I kinda hate myself, too

2011 was a rough year for me. Sure, I had a lot of fun, and at least I didn't have to lay in bed for one month due to typhus, but there was just so much drama and dilemma and problem and stuffs that I just can't mention it. Stuffs that unfortunately now I know what it feels like. I can remember every single bitter truths that happen, and I just do, even though I wish I don't. This year made me too busy to even think of a resolution for 2012. There was a lot of sweat and energy used to make this one of my most productive years so far, but I grew tired from it. The only thing that makes me happy about this new year is that, lots of people come and go, but I still have a bunch of people who stay and they're the ones who made me get out of these things alive. I'm really thankful that I didn't have to do it all alone. I'm also thankful that I feel like I have made a huge deal with my insecurities because they're probably still around here somewhere, but I'm getting better at handling it day by day, just like I feel like my dramas made me grow up a little bit more each day. I learned a lot about myself as I'm turning 18, and most of the facts make me sad, but at least I know there are some people who still love me despite my characteristics that make myself sad. I guess what I have to learn for next year is that I cannot be the one who look down on myself; it's one thing to be modest and down-to-earth, but it's another thing to always feel small among others and make myself hate myself. I spent a lot of my times in 2011 thinking about the one that got away, about what could have been if, and I look outside the window almost all the time, wondering what I would've done if I weren't here... wondering if I could do it in another life.

Anyway, let the past be the past. This year's problems didn't kill you? Well, you know you're fine.

Happy new year, fellas. I know you're gonna enjoy it.

You know I love you, I always will

Hello, Christmas holiday.

Emma Thompson being cheated on by Alan Rickman, and then there's Colin Firth proposing to his Portuguese housemaid in Portuguese and in Portugal. Oh look, Hugh Grant is playing Prime Minister dancing in his undies around The 10 Downing Street house and ringing the bell of each of the houses in Wandsworth to search for a chubby assistant he just fired; oh sod off, he's a prime minister! There's Laura Linney, choosing her disadvantaged brother over Rodrigo Santoro, and there's young Thomas Sangster, the prematurely mature boy living with his stepdad who was Liam Neeson and falling in love with an American girl. And then there's Keira Knightley, being the love of the hopeless romantic Andrew Lincoln who loves her indefinitely but she's married to his best friend... Just so you know Lincoln, you can be in The Walking Dead for as long as you wished, but to me, forever you are that fake Christmas carolers on Keira's door telling her that you love her more than Kate Moss.

That means it was time for Love Actually. Merry Christmas and happy holidays, people. Have a wonderful joy.

So fucking jobless

1. I'm not gonna talk about this number. You wouldn't wanna hear a story of someone who can't even remember the last time her parents kissed her, right?

2. One year ago, I was a happier kid than I am today. I have a memory gap of what I was doing one year ago, sorry.

3. Single, and living it wondering if I was ready for a real one.

4. In five years, I will be living alone with a Master degree and with a job so busy I wouldn't have time thinking that I ever had this blog, until forty years later, my grandchildren would find it on Google and read how crazy their grandmother was once upon time.

5. My current goals is to accomplish all the work that I signed up for, to have the power and the strength to do it all without breaking my bones.

6. I'm not proud of the dramas in my life. I keep telling drama queens to STFU while I have a whole bunch of dramas I need to keep for myself.

7. Probably when I saw Coldplay live for the first time. Or when I was introduced to mathlete. Or the day when I last saw him and his smile. Or the day I first landed in Paris. I don't know, let me think about it.

8. Definitely the day when my grandmother and my uncle passed away in less than 24 hours gap. It was devastating. Crying wouldn't even be a solution.

9. I have some close friends. There are a few. But honestly I don't know if they'd think of me as their close friend, but I hope they think as same way I do.

10. Right now, I wanna change the way I think towards everything in life. I do think that I need to be less dramatic and more realistic. The world's a stage, but a good act is one that makes people think it wasn't an act.

11. I think what I'm doing with my life right now is a bit like shaping, building something abstract that I don't know the name of, but at the same time it feels like I'm breaking every piece of little bones in me.

12. Typhus. It sucked big time. It changed almost everything. Heck, maybe everything, really.

13. I'm proud of my friends, my mom, my dad... Most of the time I'm proud of my ability to be alone and not finding it painful to be.

14. I don't know, really. I don't think I have any. But if there's something, it's probably a bracelet I got from my high school best friend when I turned 16. Somehow it just meant a lot to me.

15. My Macbook. Okay, fair enough I didn't buy it, it was my mom. Some pairs of shoes, maybe.

16. He's 20..... Almost.

17. There was this teddy bear that was so old and crummy but I loved so much. Of course, like every other things, it's gone now.

18. I was good in English. And German. And not much else.

19. Maybe a white t-shirt that's so summer-y and I bought it myself a long time ago.

20. Okay, that's it. I was just bored. Sorry for boring you. Kisses and hugs

In another life

In another life, I wouldn't be as depressed as I am today. In another life, everything would be easier. In another life, the sun would shine in deemed light and it wouldn't hurt my eyes nor burn my skin. In another life, I wouldn't have to let go of anything.

She dreamed of paradise

...and I'm going to graduate real soon, buy one way ticket to Rome and work simple jobs there, and I'm going to speak Italian with different dialects they have, and I'm going to learn to make my own pizza and I'm going to eat a lot of gelato and I'm going to soak up the sun at the outdoor cafes near Trevi and I'm going to live in a dusty, yellow-bricked old buildings and I'm going to attend some very loud Italian weddings and I'm going to learn how not to use my diploma and flush them down the toilet and I'm gonna learn how to ride the Vespa and ride it everywhere I go in the city and I'm gonna learn how to make Venetian masks and I'm gonna wear it while at work and I'm gonna fall in love with someone nice and I'm gonna fall madly in love with him but I'm gonna find a way to let go and I'm gonna read Cesare Pavese and I'm gonna read them to a stranger at the cafe and I'm gonna speak with a funny gesture and I'm going to smile a lot and I'm going to collect money until I'm rich enough to buy one way ticket home. I'm going to miss my family and I'm going to hug them real tight as there were no people like them that could kiss my longing away and I'm going to love them more than I ever do and I'm going to make them a delicious pizza and I'm going to write a book about my journey and I'm gonna read it to everyone I know and I'm gonna be reminded as the woman with the dream of paradise.

Science in progress

This is my idea of romantic. This is what I'd like for my story to be...

We spent a long weekend together, meeting through a group of mutual friends. We had an immediate, simple chemistry that trumped how little we had in common. I remember thinking the lack of conversation could have been uncomfortable if it hadn’t been so crystalline, so unbelievably clear to me that this was the most pleasant kind of temporary: a stopgap on the way to other people, places, things. We spent the entire weekend together. He was reading this pint size book for one of his classes. As he read, he underlined a passage and said it had reminded him of me. He read it out loud, shifting his eyes up to find mine and parse my response. I took the book and devoured the petite read that same afternoon. The alternate theories of time and the dreamlike quality to each vignette was romantic. I almost confused my love for the book with feelings for this relative stranger. Almost. The weekend ended and he gave me the book to keep. It remains on my bookshelf 10 years later, underlined in his hand and mine, read and reread.

source

I hate the facts that these words speaks so true of my everyday life

But you just don't see me

It's a truth that people have been secretly hiding, that the true happy people do not look outside the window every now and then, wishing they were somewhere else; wondering what could have been if they weren't to make decisions themselves. It's a truth universally known that decisions are made when we are tired of thinking---and the unhappy people are those with the most tired minds. I look outside my window at every different time of day; at six in the morning when it was grey and depressing, at one in the afternoon when the sun shines too strong for every eyes to see, at four or five during tea time when the ray of light gets weaker; just as much as all the tired people, and at nine in the evening when everybody's home with their loved ones; everybody has come to the place they want to rest their broken bones in. I hate my apartment. The altitude makes me see a lot of things that I cannot have; home, family to come home to, warm home-cooked meal, socialization, city lights. God, I even miss the traffic jam. I like being alone, but maybe, just maybe, not too much. It gets me to think that this is the most expensive price I ever had to pay; for being so stupidly choosing what I had chosen over other options that I had. I didn't have to smile if I don't want to. I didn't have to live alone sixty meters above the ground. I didn't have to do what I'm supposed to be doing right now; I didn't have to sign up for them. I didn't have to choose law school. Everybody knows smiles have to be genuinely from the heart. Everybody knows family home is the best place on earth while you still can't spare your own. Everybody knows no one is gonna care if I didn't sign up for anything. I should know that law school isn't for me; I'm not that dirty, not that tough, not that good in this. Everybody knows if you go to law school in Indonesia, it's not the same as you go to one in the States; only fools think it is. I should know that I wasn't build up to be a lawyer; I didn't think I have to win everything. Heck, I didn't even have to go to college. I could just make my way to wound up in the streets of Rome and be homeless but at least I'm happy. I could just quit school and sign myself up to be a roadie and be unmistakably poor but at least I'd love that. Why did anybody let me choose things for myself? Or maybe, I could just help myself not to read too much Sylvia Plath and teach myself to be depressed. That would've been easier.

"I love you too much, it's not real."

Winter morning, I looked outside the window and there were snow everywhere; snow in the streets, snow in the gardens of rich people who could afford it, snow on cars, snow inside someone's shoes, snow on top of the old man's hat, snow sticking on the old lady's faux fur coat. Walking out of the house will be banned tomorrow, so as soon as I stopped observing the view, I started reading The English Patient and helped myself to drink the finest coffee in the world: basically anything brewed in my grandfather's old coffee maker. It gets so silent it's deafening so I turned on the TV but everything in the world sucks; politics sucks, music sucks, the cartoons suck. So I put on my slippers to avoid the cold wooden floor and come down to the kitchen. Nothing was left in the fridge. I saw cheese but they had fungus. I saw an apple but it's rotten. Hopeless, I went back to my room and try to read a gossip magazine. The gossips got old and boring; the girl getting married on the cover has asked for annulment, she is now single and mingle....with a baby bump. I turned on the radio but the DJ talked so much bullshit it bleeds my brain.I tried the internet, but like the weather outside, it freezes. I called my friends, they're all away on an exotic holiday to places with the best beaches according to Lonely Planet. I tried to read the newspaper, it brings me so much world that it disappoints me all the time; that the world is the way it is today. I came back to bed, roll out my blanket and again closed my eyes; at least in my dream, everything was easier.

Guys.

One busy evening in the dining room.

Dad: God. I forgot which one is my cup of tea.

Me: (standing in the door between my mom's room and the dining) Mom, which one is Dad's cup?

Mom: (not moving, eyes on the video game) The one with teaspoon on it.

Me: The one with the teaspoon on it.

Dad: OK.

Me: (closes the door) Now I know why men need to get married.

Meet me in Euston because I miss you now?

Normalcy isn't her word

What am I supposed to say about Tilda? She is the woman that every girl secretly wants to be: she's a great commercial actress with series of avant-garde movies, dressed by avant-garde designers all the while blessed with the kind of other-worldly beauty so rare that makes her look like an alien. You can tell that you know her from as the icy queen from Narnia, or you might as well be fooled to believe her as a blonde European woman from Russia who speaks and dressed a la Italian in Io Sono L'amore, but who she really is, is a woman with a degree from Cambridge who leads a pretty distinct life you wouldn't understand it at first. She might look so pale it's like seeing a dead body, and maybe she is so weird it's hard to guess why she does what she's doing, but that's what happens to artists; whatever they do, they do it for the sake of art. If Florence Welch is the love child between music and fashion, then if fashion has a mistress called movie, their love child would be named Tilda Swinton. I just love the way she dressed, the way she speaks and carries herself to the public, and most of all the projects she chose... It's hard to label her whether commercial or avant-garde. It's so hard to describe Tilda Swinton.

The myths are true

When I was younger, I was told that the world is a scary place. I was told that prince charming doesn’t live here, and I was told that the bad people have the nicest face. I was told that the best people live in the underground, and I was told that nothing comes for free. There is always a price to pay, and I was told that life is hard; if it’s not, it’s not the truth. But then, I was told that I gotta be harder than how hard the real world is. I was told that if the world is a dirty place, then play dirty--but always use the antiseptic. I was told that if someone act like a bitch, I gotta let them know that they are actually facing their queen. I was told that I gotta be stronger than a lioness. I was told that the world is an enormous stage and it’s a masquerade party we’re living in. And my only regret was, I’m sorry the myths are true.

the boy with the freckles oh so perfect

Meet Eddie Redmayne from London. Burberry model slash avant-garde turn commercial actor slash Old Etonian.

Who's the boy you like the most?

Lost in Translation

I wanna go back to the time when everything was meant to be perfect. When having crushes couldn't hurt so much—and fun, in fact. When having cliques was quiet understandable (because let's face it, not everyone can have the same vision, the same personality, the same sense of humor... the same thought). When frenemies aren't so fond of making schemes among each other. When the only thing girls learn from Blair Waldorf was the ladylike style, not so much with personality. When going to parties every weekend is the best reason to dress up and looking pretty. When I get to enjoy chic evenings with dessert in a cool place while reading my favorite magazine with the people I really like without feeling like such a cliché. When loving something that's not commercial was not called 'hipster'. When people haven't changed my perspective towards luxury and the stuffs I genuinely love. When shopping was so interesting, more than stalking your crush's Facebook account. When GPA were merely three strange letters no one cares about. When no one gives a fuck about career. About future. Or when I don't feel so tired at weekends. When my eyes don't look so bleary all the time because I miss my old life.

I can't remember the last time I feel that way.

Pardon My French

Such a teenager that I am, I'm sorry for being rather rude and offensive lately. I'm sorry for making you hear my French, I didn't mean to make your life seem like a sexless, potless and therefore lame, episode of Skins. I'm so sorry. You were right. Hate in my heart is gonna consume me too. And the cure to hate is probably... growing up, and realizing that not everything will work out the way I want it to be, that such a happy, smooth life was just a theory, because I read too many fairy tales and watch too many romantic comedies. Short story, I've been such a fool for believing in genuine lies. So thank you for sticking up with me. I love you, perhaps bigger than how much you love me.

Sometimes you can't make it on your own

In reference to the infamous David Nicholls' book-to-movie One Day, I'm just going to say that somehow I strongly believe that I will understand what it feels like to be Emma Morley. I might don't have my own Dexter Mayhew now, and I probably still won't find him until my 23rd year of age, but I just somehow think that it's really possible to feel what she feels. I mean, I think one day we're all going to realize that there will be someone with whom we will never lose feelings for despite all the differences and after all the thick and thin. It is possible that maybe the common thing we had is just that we're mad about each other and nothing else. I think some of us will have to wake up one day knowing that we've committed to the wrong person, and maybe we'd known about it all along but there's just nothing that we can do. I mean, life is that bitter sometimes.

Everybody’s growing up, having kids and paying rent

Who doesn't want a bit of a summer wedding? Well, here goes my top 5...

1. Prince William - Kate Middleton

I know it's not exactly a summer wedding, but, bitch please. They're royals. Of course they chose April 29th on purpose. They wanted to be the pioneer of all the summer-y weddings!

2. Jamie Hince - Kate Moss

Another Kate, another beautiful wedding story to tell. From the rehearsal dinner to the big nuptial, it's perfect. That's the Kate Moss we love.

3. Kris Humphries - Kim Kardashian

Busty Armenian babes overload! Not so beautiful but this one has to make the list as I'm a new fan of Keeping Up With The Kardashians. No, seriously. It's fun and an even better guilty pleasure than McDonalds. Yep, there goes the amazing philistine in me.

4. Thomas Mars - Sofia Coppola

Hands down. Nobody can be more effortlessly flawless than these two. I mean, really.

5. Mark Ronson - Josephine de la Baume

OKAY SO THIS IS THE REASON WHY WE HAVE FIVE AND WHY WE HAVE THIS POST. THIS ONE IS SO GODDAMN HEARTBREAKING AND SO FUCKING UNEXPECTED. I KNOW THEY'RE ENGAGED AND ONCE HE WAS ENGAGED TO RASHIDA JONES TOO BUT COME ON. I THOUGHT HE'S THE GEORGE CLOONEY OF THE COOLS. I THOUGHT HE'S THE KIND OF GUY WHO WOULD SAY "NOT FOR ME" WHEN THEY ASK HIM ABOUT MARRIAGE. OKAY, ENOUGH. IT MUST BE A BEAUTIFUL PROVENCE WEDDING WITH THE BRIDE WEARING SOME ZAC POSEN GOWN THAT DOESN'T LOOK EXACTLY ELEGANT (WELL, ELEGANT ISN'T EXACTLY WHAT WE EXPECT FROM THESE TWO ANYWAY) AND THOUGH, AS THEY SAY, THE GROOM ALMOST OUTSHONE THE BRIDE (WELL DONE, MARK) AU REVOIR THE COOLEST JEW EVER. WELL, GOOD TO KNOW MARK'S NOT SOME JERK, ANYWAY. MAZEL TOV, RONSON!

I think second chance is overrated. They say everybody deserves a second chance... but really, someone who said that, is definitely someone who did wrong and therefore they want people to give them a second chance, like a former crime, maybe. From my personal experiences, I don't know, perhaps I always put myself as the good cop and someone else as the bad cop, but seriously, it's actually giving the second chance that's really hard. I know scars heal, but it takes time, and what if it doesn't heal? What if my heart experiences something like diabetes and therefore the scars can't heal? What if the hurt was so, so, so bad that it broke people's heart beyond repair? Yes, everybody deserves a second chance, everybody deserves to start over from clean sheets and start build everything from scratch, but doesn't someone else deserve not to give that so called second chance? Second chances are just people's excuse to blow the first one, and it's not healthy for the other person who's left hurt because what are the chances that they won't stumble upon another mistake? People make mistake everyday, fellas. Deal with it.

The Princess of Cool Married Wolfgang Amadeus Mars

Congratulations Sofia Coppola and Thomas Mars. Now go back to work and make some more beautiful movie and music. Go Somewhere and be Lisztomanic. Thank you for making coolness defined.

This time last year

I can't believe it's almost another Eid holiday! Happy Holiday you magnificent people out there!

Last year, I spent the Eid's eve in Galeries de La Fayette in Paris, and the Eid day at Eurodisney. This year I'm staying home, doing chores and trying my best to be a good daughter and granddaughter. Which one is better? Well, this year is better. Europe (in general) or Paris (in particular) was no good to spend the Eid holiday in. It will be great for Christmas or New Year's Ever or other holidays, but Eid should be celebrated right here, at home, in Indonesia. I have heard a lot of people's experiences that even in Saudi, Eid isn't celebrated the way we Indonesians celebrate it. They just don't make it the kind of wonderful festivities as we do, there's no such joy in their Eid celebrations. Last year, I had to practice my Eid shalat at my hotel a little on the outskirts of Paris near Charles de Gaulle airport. And it was boo-ring. There was no ketupat and the other foods that just get along with it, there was no other family and there was no new clothes though we did do some shopping. There was only croissant, croissant, et croissant, merci beaucoup. My Parisian hotel wasn't exactly how you'd imagine it would be, there was no proper French cuisine available and even though they did serve that kind of food, it would probably be so horrible even the French themselves can't stand it. In fact, my Parisian hotel was the worst in all the hotels I'd stayed the night in during that trip. (It's probably true that Parisians are... well, Parisian, and when it comes to hotel you have to give it to the Swiss because my Swiss hotel was extraordinaire) Back then, it was September and for some poor little Asian girl like me it was pretty cold that I had to hide my new clothes beneath my usual brown coat and shawl. It was not a cool Eid style, I have to say. But it was Paris through and through, so there was not much I can complain. Galeries de La Fayette, to me, is your usual upscale department stores with the latest Parisian fashion. In fact, I think it would be much more thrilling if in Paris we get to shop in Champs-Elysées instead of a typical mall that's full of Asian tourists queueing for tax refund. And Eurodisney, it was so small and them being French, I don't think that they have done something to improve or expand it so it was another boring day for me too.

This year, though, I'm looking forward to the excitement I'm really familiar with. Eid is a holiday; it should be joyful and exciting, though slightly boring. I will wish you a very happy Eid Mubarak, and for now, let's just be thankful that I'm home and I will celebrate it close from home.

La Nouvelle Jackie

I'm sorry Michelle Obama. You're still the perfect woman to be America's First Lady, you're smart and you got style and you're so very beautiful it hurts my eyes every time I see a picture of you. But you don't make the kind of fashion spreads that Carla Bruni-Sarkozy did, and you certainly didn't make beautiful music and sing it in perfect français. I love you, but perhaps I'm a bit of a Nicolas Sarkozy inside, because I love Carla more. Vive le France.

Happiness Hit Her, Like A Train On a Track

To me, Florence Welch is like that senior in school who always show up late in the mornings---until they can't call it morning anymore---but always look so impeccably stylish and cool in a very effortless way that trying to look great isn't the reason why she was late; she's that senior in school who wears all the tackiest vintage clothes you could imagine but still can pull it off; she's that girl who always wear her style with a little bit of drama; she's that girl who wears things that you would consider as a fashion crime that no one should ever buy it, and looks great in them. She's that girl whose every moves look as if she was having fun and enjoying the day, who smokes like drinks water and drinks water like, well, smokes. She's that girl teachers will tell you not to take examples at, but she will graduate a valedictorian. She's that girl.

Mr. & Mrs. Sawyer

Promise me that when you pick the boy you’re really gonna be with that he’ll be someone who respects you, and treats you well. And it’s someone who makes your heart race. And that he’s someone that you love because of what he is and not what he does. Because that’s how I felt about your mother. And that’s how I want you to feel one day. Use your head, and follow your heart.— Larry Sawyer

Every girl needs to listen to Papa Sawyer :')

A Love Survivor

They say life is short, we can't always meet the best people and love the right person at the right time and watch the best movies or listen to the nicest songs or read the best book. But I'm telling you in this short life time, The History of Love is brilliant. There are Leo Gursky and Zvi Litvinoff and Alma Singer, but Gursky is the one that makes the whole book. It's crazy melancholic and heart-warming story about love. Deeply memorable and touching. Something not to miss.

Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter
was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering. When they
were ten he asked her to marry him. When they were eleven he kissed
her for the first time. When they were thirteen they got into a fight
and for three weeks they didn’t talk. When they were fifteen she
showed him the scar on her left breast. Their love was a secret they
told no one. He promised her he would never love another girl as long
as he lived. What if I die? she asked. Even then, he said.

For her sixteenth birthday he gave her an English dictionary and
together they learned the words. What’s this? he’d ask, tracing his
index finger around her ankle, and she’d look it up. And this? he’d
ask, kissing her elbow. Elbow! What kind of a word is that? and
then he’d lick it, making her giggle. What about this? he asked,
touching the soft skin behind her ear. I don’t know , she said,
turning off the flashlight and rolling over, with a sigh, onto her
back. When they were seventeen they made love for the first time, on
a bed of straw in a shed. Later- when things happened that they could
never have imagined- she wrote him a letter that said: When will you
learn that there isn’t a word for everything?

Excuse me, can you please adopt me?

To live and be a few steps ahead of people is boring and suddenly the world seems so dull. It must be sucks to be Victoria Beckham.

I will not agree with anyone who says there's anyone luckier than Victoria Beckham. I will not. It's just not open for compromise. She has everything every girl could wish for: great style, great friends, great homes, great body, great shoes, great wardrobe, great jeans, great style, great tan (yes, I like hers more than Pippa Middleton's), money that won't be drained until my seventh generation, a face quirky enough to make people never forget (and to appear in magazine covers), her own exclusive clothing line with no tolerance for the term "affordable" (and apparently have the ability to afford just about anything she wants), a brief popstar career as a stepping stone, cute boys and finally a daughter to play Barbie with, and last but not least, the greatest accessory that nobody just can win over: David Beckham. The list could go on forever! Okay she might not be that great, but admit it. At one point in life, you'd want at least a piece of her: either it's her hair, her shoes, her jeans, her body, or her husband. You want an icon for this generation? I vote for Victoria!

P.S.Okay, any one of you who disagree with me, please at least vote for David because admit it, he is so the Man of Our Generation!

Perfection of your face slows me down

Seriously, I could stare into those eyes forever. Had I been able to draw, I would draw his jaw and perfect cheekbones at this very moment. I could watch those lips smile and saying sweet nothings every minute of every day, not to mention those words will be spoken in a lovely British accent. And yeah damn right, he's straight. God only knows how many straight men are actually working in the fashion industry these days. David Gandy is perfection.

Cri du coeur

Because of some friends started singing a Damien Rice song called The Rat Within the Grain and made the song stuck in my head like a cancer, I spontaneously typed his name on Google and found a long, but rather nice interview of him because honestly he's just one of those very arty-farty musicians who hardly ever speak for a proper interview. I was in junior high when I first heard of his song The Blower's Daughter, his repetitive and haunting, cold and bittersweet ballad, on the radio playing again and again. I didn't know what's the thing with the song, because it wasn't easy-listening, not catchy or anything but it just stuck in my head somehow. A couple of years later, I remember it crystal clear that I found his first record O in an HMV store in a suburban mall, on the back of Harrow on The Hill tube station in London, and I bought it along with a P.S. I Love You soundtrack because they cost only 8 pounds for two (O might be cheap because the record had been a few years old at the time, but the soundtrack? maybe because it was too cheesy for the Britons. I don't know, but it was also really good.) I didn't think that it would be one of my all-time favorite record, all I knew was, "This is the guy whose melancholic song magically stuck in my head all the way through junior high." And yet, as it turns out, it was the best 4 pounds I have ever spent in my life so far! (My favorite track of his, Accidental Babies and Desafinado, are not featured in the record, though) Little did I know that The Blower's Daughter was also featured as a soundtrack to Closer, one of the bitterest, coldest, rawest movie I've ever seen. The song and the movie matched perfectly, I can say, both are so raw and bitter and cold that watching it makes me shiver all the time and all throughout the movie. You can read the interview here and find what a sweet guy he really is. Here's a hint before you read:

The last ten years has seen the Kildare singer-songwriter selling truckloads of albums, repeatedly touring the globe, hearing his songs soundtrack hit movies, being romantically linked with an A-list Hollywood actress, and performed with the likes of Christy Moore and Leonard Cohen ("a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, gracious, eloquent man"). You'd think that Rice must be spoilt for choice of momentous moments. But he doesn't hesitate before answering: "meeting Lisa Hannigan".

The lowest point?

He smiles, wistfully: "Lisa Hannigan not wanting to talk to me anymore"

"I would give away all of the music success", he says, "all the songs, and the whole experience to still have Lisa in my life. Like that!", he tells me, snapping his fingers. "No question."

The Waltz Only A Queen Deserves

Above: Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close; Below: Nicole Krauss' The History of Love

I would like to marry a writer someday. I don't care even though they write an article about never date a writer. I would like someone who's literate, someone who can just sit on the sofa with me side to side reading each of our own books while a slow, classic music was playing, like what George Falconer do with his boyfriend Jim in A Single Man. But most of all, I would like my name to be the only one written on the first page of his book, where he'd show off his dedication and love for me to the world by writing such short words. To me, it would be like carving your lover's name on a rock, or make it a tattoo on your body; it's a full dedication and it's really romantic without being creepy or freaky. I wanna be able to do exactly what Foer and Krauss do to each other. I don't care if wanting my name to be written there is selfish. I think it's really sweet, much to the fact that Foer is a romantic himself. If you are so curious, Foer wrote an essay in a book called A Convergence of Birds that became my inspiration for one of my old posts Teenage Dream. Below, you can read the origin of the art museum meeting idea.

Half Evaluation

I'm currently reading The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, which at first was rather difficult for me because Plath was originally a poet and I can say the book started off as being so poetic and dramatic it was not like reading a novel at all. At the moment I've come to half of the book, I just realized how much I can relate to Esther Greenwood and most of her thoughts and the world around her. It's scary sometimes because it's like Sylvia Plath could read into my mind long before I was even born and put those thoughts on Esther. I'm not as depressed as her, though yes, I found several things in life to be sort of depressing. But like her, I enjoy writing and I like the fact that she got a chance to work at a woman's magazine, and the fact that she has someone like Buddy Willard in her life (This is where I'm so not Esther. Buddy is a med student and a handsome, charming, Yale guy. I would forgive him for the fact that he's not as pure as I am) and painfully, also the part where she felt like she's been inadequate in a long time, only she never realized it before. It's terrible that I feel the same way she does, but reading this makes me think that I'm not alone, and Esther is around my age so I mustn't be the only one feeling inadequate in this world. I like the conversation between Esther and Buddy about her being neurotic, and about that Eric guy who thinks that if he really loves a girl, he would keep her from all that dirty business we call sex. I don't really read books written by woman before because they're mostly romance and I don't really like reading romance, despite my deep love for romcom movies, but this one definitely worth the exception.

“I could never settle down in either the country or the city… what’s so neurotic about that?”

Buddy didn’t answer.

“Well?” I rapped out.

“Nothing,” Buddy said in a pale, still voice.

“Neurotic, ha!” I let out a scornful laugh. “If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I’m neurotic as hell. I’ll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days.”

Buddy put his hand on mine.

“Let me fly with you.”

A Piece of This Generation

I went to Singapore this weekend for two reasons: shopping and Harry Potter. Okay well, I need to be honest in my own blog. Honestly there's only one reason, which is the reason #1 but the second one stands because I planned to go to the cinema once I'm there and I chose that one. I have to tell you this: I'm not a Harry Potter reader and not a fan either. But even then, I have to say that the movie was fantastic! It's probably not Oscar-worthy or something like that, but it's fantastic in a way that it's the last part of such a huge saga, and truth be told that the Harry Potter series is our generation's heritage (I need to say more, because I don't really wanna inherit the Twilight saga). I can see myself someday buying my kids the Harry Potter series if they love fantasy books (or books in general), or playing those 8 movies in marathon at home with my family, and even better, I can see Harry Potter as a classic literature, like maybe new and extended version of Tolkien's Lord of The Rings. I know I'm not a fan, so I'm not gonna say a lot about the movie compared to the books or something like that. But as a dummy in all things Harry Potter, I shed some tears at the end of the movie, because like the director said, "...so practically, when you come to the movies to see this movie, it's like saying goodbye to the people you've been so well for the past 10 years..." It is undeniable that we grew up with Harry Potter. I grew up with it too, even though I never really enjoyed it before. When the movie ended, I can think of some fanatics that would feel like, "Okay, my life is complete now. I could die happy." And after 10 years of watching people around me getting crazed over some witch kid in Lennon-esque glasses, I finally see the glory in it. One great thing about Harry Potter is that it teaches us about bravery. Just like good looks, you cannot teach courage; it is something you learn by doing, and we might don't have the kind of courage Potter had, but we'd seen him (and read, for that matter) so that someday we will be ready to fight some Voldemorts out there. Cheers to JK Rowling and her amazing characters. She is practically one of the most admirable writers of our time.

I needed to make a choice and I choose me

I cannot tell you how low my lowest point is, but this time could be it. Psychologically, I'm a very internally motivated person. I've kept going on in life because I've been self-motivating myself and usually I never need anyone's support to make a choice or to get through things in life. I thought this was a good thing because that makes me independent and somehow a little stronger because I don't need anyone else. But this time I see the downside. It's so hard to get up again after someone or something has let me down, and the pain is heart-wrenching, and it hurts way too much that it's getting unbearable so the tears can't even start to roll down. Now I know I'm not as strong as I thought I am, or maybe I am, but someone is stronger than me (because there will always be someone better than me, just like there's still a sky above the sky, though I'm not sure about the sky part). I've been hated and hating before, but hate is a strong word I never actually mean to say when I said it. You should remind this: Hate is a strong word; don't use it just to make yourself feel so powerful. Power didn't come from you looking at people from below your nose; it comes from you feeling so small in front of them but you manage to overcome that fear and make them listen to what you have to say.

You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life. -Winston Churchill

So what I do, I take some time alone and alienating myself from the world. I'm so good at being anonymous.

Love Paralyzed Me

I believe that no matter how far we are from each other, whether it’s another city, or country or even if I live in the other world, we’ll meet again, eventually

Ratih Amandhita

There must be a reason why we met and why those feelings grow. Maybe we can't see it today, not yesterday, not last week, last month, last year or many years ago, but maybe someday. And when that someday comes, I hope we wouldn't miss it. Until that day, we can only hold on to the memories and keep on believing. Those are the only things that we have now.

P.S. Well written, Rat. Source

Said my high school sociology teacher

So much has happened in the last few weeks, but, maybe there's only one thing that I'm concerned about. It is something that my sociology teacher told me 4 years ago in a classroom, during one of those boring meetings because I was never into sociology and stuffs. He told us about one kind of love that we will never understand until someday we will be old enough to feel it. He said it's a love between children and their parent. He said we will never understand what it's like until we will be old enough to get married, to have sex, to reproduce and finally to raise a kid. He said when we have it, we will do anything--ANYTHING--for our children just so that they would be happy, and so they won't be hungry, and so that they would be able to pursue their dreams. Someday we would do the things we hate because we love our children just to make things happen for them. And then he told us a story that if there ever was a fire burning his house, he honestly would save his kids rather than his wife. That's just how much he loves his children--and how much parents in general love their children. Yesterday I saw my favorite TV series One Tree Hill where there's a college professor who lied and committed a crime that was actually his son's. When asked why he would lie about it that he quit his job and everything, he said "Because he's my son. That's what we do to our son." So that's enough reason to learn that parents can never been objective about their children unless they never really love them from the first place. Now I know why my mom and dad never look at her the way I see her. Because I don't understand. I don't understand the love they feel towards her, and I will never understand how much they love her until someday I will have my own daughter and raise her. Functional parents, no matter how many times you break their hearts and doesn't matter how bad you've crushed them, they will still love you the same, and still fight for whatever will make you happy. No matter how much you turned your back on them, they will always give you a second, or maybe third and fourth chance.If you can't be happy with what they can earn for you, it's really not their fault because they tried, so maybe you should try to be happy for them too. And just because they will give you another chance, and they will reshape their broken hearts, that doesn't mean you can blow the first chance and break hearts just that easily. Today we don't understand how sad it is to be hurt by our children; don't learn this the hard way.

Did you think that I was gonna give it up to you?

Hey lovebirds! So, people listen up. I know it's almost summer (in fact it's starting tomorrow) and I know I used to love summers, but ever since college hits me in the head with a frying pan, I'm starting to think that maybe autumn is the best season of all. I know autumn is lame, and it's the season where people start to think about committing suicide in winter, but autumn is the start of the new academic year, where there's a new batch of juniors, and like I've just spent an excruciatingly long holiday and then I meet my friends again. Fyi, I still have classes during summer now (screw you Short Terms!!!!!) so I'm not sure whether the term "summer holiday" is still for me. Well, this isn't high school anymore, dear me, and welcome to the jungle where everything about you is being redefined.But based on personal experiences, summer leaves. Summer always leaves, and what happens in summer stays there. The things you love during the summer will bid you adieu "Until next time, sweetheart..." and you don't know when that next time is. But just believe, every summer worth your excitement. I wish you all tons of happiness during the summer. Go somewhere exotic, somewhere new or somewhere you've always loved (like Paris, maybe? ;) ) I'd probably still be here on my desk, updating this page and wishing you all forever a nice summer.

May this boat take you somewhere, somewhere that's not here, where you can find yourself some peace. Sure, peace and freedom is lonely. But that somewhere is soon not a dream; it's a reality, and you're going to love it.

Strangled

They always thought that everything is done for me; every single thing that has ever come into our lives. They always thought I was given everything, like everything happened in my favor. They always thought that they give me all the best; exactly what I need and what I want. Truth is, they're always wrong. It was always about them and their massive egos just because they're the ones in power to make it happen. It was always them and what they think. It was always about them and their favors. It was never about me. And they thought I have everything.