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.