End of the year SALE! Lol. Just kidding. I mean Reflections.

How would you tell your kids how your 2012 went? Mine would go like this:

Kids, the year 2012 was the year when I turned 19. It was the year of everything One Direction and all that other boybands and annoying Indonesia girlbands. Palestine became a member of the UN, which is surprisingly not bigger than a party in the USA. Obama was elected as president again, and I was overjoyed because that means I would see more and more of Michelle! It was the year of me having so, so much fun. Somehow. I turned 19 in a karaoke room full of really fun people from my mooting team. I met people and became close with them, without ever been friends before. And people, God forbid, they fell in this stupid shit they invent called the Friendzone way too many times, it's so damn confusing! I mean, why? I used to tell them NOT to be like those characters in Gossip Girl or Friends, where they can sleep with their best friend and break up and still talk to them about their new squeeze. They seem heartless and inhumane to me. But screw that. That's one of my biggest regrets this year, because, who am I to tell them that? Love comes to people in all the different fashions. Some people met in a cafe, in a bar, a strip club, and some perhaps in a library, through a friend, so it shouldn't be a sin to marry your best friend, right? And also in this year, there were things that happen through your transition to be a grown up. They were tiring and really bothers you, but they were necessary to make what I have now, happen. Like the broken friendship. The heartache. The love that was so confusing it hurts. The beautiful holidays. All the small obstacles that hit me on the face multiple times, they helped making this year a landmark for me. But another thing that should make me proud is the fact that I survived the overhyped doomsday that turns out to be a hoax. And I like that. I like this year. I want more of something like this, or even better, in 2013.

Huge Grand

As you know, every Christmas holiday I have this "Old Lady Movie Night" ritual that consists of, yes, none other than the ulimate romantic comedy, Love Actually. But truthfully, as I'm a sucker for a lot of feel-good, sweep-me-off-the-floor kind of movies, I also have other movies that help me get the spirit of Christmas love, because, as Tom Hansen from 500 Days of Summer would put it, "It's love, it's not Santa Claus."

Please don't tell me what it is. The only movie who could pair up Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant in London without making it look awkward (honestly, I don't think Roberts could work a romantic comedy without Richard Gere, but maybe it's just me) Ah, Notting Hill. I know it's not really about Christmas, and it's not even set in the winter. But it's London. It's about love. It has Hugh Grant being the clumsy bookstore guy, who's so adorable it's just impossible not to love this movie. The only downside is Julia Roberts. Not her, but her 90s fashion, that is.

Bridget Jones' Diary is probably the only movie ever made to ever understand the concept of a fairy tale. First clause: include a fat-bottomed girl who miserably leads a mediocre life in Lomdon, with a mediocre job and a chubby face (and butt, arms, technically everything). Second clause: bring Jane Austen's ridiculously perfect gentleman to life. So perfect, it seems irrelevant to real life (hint: he is). The Mr. Darcy that Jane Austen told us is almost as troubled but handsome and swooning as the Mark Darcy that Colin Firth has geniusly played, that I almost believe he is as charming as Mr. Darcy the London lawyer. Third clause: bring Hugh Grant into the equation, tell him to smirk and grin that were meant to make every ladies in the world go wild. Last but not least, let the fat-bottomed heroine run around her neighborhood in underwear, tell her to kiss her lawyer boyfriend under snowy London, and there, you have it.

Four Weddings and a Funeral is exactly the kind of romcom you would like to see in your Christmas break. I mean, come on. Hugh Grant playing the sweetest person in the history of cinema, ever. How can you not even love him? Seriously, see this movie. You wouldn't want to fall in love with anyone who's not Grant's Charles.

Yes, I noticed how my movie list is so full of Hugh Grant and, well, honestly, London. And my explanation is this: perhaps my best idea of a perfect Christmas holiday would be spent in cold and snowy London, with someone who's as good looking as Hugh Grant. That, or me attending my parents' second vow in the middle of snowy weather with Colin Firth kissing me, and Will Young singing Your Love is King playing in the background.

In my dreams

If I tell you where I'm going, would you still try to get into my life? Would you still see me in the pictures of your future?

The Person Behind The Mask

Sometimes I think I know you so well. I know you're this cheerful, witty and constantly off the wall kind of person. And when you're being that, it makes me feel happy because you are, well, happy. Your life is so full of colors that's bright and shiny. But then you could've just showed me another side of you—the you who's profound, grim, deep and thoughtful. The you that's the complete opposite of who I thought you are. The you that's dark, as if I thought you were a sunny day in Maui while deep inside, you're a cold, cloudy dusk in snowy Greenland. And that's when I feel sad, because... Because I feel like I was wrong about you. Like all these times I spent trying to get to know you, figuring out what you are and what you're not, was a waste of time.

But it's true what they say, that before you judge on people, you have to be strong enough and make a fair play: judge yourself first. And the judgement came, and truth is, I'm a lot like that, in a lot of ways.

A lot of people thought of me as this person who don't get sad over anything. They thought I'm one of those person who has a smile available all the time. They thought I was only capable of being lighthearted and cheery. They didn't expect me to be able to write about things I write here, because they didn't even know that I have certain parts of the brain that allows me to have a depth. It's because I seem to be shallow all the time, I know. And perhaps the big reason for that is because I let myself to be like that. But I didn't mean to hide the me that have some kind of depth—the me that feels, rather than smile and make a joke about it. I wouldn't rather let people think I'm cheerful than grimy, no. I'd rather let people have their opinions about me, and when they found something that didn't meet their expectations about it, they'd be surprised. I'd prefer that storyline.

You see, maybe that's exactly what you wanna do. You want to surprise people. You want the universe to surprise people, rather than putting on an effort in order to let people know who you are, and what you are capable of. Because whether I do it unconsciously or not, that's what I do. And that's what I want, I don't wanna be blamed for that. So, I don't blame you. In fact, I like that about you. I like people who surprises people without even trying. 

So you see, each one of us hides a personality that didn't seem to fit; one that didn't seem likely for us to have simply because they say, "That's so not you." Sure, each one of us has a personality traits that can describe us individually. But I believe that everyone has more than one personality, and therefore everyone shouldn't be described in only one adjective. Because chances are, that one girl who always seems to be so serious, is indeed a comic writer, or a party animal at night. And perhaps that one guy who's childish and funny and humorous, is a serious thinker; the brain behind the propaganda. It's not a double personality disorder, it's just depth.  

Unspoken Agreement

"I want you to see my words and be motivated enough in them to take the first step yourself because, no matter how much I want to burst into your life with the truth of exactly how I feel about you, I know that I am not going to."

source 

Uncontrollable Love

It's kind of a funny story, something about being cared and loved deeply by people who actually give a shit about you. It's one of those times when you feel ungrateful because you can't help but being scared by the things that you are actually very lucky to have. It's a shame, but you can't help it. You wish you can, but you can't.

It's also really funny, I guess, when things, even some really good ones, got big, it could scare the hell out of you. Just like cancer, and expectations, and doubt, when the love gets too big, it kills you. I have heard how people tell us not to let the bitter things get the best of you, but what if it's the sweet things that got too big, and we're still scared? Is it possible that maybe, well just maybe, the fault is upon us? That there's something wrong with us, and it's only later will we realize that we're such terrible human being?

There's always more than one perspective to view love. Perhaps there's even a way to look at it from a bird's view. Remember that yes, you've got your heart broken once, or perhaps more. You've loved in silence, in pain and in vain. But chances are, someone else have been in that position too, and that's for you. Maybe you never realized how you've been a heartbreaker, how you've hurt some people without even realizing it. And you probably have no idea how many people have called you a jerk, or a bitch, because you have unconsciously caused the pain in their lives.

You have no idea how big of an impact you could've made for some people. You can a big part of someone else's life, and not even know it. You can say all you want about not wanting to be found, about not wanting to fall in love and be in pain. Bu you can't stop people from loving you, just like you've insisted on loving someone who has no idea kf your existence. You can't stop people from trying to win you over everyone else. And you can't tell them how much you wished they could've loved you less.

Through Sickness and Health

All through this November I, as well as maybe the majority of you, have been working like a dog. There was just too many things to do, what with paperworks and personal life and all that stuff. I have been juggling between my almost non-existent academic life and my messy personal health and being a somewhat part-time soccer mom, watching my friends being out on the field (very, very unlike their usual 'the man who can't be moved' style in the cafeteria). But perhaps what November is all about is probably about learning to know what I want. Because life is always about what I want vs. what I need, and a lot of times, we choose the one that wasn't clearly the right answer. We always invest our time, and money, and power, all in the stuffs we actually can live without. And basically, we never learn to spare some time, or money, or power, for the things that really matter to us. Like health, or personaly hygiene.... or other stuffs. We are always in between something that's so confusing, and like other things, suck. But whether we choose to go right or left, we will always end up thinking, "Maybe I should've looked the other way."

Masalahnya bukan soal terjebak atau bukan. Masalahnya adalah, we dont even know what this is. 

Because everyone needs someone to hold on to

What makes a good friend?

Is it about the amount of time we get to spend together? Or just simply the quality of it?

Is it about the way I listen to your every problems, like you do to mine, and how we discuss it, as if I were Dante and you were Descartes?

Is it about how I stop you from falling in love with that guy, because I sense some kind of threat from him and I don't want you to get hurt?

Or am I good friend because I have let you fall so deep that when you found out the truth, it crushed you pretty bad you don't know if you'll ever recover... but at least now you know?

Because I want you to learn. I want you to find out about things yourself, and not preventing things from happening. I want you to feel happy the way you wish to be; and I want you not to guard your heart or put it in a cage like I do. But more than anything, I want you to live.

Live. The way they say you should be brave: to embrace your flaws, dance in the rain, cry your heart out, fall madly in love... Even if it means you have to do it all in the end. Even if it means you have to learn about things the hard way. Sometimes us mankind were left with no choice other than being the miserable creature that we are. And sometimes we have to just settle with being that.

I don't know what makes a good friend, and perhaps I will never know. It will varies from one to another, because friendship, just like love, is a case by case phenomenon. But just so you know, I'll be here.

I'll be here to listen; I'm not a psychologist so I don't charge for lending you my ears. I'm probably not so good in giving advice, but I'm telling you, I don't judge. Not you. I'm probably going to put the blame on you for some of your problems, but I come in peace; I just want you to know the truth, the logical perspective, the other opinions beside those voices speaking inside your head. Because no matter what they say about listening to those voices, sometimes they weren't meant to be so practical.

I'm going to be here when you fall madly in love with that boy who treats you like you're ordinary. I'm going to be here when he crushed you; when he stops paying attention to you. I'm going to be here when he lets you down, and I'm not even going to say, "Told you so." I'm just going to be here, and pick up the pieces of your heart that won't be this crushed, if only you'd hear me. But don't listen to me anyway. It's your life. It's your game, your rules. I signed up for this. I'm your friend. 

The day I fell in love with your brain

"When I was 4 and ready to read books, I picked up my Dad's collection of Dahl's children stories. Mathilda blew my mind. She was my idea of the girl I'm going to marry: quirky as hell. I keep reading lots and lots of books from his library—his was so full of books it was like the inside of Beast's, you know, of Beauty and The Beast?—until one day I started reading Tolkien. I stopped wanting to read any other fantasy novels since then. I keep reading and reading, fell in love with Hemingway and Vonnegut... and at one point I was very into David Foster Wallace and James Joyce. But up until college starts, I lost track of who's who in literature, it's like New York breeds a new amazing name every week, and then I read Tolstoy. Who's not going to fall in love with War and Peace? It's clearly the most amazing novel I've ever read! Don't get me wrong, I really like Anna Karenina too, who won't? But while everyone thinks she's a miserable married woman, I think she's just naturally a bitch. It's probably just because of my mom being someone else's husband just days after he divorced my dad, but let's not talk about that. Anyway, have you read Dostoyevsky? I first read The Brothers Karamazov when I was in high school, and everyone thought of me as a freak because I finished it in about a week while it took me the whole term to finish The Catcher in The Rye. The thing with Holden for me is simple. I was a teenager, he was a teenager, but only one of us was being a jerk about it, and that's him. And just very recently, I finished Crime and Punishment once again. It's probably my eighth time. Russian novels are brilliant; they give you the kind of narration that's just impossible for people living in the first world like us. They can give you 50 pages description of some girl sleeping, and that's not an exaggeration. Sometimes I wish I were born Russian, blessed with the intelligence to love someone who's going to inspire me to write a novel like Fyodor. Now, I'm calling him by his first name. That's... embarrassing." 

Get A Gun

raison d’être, n. 

I swore I would never have this feeling. I would never have the feeling of wanting to jump off a tall building and see if it would kill me--because nothing else works to make me feel anymore. I swore I would never feel more depressed than Cecilia Lisbon. After all, I survived, being thirteen. But look at all those bullshit. Look at all those stupid youth optimism. Look at me now.

I was wrong. And I thought someone would be there to help me but I was wrong. Again. 

"Friends"

Precious Love

Seven years have passed since I first tearfully sing along to You Give Me Something, finally get the chance to meet James Morrison in person and thanks a lot to Yasmine, we get to take a picture with him. I promised myself that I was going to see some specific artists when they visited Indonesia no matter what happens, be it lonesome or stormy weather, and he was one of those, among Damien Rice and Coldplay and Arctic Monkeys. So it was one of the most beautiful nights in my life. And that's how I know that it's a wonderful world.

An Open Letter to My Virtual Insanity Partner

Hey, you

You know, like I know, that we haven't seen each other for a while. We haven't had a lot of chances to accidentally bump into each other and feel like we're so meant to be. I know that we tried. You tried, and I tried, but it didn't really mean a lot to our friendship. And sometimes I'm sad because I thought we're done, but then we made it; we met, and, we're reminded of the reason why we're perfect buddies: Because with each other, we just feel better.

A lot of the things in life have made me bitter. There's no bigger tragedy of a human being that keep on living, getting older and made bitter by so many things we've witnessed just before our eyes. So many people around me, and not a single one of them made me feel safe about telling my stories; what makes the kind of person that I am today, and where I came from, why I do the things I do, how I deal with things... They didn't know, because they don't deserve to.

But you're different. You make me feel safe. You don't judge me. Or at least your judgements are as insane as I can take, and I appreciate them all. You're just as messed up as I am. You're the same terrible person that I really am, though you don't even try to hide it. You'd rather be seen as you; the intimidating person who speaks your mind than the way people see me: someone who's nice, because I bury my words inside of me and let them kill me.

You're screwed. You're fucked up. But guess what? Me too. And when I tell you my stories, you tell me yours and I feel better. Not because I'm dancing over your misery, but more because I feel like I'm not alone in this depression. You had it too--worse, sometimes. And you're still this cool person who I looked up to. We're very similar in a lot of ways; and in that manner, I feel safe. You know exactly what I feel, because you've been there, and I can learn from you. And at the same time, you can talk to me. I don't spill stories about you. I don't judge you, no matter how insane you are. And I listen. I listen because I'm learning from you. And I know I'm who I am today because of you.

You're my Samantha meets Miranda. And I'm your Carrie meets Charlotte. We're a full team, just the two of us.

Someday we'll be like we used to be. Someday we'll be old and hopefully still equally fun... less fucked up. Someday we'll be a better team. And until that time, you're still the biscuits to my English tea.

Yours truly,

Me.

Noted.

Constellations

The Fault in Our Stars is a beautiful read. Yes, I'm a fan of John Green, but for this once, I'm more of a fan of Gus and Hazel Grace. I love their love, their uniqueness and acceptance of the fact that they're dying. Hazel Grace is a graceful girl, and Gus is an optimistic guy who's not afraid of anything. Their love is good. Their love is beautiful. I always have a thing for Amsterdam. Amsterdam is underrated, but the truth is, the way it is pictured in the book is just... admirable. This book is beautiful. It's a must read, even if you're not a young adult.

So many choices, but they're all disappointments

Science teaches us that in times of sadness or upsetting situations, eat chocolate. Because chocolate has some kind of chemicals in it that would make you happy. Despite whether or not it's true, I always eat chocolate when those kind of moods coming and at least that way I can suggest myself to be happy. Because unhappiness is sometimes unbearable. Because unhappiness leads to depression, and depression is not cool. It's the most selfish psychological situation because it makes you only think about you and yourself, like you're the most miserable person in the whole of universe. Unhappiness is hard. You try to give yourself suggestion that, "This too shall pass." "You'll be alright. Everything will be alright." "People has had it worse." But guess what, it doesn't make you feel any better. Giving yourself suggestion that the end will be a happy ending is not gonna make you less of the miserable being that you are right now, because you can't see the ending, and you can't even believe if it's going to end someday, somewhat, somehow. Sometimes when there's too much, I just wanna cry. Really, it would've been much easier if I could just cry all over it but even that kind of cheesy thing, I can't do. Girls like me believe that crying would make you feel better. At least crying would put you in sleep and tuck you in to your comfy blankets, very unlike my worries. Actually, maybe the world isn't so mean. Maybe it's just me being hormonal teenagers and it's just my teen angst. Maybe it's not a series of disappointments. And yes, I'll be fine. I remember that I've sort of felt the same way before, and I came out of it just fine, happy. But like every other depression, somehow I think this time I just got it worse than ever. Maybe it's just me. Maybe it's just part of growing up. And yes, I'll always be fine. 

My biggest regret is that my life wasn't written by Richard Curtis or Nora Ephron, wasn't produced by Jerry Bruckheimer and of course, John Hughes didn't direct it too. 

You Will Be Alright

You know you're tired. You know your candles are burnt in both ends, and you're running out of paraffin to burn. You know you have to take a break; short and long ones. You just need to recharge yourself and stop squeezing lemons to your open sore. You have to nurse your wounds and heal your broken bones. But they need you. They want you. They ask for more than just an encore. They demanded that you be there to cheer them up. They don't see you as a candle, but a fluorescent light. They love you. They show you their love. They don't want you go. So you stay there for them, even if it kills you inside. 

If it's a broken heart then face it

How often can you sit down and look out of the window and started thinking, even without trying, and suddenly you realized that, you've been in this position before. You've been in the same day, the same situation, but that was a year ago. Or perhaps even two, maybe three. Maybe it's the first day of the new class, and you still remember how that very event felt like last year, or two years ago. You remember how hard it was, and how stupid you used to be, how innocent, how scared of life and people you were. And then next feeling that got into you was that you're old. Maybe just older, but old. Moments have passed and you think to yourself, "Am I still the same person? Did I grow up from there to here? Am I still dealing with the same shit over and over again?" We all know our cells change every once in a while, but do we?

Satu Windu Kemudian

Eight years have gone by, and it's like time didn't change anything. Thank you.

The Far East

When someone tells you that life is a book, and those who did not travel never learn anything, perhaps it's true. Because as it turns out, there really is extraordinary things out there, things they don't write in the book, or the newspaper, or even the internet. There are things that you have to find out for yourself. Of course as a normal person you can't go to every places they recommended you, just like you can't read all the best books, or ride the fancies cars, or maybe date all the beautiful boys. But one day when I'm awfully rich, I would use all of my savings to travel anywhere possible; anywhere without any exception, along with the people I love. I'm not really the kind of traveler that you'd think about whenever that word comes to your mind, but I know about a thing or two about traveling and it's this: never say no.

Always, always have some kind of cruise in your itinerary

Say yes to anything. To go to the countries where people don't speak English (even when that's the only foreign language you can actually use) or to eat all the bizarre foods and feeling like you're the new Andrew Zimmern. Say yes to do the things you will never do when you're home, and say yes to wearing clothes that flatter or don't flatter your shape. Say yes to buy the things, whether you'll find useful or not, that you will not find back at home, but make sure that they would remind you of the beauty you'd seen while on the journey. Say yes to spend your money on overpriced tourist-y souvenirs, and say yes to having to sit on the plane between people who don't speak your language and go through hours of flying not talking at all. Say yes to... oh, everything, really.

But for now let me make some points of the story that I'm trying to tell you here. And here it goes.

A much too warm Osaka weather

1. In Korea and Japan, I learned something special about mankind: We may not speak the same language, but we can always try to understand each other, even by signal languages. There's not standards as to how you'd use it to people, because like in Japan, it's like there's a million people there who can't even speak a single word in English. It's so easy to be Scarlett Johansson there. It's so, very easy to be lost in translation in Japan, even when you think you're already in a much visited tourist attraction in Tokyo. It seems to me that the Koreans are still more willing to try to speak English to you than the Japanese. Basically if you don't speak Japanese, you're lost in Japan. Because the minute you landed, you'd start to think of yourself as somewhat illiterate. And by God I swear that even in the Narita airport, you can be lost in reading their signs. It's so hard understand their directions. We can be lost. Just... lost.

2. The thing with both countries is, when you're Asian, and you like Japanese food, or even Chinese food, you can live there. The culinary is awesome. And when you're Asian, you'll be fine with the sizes of the hotel bathtub and beds. It's even better if you get yourself used to eat fermented vegetables or any kinds of pickles, really. Just one single thing about you that's not really Asian, even as simple as shoe size, you're doomed. 

Nami Island!

3. Naminara Island should just be named Winter Sonata Island. No, seriously. It's easier for visitors to get a clue of what's ahead of them. So many young couples visit this island and do the sweet things I thought only exists in Korean dramas. But anyway, it's a beautiful island, and imagine it in winter..... Must be a winter wonderland.

4. Japan is so damn clean. Mungkin pertanyaannya, "Sebersih itukah, Rien?" Dan jawaban gue, "Iya, sebersih itu." It seems to me that the Japanese is a little obsessed with cleanliness, because even in the place where you'd expect it to be messy, there are various kinds of trash bins, so in a way, you would have to think before you throw something away. This is not a lie.

Too casual for dinner, eh?

5. If you're a Kpop fan in Seoul, you may lose your voice from screaming too much because people literally put pictures of them everywhere. But if you're not, you'll be just fine. If you're a Kpop fan, you can spend your money on so many Kpop stuffs, but if you're not, buy cosmetics instead. Actually, either you're a Kpop fan or not: When in Seoul, buy cosmetics. Full stop.

6. It's not a myth that Japan is an expensive country. But here's a little story about my relationship with Japan. I knew that I always wanted to go to Japan; in fact it's the only country in the whole of Asia besides India that I really wanted to visit in my life. But I wasn't sure what I want out of it because I don't speak Japanese (one of the things I regretted in life is that I didn't pay enough attention to my Japanese sensei in twelfth grade) and I'm not really into the music, or the fashion, or the manga, or the so-called mysterious culture... And then one of my best friends go to college there and it was hard for me at first to see what's so interesting about Japan. But then I came up there and I saw it for myself and now I understand what all the fuss is all about. I still don't have the way to explain it to you what it is, but now I understand. It's... really cool. So all that expensiveness we were talking about? They can do that. They're cool.

In Asakusa Temple, eating what seems to be Doraemon and Nobita's favorite Shanghai Ice

7. Every place, or things, you hear in Japan, would sound like it's a name written on the menu in your favorite sushi restaurant. When Karl Lagerfeld said that Italy and Japan have the best kitchen in the world, he wasn't kidding. The food is mostly great. On the other hand in Korea, you have to get yourself used to eating Kimchi. They literally serve kimchi in every meal they serve, everyday. And some food would make you lose your appetite, especially the ones with ginseng in it, so be prepared to just stuff your stomach with kimchi and rice. Mark my words, fellas.

8. I think I know why some Kpop stars are so outrageously dressed up, some even dyed his hair blue and every other impossible shades for hair. Because to be fashionable is so common in big cities like Seoul. You have to see it for yourself, because the boys are so pretty with really smooth and silky white skin and they wear the coolest trends I only see in fashion blogs. Amazing. Meanwhile the street style in Japan is pretty much what you see in the media. Not a surprise there. One surprise is probably this: You know when American movies stereotyped Japanese office workers as wearing white collared shirts and black pants? It's true. Almost 90% of the employees in Tokyo that I had a chance to look at was wearing that.

9. Doraemon is still kind of big in Japan. Years and years since he was adorable, it seems like the robot cat is still an icon. And if you wanna learn things about Japan, the easiest way is probably to read comics like Detective Conan, because Doraemon isn't such a good references (Thanks to those who always remind me not to use Doraemon as a reference ^^)

Every tourists must do shameless self photographs, tourists' way :) 

10. After all is said and done, keep this in mind when you're visiting both countries: Generally, they are very friendly and hospitable people, and they have a good relationship with Indonesia too so basically when they know that you're from here, they'd smile. But they can't show it to you because they don't speak your language and not even English, so, always use smile. It's a universal language, everyone understands.

It's a Tradition

Guess what, I don't have anything to say right now. But it has been Anonymous's tradition to have something posted in the holiest of day in Muslim calendar, which means usually I have something to say, but not this time. And traditions, as boring as it sounds, is what defines something; somebody, a family, a clan, a culture, a nation... So what needs to be done, is to make sure it's still going on. I guess what I can say right now is this: I'm flying north tomorrow, and won't be back until the new semester begins. Have a blessed holiday, people. I'm gonna miss you. 

I love you like a fat kid loves cake

“If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older.” 

― Abraham Sutzkever

Yep, that's me. It was the day of my 1st birthday. So I can say it was taken in April 22nd, 1994. Did I look happy? No? Well, I was sort of a grumpy child, even as a toddler. Why, I don't know. Perhaps because I was always in need of more chocolate? I will never know. Did I love the cake? It seems so, because I was always the fat kid who loves cake. I remember that each year until probably my tenth birthday, my mom would go out and buy me customized cake for me to blow some candles on. Maybe because I'm the youngest in my family, everyone seems to have vivid memories of my childhood; something that I can only remember very vaguely. All I know from their story is this: I was pretty much a spoiled kid. That's one of the many perks of being the last born, though. Your father would gladly buy you all the things they have in Toys R Us. Your mother would always, always see you as her baby and loves you as that. Your sisters would keep on thinking that you're this annoying baby who stole their light, and their candies, all the while thinking that you're this magical doll that can smile, laugh, talk, eat.... and unfortunately shouting cries. 

Well, I was very loud as a kid. I cried loudly, perhaps even woke the neighbors. I cried each time my mom was praying Eid. I yelled at people (how bossy). I was grumpy, never really been essentially happy. But even despite all of that, people seem to remember me as this chubby baby who was really silly and really, really annoying. Once, when I still struggled to read, I asked my mom to translate me the whole lyrics to 'Don't Cry For Me Argentina'. I used to be very jealous of my big sisters, that every single thing they have, I gotta have one too. I could not go one day without asking my parents what my sister had in her hands. I was pretty spoiled too. Once when I was 6, my mom wanted to see her old friends in Europe, and I wouldn't let her go. So I tagged along, and bringing my ultimate babysitter too: my middle sister. 

On the other hand, I was pretty much a brave kid too. I started kindergarten at 4 years old, and one day, the help wasn't standby in my school but we were let go early. I knew the way home from school, so I decided to go home by myself. Yes, that's exactly what this 5 year old kid can do: going home by herself. In elementary school, I got involved in a lot of fights with the boys, because young boys tend to be so annoying, right? 

Growing up, I was pretty much my maid's kid. She, I mean they, raised me like I was her own kid. Once in kindergarten, I fell off a swing and hurt my knee, so she brought me home and I didn't wanna talk to my mom on the phone. All I wanted was to take a nice nap in my maid's room, that's all. My mom was very concerned with her career when I was little. She had just started out her legal career and was busy as hell. But she didn't want to hire a babysitter for me, so she always brought me along anywhere she went. She brought me to her postgrad classes, to the library. She brought me up to meetings. She brought me to... oh, God knows what else. Sure enough, she had to bribe me with so many chocolates and food to keep me from complaining. So I met a lot of adults, which, in her logic, is the reason why I grew up way beyond my age. Somehow, without so many life experience, I was able to find some wisdom that came from nowhere. By the time I was 8, I have started to write my own fictional stories, and most of them were about grief, death, loss... I mean, I was pretty much a goth! Looking back, writing is the only activity that I've been constantly doing. I have gone back and forth in pursuing every kinds of careers possible in my future, but the only thing I've constantly given a thought of was to be a writer. Of course, it doesn't sound like a real job to my parents' ears, so... Well, let's go back to the things kid in the picture knows.

Of course I can't remember what I knew when I was one year old. Psychologically speaking, everyone had a childhood amnesia by the time they turned 3, so they'd forget everything that happened in their first three years of living. But I know exactly what that kid didn't know. That kid didn't know that life is more than a bar of chocolate. She didn't know that the classes she went to with her mom, she would end up in the same place seventeen years later. She didn't know that there are more friends than just her two big sisters; there are friends, enemies, frenemies, archenemies, ex-friends, good friends, best friends... and lovers. She didn't know that there are so many good books to read, so many great music to listen to, so many places to go to, so many shoes to have, and she would want it all, because she's a girl! She didn't know that life really does imitate art, and for that, at some point in life, dramas would occur. She would grow up watching too many Disney movies and read too many fairy tales, and she didn't know that not all of hopes and dreams can become true, and that at some point, she would have to let them go. God, she knew nothing! It's exhausting trying to list what she didn't know. It's exhausting trying to live the life she would have to lead. It's exhausting. It is. 

Maybe You're My Snowflake

One of the tragedies of human being is that we don't always possess the words that we need to describe what we have. Like some certain feelings that we don't have the name for. But just because we don't possess the name, doesn't mean it's doesn't exist. It's there, staying in your heart during your sleepless nights, your darkest hours, the days when you feel ugly... It's there. But you just can't name it. I wish we can invent names to our feelings like we can name our drinks. Mix them up and make out some exotic name and let people buy it. But we don't invent our feelings, so we can't name them too. What do you call a mix of pride and sadness and missing someone and happiness, all the while you just feel shattered and you want to cry? Seriously, what?

I remember it was the first day of fasting that someone texted at four in the morning, telling me how powerful 90% of my writing is, and how similarly we can feel about some certain things in life, despite us being old friends. And today, I logged in to this account and that certain someone is, again, writing about me in her most recent post. Almost at the same time, another someone also wrote a new post in her blog, quoting one of my old tweets that, thankfully, wasn't copy-pasted from somewhere else. Now, I know that there's a really big chance that they will be reading this post too, so here's what I'm gonna say:

Thank you. Words have failed me to describe how overwhelmed I am with the good things you still have for me. So let me quote the red-haired Brit cutie Ed Sheeran because he sang, "you turn my cheeks the colour of my hair." Well, his hair, at least. I have never been more flattered than I am today because I have you guys. And, both of you were right. Sometimes I feel sad that we're not as close as we used to be. Sometimes I think it was my fault, because I suck in keeping old friends. But, whether we'd like to realize it or not, let's admit that it's one of the symptoms of growing up: we grow apart. I know we don't have to; some people can actually make it to be friends for life. But let's not feel forced to be like them. Let's... get real. If we can't, let's deal with it, and feel okay about not being able to be like them. Of course I still think about you guys as my best friends, maybe for the rest of forever, if you'd allow me. They say people come and go, and sometimes, whether we realize it or not, we left a mark, and it stays with them forever. You are that people to me. Perhaps you don't even know it yet, but let's stop feeling like you've changed nothing in the world because you changed me. Let's continue to inspire each other. Let there be more and more marks in our lives that one day, when we're telling stories to our grandchildren like Ted Mosby do to his kids, they will be able to visit these landmarks that meant a lot to us. Oh God, I'm almost crying writing this. So, before I go all... nangis bombay here, just let me say it again: Thank you. For everything.

Further reading: A Love Letter to a Friend, Growing Apart from Your Best Friend on Thought Catalog

Casablancas

So you let someone into your heart. You let some sort of indescribable, complicated feeling slipped into you. And you like the warmth. You like the comfort it brings you. You like the knowledge that someone out there spends minutes, hours, days, thinking of you. You like that each time they showed you their attention, it means that at least for one second before that, the thought of you had crossed their mind. It's almost like you were a ghost they are not afraid of. They try their best to tell you funny stories, to find something to make you laugh again, because they want to see you happy. But they failed, and you feel sorry, so you faked it. You put on a smile on your face so they don't worry. So they don't worry? Oh yes, because secretly, you care about them too. You feel you're worthy. So you fall in love. So you think it was good, but what good does it make if you're merely a ghost?

Someone Exactly Like You

Celine and Jesse is perhaps the most admirable on-screen couple I've ever known. Ten years have come between them; life happened, marriage happened... kids happened. And yet there they were, in Paris, telling each other what life has done to them and where it's left them now. When you're in Paris, it's hard not to be astounded by the charming beauty all around you; it's hard not to be distracted by so many things the city has to offer; the sweets heaven, the landmarks, the cuisine, everything. Yet the most interesting part of his visit was her. And they managed to talk to each other because they have this urge to let each other know that they're glad they found themselves together again. Such a happy reunion, such a sad story. It's like they're trying so hard to tell each other, "Yeah, how are you? Where should I start? Life happens to me, you know. I guess that means I grow up. We grow up. Life's not all sugar and spice, but that's okay though. I think I can take it. I think I'll be fine. Can you please stay here? No? Well... I hope you're happy. You deserve to be happy. Please be happy."

“There were things I wanted to tell him. But I knew they would hurt him. So I buried them, and let them hurt me.”

― Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Some people are just meant to make cameo appearances, some are destined to be a pithy footnote. That’s okay though. Not every person we love has to stick around. Sometimes it’s better to leave while you’re still ahead. Sometimes it’s better to leave before you get unloved. When it’s over and whatever love is left is put back in the fridge like a sad plate of leftovers, you will finally understand that you have the power to hurt someone. You can either hurt them or love them and it’s up to you to decide what kind of role you would like to take on in future relationships. What feels more comfortable — being the one who loves more or being the one who’s loved less?

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Have you completely erased me from your memory?

I was a daisy fresh girl, and you were this young man with a voice that sounded like you were in your 30s. You reached out for my hand and said your first hi, the one that I'll always remember, instead of so many hi's you'd say later. You had trouble saying my name, while I can call your name in a better way, though it was the another version of your name; the version that came from your neighbor country, instead of the one you actually came from. But you were okay with that, and you were so very silent for the rest of the day. That is until the day I visited a major department store with my friends, where you suddenly showed up with your fellows and you said another hi with a smile. It was the smile that mattered. It was the smile that let me know you thought of me as a friend, and I was okay with that. And another day, you called my name with your voice, yes the deep, bass-y voice that sounds more like a man than a sixteen year old boy. And another day after that, you heard my joke and you laugh. And the next day, you found out that I support gay marriage while you think it's a little extreme, though you have no problems with that. After class, you told me that guy I knew from the disco was gay, or even if he wasn't, he's probably a pervert. And the last day that I could ever remember of you, your friend called out to me to say hi, while you waved your hand and smile. We were friends. Not that good or close, definitely not distant. We were friends, and who would've thought of something more could just happen? Summer fling is stupid, and we were not. But I was the one who's stupid for trying to live like cliche doesn't happen. Deep down, I knew it was the last that I'd ever see you. Deep down, at that very second, I realized that I just bid my adieu to the summer fling of my teenage years. But instead I was being stupid and I thought that someday, there'll come a chance that I'll see you again. It doesn't have to be soon, could be anytime. And I was waiting for that day. Maybe I still am. I can't stop wondering how can I never see you again?

Edge of Glory

Oh, God. It's hard to believe that I'm so done with my sophomore year in college. Unlike the usual, I feel like I need to write something about my fourth term in college. On your right hand side is pictures which each one of them could tell you what I was busy doing in the last four months. They say it's the start of the hardest phase in college, and yes, they might be true. So, allow me to make some reflection of the person that I used to be when I started this unbelievably interesting term, and the person that I am, a survivor of such an amazing term in my history of college years. Well, at least so far. But please be aware: It's full of mindless, self-deprecating things because I think the reason why it was so hard to survive was because I self-sabotaged myself into academical success.

At the time I'm writing this, I still have four more subjects to complete their scoring so that I know my current GPA. And so far, well... How am I gonna call it? Good, maybe. Because you see, in this term, which was so, very, ultimately, hard, somehow I managed to skip almost half of the amount of meetings in this term. Almost. Well, with a little help from my really admirable friends, I also managed to keep my attendance record quiet well. I don't know what I was so busy doing. Work? Not really. Dating? I'm single, by the way. Research? I only do research on the story of some people, i.e. celebrities and some other people in real life, thankyouverymuch. I don't know... I was too busy wasting my time, I guess, that I have lost interest in coming to class and actually listening to so much blabbering the lecturers had to say.

There were way too many assignments and not enough time to do it all, that it was almost frustrating, really. There were even times when I thought I was done with college, because I would only show up in class Wednesday afternoon and Thursday morning, and then not much else. The next thing I know, it was time for finals. Sigh. You know what was my catchphrase in fourth term? "Ilmu jauh, temen deket jauh, orang tua jauh, jodoh jauh, Tuhan jauh... Yang deket cuma setan." So, long story short, for the lack of effort I made to be a cum laude (not that I actually strived for it) or at least a responsible student, the results that I get so far is good.

It may not be good enough for most people. But I'm not most people. Or at least, I don't deserve what most people get because I didn't do what most people did, anyway. But to end such a long journey in the last term of my sophomore year, I'll leave you (and me) with the best quote 80s comedy could ever made:

Life's moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. 

Ferris Bueller's Day Off 

Mother

I'm sorry Mother, but it's not gonna be one of those beautiful literary proses about how glorious and magnificent your role is in everyone's life. Sure, it's great to remember that every once in awhile, or perhaps even all the time. Sure, it's a notorious, grand gesture of showing love between you and us your kids. But another grand gesture is probably trying to express how I feel about the dysfunctional aspect of this role that hurts. Or maybe it's just in my case, Mother, and maybe it's just because I'm such a bad, ungrateful kid who maybe don't even deserve anything but keep protesting otherwise. I don't know. I have no idea. But the truth is, sometimes I feel like the world doesn't do us kids enough justice. I know it's a huge sacrifice, to carry us around for 9 straight months with all the trouble and problems and dilemmas, and then to raise us, to face the hard times that happened to us, to fight for us... But then we grow up, and suddenly you feel like you've earned the rights to control everything; like you own us. I do think that you don't possess us. Yes, we belong to you because you're my mother and blah blah. But you rights aren't above ours. Because remember, we're not your slaves. You didn't buy us; all that money and sweat and things you have to lose, it was raising us, not buying. No, you don't treat us like shit, though sometimes my teenage-angst tends to make me think that way, but it's kind of disappointing to find out that you, who's supposed to be our hero for the rest of our lives, have the tendency to always bring us down. I know, Mother, that we always tend to love all the wrong people. That's one of the tragedies that happen to us mankind. But she's been mistreating you, and yet when she came back, you didn't even let her begging for your forgiveness. Sometimes I wish it would be me, you know, to make huge mistakes and humiliate you and let you down, but then I would come to the point where I would come back home because I ran out of money and you would welcome me back with hands wide open. But it wasn't me. It was someone else. I said someone else, because you probably couldn't see it because you love her that much, but she changed. I can't decided if it was for good, but she's someone else now. I don't know her. Maybe you're the only one in the world who can see that she's still the old her, and you think she deserves a second chance. But second chances happen because someone blew the first one, Mother, and if the first was the one that matters, well, here it is. It's my first one, and I'm trying my best not to blow it. Do I have to blow it the way she did to get the warmth she can get now? I do think you forget how hurt she left us. Well, I'm not going to remind you, because I don't even wanna remember it. And why is that? Because it hurts, Mother! It hurts! So freaking bad! I didn't know how it can heal! Just because this kind of thing happened to you in your youth, and you survived it, doesn't mean history has to repeat itself. I thought you hated the way your Mother treated you. I thought you strive to be better than her. And God knows you tried, but try harder, Mother. Because I'm probably not as tough as you were. Because the world is not the place it used to be when you were young. Because you're not your Mother. You're better than that. I love you, Mother. Always have, always will. I will keep my love for you in noun and verbs, in present, past, perfect, future... every kind of tenses possible. But I want you to remember that even though the love between us should exist unconditionally, but just because it should doesn't mean it will. You have to try, and so do I. Because if you keep this up, there's no guarantee that it won't be banished to nothing. And because if you keep this up, I'm sorry, Mother, but I think it's not working.