....

I feel like copying and pasting the words here. I feel like shouting to your face. I feel like transforming into that moment, that noon, that place, that conversation, that drink. Singular. I feel like telling you how you have absoltuely no idea how often I recently (re)read it. I feel like laughing at you for being affectionate when I was oblivious and oblivious when I was affectionate. I feel like this is extremely weird because this has been going on for a long time and I have not once experienced this in my life. I feel like smiling everytime I read "it". I feel like smiling when I remember. I feel like smiling when I hear them, because they make me remember. I feel like shaking my head at the events that keep happening, at the fact that as I am jotting this down, as my fingers fly over the keyboard, the random playlist is playing that song. I was, at first, awed when these events started happening, but then I eventually grow tired because I don't think it's normal. I don't think we're normal. Were. I don't think we were normal. I dont think we were normal and you noticed it. I think you noticed everything I said, I did, when I didn't realize. And I analyzed everything you said, and you wrote, right after you stopped noticing. And the more I did, the more I know I shouldn't have done what I did to you. At least, some parts of it. I feel like you'd given me one of the nicest feelings in the world when I didn't deserve it. You were there with your hands outstretched and I danced along without really taking it because I kept twirling around the ballroom. I feel like when I finally reached out to you, you smiled understandingly, looked down, pulled back and the fingertips never even really grazed. I feel like I should have listened to me instead of others; just like how you should've listened to just you. I feel like this is not me talking because I don't do this. I hate complications and I don't have a guideline to fall back on and I hate not having guidelines to fall back on. I feel like you are this distraction out of nowhere, completely steering me off the path. Were. You were. I feel like there was only 60% of you, or even 50%, that you showed and I missed out on the remaining 50%. I feel like not knowing what to say when I see you in person because "hi" would be over (under?) -rated. Because "hi" never explains what I feel. I feel like the biggest feeling I experienced was fear. I was scared by the fact that you knew me so well (and I'm not kidding) with just a short period of time. I feel like throwing up questions at you but I'm not sure if I want to hear the answer now. I feel like




I wonder if you still read this.

six letters

Who am I kidding?


It's still there. In a neat package, with a pretty ribbon, fully wrapped. It was torn once-so bad, into shreds. But glued back together, piece by piece, slowly.

It might have evaporated in the past few years, but turns out it's there. I had no idea. And the butterflies,

The butterflies never really left.

post #2

"What and If are two words as non-threatening as words can be. But put them together side-by-side and they have the power to haunt you for the rest of your life."

-Letters to Juliet, 2010

it's written in stones

I wrote, on the left top side of this blog, that my current wish list is (was?) to have a temporary brainwash.

I understand a lot of people are pissed when someone else forgets about something. They go berserk when their mom forgets to pick up the grocery or when their brother forgets to lock the car or when someone else forgets doing something. And don't get me wrong; me too. I hate it when people forget. But I recently discovered that sometimes it is good to forget.

I am an avid forget-ter. That's right, I just made the word up.

I even forgot how old my sister just turned and wrote Happy 25th in the birthday cake instead of 26th. (long story.) I forget about plans I make a long time ago, I forget about promises I swore to keep, about people I'm supposed to meet and things I'm supposed to do. But one fleeting moment last week made me realize that forgetting works both ways; that sometimes it's not always bad. So here's the thing.

I am scared to death about flying. Maybe it's the Air Crash Investigation re-reruns in Nat Geo Channel, maybe it's the image of exploding plane in Final Destination,maybe's it's 9/11, or maybe it's simply the fact that we are thousands of feet above ground accompanied by strangers with small square windows as our emergency exit options. It's better when I'm in there with people I love; but when it's a business trip, I clam up and nod and smile very nervously at the stewardess (extra note: Garuda tends to have rude stewardess. more on that later.)

Last week I had to fly to another city for work. Alone. Well not really alone, but my guests were seated far from me so yes, I was alone and sat squeezed between two unknown strangers. (They were nice! One of them slept while the other one kept talking. We had a nice chat. I found out he has kids, he hates big cities like Jakarta, and yes, the news coverage on Merapi has been slightly exaggerated because he himself lives in Jogja.) So anyway. Everyone knows that the most terrifying moments during a flight is when you take off and you land, right. Taking off was smooth, but seconds before the landing, the plane swayed a little.

I gripped the seat so hard that I stopped listening to my new friend's story. I closed my eyes, started praying silently, wishing it would just be over already, and..

...fell asleep.

I know, right?! Instant "temporary brainwash". I actually dozed off and when I opened my eyes, startled, the plane has landed already. Woohoo! Couldn't help being so proud of myself.

So anyway, there's a real living proof that sometimes forgetting is a good thing.

It sounds like a lame example. But still.

And besides being a forgetter, I'm also an avid detail-er. This, I've noticed quite a long time ago. It's not like I'm a perfectionist, hell no. I just like paying attention to details in something; or someone. Paying attention down to what they're wearing and saying and expressions when we meet face to face and their quirks. To their way of communicating. The music they listen to (trust me, it says a lot). The books they read. The way they write. Their body language. Which is why I often notice it when someone begins to change. The second they change, it's like their brain snaps and starts shifting directions,leaving their routines behind and sending invisible alerts like a warning.

This detail-er thingy; I haven't quite figured out whether this is a good or a bad thing. Whether this is good for temporary brainwashing; or make you wish you'd never noticed them in the first place instead.

post #1

She told him, "I wanted you to be ordinary; common; bland; usual;uninteresting; un-memorable."

February, 2010

1409

co·in·ci·dence   /koʊˈɪnsɪdəns/
–noun
1. a striking occurrence of two or more events at one time apparently by mere chance.

—Synonyms
1. accident, luck, fate.

I love this town.

You would think I'm crazy, seeing the post title. Me, whose nationalism is already going down the drain. Me, who almost never watches local shows and TV stations and just smiles and nods along when someone is talking about some local celebrities I've only heard and never seen, not even in TV. Me, who would be the first in line to deliver my harsh opinion on Indonesian bands and movies. Whose biggest dream is to get out of this messy jam-packed hellhole and book a one-way ticket abroad. Whose proudest moment to be linked to 'Indonesia' is when performing traditional dances.

But I love Jakarta when it's happy.

I love it when the town is being celebrated or when it's celebrating something, like Lebaran or Christmas. Everyone is in festive moods and cheering and happy and yelling gleefully and shouting joyfully and greeting strangers and praying together in the mosque and let's not forget the snacks for break-fasting. Streets are suddenly lined up with colorful drinks and foods in appealing food stalls and carts, sold at a very attractively low price.

I love the morning rush, the pre-dawn meal, the relief and gratefulness that echo throughout the town when the clock strikes 6 pm. I love overhearing conversations in the train when a woman says "DID YOU KNOW THAT--Oops, I can't gossip right now, I'm fasting." or a woman consoling her angry husband when a newspaper boy accidentally smacked his shoulder. or a non-Muslim opening his mouth to bite into a delicious apple but paused and put it back inside the plastic as he saw a woman wearing Muslims' veil next to him.

I love fasting month and I know I'm gonna love Lebaran. Fasting month is sadly coming to an end in the next two days and I hope, very sincerely, that all of us--including me and you who's reading this, whoever you are--will get another chance to improve ourselves in the next opportunity. There's always something to improve. No matter how often you pray or how religious you are, there's always something you know you can do better. Pray with more sincerity. Eat better. Drink better. Smile more. Fast more often. Donate more to the needy. Avoid anger and lies better. The next time you fast, do it with 110%.

See you in 2011, my favorite month of the year :)