What's Underneath?

Not Today.

2012-01-29T11:54:00.005+07:00

Confusion is strangling me.

The silence is ignoring me.

If today is supposed to be a lazy Sunday,

then why are all of my senses keep working?

How honest should a confession be, to be labeled as "honesty"?

Is "I miss you" honest enough?

Come down now.

Please don't get too high on disappointments.

Well, well, well.

Don't worry.

I still have enough fibre of optimism in my tablecloth to wipe the dripping worried fear away.

I know many of God's creations to make me feel gratefully wonderful.

I believe this storm of confusing silence will pass,

as I know that life is a journey to prove that faith will make happiness last.

But not today.

Today, I am taking a gloomy day.

When Frank meets Sally

2012-01-23T20:17:00.009+07:00

Sally needs to feel that she deserves to be deserved,

but Frank couldn't see that his own insecurity makes her feel preciously insecure.

Oh boy, God really knows how to write a creatively crazy script.

There's always a way for an unstoppable will.

How unstoppable should a will be to find a way?

Should Sally force her heart to stop,

if every little thing he does makes the thought of genuine happiness pop?

Frank has gray paint spilled all over his body.

It makes him think that maybe he can only have a long-term relationship with grayness.

Sally wishes he would open up his mind,

just to let a fresh, optimistic air of hope sneak in.

"I've always thought that you're an unbelievably great man that will earn every drop of success. If you don't want me enough to compromise with your insecure ego, why can't you tell me so?" Sally whispers softly to Frank's high school photo.

"I just don't know how to break up with this demanding comfort zone to start a new journey with you" is actually Frank's current secret confession.

God really does know how to write a creatively crazy script.

I just wish that Frank and Sally would realize that Faith always has one chance to create an alternate ending.

No More Apples for Me, please?

2012-01-09T17:20:00.001+07:00

Your emotional absence feeds our relationship with a bowl of rotten apples.

My loneliness couldn't face your unwillingness by itself.

I deserve a dependable partner,

I need to find you a good faith's supplier.

If you promised me no secrets, why did you let insecurity play hide and seek?

If I mean so much to you as you said, why did you let me stand umbrellalessly under the rain of doubts?

We could happen longer if we choose to.

We could dismiss our predatory egos and start collaborating to create a better space to live in.

We could be anything as long as our hearts give us permissions.

This break up has sprayed my optimism with guilt.

Maybe your castle of willingness is still not yet finished to be built.

Honey, are you satisfied now?

Should I tell all of my abandoned efforts to take a bow?

Let's Invite Dare and Honesty to Our Party.

2011-12-12T13:16:00.012+07:00

If issues in our heads were portable,
maybe reality wouldn’t make us feel so terrible.
If your head could transfer aggressive thoughts you couldn’t deal alone,
maybe we could be partnered with dare and honesty without hurting your pride.

Wait.
Did you forget to make appointments with daring honesty?
Please make that phone call,
I couldn’t handle another day of lies and hidden intentions.
I think both of us need to learn how to trust completely, immediately.

Maybe you're afraid of the ghost of underestimating laughter.
I am too.
I wish that everyone could stop that habit of being unsupportably bitter.

Correct me if I'm wrong, my dear.
But I can sense that in every secret judgment you have for yourself,
behind every minute of the past you’d permanently erase from your head if you could,
and under every goal you’d wish to achieve before sharing them externally,
lies a dusty hope that someone would still give hugs and genuinely love you as the undeserving bastard that you think you are.

Well, if that's the case,
try me.
Maybe I’ll still do.

Will your paranoid-based expectation turn out to be accurate?
We'll never know until trial forces truth to show its existence.

The Mind Wants What You Want

2011-12-10T12:15:00.014+07:00

We can tell everyone how evil the ex-lover is, or how our boss treats us like dirt.
We are all idiots.
Nothing beats evilness of The Mind.

Imagine all kinds of crime The Mind could make.

The Mind could be that insensitive bitch who reminds us of all the disgustingly painful stories we thought we'd forgotten.

The Mind might look like a harmless, loving grandmother, but she could make us believe that we are useless in every way.

The Mind could instruct us to bail out of a good opportunity, or to get into evil plans to hurt others, and make us taste bitter guilt afterward.

The Mind might motivate us into believing that all of our hopes and plans will end up dead and buried in disappointments.

The Mind can attack us while we are snuggling comfortably under the blanket on a fluffy bed inside a locked secret room.
It is everywhere all the time.

What can't The Mind be?
What we don't let The Mind be.

The Mind is either a very deceitful employee, or a loyal and faithful partner.
To prevent life from being painted gray, we have to know exactly what we aim to be,
and brief The Mind to make effective plans for us to achieve it.
Build a productive partnership with The Mind.

Let's position The Mind as the powerful planner, and us, as the unstoppable achiever.
What The Mind makes us believe is what we end up forcing The Universe to give.

Let's Re-Wipe Our Glasses.

2011-11-30T13:27:00.000+07:00

Our way of seeing things is blurry. Dirt, skepticism, pessimism and laziness block us from finding possibilities lay ahead. So what if we can’t do it now? Does it mean we won’t be able to do it tomorrow?

What makes blurry vision feel awfully comfortable? Is it the lack of willingness to actually re-wipe our glasses? Or even worse, do we think our current vision is clear enough?

Here’s an example. I wear my glasses all the time and keep facing challenging problems. I’ve been too lazy to wipe my glasses for months, even for years. The worst thing about my dirty glasses is that it blurs my own reflection in the mirror. What do I know? How can I see things ahead of me if I can’t even see who I really am? Where have I been?

Yes. To stop me from rambling even further, let me try to make it more relevant.

Whether you like it or not, we are facing a big challenge here. Our home keeps aging without proper maintenance. The roof keeps leaking, the electricity keeps bothering, rotten apples are everywhere. Some of us might even be able to see dying promises and plans all over the floor. If this is really what we call home, what should we do? Should we get up from that comfy sofa and do something, or should we just walk out the door? Prettier and newer houses are easy to find anyway, don’t you think?

Here’s the truth. There is no one who can make you stay but you. There is nothing that can make you want to struggle but your own willingness.

The question is: do we have enough supply of willingness and patience to fight this crazy, painful trouble and bad odors? Or is it easier to blame the landlord for 20 years and expect him to fix this trouble alone?

Let’s re-wipe our glasses. Or not. It’s a matter of choice.

When Comfort Meets Something Else

2011-10-13T10:36:00.007+07:00

Aiming for peacefulness in every turbulence,
he’s reconsidering points of view to achieve what’s so called balance.
Balance in life, health, luck, crazy drunken nights and love.

I’ve known him before I even met my monthly periods.
We became comfortable enough around each other to act like idiots.
There are times when his politeness drives me mad,
especially for apologizing every time he does or says something he considers as bad.

His ability to listen, understand and observe makes me feel appreciated.
I don’t think he ever plans to make anyone feel devastated.

My selfishness feels brutally tickled by his kindness.
Basically he’s Y and I’m X.
Still, he is not a saint.
When stormy shit happens, he unconsciously turns into a self-destructive villain.

We share secrets, expectations and untold history.
The things we wish won't make us feel sorry to worry.
The more I talk to him the more I know,
that passion and motivation make him grow.

For all of the things he’s achieved,
and for some of his plans that are still moving forward,
I’m proud of the man he is, and will become.
Happy belated birthday, dearly drunk-faced man.

Swim, Kidney, Swim!

2011-10-12T18:27:00.005+07:00

You find yourself walking alone in the dark,
secretly waiting for sparks to arrive.
They say, “There’s a light at the end of the tunnel”.
You wonder if it's true, or is it only a convincing fable?

Everything looks different when they’re still new.
This unfamiliar experience you’re in is slowly converting you into blue.

Your kidney swims in the pool of Jose Cuervo,
and let your mind get too cloudy to detect the obvious sorrow.
You'd do everything possible to turn down the volume of fearful whispers on your unstoppable radio.

Look around you.
Clues are everywhere.
Some of them are even hiding behind the blanket of your weary brain.
Happiness really is a state of mind.

Never been a huge fan of uncertainty,
though you know that complaining is just an act of futility.
It is indeed a shitty, lonely journey.

One day you will wake up and realize that the journey has been meaningful.
You just need to see it from the other side.
When that day comes,
even noisy doubts won’t be able to blister.

Faith will slowly come to you and say, “Worry not, you've been doing the right thing. Just keep walking."

A Different Menu For Today's Breakfast

2011-10-02T08:54:00.005+07:00

Instead of my usual cheesy bread and milk for breakfast,
I had a bowl of sugar-coated misery earlier today.
Oh, I miss you.

Go on.
Start a journey, be a curious sponge.
Just suck in every drop of experience,
and one day you'll have tons of precious drops to squeeze.
I believe in you.

Time and distance will give us some space to breathe in our own hives of activity.
Don't worry, we still have trust, willingness and technology to keep "you and me" alive.
It's just... My days will be missing you.

Soon,
I will be aware that Skype and messenger can't hug me the way you do.
So, although I understand that your departure will accentuate a bright future,
I just..I will definitely miss you.

Am going to be a detective for months, maybe years.
My calendar and I will wait for you to arrive with huge smiles and a clue,
a piece of evidence to solve this case of solitary.
This tiny machine of romance needs your presence to make effective function.

8,000 Days

2011-09-28T13:10:00.005+07:00

Tell me, how does it feel to surrender?
I need an instruction on how to stop my mind and heart from poisoning each other.
I’ve always thought I deserve to meet misery alone.
The exhausted King of Positivity disagrees still.

Life is not a competition.
No matter how many times you’re winning,
gold won’t splash you with happiness if you forget to activate the peace.

Oh.
I wish my mind would be a Buddha.
I wish it would genuinely accept things as they are.
I wish it could stop making demands for wrapped gifts of answers.
I wish it remembered that aggressiveness could scare peace away.

My laughter covers the thoughts that make me stutter.
The possibility of getting hurt is on standby mode.
I am worried that pain would give me a permanent shiver,
every time something unfamiliar enters.

Order all the “whys” I can afford,
I get mentally broke and even answers won’t stop me from feeling cold.

My mind is not meant to be treated as an encyclopedia.
What do I know anyway?
I have only breathed for 8,000 fucking days.

Some of the guests start to spread strong, bizarre odors.
This crowded mind wishes the security guard would just open the doors.

Cough Up!

2011-09-27T07:45:00.006+07:00

I tried.
To accept things as they are.
To stop trying to revise fate with my hyperactive, paranoid mind.
I failed.

I couldn’t digest you for who you are.
Your genuine love.
Your cute attempts to shoo my frowns away.
Your breath, that smells like romance.

They creep the shit out of me.
I need the shit to stay.

I wish One Day would explain and assure you that we'll function better without each other.
I wish A New Someone would be able to make you stop feeling like a waste of time.
Not me.
All I could do is to make you cough up reality.

Honey, you were never harmful.
Everything about you is aesthetically beautiful.
My feelings for you were big and brave,
but time removed it like an old bandage.

You deserve someone who prays to God to deserve you.
Not me, a selfish brush who painted your kind mind blue.
I believe we are not supposed to exchange who we are anymore.
I don’t trust myself enough to grasp more of you.

For Givens.

2011-08-30T15:49:00.009+07:00

Today, I decided to do something different.

You see, while some people are asking and giving forgiveness, I’m just sitting here, silently roll my eyes at people who broadcast the message on blackberry messenger. I expect everything that is sent to me to be personal, but here I am, writing this for all of you at once.
There, I just admitted my oxymoron.

All right. What should I do? Should I make the list of names I’ve hurt consciously? Should I be ashamed of myself for failing to recall all my faults? Or should I just forget everything and start new?

Does saying “Minal aidin wal faidzin, maaf lahir batin..” and being replied “Sama- sama ya, Cha..” means all of my faults are completely forgiven by the person?

I have no freaking idea. I just know that I’ve done and said some seriously terrible things.

Is this writing an excuse for hesitating to apologize? Maybe it is. Or maybe it’s just my way to try and understand the process more. Maybe you will read this and think, "This is bullshit."

Whatever. I don’t think I should care about your negative judgments.
I don’t think you should consider mine, too.

Let me crawl my toddler steps to forgiveness.

Let me try not to only remember the mistakes YOU’VE done, and start making list of what I’VE done.

Let me stop playing the game of blames.

Let me smile and think that maybe today is a good day to start something new.

I am terribly sorry for everything I’ve said and done, but (I want to make it clear that) I am not sorry for everything you assumed I’ve done.
It’s going to be a long shot, but I wish the process would start now.

So, enjoy holiday, enjoy Hari Raya, and I’ll see you when I see you.

Stupid Cupid

2011-08-27T02:22:00.004+07:00

Cupid knocks on my door.
Deceiving me by sounding like my neighbor.
I wish I didn’t take a peak.
Even the slightest movement could feed my starved thoughts of you with their favorite cheese sticks.

There is nothing special with your smile.
There is nothing freeing about your sigh.
I just know that with you I would go for more than a mile.

Stop!
Need to mute these intriguing thoughts so that I can steadily breathe.
To guarantee that no man could dust off the endearment underneath.
I don’t want you to know that I’d hate it if you leave.

You become the new artwork for my portfolio of fear.
Inspiration to feel alarmed seems to be on my side whenever you’re near.
Your ability to sense the phantoms of my secrets fascinate me,
especially because all these times they’ve been marching unnoticeably.

Fuck.
I knew I should’ve murdered this toddler of injurious romance,
before it puts me into this kind of miserable trance.

Medium-rare Burger

2011-08-08T00:50:00.015+07:00

A cup of black, sugarless coffee is strong enough to keep Misery awake.
My mind starts producing assumptions of why I'm feeling dark blue.
Maybe because my loyalty has become a sheep for your shepherd.
Maybe because diabetes has forced me to stop eating the apple custard,
or maybe just because some of my friends have found somebody new.

I don't seem to have a clue.
Well, since the weather is too cold for stupidity and denials,
I'll admit that, of course it's because of you.

Yesterday I promised myself not to spare forgiveness for you and your affairs.
Especially because your excuse was "you're frigid and I'm horny."
As I was staring at your beautiful lips chewing the medium-rare burger,
I secretly wished one day you will only become a dusty memory.

My swollen heart just ripped off my sweater.
Who can blame me for thinking that God's only super power is to make things taste bitter?

Since you never wanted to genuinely call me and you as "us",
maybe it's time for me to try and cure this torturing mental flu.

Starting tomorrow, I'm going to take the cab instead of our usual air-conditioned bus,
to avoid sharing the air with you.

Meanwhile, enjoy your secret sauced burger.
I heard Cyanide makes everything taste better.

Curiosity

2011-08-05T01:30:00.007+07:00

Means asking numerous questions for the Lord of Possibility.
Means thinking that I deserve more details on what is captured.
Means I give a shit.
Oh, I do think I give a shit.

Overindulged curiosity might lead me into feeling suspicious.
Maybe one day I will end up spitting skepticism on every cup of tea Life has to offer,
and my mind will eventually admit that it has severely suffered.
What a piece of shit!

Dear Lord of Possibility,
Some said that You are the one to write my plot.
Should I just take the curves out of question marks and leave them as surrendered dots?

Shit.
“Waiter, can I get some more Faith…”

A Spoonful of Peace

2011-07-11T09:30:00.009+07:00

"What is this place? Everything sounds like Swahili."
Soul acts like a lost tourist in your own body.

Dear, you.

Take time to understand every molecule that assembles who you are.

This might be a tough trial.
Getting rid of your ghost who suffocated in denial,
and still cannot make sense out of this blurry stranger you secretly aim to be.

I know Worry is blanketed in your drunken laughter and jokes.
Deep down, you're secretly waiting for Reality to choke.

The war behind your eyes reminds me of how Hitler treated Jews.
I can see decomposing corpses of faith turn greenish blue.

Here, here.
Have a piece of fresh peace.
Eat it.
Don't spit it.

Hey, why don't you let me in?
I'll help you unwrap the dusty package of shine.

Just want to make sure that you believe in life,
as every breath you take is meant to strive.
It won't be easy,
nothing will ever be.

So please keep in mind that every time you fail,
there's a reason why God did not create you as a Snail.

Bark, Shark.

2011-07-07T23:36:00.005+07:00

I ordered a bottle of beer,
but instead came along a cup of boiled fear.
What is this feeling inside of me?
It's as if my stomach is wrestling with a bee.

I've been too tired of unconsciously thinking of you,
and look at my stupid fingers now.
Dancing happily on the keyboard just to write sweet nothings for you.
I wish to glue them all together right after I take a bow.

There, another thought crawled slowly in the dark.
Whispered, 'silence bites harder than a hungry shark.'

I wish to kill you,
I really do.
But if one day your breath stops,
will there be another you to make eyeballs pop?

Tonight, another unreasonable wish injects itself right into my brain,
and leaves me alone.

Waiting in vain,
with no one to blame.

Good Morning, Mean King.

2011-07-07T05:55:00.004+07:00

Hi, Good Morning.
The birds are lazily chirping,
my eyes are yawning.
I wonder what you are doing.

You are a jar of unresponsiveness and jealousy,
while I have bad history and selfishness spread all over me.
We sure are a dangerous combination,
though Faith says that all we need is more motivation.

I recall our last encounter,
we spoiled our stomachs with beef burgers.
That time my mouth was covered with lies,
and you were too busy making drunken plans with the guys.

My memory has been corrupted ever since.

So, yes.
This morning is for you,
and your ability to turn red into blue.
Good morning.

Pressure, Sure.

2011-07-04T22:01:00.005+07:00

Who are we?
We could be strangers with something in common,
or a pair of friends with nothing to lean on.

This hidden fear...
You see, even in the darkest space,
I can still feel the ghost of you, and the fury stares.
Deep down I know that no prayer will ever let you go,
if what I really want is not what I always show.

Wait.
Is it you that I see?
Is it with you I will be?

My notorious drinker...
I choose not to treat myself like liquid,
though you make me melt everytime your imagination turns morbid.
I feel so helpless,
since your undefined spirit makes me anxious.
I will stop forcing life to make plans for my memory's departure,
but for now, there's nothing to do but to start beating myself with a piece of furniture.

My dear,
I will let you go,
I despise your tricky eyes and insincere smile.
I won't let you go,
because in your eyes my butterflies will fly.

Mind Tickler

2011-06-29T03:18:00.005+07:00

Mind tickler.
A heart suffers.
No one else bothers.

Mind tickler.
It's not even his feature.
Maybe just a set of his unreadable gestures .

Mind tickler.
Friends tell me I'm bitter.
But honey, it's only because you make me shiver.

Your Gesture is My Pleasure

2011-06-29T02:42:00.006+07:00

Need to remember to wipe my glasses with a clean sheet everyday.
Can't believe that my vision instrument has been deceiving me away from reality,
because all I see clearly is you and your awfully pleasing smile.

My ears fail to verify what my eyes been projecting recently.
What is it?
Is it a friendly gesture, or is it an indication of mystery lay under the deep water?

No man can grasp information and call it pure fact,
without doing the act of confirmation.
So for this particular act,
when is my turn to get the correct definition of this situation?

E.

2011-06-21T20:12:00.006+07:00

There's this buddy of mine,
with extraordinary way of seeing things that makes him one of a kind.
His laughs chill the serious situations,
though deep down his brain keeps thinking on how to make dreams function.

My Buddy digs football, Bob Marley and his new iPhone.
Along with daily herb to get him into the comfort zone.

He is now living the role as a grown-up.
Challenges of life keep knocking on his door,
and sometimes he urges to respond them with "shut the fuck up!"

My buddy is like cold beer on a mean summer.
His self-confidence breathes vision and determination,
but he also understands that along the journey there'll always be blunders.

Shades of Grey

2011-06-21T01:31:00.005+07:00

Wishing well is waiting for her heart to swell.
The healing process takes more than a tube of gel.
She needs to have undisclosed moments accompanied by a guy with the cutest grin,
to talk about love, life and everything else in between.

Paranoia keeps whispering into her right ear,
saying things she never wanted to hear without a glass of beer.
"Maybe the guy is secretly dating another girl,
and even if he doesn't, what makes you think that your presence doesn't make him hurl?"

Hell, no.
She shakes her head,
wishes she had bought another pack of Faith to kill the bad thought dead.
It's been ages since her last time of feeling this way.
So why not just breathe into it with occasional smiles, and listen to Billy Joel's Shades of Grey?

...and if it doesn't work out,
maybe one day she will feel proud, knowing that she at least gave it a try, or two.
Life is too short to be dressed in Regrets and layers of feeling blue.

One day, one beautiful day.

2011-06-20T20:45:00.001+07:00

There are times when I wish for a person who breathes nothing but comforts.
Two ears, one brain, mouth and heart with capability to understand riddles I can't define.
Once I'm at the edge of my emotion, I might need someone to help me mop away the dirt.
And to present me with enough critics before imagination and selfishness drive me blind.

We would drink, experience our tremendous moment of cheers,
and laugh when a stranger spills his beer.
We would unconsciously hurt each other with our sword of words,
but deep down we know that together we connect each other's dots.

We don't have to agree on everything,
even sometimes it's okay if we argue about religions, though it won't mean a thing.
He won't be lazy to force himself to be fair,
and grasp the fact that sometimes my unstoppable mouth only wants to share.

When that day finally comes,
I hope we are already able to communicate using the language of fear.
One confession I wish to offer if he is near,
is that "I'm in awe of your flaw."

Let It G(r)o(w)

2011-06-16T00:51:00.004+07:00

My inconsideration hurt one of my best friendships.
Now him and me are as far as going to Alabama from Bali.
Though many times I tried to deny my imperfection and take the blame off of me,
I know nothing will ever fix this wrecked ship but time.

Years have passed, another resident occupied the mind.
I’ve tasted bitterness in every bite of foolishness,
yet lately I have found small piece of treats in each of my thoughts.
How can it be, that the idea of him could build a castle of possibility,
but also splashes Fear everytime I close my eyes to reminisce the past?

Let it flow, let Fear go.
Hope one day I will discover Happiness snuggling blissfully under the tears.
Dear the Universe, please let my courage grow.
So that I can safely breathe everytime Fear meets endless wishes of having him near.

DEE

2011-06-10T17:15:00.007+07:00

5 years ago..
"Dee, sweetie, what do you want for your birthday?" asked Mom.
Before I could answer her question,
she'd say, "ah, don't worry. Mommy and Daddy know best! A bicycle it is!"
This happens every year.
Throwing me a party,
and I'd find myself with all the toys, books, bags, dvds and gadgets I don't really care about.

Mommy and Daddy are very busy.
Thank God I have my imaginary friend Suzy.
They say they work hard only to make me happy.
So that I can get the best education, health and entertainment,
eventhough they can only meet me every year on my birthday.
I believed them, they just want to make me happy.

It was my 17th birthday.
Again with the party, tons of food and this time..a car.
"Mommy and Daddy know best! A car for you to drive anywhere you want. We love you, Dee."

I decided to drive the car, anywhere I want, just like what Mommy and Daddy said.
I forgot that I don't know how to drive,
and there's this bad truck hit me and my new car.

Woke up, it's the hospital.
I feel pain all over my body.
The doctor said he couldn't reach Mommy and Daddy.
I told them it's okay, that they are busy working to make me happy.

Uh, oh.
The doctor said that apparently the car crash really hurt me,
and that I keep losing blood and body weight.
He kept mumbling something about my heart, failure, and I See You, or is it ICU?

The doctor is angry,
because he can't seem to find Mommy and Daddy.
The nurses keep holding my hands,
and telling me that Mommy and Daddy will come and see me soon.

I think it's been days, or weeks.
"Dee, I'm sorry. I think you are not going to survive. You will be gone soon to heaven, and I truly don't know where your parents are." The doctor said with teary eyes, and I don't know why.
I said, "don't worry, Doc. They are too busy to make me happy."
"Yes, but they are supposed to be here with you instead, Dee."
I gave him a painful smile,
and asked him, "Doc, could you let them know what I really want to get on my birthday as a present?
"Yes, Dee. What is it?"
"I just want my presence to matter for them."

Cheese II.

2011-06-10T14:39:00.005+07:00

See this photo? You look beautiful whenever you drink too much alcohol.
Should I get drunk everytime my confidence shrunk, Jeff?
Of course not, stupid. I'm not suggesting you to become everyone's pretty face. I just want your prettiness for my own. I don't trust any other guys, except for your Father.
Jeff..tell me you can't live without me.
Jesus Christ! If your insecurity is a human being, I'd mutilate him until his blood begs for mercy. Cloudy, I thought we had this discussion last week? I feel ill whenever your insecurity asks for food. I hate these stupid questions!
Jeff, you know me, why don't you at least try to put up with me? Just tell me that you can't live without me.
Cloudy, of course I CAN live without you. You are not food, water and beer, for God's sake. Stop flattering yourself. You are not THAT important!
Oh, okay, Jeff. Another kilo for my insecurity!
What? You want me to treat you like food, water and beer, Cloudy? To treat you like something to swallow and digest just to survive? Then I'll burp, throw you away over my ass and push 'flush'? I'll even wash my hands twice after. Is that how you want me to treat you?
Jeff, I fucking hate you. I really do. Last week you made me feel loved. Now it feels like you just unnoticeably pulled the carpet under my injured feet.
Girls have their period every month, which means at that time they'll be way more unpleasant. Do you get your PMS every week, Cloudy?
No, well..I just need to make sure that you won't leave me. I need to be sure that I won't wake up one day, realizing the absence of you.
Giving you a free, all-access pass to enter my life has become both the best and worst decision I've ever made, Cloudy. I can't be sure of tomorrow, no one can. Can you be sure of tomorrow's rain? No you can't. I don't fear the possibility of your absence, I can't force you to stay if you want to walk away. It's not my job. What I fear is...the possibility of you forcing me to leave, which I can assure you, unless you decide to become a slut and cheat on me, I won't want to walk away.
Jeff...
What now? I'm trying, Cloudy. Since you have a huge crap of tolerance over my insensitivity, I guess I have to try harder to cope with your insecurity. I can assure you that I will never hurt you on purpose. I'm not going to cheat on you, because I can't even drive AND text, for God's sake. I'm not a multitasker. I'm working hard so that one day I'll be able take you to Slovakia, or wherever ridiculous place you keep rambling about. I want to build a roof for both of us to live under, but I know there are still a lot of things I need to prove. So, please be patient. Be sure of me like I am sure of you.
Jeff.. I promise I won't ask you all these absurd questions again.
Shut up, Cloudy, I know you will. I'll be your weekly reminder, as long as you promise not to become a fucking pretender. Are we clear? Now wipe your tears, go find your bag and let's have some beer!

Cheese.

2011-05-31T00:07:00.005+07:00

“Jeff, I don’t think you love me. You said I’m ugly and silly.”
“Do you know that once I dated a supermodel?”
“…how is that supposed to make me feel better???”
“Please, let me finish. I dated her for a couple of months, and we went to all of those glamorous parties. It was fun.”
“Jeff, you better finish fast. My insecurity just gained another 2 kilos, thanks to your story.”
“I don’t give a fuck about how much you and your insecurity weigh. Okay, so the supermodel was so good in bed…unlike you, who refused to have sex before marriage. Fucking lame.”
“Jeff, I am starting to feel like killing myself. I just thought you should know.”
“She is very pretty my eyes get weepy everytime I see her.”
“Jeff.. If you hate me so much why are you still with me?”
“Jesus, Cloudy! Don’t you get it? She is undeniably the hottest girl I’ve ever dated, but everytime I see her my vision gets blurry! Who the fuck would want his eyes to get blurry? We went to glamorous parties but you know me...all I wanna do is to drink my beer and laugh my ass off. You enable me to do all of that. You make me laugh, you don’t care what shoes I wear…”
“Jeff, but you said you don’t give a fuck about me and my insecurity, and that I am lame.”
“It’s true, I don’t give a fuck! I’m not here to feed your insecurity, Jesus! Do I look like a caretaker? You are lame for thinking that I am a jar of sugar, because some of the things I say might leave scar. Now listen carefully, I need you to tattoo the following confession on your mind. Cloudy, you are the only person that makes me feel understood and relevant. How can I stop my heart and head from whispering your name everytime your stupid smile makes me feel good?"
“Jeff, I love you. I’m sorry for being so silly.”
“You ARE silly, and you better stop apologizing. Repeated “sorrys” won’t work unless they give me money. Now shut your mouth and let’s have dinner!”
“Jeff, say you love me. Please. For once.”
“What a demanding girl you are! Alright, alright. I have a great interest and pleasure in you, an intense feeling of deep affection for you, a deep romantic attachment to someone. Damn, Oxford dictionary needs to learn how not to sound cheesy. Okay Cloudy, you are the girl of my reality that provides me enough faith to keep trying, breathing and smiling. You make me sleep well at night, knowing that there is one wonderful girl in this world that genuinely cares for me, no matter how rude and unromantic I am. There. Satisfied?"

Datang, ya.

2011-05-27T00:19:00.007+07:00

Aku letakkan undangan itu di atas meja kerjamu.
"Kali ini benar datang ya," pintaku.
"Ya. Sana cepat pergi," jawabmu, sambil mengusirku.

Akhirnya hari itu tiba.
Hari dimana akhirnya kau mau datang ke pesta ulangtahunku,
setelah sudah 4 tahun harapanku dibuat beku oleh ketidakhadiranmu.

Lihatlah, aku sudah dewasa sekarang.
Rambutku sudah rapih tersisir.
Pipi dan bibirku sudah dibuat merah merona,
yang kuharap bisa membuat hatimu berdesir.

Tiga jam melewatiku.
"Sudah, jangan diharapkan lagi. Dia daridulu hanya berbunyi tanpa ditepati." kata Ibuku.
"Tidak, Ibu. Hari ini dia pasti datang." senyumku, yakin.

Sudah setengah hari dari pagi,
tidak terlihat atau bahkan terdengar tanda- tanda dia akan hadir.
Tidak ada kabar sama sekali,
seakan- akan dia sudah mati.

Ini sudah saatnya.
Tanpa peduli pandangan kasihan dari Ibuku,
dan balon- balon yang seakan ingin menghibur tapi ragu.
Kutusuk leherku tiga kali,
sambil berbisik dalam hati, "datang ya ke pemakamanku, Bapak. Besok pagi."

Dear The Universe,

2011-05-17T00:44:00.011+07:00

You must think I'm morbidly stupid,
but please start giving me strong answers instead.
Why do thoughts of him make me giggle like a hyper kid,
and draw smiles on my face even when I'm out of bed?

We've been connecting for years,
and I would never want to end it only for lonely tears.
I think he might be the one..
Well, at least he made my inner child happily spun around.

He reads me like a book,
and laughs at the way I cook.

I catch fresher breath whenever his words and mine kiss,
there's no other young man in this world could give me this long-term bliss.

Dear The World of Answers,
Will him and I ever end up in the same place, same phase?
I am too excited and scared to figure out,
so please, please, kill all my doubts.

I know you're listening.
Even if it's only a secret whisper under the thunder and lightning.

The Clueless Boy

2011-05-10T10:23:00.005+07:00

A clueless boy is stuck inside a man's body,
wishes he could admit publicly "Yes, I've done some of my actions cowardly!".

He smiles genuinely to everyone,
and yet it becomes a flirt for some.
What is wrong with him?
Why do they speak Gossip when he only speaks Fear?

He admits, of course he does not exhale perfection.
Sometimes he only breathes clueless actions.
Everybody does, but they are too proud to concede.
They conceal their imperfection with others' bad decisions instead.

The clueless boy only wants honesty, loyalty and quality time with one little Imi.
A small group of people that give damns instead of shits.
Is it really hard to wish for, the clueless boy might ask.

When some of his friends became annoyingly nosy acquaintances,
he sips his beer and laughs at their stupidity.
When his mistakes attract gossipy like what rotten food does to flies,
he whines then screams his favorite lyrics for every ghost to hear.

The clueless boy is getting older.
Filled with so much hopes, fear, faith and love from the family.
He keeps on walking, as if the ground worships his every footstep.
Only because he believes that, one day things will fall into place.

Help.

2011-05-08T15:51:00.004+07:00

Help, my biggest expectation's been abusing me.

I’ve been feeding it with healthy food and occasional cheese fries,
yet it still makes me a drunken creature drowned in pain.

What is left to do but wait?
Wait for Time to prove that it’s the only one who can tell.
Not me, nor him, nor the overrated psychologist I met last week.

My retina keeps projecting his face over and over again,
until my sleeping ritual needs to be refrained.
More blessings, they say I need to count my blessings.
Unfortunately right now, insecurity is the only thing that fits me like a glove.

I am not in Love, I am in Disappointment.
A room filled of bad breath, torturing memories, haunting dreams and slapping reality.
Is there any other way to have dreamless sleeps but to die? Is there?

Help, I need to cremate my biggest expectation.

Passionately Mad

2011-04-28T16:01:00.006+07:00

They said, human beings are born as the smartest creatures on the planet. They are so proud of the fact that they can speak clearer and louder than them dogs, cats, lizards and others. They feel superior, they act as a bunch of Gods wannabes; judging, mocking and killing other creatures. I am getting tired of reading and being exposed to stupid murder stories; one that killed his own wife for not cooking the right food, one that killed her own unborn baby for being there, ones that killed others for not owning the same beliefs and religions, and the other bunch of assholes. I hate them with a passion, I really do. Murdering men, if not freedom or feelings, that's what we do every single day. I can't even see the finish line, I can't even see the warning sign anymore.

What I am about to talk about is how people are so proud of own species, they don't really care about animals. What? You believe in Islam and Qoran? You believe in Jesus and the Bible? You don't believe in God at all? I don't give a damn about what you believe and not believe, but let me ask you this question: is it true that just because you are capable to believe and not believe, to speak and to respond, give you the luxury to kill animals? Yes, animals. Some might laugh and say, "ah, come on. This is too absurd. Focus on your thesis." or "I don't give a fuck about animals, I just want to meet more women." Well, if one of those thoughts pop in your head, you can close this and move on. For this case, I won't bug minds that have no relevance with mine.

There are numerous cases on people kill and torture animals. Just because they can't scream the way you do, doesn't mean they can't feel it, dumbass. This is a case of discrimination, as some people are only focused on racial, sexuality, or even income. Yeah, yeah, maybe discrimination is for people, but think for a second, why can't you try to appreciate the presence and lives of animals, at least 17/1000.000 of how you think of yourself? I get it, not everyone love animals. But does that mean they can let their ignorance and lack of passion make them a bunch of proud murderers?

I'm not trying to be the good guy here, I myself have murdered animals too, intentionally or unintentionally. I have killed my rabbits or hamsters because of my ignorance, and intentionally kill cockroaches and mosquitoes because of annoyance. I've been guilty too. Do I have any reasons? I have some, but not enough. I am still responsible for the death of some animals.

Now the question is, how many dead bodies should there be to make us realize that we are nothing but a bunch of proud murderers?

Animals, babies, elderly and handicapped murderers deserve more than bad judgements.

RNDM

2011-04-25T22:41:00.006+07:00

"What are you looking at?"
"You."
"Why? Do I have lipstick stain on my cheek?"
"No. But now I wonder, of all the possibilities, why did you ask about the lipstick?"
"No.. I mean, well that's what people usually ask. I..watch it in movies. They ask about the lipstick stain!!!!!"
"Jesus. You don't have to yell. Ok, ok. It's the damn lipstick stain. I was just teasing you."
"You better learn how to tease to make me pleased."

ZAHRA: 22.

2011-04-21T16:47:00.008+07:00

Let me introduce you to Zahra, who is a beautiful lobster.
Why lobster?
Because she is very tough and strong on the outside but soft and tasteful on the inside.

Interested?

Well, there are many ways to get to know her better, and my way is to spend more than two evenings with Zahra, with glasses of beer, endless conversations about life, love, and fear, accompanied by cigarettes in between.

Here's what I've learned: Zahra is special and more importantly, has painted interesting images of herself on the canvas of my life.
We often have pleasantly random conversations over blackberry messenger, and occasional dates; which mostly end up in the place where at the end of the day, there’s only little details left for us to remember.

What? You need more? Okay. Well, what more can I say, except that Zahra is the right door to knock whenever you crave for sincere honesty. She laughs everytime she thinks you’re a funny bastard, and frown if she thinks you brag too much about your imaginary crown. She is honest that way.

So, here’s to the honest, lovely and bright 22 year-old Zahra.
For the “2” in her age that has found the twin.
For her smiles, fears, hopes and secret expectations inside.
For her mind, who is a sister of mine.
For her future life to shine bright, and her happiness to never go out of sight.

Happy birthday, Babe.
We sure can talk about anything, and let's keep it that way.

BUTTERFLIES

2011-04-17T21:30:00.006+07:00

As the days go by,
We are keep getting closer to our birthdays.
Every year we realize nothing ever gets younger,
the ids don’t lie, the recent age’s existence is in danger.

What is the point of trying to defeat the walking hours?
They won’t even care if we send them the prettiest bouquet of flowers.

The thing is, a bunch of butterflies in my stomach get up whenever they see you.
Though disappearance of you leaves them sleepy and blue.

Wish one day my smile will wake up the butterflies inside you,
attract them to fly happily like I’m a bowl of fresh nectar.
My dear, they are getting older too.
I just don’t want the butterflies to die of hunger.

The Worst Breakup Letter Ever.

2011-04-12T20:09:00.008+07:00

Dear Shandy,

I know what you think, why am I writing you a letter on a paper when there are other faster, environmentally friendlier tools like e-mail, messenger and even text message? Just stop questioning it, and start reading.
Here it goes... Oh, and pardon my grammar and vocabulary. After all, I am only a C-graded IT student, and I never took English literature class.

Alright, you might think that we are in a mutual loving relationship because we kiss each other everyday, my mother loves you, my brother thinks you are the coolest girl and any other bullshit you might allow yourself to believe. Here is a thing for you to remember...what my mother and brother do or feel did not represent my own feeling and thoughts. Just because I kiss you doesn't mean I miss you.

Shandy, I have to admit, you have everything I thought I would want in a person. The pretty eyes, the even prettier personality and beautiful body. When I first met you, I knew that I would want to love everything about you, and it sucks knowing that I don't even trust myself enough to actually believe that it's what I actually want.

Shandy, I could never tell you this because everytime I try to tell you, your eyes would look like they are ready to flood themselves, your soft, worried voice would stop my brain from giving instructions and leave me speechless instead.

Well the truth is.. I don't feel right. You remember the old cliche, "it's not you, it's me"? Well, that is exactly what I feel about you, about these intense series of 'seeing each other' we had.
I feel ugly inside and out around you. I feel trapped, without you even purposely try to strangle me.
I am sorry to say, Shandy, but your greatness has waken up the insecurity and depression I've always had buried inside me. I am too coward to tell you these, I am a fucking wuss.

So after 2 years of my painful journey of desperately pretending to love you, I decided to write this letter. I hope by doing this, you will have a better understanding about who I really am, and how difficult it is for me to breakup with you. Oh Shandy, I wish I could tell you what is wrong with you, as I always have been an expert of blaming others.
Unfortunately, there is NOTHING wrong with you and that's why it creeps the shit out of me. I like being right but sometimes I need you to make mistakes to make me feel right.

With this letter, I am granting you full-time permission to come over to my house everytime you want. You can take my mother out for shopping, or have coffee with my brother, and in 2 or 3 years, maybe you can date him. Don't worry, he's in love with you, and he's a great guy. Two great people are meant for each other, and someone like you deserves a man who is able to love and appreciate, just like him.

So, Shandy, since I at least know myself well enough to know that if I break up with you the usual way people do, my cowardice won't ever leave me alone, let alone my monstrous fear of causing you pain; which is why I am going to do it this way. I just wish that your eyes won't experience tsunami, that they will stay sufficiently dry; and your soft, beautiful voice won't lose its art.

Oh, maybe one day you will nod and say, "okay Michael, I understand you now."

Please never ever change, Shandy.
You are God's masterpiece and I am just a misshaped creation of his.

Michael
p.s. Just in case you're wondering, the sex has always been amazing, you seem to always be willing to do any kinkiness I possess inside my soul. But it's never enough to make me crave you the way you deserve.

(This letter is found after the paramedics have succesfully parted Michael's dried out, blueish pair of lips; with his eyes sewn shut and ears stuffed with cigarette butts.)

Inhale, exhale.

2011-04-07T12:04:00.015+07:00

I wish it was over.
No fresh air would understand this depression undercover.
The more I inhale,
the more I have to exhale.
You've been filling yourself with something untouchable you need to give back.

I wish I was dead,
but no, suicide never popped in my head.
I wish my words were not a thread,
but boy, they do sound like a mad, crazy cat.

"Fill your days with gratitude,"
which according to some people I know, is the right attitude.
I am grateful,
but that doesn't mean I can always stop myself from feeling dreadful.

Being around my Loved ones,
my insecurity is being secretive and careful.
But most of my nights,
I feel awful.

Please, stop blocking my air.
I need to inhale, exhale.

BRIGITTA

2011-04-05T19:36:00.005+07:00

She breathes magic dusts,
and does not prioritize lust.
Whenever feels haunted by her past,
she will hide inside her nest.

What she believes in makes her feel naive,
how some people think the exact opposite.
The fear grabs her sleeve,
and slow down her smiles, bit by bit.

All Brigitta wants is happiness,
which will not be complete until her loved ones feel the same.

I believe one day she will get it,
and everything she dreams of will fit.

Brigitta is a warm-hearted girl,
who bakes warm cookies,
and hates the sound of intensified drill.

Happy Birthday, my best friend.
I am sending you virtual love, hopes,
and whispers so that you believe you deserve all the blessings you've earned.

More, and more to come!

Cemburu

2011-04-05T18:44:00.005+07:00

Untukku sehari sekali, dan untuknya dua kali sehari.
Bahkan mungkin untuk dia bisa lebih.
Semua yang aku takutkan menjadi nyata.
Ketika aku menginginkan intensitas,
dan yang aku dapat adalah permintaan kuantitas.

Tekan sekali sehari.
Andai aku bisa memilih,
aku ingin seperti dia.
Dipakai dua kali sehari, berkali- kali.

Keadaan yang nyaris selalu sama,
setiap kali aku, dia dan kamu bersama.
Kau biarkan dia menyentuh seluruh badanmu,
dan aku hanya bisa memuaskan diri dengan rambutmu.

Tanganmu terasa hangat, selalu membuatku tercekat.
Rambutmu halus dan banyak,
seringkali aku tersesat disana sampai nafasku sesak.

Dia selalu tersenyum bahagia,
setiap kali waktunya untuk menggerayangimu tiba.
Aku hanya bisa meringis sedih,
setiap kali aku tidak sengaja membuat matamu pedih.

Andai aku itu dia,
dan dia itu aku.
Tentu aku akan bisa merasa bangga setiap kali ibumu berkata,
"jangan lupa sabuni punggungmu juga ya, Nak."

Sampai hari itu datang,
aku akan selalu menanti,
hari dimana aku menjadi sabun dan bukan lagi shampo untukmu.

Welcome, welcome.

2011-04-03T23:46:00.010+07:00

You find yourself driving slowly,
to somewhere no one knows, not even us.
It looks like a house,
with wooden doors covered with dust.

Please, come on in.
There.
You open the door and set your eyes onto so many things.
A blanket, 3 chairs, bottles of milk, books and of course spiderwebs.

Take a seat, sip the milk and make yourself warm.
There.
Is everything okay now?

Oh, wow.
You are reading one of the books,
that one is my favorite too.

Hours and hours spent,
thoughts are flying around you like a bunch of flies.
They buzz like flies do,
some of them are born out of trash,
but the other some are precious.
Please don't kill them all.

You are looking comfortable now,
the blanket fits you like a glove.
Why don't you close your eyes?
The weather is not supposed to be spent awake.

There, there.
One whole day and you think that life is not really bad.
Everything smells familiar,
the buzzing thoughts are no longer asking for war.

Days go by,
you are now painting the walls,
redecorating the room.
The crowd of your favorite photos are making you feel safe and sound,
you'd do anything to make it feel like home.

It even smells like home now,
as the existence of spiderwebs is no longer strangling you,
and your mother's chocolate cookies are preparing themselves in the oven.

Does it feel like home yet?

Welcome to my head.
Feel free to stay until I am dead.

My boyfriend died.

2011-04-02T18:49:00.004+07:00

Why do you visit someone's grave just to have a nice, loving moment with him?
Why do you even bother to drive all the way to the place where you can only talk to the memorial stone, wishing he could hear you, wishing he would smile underneath the ground?
What if the guy was buried 10 miles from where you are? Does that mean he is not around you?

My boyfriend died.
No, I did not drive all the way just to touch and slowly weep near his stone.
I did not wear black to show everyone how sad his death made me feel.
I did not scream, get drunk and cut myself like some depressed people do.

I have my own, easy way to mourn.

I just have to get naked, look at myself in the mirror and smiles at all the scars, wounds and burns my boyfriend purposely gave me...one hour before I stabbed his chest with 2 scissors and stick all of my eye pencils on both of his eyeballs.

Rahasia.

2011-03-24T01:21:00.011+07:00

Perlahan dia bergerak menuju rumah,
tempat semua rahasianya disembunyikan dan diperlakukan sebagai tahanan.

'Diam.' Katanya.
'Kalian semua hanya boleh bergerak setelah ke 100 kalinya mata ini mengejap- ngejap.'

Dia menahan kedua matanya dengan lakban,
agar tanda bahwa semua rahasianya bisa bergerak akan datang dengan lamban.
Tersenyum dia membakar sepuntung rokok sisa kemarin pagi,
dan mulai berpikir, kepada siapa dia akan berbagi.

Jam dinding pun mulai mengaum, kehabisan kesabaran.
Sepertinya ini saatnya, ya, ini saatnya.
Perlahan laptop dia hidupkan,
koneksi wi-fi pun dia sambungkan.

'Ah, itu dia teman- temanku. Mungkin ini saatnya video call, menyeleksi siapa yang bisa diandalkan sebagai teman berbagi.' Katanya sendirian, melihat orang- orang yang hidup di account skypenya.

Dia mencoba menghubungi Riki, yang dibalas pesan singkat: 'Maaf aku sedang bercengkrama dengan pacarku, kamu tahu kan, yang di Melbourne itu.'
Dari Adelia dia mendapat respon: 'Bisa kita bicara besok saja? Ini sudah jam 2 pagi. Aku sedang tidak ingin mendengar celotehan anehmu saat ini.'
Penolakan yang berulang- ulang dia telan dengan pelan,
sampai akhirnya dia berhenti mencoba.

'Ya sudah. Berarti ini pertanda bahwa kalian tidak akan kubagi dengan siapa- siapa. Kalian milikku, dan hanya milikku selamanya." Bisiknya lirih kepada rahasia- rahasianya.

Suara pistol meledak,
membunuh semua tahanan yang ada di kepalanya;
memecahkan kepalanya sendiri,
menyemprotkan darah seperti air merah untuk dia mandi.

Tadi, tepat sebelum pelatuk ditarik,
dia tersenyum bangga dan menepuk pundak sendiri,
akhirnya semua rahasianya menjadi tahanan abadi.

Blink, damn it.

2011-03-14T21:14:00.008+07:00

The lad moves in his own way,
says the truths whenever he's not feeling shy.
He may not be the fairest guy,
but his presence flies my innerness high to the sky.

A fool I've been.
So long, it starts to vent my spleen.
I stare at the gadget slowly waiting for it to blink,
but only until the clocks sigh and say that maybe it is just not the right time.

I know, I know.
Perhaps I need to poison the wishful thinking.
But before I shout "fuck off" at my willful sorrow,
let me express how much I find the lad endearing.

CIGARETTE

2011-03-12T12:07:00.017+07:00

I feel the burn,
I feel the pain,
I feel everything you don't think I can.

She opens her eyes to find that he is in her every layer of thoughts.
Visuals of his smiles and frowns, how he sounds when he laughs,
and the way he sometimes treats his cigarettes like princess.
She sips her coffee, and tries hard not to question herself.

I am the chosen cigarette.
Instead of my other friends,
he spotted me first.
Burns the tip of my head,
which somehow is a dread.
But to know that I'm going to come into the presence of his lips is just beautiful.
A part of me will always stay inside his lungs, breathtakingly.

He looks at her, then stares at the ashtray,
to grab the dying cancer stick.
She sighs, shakes her head,
and thinks to herself, "I wish I was that one fucking cigarette."

Hey lady, look at me,
I am safely resting in between his finger.
Now this is what worthy sacrifice feels like.

Have YOU met Narga?

2011-02-26T18:31:00.017+07:00

When a girl meets the most influential man in her life, she will definitely embrace his presence. This story is about how I met a man named Narga, and the way he makes me feel.

It was quite a long time ago, as my first encounter with Narga was in November 1989. He looked so big, so new, but I could swear at time I thought his voice was familiar, maybe because he used to talk to my mother’s stomach, waiting for me to come out and meet him.

Since then, he became my savior, the right partner for my Mother. Feed me, made me laugh, making sure that I feel good, and held me whenever I was sick. He tried, and yet still keeps trying to make me feel loved, that nothing is impossible in this world. He wanted to make sure that I feel possible.

Our relationship became stronger, and yet it’s getting even more real. I remember the night he made me cry so hard, when I couldn’t find the right equation for my math homework. The memory was so clear; how scary he was, how stupid I felt, and how it made me want to try harder.

I’ve had moments when I was too scared to talk to him, because I wasn’t ready for his reactions. Don't get me wrong, Narga never yelled at me. Usually the softer his tone is, the sharper his words are. He has this natural ability that can make me feel so small, so inferior, with just a few sentences, and he didn't even realize it. I only let a few people to make me feel that way, and the one that’s been holding the first prize is Narga. He aspires, inspires and sometimes his strong presence makes me perspire.

Nevertheless, since he can make me feel so weak without him being intended about it, he can also make me feel so good about myself. Sometimes the way he stares at me, his words and his smiles shine on me like a warm sun in such a freezing, jacketless day. When he does that, I feel like I can conquer everything, that fear of failure is just nothing. His jokes…don’t even get me started on his jokes…they light candles when it’s too dark to even blink.

Don’t you think Narga sounds like a very crazy man with big personality? If you do, that’s because he is. His knowledge, his unlimited spirit and courage to keep moving forward are so strong and deep I feel so lucky he’s been in my life all these times. His 51 years of life inspires people around him, and perhaps also scares the hell out of the other some too. That’s Narga for you; you can either love him or hate him, because he never settles for one gray area.

Narga is a family man, a very good one, as he always prioritizes his family, and values them as his most important treasure, that we are what made him feel rich on the inside.

Here's the thing, as much as I can tell you about him, there are of course a few things I don’t understand about him, how he could do things that way. I guess it’s because of what he’s experienced, what he squeezed out of his every single moment of his live, stays inside of him, and some parts of them will only belong to him: leaving us wondering, and making him a huge mystery.

Okay, you might wonder, why am I telling you all of these? Well, maybe because I want to share the warmth that I feel when he’s around, and maybe because this is what I want to tell Narga on his 51st birthday. I was lucky for having him, still am and will always be.

...or maybe, I just want to say these words to him: Happy birthday, Ayah. I hope I can make you feel proud, loved and inspired, even if it’s only 1/8 of what you made me feel.

Alright, seriously...have you met Narga?

Platinum Cards.

2011-02-15T14:38:00.005+07:00

I was looking at him from a far, there was nothing else I would do but to force my visual detectors to zoom, until it felt like he was talking to me, and not to that little sweet creature. He looked as if the creature said something interesting, maybe that, or he just wanted to get into her pants.

I have been suspecting that my feelings for him did not want to leave as planned, they wanted to stay longer until my 2009 desk calendar decided that its death has come. I thought, yes, I would give them another year to stay, but then they must leave because their presence made me felt vulnerable and weak inside, like a giant bowl of wet cotton candy.

The death of my 2010 calendar, and the feelings show me 6 platinum credit cards, saying that the limit should be able to cover their expenses until God knows when..

2011-02-07T21:14:00.001+07:00

He is a handsome stone,
And you, my dear friend, are a fresh piece of scone.
The mind and the heart are on fire,
Trying to point out your hidden desire.

Sometimes you might ask yourself,
Is it too selfish for you to ask for a little piece of passion?
You have given so much you stopped checking out the shelf.
You are just a wonderer, is he going to ask you to join his happiness mission?

2011-02-07T21:10:00.000+07:00

As I keep wasting my tears,
I remember you would whisper into my ears.
Asking me, what are the odds of us being together?
And you would end it with a confusing laughter.

We had a great night, what a great fight.
Your eyes, your smile, I could not get them out of my sight.
My tipping point would be when you told me you want to be free,
free from me.

My sister and friends thought you are a charmer,
but my heart felt like a mice under a sharp hammer.
One magical year,
Ended up with a hopeless wish to still have you near.

2010-11-22T11:26:00.003+07:00

I am incapable of memorizing important things,
and able to make a small detail stings.
No, not the theories I should've known to succeed my exams,
all I could think of is how you read all your birthday greetings and treat them as spams.

My 21st year.

2010-11-06T14:06:00.003+07:00

It is never a surprise that on your birthday, you grow a year older.
What is a surprise is that how some people are still willing to stay in your life, not wanting to migrate,
no matter how irritating you've been for all these times.

I have been as irritating and unreasonable as FPI for some of you,
and probably for the other some, I could be considered as a pain in the ass. Or both.

I could be a disgusting cough syrup you'd prefer not to drink but,
or a green apple that is just 30 minutes away from being rotten.
I may have failed to show how much I appreciate your presence,
and your lack of absence whenever I was down.

So, this is just a writing, feel free to think that it sucks,
because this is not an essay competition anyway.
If a picture paints a thousand words, then to hell with it,
do I even need a thousand words?

So, well, thank you so much for each one of you, for being who you are.
For being so patient sometimes it raises a question in my head "how come they are still here?"

I can't promise to be kinder, or to be less stubborn, because I don't want to swallow my own bitter words, as they are not really tasty.
I just want to show how much I love (if not, appreciate) each of your action and word, the moments that are not meant to be forgotten, and the feelings we've experienced together.

If my life is a hotel, how I wish you'd want to stay longer, and feel free to meet the manager for further complaints and suggestions.

2010-09-17T04:37:00.007+07:00

My wife just got home from the doctor.
She's crying, crying and crying.
I slowly walk to reach her shoulder,
and ask "what's the matter, honey? What happened?"

"This is the worst day of my life."
"Why? Come on, tell me. I'll make you feel better." I said, as I'm trying to play with her bra.
"No. Stop it. I'm not in the mood. I just want to die."

I am very worried. What is it? Is she dying? Did the doctor said that she had cancer? Aids? Oh God, does that mean I have it too?

Two hours later, I found her dead with a knife on...oh Jesus. On her vagina. My favorite part of her body.

And a note saying,
"You want to know why I cried, asshole? The doctor just told me I had menopause.
WHICH MEANS there is absolutely nothing stopping you from fucking me like a dog. Now eat this. I'm dead and there is no way you can still fuck me because it's torn apart."

Erica

2010-09-16T00:11:00.006+07:00

I'm looking at you, through the lens.
Zoom in, zoom out, I can even make you hazy.
If it's too dark, I can still see you secretly dance.
And when the sun's too self-centered, I'll just ask you to act crazy.

Erica, my muse.
It's been you and only you my lens would catch.
Erica, my cup of tea.
It's been you, and only you my lips would taste.

Now, things change so swiftly.
I've never even seen a cheetah could run that fast.
Erica, why did you cover your perfect property,
with a freezing sadness no one can bear.

I Went Hiking

2010-09-07T01:43:00.005+07:00

Dear Steven,

As my brother, you have the OBLIGATION to help me. Just in case I'm dead because I'm not really good at hiking, and I don't know how on earth you can convince me to try. I hate you for that. But since I have literally no one else but you, so can you just drop your fucking attitude and help. Yeah?

I've dedicated my last can of chocolate biscuit for the girl named Shazila, the cashier at the coffee shop near the park. Please tell her that she is more beautiful than Zooey Deschanel, and that I'm in love with her eventhough I've only said "thank you" and "sorry, I've got no small change" to her.

Tell Mom that I am very sorry for not calling her back, my phone was in silent mode. Oh, please add "Germaine loves you very much", because you know, that's what a good son does. DON'T tell her the real reason, that I was high, too high to even blink. I will haunt you every fucking second so that you won't get the chance to masturbate if you ever tell her that.

Remember the cool watch I bought last week? Please give that to the homeless man outside our apartment. I'm pretty sure that he could make use of it, well if he's clueless, just tell him to fucking sell it and buy tons of hamburgers. And fries. But note this... the watch is not, and never will be yours.

Well, last but not least... Please, believe me for once in your life when I tell you this: I ONLY LIVE INSIDE YOUR HEAD. YOU ARE FUCKING INSANE, AND I'VE BEEN INVADING YOUR IDIOT BRAIN. GO! JUMP OFF THE CLIFF. EAT SHIT AND DIE.

I wish you a long, painful death, and that the maggots will eat your disgusting face first.

Yours, and will always be,
Germaine.

Answer.

2010-09-03T05:21:00.003+07:00

Why did you die?
Both of still have to settle for another lie.

Look at you, eyes closed, cool skin and yet your thin smile still makes me shiver.
My dear, why did you die?

You never looked prettier than this.
So calm, captivating.

Yesterday, I had to grab both your arms to stop you from moving.
I had to give you a kick on the head to stop your filthy brain from thinking.
Draw a red line on your lips to stop your raspy voice from singing.

Now tell me honey, why did you die?

I WANT YOU

2010-08-19T02:16:00.005+07:00

While everyone's busy praising themselves,
I'm staring at you secretly, behind the bookshelf.

My right hand keeps trying to dominate the left,
but what the fuck. I want you to dominate me.

I want you, the way an anorexic model wishes that she could puke without having to poke.

I want you so bad, screw the rest.
Let's disappear and never even stop to say hello to the past.

I love you, I love your stupid earring, and I even love your abusive dad.
I love you, I love your greasy hair, harsh behavior, and I even love your dead mom.
I love you, I love you so much the Headache decided to marry me.
I love you, I love your round eyes, sexy tattoo on your back, the way you stroke me.
I love you, I love everything about you, except the fact that we have the same gene.

One glance of you makes me feel like you're the answer for cancer.
I love you, Big Brother. Let's fuck the world, and have disabled babies.

YOU ENTER

2010-07-13T09:02:00.007+07:00

You enter.
With a smile that may not able to make the flowers bloom,
But it sure is good enough for me to drop my spoon.

You get out.
Sadness hugs me tight.
To fill my eyes with liquid, oh the sorrow is too bright!

You come back,
I suck another pack.

The smoke keeps the situation blurry,
I say to the cigarettes, Hey let’s have fun. No hurry.

The repetition reaches number 82.

I aim for your Love, Mister.
But all you cause me is lung cancer.

A late birthday gift

2010-06-02T09:49:00.010+07:00

This may sounds cheesy and too lovely to be true.
But have you met her?

Someone with a box of crayons,
to draw colorful smiles on your face.
A hug machine,
who knows exactly how to calm me down.
A good friend, a good sister, a wonderful woman.

I've laminated the first moment I had with her.
At first it's dark, rainy and windy.
I was as 20 year old as I could possibly be,
and she was as sweet as honey bee.

The words and hugs she gave me were indefinable,
but one thing I know for sure,
She's the one to run to when it rains,
with umbrella to prevent the stains.

Literally, and metaphorically.

So, this is just a late birthday gift.
If they say that a picture is worth a thousand words,
then maybe, this is just a very simple sketch.
Just to remind her how lovely she is,
the kind of person everyone has to fetch.

My biggest wish for her is that she will get all the Love that she deserves.
To light up her life whenever she feels dark,
though she is the woman who will always have that spark.

Happy birthday, S.
I will be there for you.

Repeat to Defeat?

2010-05-30T17:53:00.007+07:00

What appears before me,
I shall not be jealous of.

Like the earth and the sea,
the grandparents and the old trees.
Pity me if I ever envy.

Just like your past,
I had no intention to defeat.
What's in the past won't last,
that's why I need you and me to repeat.

What's there to repeat,
one might ask.
Chemistry, maybe?
Yeah, that's one.

Life is a school with no visible headmasters,
can't run and cry to the teachers.
I sure have failed in biology,
but what the heck,
all I need is more chemistry.

It's for me and you,
and maybe that other person in blue.

Second chances don't come with notifications,
if you agree with me,
let's turn these words into actions!

Father and Mother

2010-05-30T17:29:00.005+07:00

I was born covered with blood and slime,
no bell seems to chime.
Can't imagine how painful it was to have me,
but Mother treats me as if I'm gold.

Father was born in the 60's,
his life back then must be so different with what I have now.
He is the man that would never stop,
even when bad things suddenly pop.

He is my role model,
a yes man, a boss, a father and a kid who loves his burger.
Nothing Is Impossible meets The Sky Is Not Even The Limit,
two phrases that I need to stick on my mind, yes I permit.

Mother is a real woman,
lost her mother and had to grow up before puberty.
Though life used to treat her hard,
yet she still got enough heart and sensitivity.

Am biologically a mixture,
like coffee and cream in a cup.
This cup is still thinking,
on how to deal with, and give the best for life.

Am a combination that still tries to find a way,
to be a willing, loving and faithful creature.

Father and Mother make me think.
Oh I don't, can't and won't let them sink.

I really want to paint the smile on their faces and mine,
and permanently tattooed happiness in the hearts.

Why?

2010-05-30T17:06:00.006+07:00

It started with a glass of coke,
and ended with a choke.
I do not wish for you to share me your pain,
but then no one with no umbrellas would want rain.

I am someone who will not lie,
if I still find some truths to buy.
You are someone who wants to poison my head,
but will pour slowly if I show you the thread.

You swallow everything I pour,
like a huge hole on my bathroom floor.
Why would I want another swallower,
when sometimes parts in my life suck big time?

Tell me, why?

Well, well, well.

2010-05-30T16:05:00.000+07:00

Sadness gave me another visit.
I decided to treat it differently.
I gave it drinks, ciggies, candies and we watched DVDs together.

"What brought you here, Sadness? I didn't call you."
"You didn't Marsha. But I miss you, it's been a while."
"You miss me? What the fuck?"
"Yes, and I'm jealous that Grudge gets to visit you more."
"Grudge? It's been a long time since Grudge came down and visit me. You got it all wrong."
"Of course it's been a long time. Grudge never leave your side."

Oh, shit.

Give the bed a fucking break.

2010-05-30T14:45:00.006+07:00

Call me Eddie.
I have lived here for 30 years.
Just to feel them moving wildly on me, and sometimes even with tears.
I am tired of sex.
Can't they just talk and open up?

Romano, the guy who owns me, is a godsend.
Smart, wealthy, and unbelievably charming.
Magda craves for his money,
and Romano wants her body.

"It's a date, let's trade!" says Romano.
"Tonight, I'll be your slave, but you have to build me a cave." whispers Magda, heavily.
"Cave? What is up with that? I'll build you a castle." Romano.

There they are, playing the game of love.
I am too old for this, please, stop moaning and scratching.
30 years of vulgarity and insecurity,
what did I do to deserve all of these?

Please guys, I'm trying to sleep.
The bed wants to have its share of rest.

What happened?

2010-05-30T14:31:00.003+07:00

She tried to look away, remembering february to may, and say, "I'd love to experience one whole year with you."
One whole year doesn't mean they have to meet everytime the weather's clear. One glance is enough for her and maybe one word to hear.

He tried not to look away, remembering february to may, and say, "One whole year with you will drown me in a deep pool of fear."
One whole year doesn't mean they have to meet, even if the weather is very clear. One glance is too much for her, and he doesn't want to say anything for her to hear.

"What happened with us?" She asked, sadly.
"Life happened." He answered, firmly.

A sister, My Sister.

2010-04-25T16:46:00.005+07:00

A scar is a way to remind you that it's real,
unlike the straight hair some of your friends have.

Tears are there to moisture your eyes,
not to make you unable to walk straight.

Walls are supposed to keep you safe and warm,
and what did they do to deserve such heavy and emotional punches?

Your hands are there to help you to touch,
not to slowly getting numb just because everything's a mess.

It is a big pile of mess,
I'm not gonna lie to you.
I feel it too,
knowing that I won't be around to stop you from giving up.

Here within this writing,
I am about to declare,
my unconditional Love, Faith and Hope for you.

Be tough, because you are not made to be rough.
Just remember, when it's getting unbearably rough,
you are made to be tough.

2010-04-25T16:10:00.002+07:00

I don't know, maybe it's the dusty wind.
Or maybe just a devilish grin.
All I could say is I am easy to feel uneasy.

Don't get me wrong, it's not because of your attitude,
or the smallest act of gratitude.
It's just me and a bowl of thoughts,
that could take me somewhere I call 'anxiety'.

Feelings are pressed deep on my heart,
thoughts are glued inside my head.
Should I blame anyone for being so clingy,
while I'm all about being dark and cynical?

You don't think so,
and yes, I don't think so too.

So meanwhile,
I'm gonna steal one of The Beatles's songs,
called "Let It Be".
Just to get me through the day.

2010-04-25T15:08:00.002+07:00

Picture me sitting with my old book and a cup of coffee.
This is the undefined waiting room, everyone here look so strange.
Next to me there's this young lady, who is crying without tears,
she's waiting for things to change. That's what she said.

On the floor, an old man is struggling desperately,
to reach out for his glasses on the table.
No one would want to help, and he didn't seem to bear.
I tried to help him,
and he said "Don't, you have issues of your own. I'm dying anyway. Don't mind me."

Shivering, I'm now trying to find out what are my issues, and why he didn't let me help.
Issues, issues. Where can I find those?
Why is he so sure that Death wants him more than me?

Issues, issues.
Dropped everything I have
I'm calling out for them, reaching out for them,
wanting to find them so much I forgot my main purpose of being here.

Simple things, where are you?
I don't mind being complicated but I sure want you more.

Touching my knee softly,
the old man said "My dear, simple things are myths. No one could ever show the real proof of their existence."

Oh, fuck.

InsideOut

2010-04-25T14:22:00.003+07:00

A lizard is in love with a baby crocodile.
"This is a new thing. Please make sure it's safe before you fall." The wise Snail says.
"You are a lizard, he is a baby crocodile. He'll eat you alive." The paranoid Bird says.

A lizard is falling even deeper with the baby crocodile.
Just the thought of him walking and eating insects,
shivers her alive.

One day,
the time has come.
The baby crocodile feels lonely, and decided to look down, way down,
where the lizard waits for weeks.

"Hey, lizard. Why are you so small?" The baby Crocodile opens up a conversation.
"That's because you are so big. For ants, I'm humongous. You don't like me being small?" The Lizard asks, secretly wishing he'll say sweet nothings.
"You are smart. I don't mind you being small, do you mind me being so tall?"
"No, crocodile. I don't mind. Everything you do, everything you have, everything you are, I don't mind." The Lizard finally opens up.

"Everything I do? You don't mind?" Baby Crocodile tries to confirm.
"I don't mind at all."
There, with the perfect amount of permission the Lizard gives,
the Baby Crocodile swallows her, it took him only 2 seconds.

The wise Snail, the paranoid Bird, and pretty much everyone who hears the news cry like widows. The Lizard is the nicest friend they ever had, but there's no way they could ever try to kill the baby Crocodile. Lizard's gone anyway.

The whole place has turned into a mourning space.
Tears and bloods are dropping.
All cries for Lizard.

Lizard is smiling happily in the stomach.
Nothing could beats her happiness,
as she finally gets into the body of her Man Muse.

Nothing could take her away from him,
unless she stops moving.

Disgusting Creatures

2010-04-25T14:05:00.003+07:00

Let's face it, we are all disgusting creatures.
Some of us are blessed with amazing features,
but deep inside we just want to live with deep rapture.

We live to die proudly,
and yes there were creatures that played God,
may they burn in hell.
May us burn in hell.

The angels are getting drunk, as they keep noticing how beautiful they are.
We are getting high, as we keep realizing the slum we all living in.
So lucky for them babies, as they have their books empty and ready to be filled.
Pages of my book are torn apart, I just can't afford to look back.

My dear, we are all disgusting creatures.
If you don't believe it,
just try to knock on the sky and listen to the sound.
Yeah, that's Zen Saying.

Look up, look down.
Look left, look right.
Can't you see that we are all disgusting creatures?

ORGY

2010-04-25T00:21:00.005+07:00

Orgy in my head.
There's always orgy in my head.

Starts with a sight, fright or anything that could be captured by my sense.
Sometimes they are so dull like a blind-colored bull, but this one is so tense.
I could feel the moan, cry, and oh boy, they say all the dirtiest words Warhol could ever grasp.

Orgy in my head.
There's always orgy in my head.

No, it's not love, it's not babies, and I can't remember where hey dropped the sperms.
Orgy of assumptions,
the one that could fail my good side to turn into actions.

Whatever state I'm in, there's always an orgy in my head.

No pope could ever stop that.

You

2010-04-24T16:11:00.001+07:00

I secretly capture your face every time you’re around. Thank God for these eyes I have, no one knows I do that. It’s so easy, I only have to take a good look at your face, count until three, whisper your name, and voila! Another picture of you, kept in my head.

I have pictures of you smiling, yelling, smoking, sleeping, talking to someone, chewing your gum, but right now.. I’m looking at something different. I have zoomed this one, and I couldn’t recognize what kind of expression that is. Your lips looked pale, and you have this wrinkle right between your eyebrows. YOU DON’T HAVE WRINKLES! What’s going on with you?

I know I should just come to you and ask “are you okay?”, but I don’t have the guts to do that. I know exactly that my voice will be squeaky and you will look at me and ask “who the hell are you?”. No, no. I don’t want that.

Instead, I spend my spare time, trying to find out what it is that caused wrinkles on your soft, clear face. I see it almost every week, the wrinkles appear right between your laughs. What’s going on? Please tell me. Yes, I’ve been talking to myself because again, I still don’t know where to buy ‘guts’.

Where are you? It’s been nine weeks since the last time I saw you. My heart is aching, my eyes are screaming, wishing loudly to capture you again. Yes, me too.

On the next day, I see your friends. They look pale and sad, the way I look everyday. I finally have the guts to ask them where can I find you.

They take me to a big house, the one that would make you stop for at least two seconds, just to stare, and try to take a guess: who lives in such a big house? Guess what, it’s you!

Yeah, I am very excited. My eyes start to capture everything. Your piano, your pile of shoes, your photos, and there you are. Wearing your best suit, looking very pale but still stunningly beautiful, without even one wrinkle between your eyebrows. I try to capture you, but my eyes are all puffy and wet. This unknown water keep coming out of my eyes, ruining my lenses, and I find it very difficult to capture you.

Like a broken camera, I sit there, and do nothing but making breaking noises.

Another Confession

2010-03-26T11:54:00.006+07:00

This is actually a (love) letter for the loved ones.
The ones when they're not around, I feel like a crab is biting my stomache.
The ones when they let me down, I feel like my head is covered with a big pile of crap.

Who are they?
Oh, the list of names kept changing, except my Family.
Who are my Family?

The best couple that have decided how worthy I am to be raised well.
A sister that is unpredictably annoying, and undeniably has my eyes and heart everywhere she goes.
A brother with a very different personality, but has the same gene, blood and I love him to bits.
A grandmother who is alone but (I hope) is never lonely.
Katie, enough said.

Those are my Family, because they live with me, around me, and inside me.
Maybe wikipedia won't be agreed with my definition of Family,
but what the heck.

Of course, I have my aunt, my cousins, that have my love and caress.

And.. my Friends! How can I forget about them? While some of them forget about me whenever they're with something new. No, my Friends. I don't forget.

But my great Friends.. are the ones that I successfully forgive whenever they're being humans. Without them, I'm just a pile of shit with number 1 family. Of course I need my great Friends.
Without the sound and presence of them, I don't think I can get through the day happily.

If my Family is the food and water,
my great Friends are my ice cream and yoghurt.
I hope this explains well.

Knowing that I will not be seeing, touching and smelling them for around 120 days makes me feel a little bit lonely. Even when I'm still here.

What is the purpose of writing this? It's a love letter, a confession, as I recently have found myself feeling uneasy whenever I want to talk about my deepest feelings. I love you all.
I don't think I have to type the names here, the list may be too short, or too long -as it is a relative term-, but my love is huge. You guys know who you are anyway.

This may sound sweet at the beginning and bitter in the end, or reversed. But I guess that's just who I am. Bitter sweet.

Sally says

2010-03-16T10:09:00.003+07:00

In her letter, Sally wrote:

I will not forgive anyone who has the guts to hurt my very good friend.
I will hunt the person down,
try to abuse the person verbally,
then maybe there will be blood.

She's been hurt, and it's because of you.
Don't you know that even your breath could hurt her?
Which is why I have decided, yes there will be blood.

Although my friend's been trying to hide her suffering eyes,
wipe away the tracks of her tears,
I know that the broken smile will never be fixed again,
just like what they said about a broken mirror.

Oh, I'm gonna cut your lips so that you'll have a broken smile too,
or even better, no smile at all.
Yes, my dear, there will be blood.

Sally's found dead on her bed,
covered in red,
and oh my.... look at her smile...or whatever's left from her lips.

3

2010-03-16T09:54:00.003+07:00

A troubled girl sings so loud there might be a chance of a very bad sore throat for her 3 hours later.
A lovely young man cooks for his mother, while his sister is about to drink a glass of pesticide.
A dying grandpa covered with blanket, craves for nothing but a glass of water.

Did you see the point?
Yeah, me too.

BTC (oy)

2010-03-08T16:47:00.004+07:00

Let me tell you a story about a boy.
Oh wait, not about a boy, but about a toy.
Argh, no no, I didn't mean to say that.
Okay, okay.
Whatever this is about, please don't be coy.

He's hours away.
I'm guessing, that's not because the clock is broken.
How many hours exactly?
Hmm, I'll let this one be unspoken.

He's a book,
the one with obvious review,
kinda predictable but so far he's the one I look for.

From night til' dawn.
He never makes me yawn.
The kind of conversation that's cute enough to draw a smile on your face,
yes, the smile slowly disappear, but it always leave a trace.

I know it sounds so stupid,
to have a crush on someone you haven't shake hands with.
But if God doesn't forbid,
I guess it's fine to keep walking.

It's just.

2010-02-22T23:44:00.003+07:00

Look at you,
who wouldn't want you?

With your perfect eyes,
and the way your lips says hi.

Oh, how your old jeans could make you the most amazing creature,
in my eyes, or in those awful pictures.

Don't try to deny it,
me and you, we could fit.

My dear,
my dying dear,
I love you, even after you've turned every drop of my blood
into tears.

Look at you,
so perfect, like an untouched beach.
So blue, and yet so deep.
You have this mystery I'd like to keep.

Who wouldn't want you,
my dear?

Mary and Larry

2010-01-31T17:28:00.006+07:00

Mary and Larry live together,
they have passed every weather.

Mary spends her mornings by running.
and Larry?
He likes to smoke pots and drink black coffee. No milk. No sugar.
That happens every 6.40 am.

There. Black and White.
Larry gets too high to stand on the ground,
while Mary does her best, running around.

One day, one rainy day.
The rain's too heavy for Mary,
she decides to stay put.
Larry doesn't give a shit about the rain,
except the fact that the rain helps his marijuana to grow.

Mary wants to talk to Larry,
about the stuffs she's been through.

This is new for both of them,
Usually Mary doesn't share, and Larry doesn't care.

Larry says, "Wait until it's 9 a.m. That's when I will arrive on the ground."

Mary wants to say that she wants to kill herself,
she's pregnant.
She wants Larry to stop her.
A simple "don't do it" to make her feel better.

Mary waits. It's 9.30 a.m already.

It's 2 p.m.
Mary's dead,
and Larry?
He's still a pothead.

can't.define.

2010-01-29T03:04:00.002+07:00

Lately I'm having trouble dealing with my reality and my dreams.
It's like having to deal with a cup of black coffee and a cup of chocolate milk.
I like both of them, and the other one is sweeter than the other.

I love dreaming. Dreaming keeps me awake.
whenever I'm dealing with troubles, I dream.
I know, that might sound very weird and coward.
But... Don't we all?

My dreams are almost always better than my screams.
My reality sucks, but at least sometimes I get to sing with ducks.
I always want what I can't have: to turn back time.

You might ask me, what would I do, if I could turn back time?
The truth is... I don't know.
I'm afraid that if I turn back time and change something,
I will ruin the whole cards, that would make me live in a worse area than where I am right now.

Yeah, I do that, I have so many regrets that I could use them to feed the hunger.

What?

But you.

2010-01-26T22:10:00.003+07:00

I am aware that those cups of coffee are looking at me.
The ashtray is now blinking at me. What a flirty one.
I'm pretty sure that the tissue just waved at me.
Yeah, everything in this cafe makes me aware of my presence and existence,
but you.

1:16

2009-12-25T00:35:00.006+07:00

Tolong. otA(K)U diperkosa.
Aku merasa ada yang menyelinap dan mencoba merobek sekat- sekat yang sudah kupasang dengan rapi dan rapat.
Siapa? Siapa dia, yang berani berbuat zina?

Setelah satu sekat robek, dia mencoba merobek sekat keduaku, yang untung bahannya lebih kuat dari sekat pertama.
Pertama dia menggunakan gunting, setelah tidak berhasil, dia mencoba dengan cutter.
Sayang sekali, sekat keduaku tidak mudah robek.
Biarpun harus kuakui, sekat- sekatku mudah merasa sakit.

Bayangkan pikiran- pikiran yang ada di sekat keduaku.
Keadaannya gawat, dan sangat mencekam.
Semua berteriak ketakutan, berdoa, bahkan ada yang bertayamum, mencoba untuk sholat taubat.
Aku mencoba menghentikan dia, tapi aku tidak bisa bergerak.
Aku terperangkap oleh kedinginan yang merasukiku sejak pertama kali dia menyusup masuk ke otakku.
Ya, aku beku.

Dia yang biasanya menolongku,
sekarang memperkosa otA(K)U.

Ya, malam ini, otA(K)U sudah tidak perawan.

Robovski Amos

2009-12-22T23:21:00.006+07:00

I know that name pretty well, I know who owns the name, I know where the owner lives, but I’m afraid that’s the end of the list of my knowledge about you. Well, I could try and help myself by saying that “well, at least I know he can sing”, but I’ve never listened to the sound of you singing. There, I’ve said it. Things I might know about you are mostly based on what others say about you. Those ideas are not mine. I just never got the guts to get to know you by myself.

Here's what I know about you:

You are so cute
You don't say much
Your eyes are almost perfect

Here's what Others know about you:

You like to play soccer
Your ex girlfriend's dead
You hate finance but you're actually good at it
You love The Beatles
You are a great friend
You are a weird friend
Your dream is to be a painter
You never feel comfortable wearing long-sleeved shirt

I’m afraid that you yourself can see that there’s a huge difference between the two lists, and now I am brave enough to say, “I don’t know who you are”. Let’s say that “others” and “I” are students, facing a very difficult quiz. And you can see that “others” have filled the answer sheet, while me? Mine’s blank.

Now, the only question is, assuming that you are the lecturer..

Are you going to let me try to fill in the blanks by myself, or are you just going to let me cheat from “others”?

Sincerely,
Mervia Hirikawa

Santa?

2009-12-22T23:06:00.006+07:00

It's almost christmas!
I know what I want, Santa.
It's not a car, not a boyfriend, not even books.

I only want one thing.
I want a chance.

A chance to give a chance.
I want to give my life a chance.

A chance to make my parents happy.
A chance to make my dad proud,
and to make my mom forget about the pain she had when she had me.

Santa?
Are you there?
I'm not done yet.
Oh shit. He's gone.

Saturday

2009-12-15T00:04:00.003+07:00

Saturday, I will wait for you at the bay
We will slowly watch the sky turn grey
A cup of coffee for me and a mango pudding for you
Together we become the lip-smacking snack to enjoy the view

My dear, I have something to show
It’s not my boobs, nor my boots. It’s a simple vow
I vow not to vamoose until you notice my flaws
If that happens, I’m going to shoot my own jaw

My Saturday,
Won't you try to live with me, at least for an hour
Yes, only until the milk starts to get sour

Some might say "denials".

2009-10-27T00:02:00.003+07:00

I don't remember the way you looked at me after I said something mean.
I don't remember the way I feel whenever you are literally near.
I don't remember your smell.
I don't remember your preference of cigarettes.
I don't remember your favorite color.
I don't remember the way I love you, because I don't.
I don't remember your car, or the way you drive so recklessly.
I don't remember your ability to write poems. Not at all.
I don't remember how thoughtful you were of me.
I don't remember your birthday, I bet it's not even in my reminder.
I don't remember your house, with the wooden chairs and very comfortable patio. I don't.

A piece

2009-10-26T23:56:00.004+07:00

To me, a memory is like a piece of chocolate.
It might be bad for your health, but if the chocolate tastes so good, you will be addicted and decided to consume another piece.
I am proud with my ability to remember stupid and painful things.
I still can remember perfectly about your faded smile when I said no.
Or the way you lit your cig, and didn't want to look at me.

However, I find another piece to remember.
My feelings.
Whoaa, I'm telling you, this is even more dangerous.
When you remember how you feel, it's like smoking marijuana.
Either you're happy or sad, it is not real.

The F Word

2009-10-15T22:46:00.004+07:00

Life. Love. Journey. Experiences.
4 elements, walking along.

One word that could suite those 4 is "fear".
They say, "love life, and life will love you back."
I'd say, "I fell in love with fear, it is way sexier than life."
Fear may be a part of life, or life could be a part of fear.

Why would you think that "life" is greater than "fear"?
Fear is life. Life is fear.
Afraid of poverty, you struggle to make a better life.
Afraid of your dad, you do what he said.
I could say, if that happens to you, your life is driven by fear...
Which actually is not a bad thing, if you look at it from another side.
Without fear, you will not move nor think.
You need fear to keep your life going on.

I need fear. Whenever no one's near.

Small?

2009-10-02T19:59:00.004+07:00

Images of suffering people almost make me want to hit my head with a brick.
Everytime I see the news, I feel like this ungrateful bitch.
How can I complain about something that is actually and literally smaller than what they are facing right now?
I can't not care about what happened in Sumatera.
But I can't not care about what is happening in my head.

It's like..... Watching a very very violent movie with your hands and feet tied up, and you can't close your eyes.
What's happening in Sumatera is real.. It is.
What's happening in my head.....Oh, how I wish I could just shake my head, and they will go away. It may not be real, but it makes me ill.

I really, and am trying to be grateful, trying not to cry over the spilled milk, or not to sweat the small stuff or whatever it is they say about not thinking too much about "small" things. What is small? How small should a thing be to be considered as small?

No one should say "small thing" or "small deal", that's rude.

So, here I am, trying to survive.
Well, at least I'm trying.

I Almost Cried 2 Times

2009-09-29T23:18:00.003+07:00

I have to admit that I'm not a fan of politics.
But I am a fan of politicians.
I love to see them doing their thing, you know how some of them want to look good in front of other people they decided to do things that actually could make them LOOK bad.

I read this article about X, a well known politician in Indonesia.
He said that he cares a lot about Indonesia-his motherland, and he hated Malaysia for claiming batiks, tari pendet, and even rendang. And would never go to Malaysia ever, again. Because "how would I go to a country that is full of fakes and disgusting people."
I almost cried because of banality.

Then, a few days later, I heard from someone in my family that actually knows him, that he went to Malaysia for 2 weeks holiday.
Again, I almost cried because of irony.

Cranky without my Coffee

2009-09-29T22:59:00.003+07:00

Have you ever thought that everyone is actually blind?
I met a friend of mine this afternoon, and we talked about a lot of things.
About religions, schools, and things we want to do when we're older.

I felt so good talking to her I almost think "this is it........a moment of connection."
Then...........she said "I just think that boys are the meanest creature in the whole world."

I was like, 'Uh oh, please don't let her talk about her past relationships.'
And, yeah she did.

She told me how her last boyfriend stole her money AND virginity.
And how all of her previous boyfriends have broken her heart and she would never ever forgive them.

Honey, I've seen them all on TV.

I told her, "well, I've had my shitty moments with them too. But then, maybe they also think that we are the meanest creature. So, we're even. Hahahaha.."

She said, "No, Chacha. You haven't felt what I have. My last boyfriend stole my virginity.... He told me that after we had sex, he will marry me."

HELLO.... That is not stealing. You actually offered him yours, and he said sweet nothings like "I'll be with you forever" or "You're the last girl I'll ever be with (read: fuck)". That's normal, baby.

I asked her "why do you think he was stealing yours? You wanted to do it, right? And about your money, hey you still can find him and ask for them back."

She answered, "well... uh.... Yeah, but he said that he will love me forever, and I trusted him. It means that he broke his promise. And well, I met him yesterday but I couldn't even talk to him. I hate him too much."

I told her, "hey, maybe if you're a guy and he's a girl, and you took her virginity, you won't feel this way. And, what is taking virginity anyway? It sounds so passive. You can't feel this weak only because you have a vagina and he doesn't..."

THEN she started crying.

It's not that I'm heartless or careless (which maybe I'm a bit of both), but still...........

I hate this part. But then, it's a moment of truth. I like truth.
Good job.

A letter for V

2009-09-26T01:29:00.005+07:00

My Dear V,

I see that your mind is full of spiderwebs, complicated and dusty.
You've been keeping your thoughts, sometimes you need to dust them off.
People are bitches, I understand perfectly, but you don't need to be bitchy as well, with yourself.
Love yourself, the way Hunchback loves his imperfect figure or the way a blind and deaf man loves his life.

You will see that you are worth knowing, and very lovable.
Just try to see things from other side, stop stopping, if you know what I mean.
Life is hard, harder than a rock, but then what else should you be living for?
You have to have faith, yeah that's even more important than water.
Faith that one day you will be alright.
Faith that one day you will be happy, effortlessly.

I picture you in your room, wondering what went wrong.
You don't need to blame yourself for letting them happened. Those things have already happened anyway.
Blaming yourself is not a painkiller, it's actually a trigger to invite even more pain to come in.
Do you want that to happen?
I believe you don't. Don't act like you do.

Life is about making choices, my dear.
You choose to break up with him.
You choose to be introvert.
You choose to be afraid of people judging you.
Honey, everyone is able to judge. Just don't let them.
You choose to drink cold ocha ;)
So many choices you have made, conscious and unconsciously.
You also can choose not to choose and let things get grubby.
Or you can start to clean them up.
One big question is.......would you choose YOU?

Think about it.
I'll be here.
Love You.

Irv, the love of my life.

2009-09-15T21:19:00.005+07:00

Dear Irv,

Here I am writing this letter for you, smoking my eleventh cigarette, in the cemetery.
I've been doing some thinking about you, me, us and the things we left in your room.
I'm not talking about the sex, of course,
but I've been thinking about my left eyeball that you took from me,
"so that I know you can see me everywhere I go", you said.
Well, I want it back, Irv.
I can't see clearly because my right eye gets tired easily.
And you know what, I can't see you too, well you're so fucking stupid, and I guess that makes me an idiot.
How could I let you took my left eyeball?

I love you, Irv. I swear to God, you are the only person I love.
I just need to see you, Irv.
How can you fuck other girls, and still have my left eyeball as your medallion?
How can you listen to your mother, and not listen to me?
Well, fuck you, Irv.

I swear, if I could cut your ears, and eat them,
just to make sure that you won't be able to listen, and I can control what you hear.
But everytime I get the courage, I lose my appetite.
Your ears are too beautiful.
I am not a fan of beautiful ears.

I wish I could have you forever, as my lover.
The first and last person I see everyday, yeah we'll keep the others away.

But now....Look at you.
They say you're dead, I don't see how a guy like you could be dead, just like your dad.
No you're not, see? They say I killed you, come on.
How can I kill the only person I crave for?

I did not kill you, Irv.
It's just.........I find it so hard, not to eat your head.
While you're screaming, and wishing I was dead.
Now, your head is in me, too bad your heart's already screwed.
I'd definitely eat your heart too, just too make sure that no one can enter your heart, but me.

I love you, Irv.
Your head says hello.

Love,
Lena.

Again, with the F word.

2009-09-12T12:42:00.003+07:00

Look at you, my dear.
Seriously, you look like you've been drinking too much beer.
I couldn't care less,
it's just... you've done more than a stupid mess.

I used to have a photo of you in my mind,
the one where you insisted to wear sunglasses, though you're blind.
The sun stops shining, the rain starts pouring.
My feelings for you disappeared instantly, like my pair of earrings.

I will admit that you used to be the color of my melon syrup.
And my coffee. And my bloody mary.
My appetite.

But now, seeing you dying under the truck,
without your sunglasses on.
Covered with blood and mud,
I can't feel anything but upchuck.

FUCKYOU!

Colors

2009-09-01T23:38:00.003+07:00

I lost my ability to write out my mind.
This is tragic, even more tragic than the time where I burned my own hands.
Or when I got dumped a day before the national exam.
Yeah, this one is tragic.

You know, wish I could write about how empty I've been feeling lately.
Well, okay, empty is a strong word.
Maybe I'll just use "half empty" instead.
Like when you see a very beautiful photo of a rainbow, but it's in black and white.
You need the colors. I need my colors.

A little bit of blue might help.
Hello?

Hello, again!

2009-08-11T17:00:00.003+07:00

I have been uninspired for quite a while.
Perhaps disappointments kill them all.
Perhaps I was just to lazy to meet another inspiration.
Or, perhaps I was afraid that the inspiration won't like me.
Yeah, like I would be rejected by the inspiration.
What the fuck is that?

Whoa.
I started to think of me as someone who is afraid of rejection.
Yeah, right. Who isn't?
That is just another cliche statement that doesn't need to be discussed.
But, what if... I am also afraid that my own thoughts will reject me?
I mean, those inspirations are-or will be my own thoughts.......
I mean, uh, well, I am afraid of being rejected by parts of myself?
I do have issues.

Pilihan.

2009-07-21T01:30:00.001+07:00

Suatu waktu, aku memandang perjalananku sebagai sesuatu yang sementara.
Sementara, tidak akan pernah ada yang berhasil menjadi perantara.
Ya, semuanya hanya untuk sementara.

Bisakah aku merasakan kembali kesenanganku ketika berhasil mendapatkan juara satu?
Tidak. Aku hanya bisa menyaksikan kembali kejadian itu di otakku, lalu bayangan itu beku.
Bisakah aku merasakan kembali kebanggaanku ketika aku berhasil mengerjakan sesuatu yang sulit,
dan belum pernah kulakukan sebelumnya?
Tidak. Aku hanya bisa ingat karena otakku mencegahku untuk melupakan itu.
Aku rasa, hatiku yang pelupa.

Pelupa yang pemilih, kalau bisa kutambahkan.
Mengapa pemilih?
Karena dia memilih untuk mengingat rasa sakit,
dibanding rasa bahagia yang sebenarnya bisa mengalahkan tinggi sebuah bukit.
Karena dia memilih untuk mengingat rasa kecewa,
dibanding rasa bangga yang biasa dirasakan seorang dewa.

Kenapa harus memilih?
Apakah karena dia takut dengan mengingat rasa bahagia,
rasa itu tidak akan bertahan lama?
Ya, mungkin memang rasa bahagiaku tidak sekuat lawannya.
Tetapi, seharusnya bisa menjadi sedikit jeda.
Sepotong vitamin, untuk menyiapkan diri menghadapi satu detik ke depan.
Bukannya menjadikan hatiku seperti luka baru yang ditaburi lada..

Selamat Tidur..

2009-07-21T01:12:00.001+07:00

Di malam hari ini, atau mungkin bisa dibilang pagi..
Aku menulis sesuatu, bukan untuk kamu. Bukan untuk dia.
Hanya untuk aku.

Perasaanku seperti air panas kepenuhan yang hampir mendidih di dalam ketel,
harus kutuang sedikit ke cangkir, atau air itu akan tumpah dan mematikan api.
Sama seperti air panas, aku bahkan tidak bisa membedakan tiap tetesnya.
Bisakah aku bilang tetesan air pertama lebih sehat dari tetesan air ketiga?
Tidak.

Kamu, menghantuiku dengan senyummu yang tidak pernah bisa membuatku jemu.
Tidak, kamu bukan hantu. Kamu adalah bayangan besar di dalam otakku.
Terdengar dangkal, bahkan kosong, tapi aku tahu kamu bisa menjadi pemandangan
indah setiap kali aku menutup mata.
Ya, aku tidak tahu apa yang ada di dalam matamu, bahkan aku pun tidak tahu siapa nama ayahmu.
Yang aku tahu, sudah dua kali kamu membuat perutku terasa seperti peternakan kupu-kupu.

Kamu, setetes susu di dalam kopi pahitku.
Orang banyak yang bilang ini bodoh,
bahkan ada yang bilang aku hanyalah seorang pecandu harapan.
Tapi, apakah ada yang bisa merasakan manisnya susu di lidahku,
selain aku?

Mungkin aku tidak akan pernah bisa berubah,
atau mungkin kali ini aku sudah berubah.
Bukankah hal seperti itu tidak bisa dilihat semudah kita melihat orang yang merubah warna rambutnya?
Jadi, disini aku sendiri, memikirkan kamu, yang belum mampu aku sentuh.
Belum mampu kuajak bicara, belum mampu untuk bertahan 2 detik saja melihat mata.

Untuk berharap, ya aku berharap.
Suatu hari datang saat dimana aku bisa terlelap,
setelah kudengar suaramu mengucapkan "selamat tidur..."

Harapan kosong, bisa aku sebut begitu.
Tapi bukankah semua hal yang kosong menjadikan semuanya mungkin untuk diisi?

Selamat tidur,
dan aku pun akan mencoba tidur.
Di malam hari ini, atau mungkin bisa dibilang pagi..

Tolong.

2009-07-19T02:47:00.005+07:00

Marissa perlu secangkir teh hangat dengan 2 sendok teh gula setiap pagi, sebelum dia pergi.
Tyo perlu lari pagi selama 45 menit, dengan iPod di telinga, untuk menikmati pemikiran tentang Marissa di otaknya, tanpa diganggu siapa- siapa.
Alex perlu 2 batang rokok Marlboro merah, sebelum memulai rutinitasnya sebagai dokter THT.

Bila dilihat dari 3 kebiasaan mereka setiap pagi, kebiasaan yang paling biasa adalah kebiasaan Marissa. Dia hanya perlu teh hangat, sementara Tyo perlu Marissa untuk bisa semangat, dan bila kebiasaan Alex diketahui pasiennya, karirnya akan hancur dan menyengat.

Apakah mereka benar- benar ada? Saya pun tidak berani menjawabnya.
Yang saya tahu, 3 manusia itu ada di mana- mana.

Pernahkah saya memiliki rutinitas harus mengkonsumsi sesuatu setiap pagi? Ya.
Pernahkah saya menjadi seorang yang sangat rakus akan kesendirian dan ingatan saya tentang seseorang? Ya.
Pernahkah saya melakukan hal yang sangat berlawanan dengan apa yang sebenarnya saya percaya? Ya.

Tapi...................yang paling saya ingat dari itu semua adalah, ketika rutinitas menjadi mimpi buruk. Dimana rutinitas saya adalah melakukan sesuatu yang sama setiap pagi, sesuatu yang membuat saya selalu ingin sendiri dan tidak diganggu, dan hal itu sangat berlawanan dengan siapa saya.

Ya, saya adalah seorang psikiater.
Setiap pagi saya selalu menghitung berapa orang laki- laki yang saya bunuh di malam sebelumnya.
Sampai sekarang, 29 orang.

Kenapa?
Ah, andai saja kalian tahu, saya dulu tidak begitu.
Sejak saya melihat dengan mata kepala saya sendiri, bagaimana kakak saya diperkosa dan dibunuh dengan sadis oleh sekelompok laki- laki, dunia saya tidak sama lagi.
Saya ingin tahu motif mereka, karena itu saya menghabiskan 6 tahun hidup saya untuk mempelajari ilmu kejiwaan.
Saya ingin membalas dendam karena kematian kakak saya, karena itulah saya menikam setiap laki- laki yang lewat di depan rumah saya.
Tanpa saya sadari, saya pun berubah menjadi mereka.

Akhirnya saya percaya, kebiasaan bisa merubah semuanya.

Selamat pagi...
Saya perlu secangkir teh hangat, dengan 2 sendok teh gula.
Lalu, saya akan lari pagi dengan iPod di telinga,
dan setelah itu merokok 2 batang Marlboro merah...

Marissa, Tyo dan Alex adalah saya.
Saya.
Bahkan saya tidak tahu siapa yang membunuh 29 laki- laki itu?

Badan mereka masih tergeletak di kamar tidur saya.
Bercangkir- cangkir teh hangat tidak akan pernah bisa menghangatkan tubuh mereka.
Berpuluh- puluh batang rokok tidak akan bisa menghapus bau yang menyengat.
Berjam- jam lari pagi tidak akan pernah bisa menghilangkan wajah mereka ketika membusuk, dari otak saya.

Saya perlu bantuan. Tolong.

A love note

2009-07-16T07:14:00.004+07:00

This time, I see the green grass.
While I was heading to my class.
I see a chirping bird,
standing on the dirt.
I hear the voices of crying babies,
and for once, I did now want to cry.

I know you could be the eye opener,
or the biggest loser.
However, I still crave to stay inside your favorite poster.

Sebastian, don't go.

Sebastian, the new light

2009-07-16T06:47:00.003+07:00

Dear Sebastian,

I saw you in my dream,
and luckily this time, I didn't want to scream.
Your eyes are just the light,
that I don't want to lose my sight.

You are just an unbearable attraction,
that somehow could turn me into slow motion.
One thing I could explain is,
you slowly make me helpless, in daily basis.

I don't know you yet,
I just know how you bet.
Your favorite color is something I don't know,
but your eyes could tingle my toe.

Stop it, Sebastian.
Let me live as a human being,
not as a piece of meat with my heart beating.

Romano..

2009-07-13T00:57:00.005+07:00

It's been 3 years, since you left me.
You left me for a place under the ground.
They covered you with white sheet,
and here I am, in deep shit.

How are you?
Is the ground comfortable enough for you?
Do they provide you food and blanket?
Or should I come down there and meet you?

Dead, what a tiring word to say.
"Come on, he's already dead." that's what they say.
Everytime they come and see me,
wearing black, and nothing else.

I remember once you said,
that I look good in every color, except black.
Well, here I am wearing black.
You can't force me to put it back.

Romano, I miss you.
Eventhough everytime I think of you, I feel blue.
Blue with no clue, it is true.