The idea of romantic love itself beguiles me, like a song sang by sirens during a wayward journey across the sea, even though I have found that it was not sung by sirens, but a dying one-of-its-kind swan. It truly is the bourgeois feeling, something so rare and expensive to maintain. In my opinion, the type of romantic love that could be found in fiction, though artificial and exaggerating, is the best sort. It is forgiving, hardly forgetful, mature, shared, predictable, non-confining, indestructible, perpetual, and mouldable; it spans across time and place as the human beings know them. The same cannot be said for the reality, it is the human factor that makes romantic love as something unobtainable. What people feel as romantic love is frequently a sense of comfort that was borne out of companionship. That comfort is bound by the strings of attachment (often in form of fidelity) and secured with hope.

    So, I think, romantic love is not for me. True, it is admirable and a type of social status to certain circles, but I personally have not experienced the seeds of romantic love. Everything else that I see is planted too soon, too late, in haste, in jest, too much, or just little. I understand, believe me I do, that romantic love is not supposed to be perfect and rigid. But, romantic love rarely upholds the common basic ground rule that companionship usually best known as. The connectivity within romantic love often produced out of constant contact, not shared beliefs and thoughts and ideas.

    Ironically, I am saying that because I have my own ideals about what romantic love is. It should reach pass the point of companionship because it has mutual romance that acts as a catalyst in the solution. But I have come to an understanding that even though romantic love exists, its lasting power hardly ever exceed that of companionship. The romance factor that romantic love have idles the brain in understanding about harsh reality.

    In short, I currently need a companionship that is borne out of shared-knowledge, trust, honesty, and honest intentions. Because in this day and age, it is very hard for me to find and connect with people that can widen my knowledge without the condescending agenda.

    Meadow

    Thursday, March 26, 2015 Comments Off


    We went for a trip during the first baby steps of Fall. The Sun was still shining, but the captured moments between Dawn and Dust were only few in numbers. They were too short, mostly situated indoors even though that photo shoot session on the lake could be count as an exception. We were too lazy to drive, we stopped at every public place that exuded warmth on our way back home. This time, it was a shabby bar. The way back felt like longer than its original length. Make that double, you said. I did not know whether you were referring to the road or to the whiskey you just ordered.

    We fell asleep in the car. Our alcohol induced brain could not take any part of the handling heavy machinery work, so we opted to park on the side road near the bar. The next morning I woke up first. It was the hour of the wolf, actually. I got tired of waiting for you to wake up, even though counting on your eyelashes underneath that sturdy glasses or tracing the contours of your bare hands with visible veins were fascinating to me for awhile. Then, I decided to go out for a walk, just to that clear meadow that was peeking at us, teasing us to take a look at the vast space––something akin to what sirens would do.

    The dark pitch lured me. I felt oddly displaced in the car, perhaps I thought I was ruining your personal, intimate moment with yourself, or maybe because I did not feel like I was a part of you. I was a removable part of your whole persona. An irreplaceable, removable piece. There is an ingrained fear in my mind that someday this part would be removed forever. Though, I must assumed, it would not be for a long time.

    Throughout our impromptu photo shoot on the lake, I was still wondering how to keep myself not falling in love with you. How to separate between friendship and romantic pursuit, even though the latter one would be impossible to achieve.

    Turned out, I couldn't.

    Andi, Part I

    Friday, March 13, 2015 Comments Off

    As much as I believed in love, I also have this tiny, but burdening sense of self-doubt. Romantic love is something that I have always pursued and dreamed of since I was little. It was not the grandeur gestures that drew me into the obsession of finding romantic love, but it was more about the domestic life that romantic love offered. The intimacy and the warmth of having someone's attention and affection solely on you. Romantic love is something otherworldly; a whimsical, ethereal being that not everyone has the chance to experience in their life. It was something that I thought missing in my life.

    I wanted romantic love. All my life I was called a hopeless romantic for believing in it and aiming for it in life. I also had been called delusional, by a group of unmentionable sociopaths with no life, for believing the existence of it. I also been told to get my head out of the gutter for believing that one day someone would want to share their life with me.

    At one point of my life, I began to realise that perhaps romantic love is not in store for me. That Life, the Universe, and everything would not want me to experience it for imperceptible reasons. Maybe it's because that, if I had romantic love, I would crave for it when it's gone and would not appreciate the honest platonic love that my friends gave me on daily basis.


    And then our path crossed.
    The first time I saw you, I wonder, "Is he going to be another stranger in my life?"


    [Mabella Rehastri]

    Friends in Frames

    Comments Off

    In 2009, for my birthday, my friends got me this beautiful photo frames that you can make into a small stack. On the back of the each frames, they wrote this thoughtful birthday wishes for me. Displayed alongside of the felicitations were their signatures.



    A similar thing happened on my birthday this year. Along with a very handy and fancy-looking Tumbler, another one of my group of friends gave me a framed picture of the seven of us that we took a month back. Although, unlike the other picture, this one did not have birthday wishes, though I wish I had thought of this when they gave it to me so each of them could promptly write one.





    What I really love about those gifts are the thoughts that were put into them. The reason behind them buying me framed picture was that they thought that I would always carry them with me everywhere I go. Why that thought really made me feeling so blissfully blessed is because they consciously believe and support my dreams; whatever that were when I was in high school and whatever they are right now. They always want me to gain the endgame that I constantly talk about.

    By encouraging me to live abroad, they also give me the blessing to live without them, but they want me to know that I have them to come home to. That, even though I live somewhere so far away, they will keep on being there for me in the good times, but especially in the bad times.

    So, I want to thank you, girls. For staying faithful in me, for overlooking my bad days, cheering me at my worst, sharing my sorrow, fighting my inner demons, stopping my inner wars, listening to my absurd music playlist, tasting my horrible food, and keeping my head up. Thank you, my love, for letting me know that romantic love is not the only type of love that strengthens me. Cheers, for the decades to come. See you at the top, ladies.


    [lisaplace] [unknown]

    Timeless Timepiece

    Tuesday, March 10, 2015 Comments Off

    My father has always taught me to be prepared. Amongst all of his teachings, the only one that has been sticking with me is how I should always get ready for the definable it. Granted he has always given me some precautionary pep talks about certain circumstances that I will experience in the near future (or a place that he dubs as real life), yet he never fails to remind me to make provisions. I have always been encouraged to plan out my life, perhaps not down to microscopic detail rather in the whole big picture kind of scheme, in order for me to weave in the course of life more easily.

    In order to be prepared, my Dad says, we always have to be on time and be sure that we have necessary items to procure the things that we want to achieve. To make sure that I understood this, he always reminded me about taking these staple objects with me when I go out. These are important to remind me that I should always remember my goal, always remember my it.

    My wallet, as a reminder for capital, the be all end all. My phone, as a reminder that I will constantly need help from everyone. My keys, as a reminder of home––the place where it all started. And my watch, as a reminder that time is an irreplaceable currency which can be traded but can never be bought.

    However, with my current fashion favourite, my collection of watches does not suit well with them. The other day, while browsing through job applications and whatnots, I came across Zalora website and found amazing designs by Casio. If you are a watch enthusiast like my father, you would have known that Casio always offer timeless timepieces that have beautiful, intricate designs that wonderfully match any kind of your fashion preferences, especially the gold piece (which I used to own when I was younger).

    So, if you are in dire need of great timepiece, why not try using Casio? And you can buy them with special deal at Zalora. Have fun searching!

    A Study of Feeling

    Monday, February 23, 2015 Comments Off

    That pang of distress you are experiencing today?


    It's called longing.

    And it has never been known for its kind timing. Rather, longing has always popped in at the wrong moment; kicking you straight in the gut while you were crossing the street, or punching you in the chest (right at that place where it is hollowed by numerous unrecovered broken hearts you have experienced in your twenty one years of life) when you are making tea. Nothing concrete has ever triggered the recollections that you have to endure for a few suffering moments, these surreal moments cut you down into two parts, 'here', and 'there' as a fixed point in time and space, another being, another creature, another you. Your 'here' is able to decipher certain messages from another humans, while simultaneously maintaining the persona of being completely present at the time and space currently provided by the universe, even though your 'here' keeps on looking through a fogged bus window during nighttime at the place your brain calls as 'there'.

    Distantly, you can see what your 'there' is currently doing. These recollections have never been perfect down to minuscule detail, yet somehow your 'there' is always happy. Always content. Seems like your 'there' has never experienced any suffering, or confusion, or angst, or tearful moments. Because maybe that is what it is, a foggy remembrance of something that had happened in few Sun trips ago. Maybe your brain rewires some parts, making it appears as if the whole experience was nothing but a giant cloud consisted of giggly, hazy days.

    But that is not what it was.

    And it is not why your chest feels empty and heavy at the same time. It is because back then the time and place uncommonly collided with one another for a few weeks, you were in tune with life, the Earth, the whole human race, your dreams, your soul, and most importantly yourself. You were not a passing feature on Earth, you were not so-and-so's high school sweetheart, you were not another customer, you were not a fellow commuter. You were alive, living, and thriving.

    It was simply a point where your expectation and reality met.

    A justly glorified version of home.

    [x]

    Satisfyingly

    Thursday, February 19, 2015 Comments Off

    It happened during an impromptu visit to the mall.

    There is this funny, albeit somewhat predictable, repetition of us going to the mall without planning it first. Out of the blue, one of us would ask on our chat group about whether or not we were able to hang out and the others would immediately say yes. And yesterday I promptly said yes. Another two joined in. And so there were four.

    It was just like any other day that I get to spend with my closest friends. We were unburdening each other by listening and telling about almost everything with funny stories thrown in here and there. An intimate afternoon dine-in, with a small shopping spree afterwards. Typical, though not without it being special to me. Fun, heartfelt, filled-with-laughter kind of day that ended with a make over session.

    But of course, there was always something.



    Me and my friend were waiting for a friend of ours in front of her changing room, while another friend of ours was strolling to find tops that she practically had seventeen of. She was trying on two of these small, dainty, tight sabrina tops that could never work on my body. At that moment, I was busy researching about a few venues for my next birthday party. There was a lot of recommendations that came from both the internet and my friends. At the time, all I wanted was an inexpensive restaurant with good vibe and amazing food; even though I knew that inexpensive restaurants are rare creatures in my town. After I scrolled down on my phone at the images of various gastrobars, resto-pub and what-have-you, I said softly to my friend,

    "At times like this, I wish I have a boyfriend... it's so hard trying to make a decision based on something that you only know little of."

    "Come again?" she inquired.

    "You know, it's one of those big decisions that I need help to make. It's just... male insights on these things are somewhat different than ours. I just need someone that can make a decision for me so that I won't have to worry about such trivial thing."

    It was then when she said, "I'll make the decision for you."

    It was then when I realised that maybe not having to rely one someone was not so bad when you have your close friends. And I have found love in its most unadulterated, pure, and humane form. I feel blissfully and satisfyingly blessed.



    to those that aren't mentioned, you know who you are :)

    Smug Tom

    Monday, February 9, 2015 Comments Off

    For Mabella Rehastri.

    This is a story of Smug Tom.

    Everyone knows a person like him.

    I bet you do, too. With his twinkling eyes, laid-back attitude, cheeky comebacks, and the softest dark hair you have ever laid your fingers on.

    Everyone knows someone that can casually exactly hit the high and low notes of his own recorded song during live performance, someone that only uses one type of coat, someone that curls his lips when he reads the lyrics he just wrote, and someone that wakes up groggily and remains so until he sips his tea. You probably recognise someone like him, someone that treats his band mates with the same respect, love, and irritation that he has towards his own blood, someone that stays in the background during interviews, someone that makes a framed collection of his guitar picks, someone that sniffs food first before eating, someone that bases the beat of his song with the thumps of his heart, and someone that no one has to verbally elect to be a leader.

    He has not always been like that, though.

    He was once scrawny boy with half smirk-grin, smirking like he knew the extend of his charismatic guitar-playing did to the sea of underaged girls in front of him. His band mates had once dubbed him as "Smug Tom." He also used to walk with this slight swagger, and a piece of cigarette could be found perching on the side of his mouth. He never used it, though. Years later, he told me that it added a slight bit of mystery to his façade because by doing that he would not have to talk to anyone. Quite smart, he was. That kind of thinking, however, did not do well for his scholastic endeavours. His O Level was poor, and he overslept during his A Level. Poor Tom had to deal with the consequences of his shattered dreams. Music, as therapeutic and familiar as it is, has never been something that he sees as a potential field of work. He always told me that he wanted to be an engineer that was specialised in audio. He was going to improve the acoustics in international concert venues and opera theatres. Such a dream, it was. But then, he went missing.

    We met again after I finished my degree and found a job in a few towns over (there was something, other than my job at the Gallery, in this town beckoned me). It was during Winter, but the Sun was out, kissing the icicles and snow away just for a day. I was not planning to go out that day, but it was warm enough to walk around in my worn out patchwork sweater. And there he was, standing in front of the laundrette that I frequently went to. The same laundrette that makes his coat smells like home. Love has a habit of popping in the wrong time. He was carrying a bag that I presumed to be hi laundry bag, later on he told me that being in a band required him to wear the same clothes months on end and it was the first time after the tour he had finally found the time to do his laundry. I gathered my courage to talk to him.





    And luckily, he still remembered my name.

    Un-You

    Tuesday, February 3, 2015 Comments Off

    You never smiled in any of the pictures I took of you. You would do one thing or another, pretending to not acknowledge the fact that I was collecting physical evidence of us being together. Smoking was your preferred form of avoiding my favourite pastime, snapping pictures of you, because you understood how it irked me for not being able to see you properly under those shadows of false redemption. Or perhaps you did it because you were nervous. You see, I understood you as well. I knew you enough to understand that that special vice of yours was something that you would do in times when you felt like you were not yourself, the un-you. After all, being in the spotlight has never been your greatest virtue.

    You are the embodiment of every love song written by Bon Iver. You belong someplace else, not in this concrete jungle where every nightmares come true, where every single demons would trade your souls for your dreams, and where greed is the capital's currency. Your nomadic soul should not suffer in the desolation of such life.


    So, go. I understand. Find a home for your soul. Find a soul that caresses yours with the purest intention. Find love. Find the life I can never offer. Find a life that you can never grant me.

    And when you are done with everything. I will be here, a constant presence of your distant past. Still have faith in you, still always open my house with the warmest welcome for someone that can never call my house as his home.

    [x]

    (Grey) Sweater and Weather

    Saturday, January 31, 2015 Comments Off

    I'd be so good to you.

    That is an unfulfilled and wishful promise for a hypothetical futuristic scenario of me and a certain guy in light grey sweatshirt that I met a few days ago. At the time, the promise seemed like a hilarious statement, something that I just whispered in the excitement of it all, due to the thrill of innocently trailing someone that I had never met before. It was possibly one of the best circumstances that had happened to me concerning the possibility of liking someone.

    I first physically noticed him when he was walking down the escalator that was situated right in front of me. His buzz cut hairstyle was currently out of style, yet it looked like any other choice would have not accentuate his whole being. In fact, the only physical appearance of him that was the apparent major interest of every young adults that I know was his black skateboard shoes. The rest of him had this particular vibe that could only be originated from elsewhere. My friend noticed it, too.


    She also noticed that he sat behind me the whole time we were in Starbucks. My friend and I had an impromptu heartfelt story-telling in Starbucks that dark gloomy day. We were talking about how picturesque the day was––the gloomy, rainy, damp Sunday that reminded us of a certain place in certain time frame––and the conversation turned into this private session of intimate story-telling, during which I did not pay attention to the newcomers since I was too engrossed with our talk. As some may know, I am not the type of person that does not observe. Perhaps here lies my strongest and weakest virtue, being an observer, instead of a participant. Maybe not in the broader, life-wise picture, but more in the type of person that I am when I found myself alone.

    Perhaps it was the reason why I was drawn to him. The way he carried himself exuded a persona that would quite understand the comforting circumstance of being alone for awhile. The fact that he went to a bookstore afterwards was also another quality that I appreciated for I had never seen anyone with skateboard shoes with urban vibe went to a bookstore and proceeded to look for imported books. He could be one of the people that were born with the atoms from the same star. Maybe, once, our atoms were connected to one another to form this beautiful light in the sky that deliberately exploded at this predestined moment for these atoms to be carried inside us, so that we could meet at that one point in our life with our atoms caressing each other from a distant, gazing at the familiar.

    He made me think of that possibility. Could it be that the people you feel an instant connection with were made up of billions of atoms that came from the same star as you are?

    [x]
    Powered by Blogger.
    CURRENTLY
    ©