Pondering

I'm still recovering from recent illness. It was probably one of the worst ill moments of this year, which I took really bad because I was alone and no one actually knew I was ill apart from very few friends. I had been having fever for four days before I decided it's high time to go back home to my parents' house and got proper treatment and care. Luckily I did that because further blood test showed Salmonella in my blood, which meant I got the infamous typhoid. A level 4 typhoid, whatever that meant. Oh, plus measles. Hence, the outrageous fever.

Anyway, the (more or less) 10 days of laying down helpless, relying a lot on my mum and dad, I realised how lonely and fragile I was. Well, I've known I'm fragile in terms of having a rather weak and sickly body. Trust me I've tried to take care of myself, but sometimes my body just fails me. I guess I didn't get the healthy edition when God created the body. God, can I ask for a new healthier body?

I was also reminded about my parents/family. I couldn't remember the last time I was held by my dad, and it happened when I passed out on the living room. He was the one lifted me off the floor and then held me tight in his arms. When I started to get my consciousness back, I saw my dad holding me and my mum's panic-stricken face in front of me. It was like a dream, but I remembered that despite my high fever, my dad's cheek felt warm. So were his arms. And my mum felt soft and I felt safe when I leaned on her on our way to the emergency room. I realised how much I love them, despite the occasionally I'm-going-mad feeling when staying with my parents for more than five days.

I am getting better , but I'm still feeling rather claustrophobic for staying in a room for more than three days. My parents' bedroom is significantly larger than the "space" that I have here in this city, but I couldn't stay too long in a room now. So the office became a weird comfort, for the spacious room and bright lights and huge windows. That sounds weird, but that's how it is.

I know I still feel lonely, but I'm learning to not give too much attention to it. A friend told me to meet new people and just hang out at different events. I realised I don't want new friends, I want my old friends: the ones who have been in my life for ages and ages and ages. The one who is now grieving for his sick mother; the one who is now just entering marriage life; the one who is now thinking about serious career and marriage; the one who is struggling finding excitement in life; the one who is now doing things that I don't really understand but apparently it's good for him. I want these people, I want them close to me. But alas, that can't be done. Maybe I should find new friends.

Being sick can be good. It gives me time to think a lot, to ponder on things which I have neglected so far because I was too busy, or so I said to myself. I know now that I don't have any special feelings for anyone. I thought I had; now I think I was exaggerating. I know now that I'm quite depressed with my current job. Not the job mind you; it's the welfare situation. I also know that I am confused with my future plan. Everything is pretty messed up, although I said it is not. Worry much? Maybe. Maybe not.

I'm glad I'm not sick anymore...for now at least. I'm glad I had been ill, because then I realised different things. Now, where did I put the soul charger away?

#Occupy Duduki

I have heard about the #occupy movement which has been going all over the world since quite some time. Maybe you have too, or maybe you haven't. It is directed to economic and social inequality, with its "we are the 99 percent" catch-phrase. Funny enough I first learnt about the movement after I read one of the blogs I am currently following. And that was the myth retold dude's blog (it's a very interesting blog, go and check it out). I think he was also taking part in the occupying (I think Chicago) movement. And then I logged in to my favourite news site, and there it was. Each country has their own, including here. We have what we call "Duduki Jakarta".

I went twice to their meetings. It is always held at the open area of the Stock Exchange building which is located on one of the busiest main roads in the city. The first meeting was sometime last month. My friend was curious and wanted to check it out, and I came along. It was nothing much. We didn't even join the discussion. Sitting from a distance, I realised the megaphone didn't do a good job. The group of people was too little to create a human megaphone, thus the message was lost with the (strong) passing wind. I read the posters. They didn't say much, other than the usual phrases. I was wondering who constituted the 99 percent in this country and whether this small group was trying to represent them or not. Questions were dully noted.

Yesterday afternoon, I went to see the same friend at another Duduki Jakarta's meeting. I arrived late, coming from work and going through the heavy traffic. As I sat down beside the said friend, he gave me a leaflet. I asked him what these people were discussing before I came and he said he didn't quite get it since the road in front of us was packed with cars and bikes and people, it was so noisy and that rotten megaphone was still rotten. Plus he doesn't really speak Indonesian. But read the leaflet he said. So I did.

I have to say I was not impressed with the leaflet. The writing was all over the place; the argument was poorly delivered with so many grammatical errors and typos, it's like reading my old zine from junior high school. The issue was Papua. They wanted the government to, of course, improve the situation, especially related to the existence of Freeport. I was a bit confused. There are other movement or NGOs that supported Papua's improvement. Why weren't they involved in Duduki Jakarta? Instead, they invited Institut A (do support them if you can and want. They are trying to make a difference). I think it's interesting to invite Institut A in the discussion, but surely there are other parties who have been involved in Papua's issues and therefore would be able to contribute more information related to that issue?

Furthermore, there was a remark from a guy about how small the Duduki Jakarta's group was (there were at least a dozen of us). And the man who responded to that remark (I guess he's the coordinator or something) said that small number is not a problem and it's because this kind of movement was a new way of delivering ideas. At that I raised an eyebrow. New? As in, never done before in Indonesia? Was he serious? Apparently he was, because he continued saying the same thing again and again.

Has sitting in a public area and discussed never been done before the #occupy movement started? I remember the "informal" meetings that I and my friends used to have in Bandung where we just sat and talked about different issues: politic, economic, social, even literature. Did we achieve anything from that? Other than idea exchange, no, not really. Has Duduki Jakarta achieve anything so far? I have no idea. I don't even understand who they are representing and what actions they have taken so far other than talking to one another for the past two months. I am not by any means belittling this movement. I think it's good that someone (or some people) initiated this and is still persistent to make it happen. However, I do think actions talk louder than a crappy megaphone.

Which brought me to Institut A and what they have been doing so far. As a community-based movement, they are focusing on activities which are quite simple, yet can attract various people. The needle n bitch is an interesting (and empowering) DIY project. It's creative and profitable. It can inspire people to do different things. The bottom line is: they are doing things, making things, involving lots of different people. Maybe Duduki Jakarta should learn from them...fast.

A side note: one of the participants introduced herself and said this and that and mentioned that one of her concerns was to ban cigarette smoke in public "spaces". My friend from Institut A laughed and apologised, because before she smoked there, and half an hour later, lit her cigarette and puffed away. If I was still smoking, I would definitely join her.

Occupy my chest saja lah :P

Homosexuality

Recently I have had interesting discussions with different people which is a good thing because then I have things to write about. I went to the university where I am working now to see my boss. There was another lecturer at the premise when I arrived and we ended up talking. Somehow, we started talking about homosexuality.

This other lecturer, let's just name him A, argued that homosexuality is something that some people were born with. I said the other way around, that it is a choice based on preferences. A didn't agree because he thought people could not choose their sexuality; people were born with their own sexuality, just like him born to like women, instead of men. I, then, used my personal experience to explain my argument. I told him that I had a crush with some random girl when I was still in uni but I was too shy to do anything about it. And he looked at me weirdly.

Then, he said that it is totally NATURAL for him to be aroused by sexy women, but UNNATURAL for him to get sexually aroused by men (sexy or not sexy). I said I can be aroused as well seeing sexy women. I mean, come on dude, they ARE sexy. He said, "It means you have some issues." Eh? It was interesting to see how both cringed just the slightest bit when I said that I just haven't met the right woman who interests me much. And how one of them concluded that I could have fallen for a woman if I wanted to and met the right person.

The discussion was taken downstairs, in front of the department's office. He continued by saying I should try convincing them (he and my boss) that it is indeed an option to be gay. I stared at them and asked, "Why would you want me to do that?" A similar answer was given to him when he asked, "Then why am I not interested in men?" I mean, how can I know why a person is not interested in something? What am I? A behavioural expert or something? Anyway I told him that he needed to find out that for himself. He insisted that I should TRY explaining to him. Finally I was kinda fed up and started talking about sexual penetrations.

I mentioned about porns. Not the best examples in the world I know. I should have used the Victorian erotic literature. I said when he (assuming that he does) watched porns, he would consider the actions in the scene and (maybe) started having his own personal thought about sex. Just you know, getting the idea about sex. His answer was, "When I watch porn I just watch it. I don't consider anything." He didn't get quite get my point. Or maybe I was being too vague.

I honestly do believe that sexuality is a matter of preference. You choose your partner: gender, age, race, personality, intelligence, etc. I can't imagine that you are born to like women or men or both. Or that you are born liking only Caucasian or Mongoloid or Malayan or whatever. It is not written in your genes. You actually will undergo a certain process (or maybe progress) and make your own list of preferences.

We ended the discussion by me saying opinions are made to be different. I won't force him to believe what I belief, no matter how vague my belief is. I said I just didn't like his negative tone (or prejudice upon me) about this issue. He, of course, denied the allegation. It was on the tip of my tongue: homophobic. But I didn't say it. I was afraid I was being overly too judgmental about two adult men who can't even understand why someone would take interest in gay, lesbian and transgender research if that person is not gay. Meh.

The case of my virtual friend(s)

There was a friend of mine who enjoyed talking shit (and some really serious and interesting shit) with me in the past. We shared more than just a laugh. We had had our glorious moments together. But then, whatever that I had with said friend just ended. Quite abruptly. It felt like murder. I still don't quite understand the reason, but the meetings stopped, the conversation died. We are still 'friends' though...on facebook. Official facebook friends. How good is that? Thus, my friend had transformed into another virtual friend amongst my other virtual friends.

It's always a relief when the contrary happens. Virtual friends morph into non-virtual friends. People that I know only on the net come into my reality and have real social interactions with me. I cherish those moments, even though not all moments end happily.

Of course, living in this city, sometimes you just don't have any other option other than talking to your friends through virtual medium, such as facebook. I have nothing against this, but I still prefer the real interaction; real as in flesh to flesh... not typed words to typed words.

Sometimes I'm glad that some people are only virtual friends. Do you know how easy to get rid of these people? Just as easy as one click. Sometimes I'd feel a bit disappointed seeing myself got removed easily. I call this the 'natural selection'. We got noticed, commented, poked, invited, and sometimes forgotten, banned and bad-mouthed. Only one click away.

I know at one point, I will drag the cursor to the 'deactivate account' option, and drawn myself away from my virtual friends. And maybe I can start looking for my non-virtual friends.

Not a punk kid

credit: banksy (obviously)

I had the rare occasion to meet and talk with my friend from uni a couple of days ago. It's been a while since we actually met for a proper talk and meeting. That night was quite special. My friend had just finished his post-graduate degree and was still recuperating from the thesis-writing process. I found his thesis quite interesting because it was about a punk community that tries to adapt their root culture, Sundanese, into their new-adopted culture, punk. Thus, 'punklung' was born to the world: a combination between punk music and a traditional Sundanese bamboo instrument called 'calung'. Anyway, his thesis came up because of what had happened to me earlier in the day.

I went to pick up a friend at an event, a punk music gig. My friend was not from Bandung, so obviously he didn't know where to go what to do. So, I decided to come and show him around. The venue was an art space; a place from the past. I used to go there when I was still really interested seeing how artists from Bandung struggling to survive. I was not surprised seeing that the punk community used the area as their event's venue.

I was dressed casually; didn't give too much thought to it. A (kind of) white t-shirt, knee-length dark brown pants, black pump shoes and an ethnic shoulder bag, a gift from a friend. I climbed the stairs and immediately got eyes glaring at me, coming from everyone who was sitting on the porch of the art studio. I was a bit surprised. Definitely was not expecting to get as much as a piercing stare from strangers in blacks. And I thought to myself, "Shit, I should've worn black." So then I smiled (at those people who stared) to hide my feeling of awkwardness. And again to my surprise, no one smiled back. Then I thought to myself, "Well, fuck you, Sir." I was glad when I saw my friend, and felt even better when he said he was terribly hungry and wanted to leave so he could eat before the gig started. So we left.

The whole thing happened probably less than 5 minutes, but it was enough to put me on a I'm-not-going-to-watch-the-stupid-music-gig mood. Things would be different, say, if they smiled back, or if they treated me less like an outsider, just because I wasn't dressed like a punk kid. I told this to my post-grad friend. He then in return told me about the way the punk community in Bandung had this weird exclusivity. Weird because at the same time they're screaming they're being marginalised and repressed. Weird because when the so-called-outsiders want to be involved because they care, the kids said outsiders will not understand because they're outsiders. Weren't they being repressive when they were 'hostile' to outsiders? Well, then again, I may exaggerate the situation. Maybe they were just confused seeing a non-punk person coming to their gig. Hence, the confused-and-a-bit-scary expression on their faces.

Nevertheless, I found this a bit odd. I don't quite get the "you have to be one to understand one" concept. I mean, to some extend, it is quite true. But is that the only way? Do you have to be an Englishman to understand English? Do you have to be a moslem to understand Islam? Do you have to be a punk kid (person?) to understand punk? Maybe it's the lack of understanding of the discussed issue that leads people to give that kind of explanation/answer. I honestly don't understand. I do realise that sometimes you become marginalised because someone (something) tells that you are and then later on you put yourself in that position and decide to do nothing about the situation. In the end, it comes to what kind of action that you will take to change your situation, marginalised or not.

Beer and cigarettes

A couple of days ago, I had lunch with a friend in an Indonesian restaurant which has okay-ish food and serves beers. The beer was the reason I chose the place at the first place. It was a hot humid bright afternoon, and I felt like a glass of cold beer. I think it was because of my delighted expression that my friend saw made him started to talk about my relationship with booze in general.

I used to go out and drink, quite a lot. These days I appreciate moderate intake of booze. I still enjoy the taste of wine or perfectly chilled beer, and will never say no to a mojito. But I will always try to set the bar low. I don't like getting drunk (not anymore anyway). It's too much of a hassle. Not to mention the aching body and splitting head when I wake up the next morning.

Booze is also closely related to cigarettes for me. I remember writing about quitting smoking on my other blog, and ended up arguing with this one guy who just attacked me because I "defended" smokers. At that time, I was planning to reduce my cigarette's consumption. I have done quite well so far. I never smoke during the day anymore, and hardly smoke at night time. Plus, lots of the people I hang out with are non-smokers, so I restrain myself even more from smoking.

And just last night I met my ex boyfriend who apparently decided to become a teetotaler for at least six months. I was quite surprised: he was a serious drinker. So then of course I asked his reasons, and his reply sounded sincere (oddly enough). He tends to be so careless every time he gets drunk: he has lost so much stuff, ranging from mobile phones to glasses. He has split his forehead open once, and forgotten about his wallet, money and stuff. So, he thinks it must be changed. He can't afford loosing stuff just because he's drunk.

Which leads me to think, if that irresponsible guy can do it, why can't I? He also managed to quit smoking instantly after he spent almost every day smoking like crazy. Quoting my said friend, "I don't think you are committed to either of them that much." That's true, I'm not. So, let's see how far I can push the limit.

Friends

A couple of days ago, I was going to bed after a long day at the office. I was texting an acquaintance, asking him few things, while fumbling with my pillows. And then, I text another friend, asking whether we could hang out on the weekend. I don't know why, probably partly it was because my friend didn't reply to my text, I started thinking about my "friends". Exactly, what constitute a friend? A mutual understanding? Shared interests? An invisible, yet strong bond? A fuzzy warm feeling every time you're in their company? Trust? The need to have that person in your life? The number on your facebook account?

I tried to see who the people that I missed that night. And few names came up. Those people in the list would be contacted soon or had been contacted recently by me. And then I tried to see how many people from the list who would contact me just to see how I was doing. There were only two names which I was certain of. Because these two people had just contacted me recently just to know whether I was okay or not. And partly because they missed me, like I have missed them.

Another question came to the surface. Who would think that I am a significant part of their life (other than my family, of course)? And again, only two names came out. And then I tried to see the big picture, trying to imagine whether I have done injustice to my "friends" with my weird assessment. Well, there was nothing in the big picture: just a vast meadow with a couple of tress and a bright blue sky. A nice view indeed, but it was empty.

Then, I text a friend from college. Basically asking him whether he had this experience before: realising that maybe the people whom you considered as friends were no more than acquaintances, which is not a bad thing, of course, and that to actually find a real friend is a difficult task that will be taken no matter what. He said he knew what I was rambling about, but he managed to convince himself in the end that he lived and strive for himself. Wise. Selfish. But, that's human. I'm selfish too by thinking I have more acquaintances than friends (because maybe, just maybe, there are people/friends who will disagree with me).

I continued my "discussion" by calling one friend on the list. He was up thankfully. So I told him my general thought that night. He, as predicted, laughed and told me that I was making a premature conclusion. It might be true what I felt at that moment, but it could very well change in the near future. When I told him I was going to write this thought, he said I should, so I would see the difference in the future. He always has optimist views about me, that's why I like being friends with him.

I felt no sadness that night. A bit relieved actually. I still have friends. Not a big number, but they are priceless. And somehow, I didn't feel the typical loneliness that night.

Questioning moral values

I have been reading the media cover about the recent raping case. A woman was gang-raped while she was on her way home in the evening. She was taking a public minivan, locally called angkot. And then not long after the incident was reported and spread out like a disease, the governor of Jakarta made a ridiculous statement, asking women not to wear "inviting" clothes to avoid getting raped. His words turned out to be his doom since most of the Jakartaners cursed his statement which forced him to deliver an official apology.

I spent my morning reading what other people had to say about the incident. And I have to agree with most of them. How can you blame women for being the victims? How can miniskirt or any revealing outfits be seen as an invitation for men to rape women wearing such clothes? How can anyone think that it is normal to see revealing outfits are seen as invitations for men to rape the wearers? Does this mean women wearing a hijab will not get raped? How can they be sure? Have they stopped themselves raping women in a hijab?

All these questions of course are left to be unanswered. I am not in the position to answer them, nor trying to find out the answers. These questions, however, show how bad is the perception of women by the Indonesian society (men and women). Ask conservatives old people in your local neighborhood. They would have said what the Jakarta governor said in a hushed voice. Shame on Fauzi Bowo for saying it out loud, but I have to say I am not surprised.

I have once written about my own experience being harassed by the local community just because they thought I was acting immoral by: 1) dating a foreigner, 2) staying the night at my boyfriend's house. And they used their religion as their justification to be involved in my personal life. They said they were trying to protect me. Rite. I wonder where did these people go when a rape incident, like the one I just described, happened? How are they protecting their girls? Note, the rapists of course were Indonesian men, not foreigners.

It is sad, but I think Indonesian people really need to think and reassess their so-called moral values. After all, this the country where you can casually talk about a corruption case in your office while you're sitting in a public car, saying how stupid those people for getting caught, and women got raped because of their outfits and ethnicity.

Added note: I just read the news this morning about the journo beatings at one of Jakarta's high schools. Apparently the journo was trying to cover a "regular" showdown between two high schools when he got beaten instead and his camera was taken by these spoiled brats. After that other journos decided to report the incident to the police, and since the police did their utmost, the journos went on a demonstration in front of the said school. The kids, probably were provoked by such action, decided to attack the journos again. One kid actually boasted the whole incident on his twitter account, but later refused to admit his wrongdoing to the police. What the hell is wrong with this country? Why do people take comfort in violence and abuse? Somehow, I fear this is a part of the whole "globalization".

Blog entries

I stopped writing on my multiply account a couple of months ago because I was afraid I was just busy being naggy and cheesy. Actually, I was being naggy and cheesy. I just didn't want to admit it before. But it came to a halt when I reread my entries. Oh gods, I loved drama. I think I still have the tendency to write a drama on my blog (or multiply or whatever) but somehow I managed to implant a sense of shame in my head.

So, following the recent emotional breakdown, which I managed to write in form of a cold prose (hopefully it looked like that), I still haven't got the energy to write about anything interesting other than my dying heart (oh please...). I started doing the 30-day-movie challenge, which proudly to say, has not gone more than one entry. I'm lazy that way. But at least writing about movies that I have watched made me feel slightly better. You know, I prefer to write something entertaining that teary. I find it annoying now. I have been doing it for so many years, it just has to stop.

A friend used to say that it's always easier for him to write when he was sad or upset or distraught, compared to when he's happy or contend. He thought he expressed sadness better than happiness in writing. I used to think that way, until recently... until I felt sick to the guts reading my own writings. Now I have problems expressing sadness and happiness. Great. It's easier to talk about something general, like what I'm doing at the moment: the difficulty of expressing one's feelings (in case you haven't figured the whole purpose of this writing up until now).

It's in my head, I know. I mean no one will actually point a finger at me and tell me that I'm a crybaby because I always curhat---tearing my own heart---on my blog. People just have to stop reading and move along. Simple, like caking a bake *grin*.

The main thing about writing is, whether it's a blog entry or an article for a newspaper, you need to invest time, so you will produce a magnum opus (yea right). And writing things which are not related to how sad or dramatic you are is pretty hard, man. I think I have said it before... I'm an emotional writer: I write about emotions :D

The dreaded "us"

Let's talk about us. And there shall be a storm, going down so hard, you wouldn't know what happened and why you had a big gash on your forehead. Okay, that's an exaggeration. But, have you notice that any conversation that starts with that line will end up, more or less, like a perfect nightmare?

I had that conversation earlier. It's not even in a "committed-monogamous"-relationship-mode. At all. I shot the question to make a comparison, to state pretty obvious facts. The other side thought it was a waste of time, which later on prove to be right. Waste of time because we then argued. And my discussion partner asked that ultimate question, "Why do women always love talking about 'us'?"

Yes, why do women love talking about us? My answer to that question was because women (I, in particular) want to know the other side of the story. I want to hear the so-called ugly truths (my god I'm throwing so many cliches I think my blog is going to self-destruct if I use more) from the other person. But it's that really the reason? I don't know since I haven't really analysed it properly. This is one reason why I'm writing this now. Assessing. I know by labeling myself and one other person as "us", I embedded a sense of proprietary into the whole thing. It's not you or I anymore. It's us. A unit, inseparable, working together. That's more or less leaning to a certain commitment. Whatever the commitment is. No wonder my friend dreaded this talk.

And why do men dislike it so much? My friend was probably the first one that challenged me with the question "why", but I've had a similar reaction, conveyed in different words of course. I don't think any of my ex boyfriends enjoyed talking about us. As a matter of fact, when it came to the "us" conversation, the relationship was on the brink of irreparable destruction. The last time I had it with a boyfriend, he dumped me straight in... taking the easy way out.

An important point was taken from previous discussion (argument?) with my friend though. "We" need to stop talking about "us", and just be "us" without having the long talk about what "us" is all about. I appreciate that and didn't argue, despite the incredible urge to spit out another cliche: "men just don't talk". And I will add if they do, they're like a four-year-old, answering with (maximum) three syllables: I-don't-know, I-like-you, I-think-so, I-like-sex, and the list goes on and on and on...

I'm glad my blog doesn't self-destruct... yet.

Ramadhan Oh Rah Rah Rah

credit: featurepics

Today is the first day of Ramadhan, the holiest month in Islam calendar; the time when people deprive themselves from any temptations: be it hunger, thirst, anger, lust, anything that is basically your basic needs in day-to-day living. The only thing that it's not deprived from you is air. I guess it's because air is not sexy or filling at all.

Facing the holiest month, some people pray, some people visit the dead, some people make family/office gathering to say and give forgiveness and some people go to their local clubs and get seriously pissed. Because starts from today, you have to resist every temptation. So, I should have expected to see a club on a Friday night, two days before the fasting month starts, to be full-packed, right? Well, d'oh.

Two friends insisted in dragging me along for their weekend's clubbing agenda. I, reluctant as I ever be, tried to wriggle myself out of this plan to no success. I told them that with no heels at all on my shoes, the door bitches wouldn't let me in in. They were stubborn. And for sure, the door bitches didn't let me in. Plus the sinister look on one of their fully make-up faces at me. As if I was a mere flea, improper and disgusting. But the place itself was full. People outside, people inside... there were people everywhere! It was the same on the second club we went to. Less than 500 metres away and several floors from the first club, the smaller club was very much alive. All was excited to celebrate the coming of Ramadhan. Or they just carried on like it was any other Friday: the last day of drudgery, the coming of a short time-off.

Everyone is a little bit drunk and horny in the club, just like the usual. Nothing's changed. I was on the dance floor, sipping my gin and tonic, avoiding people crashing into my drink, while watching girls in tight-fit dresses dancing on a long higher platform in front of me. The music thumped and roared behind me, sending invisible pressure to my chest, making me feel I was going to have a heartache anytime soon. And people danced danced twisted turned leaned and swayed. Falling down into the rabbit hole. Oblivious to other things, their senses were blunt. I was entertained. I guess this is the literal interpretation of celebrating the coming of one holy month: to celebrate as hardcore as possible before you are told to repress yourself. All clubs will be shut anyway for a couple of days. I'm sure when it's open for business, the same people will go back to the dance floor (or table) and dance like they don't care.

I guess moral of the story is like always, holy or not, it depends on one's way of doing it; whether it's going to matter or not, it will depend solely on the individual, not the society, the thugs in white robes, or the so-called high ulema. I am now thinking about the waking up before the crack of dawn... THAT is going to be painful.

Odd partners

credit: Zanskar, dreamtime.com

I was doing my weekend stroll with a friend, me: looking for a yoga mat, him: doing groceries. Our destination of the day was one of the largest malls in the city. It's insanely big, I cannot comprehend the very purpose of the building, other than: 1) housing the hardware shop and supermarket we headed for, 2) providing a sore sight on a blue-sky background. It was sunny and the weather was nice (read: quite hot). My friend complained about the lack of pollution layer on the weekends, as always.

We managed to waste our time in the hardware store, because apparently we shared the same fetish when it comes to any hardware store. I like the neat alignment and he likes hardware. We are both weird with a different way. Later on after a quite long hardwarergasm, we stood at the plaza of the first floor of the mall. We knew we had to eat. The question "where" has always been a constant problem in our everyday routine. So, we stood there for I don't know how long, definitely long enough to attract people's attention. And watching other people.

I was eating a chocolate bar, while my friend stood looking bored. He's tall and I'm pixie size, which made us look a bit dysfunctional. Plus our significant age difference and colours. We became the-best-to-avoid-sight-of-the-day. But lo and behold! After standing around for about 10 minutes, while munching away my chocolate bar, we saw one couple walking pass us. The man, white, in his late 30's, semi-bald, not so good looking with a normal outfit. The girl, chocolate, super skinny with thin flat legs, probably in her early 20's, long hair, full on make-up, not so good looking with a skanky outfit. She was all over him. Naturally.

I stared at them (yes, I know that's impolite) while they walked away. She was laughing quite loudly while at the same time trying to dig her nails onto the poor man's flesh. Oh. Wait a minute. He's not poor. He's just semi-bald. Anyway, what gave her away was her overall appearance. She is not horrendously ugly or anything. Not beautiful, but not bad either. She definitely could have made herself look more interesting if she uses her slimness to her advantage. Plus her outfit was just way too skanky for someone who doesn't think that one's body is one's source of income. And I mean literally, not metaphorically.

Apparently there is another couple trailing behind these two lovebirds. Strikingly similar to the first one. Probably they know each other. Odd enough, the second girl has the same appearance. She was wearing a short summer dress though, unlike the super short red mini skirt the other girl had. She also looked anorexic, a healthy six-year-old will fit her dress.

At that point I only had degrading judgment upon these girls. I know it's unfair and sexist, and probably, hypocrite. Sadly though, I know I won't be the only person who would think that way. It's easier to judge by the cover. And that's why people create brand or image. What about these girls? Were they doing it on purpose because they embrace whatever stigma coming from other people? Because they just didn't care? Because they didn't realise it?

I was disturbed because these women exposed themselves to social judgment. The problem is, IMHO, they did it on the wrong way. The same with the men. If I want to make a comparison, I basically did the same thing by standing on the plaza with my friend. As individuals, nothing's wrong with us. Pair us together, you start thinking there must be something wrong with the picture. And of course it's judgmental. Everything is.

I wonder though if those girls chose an entirely different outfit (say, a knee-long free flowing summer dress with flat shoes or a loose t-shirt with a short skirt and wedges), would I have thought differently about them?

Pain addiction

It was Monday morning, and I was at work. The first thing that I normally do after switching on my computer is to check for e-mails. I noticed I got three messages from an unknown person. It was sent to my facebook account. Apparently, it was an ex-girlfriend of a friend. She berated me, accusing me of things, but at the same time trying to "save" me from imminent pain. I guess. I replied nicely. I care about my friend dearly, I decided to politely tell her to back off. Though, my guts tell me she will be back with more attacks. This time it will be me instead of my friend. And I was right. She managed to get my number and text me because I already blocked her on facebook. I proceeded by blocking her on my phone. Horay for technology.

It is not her (false) accusations that bothered me. It was her delusional mental state. She manages to justify her pain and blames other for it. Whilst she is the one who inflicted her own pain. I know what she wanted by sending me those mails. She wanted me to be as angry as her, feeling tricked, played, and fooled. And then probably, create the same drama, similar to hers. Thus, making my friend's life a little bit worse than hell. Inflicting pain to justify one's pain.

I often see this type of girl in this country (at least in two cities). I even have a friend who used to act the same. Luckily, she managed to find a nice boy (or rather the boy managed to find her) and got married... ending the vicious cycle of sad dramas which has been going on since she's 17 or something.

I think these people are addicted to pain. Beats me the "why" part. I'm pretty sure it's all Freudian and such. Not interested. What interesting for me is the "how" aspect. By addicting to pain, you will seek out every possible mean to gain emotional scar. The deeper, the better. You get to brag about it. It doesn't matter whether you get the story correct or not. The important thing is you have been hurt, broken down, beaten to pulp by some heartless bastards. You are the victim. And I'll say this again, you get to brag about it.

Anyone who is addicted to pain will talk about the pain almost constantly. I was like that in the past, before I realised it's too stupid. There isn't any good justification for this stupidity. It wore me down, dragged to me depression and suicidal tendency.

This woman is the same. She prefers to prolong her pain by making my friend's life like hell, and later, trying to attack me. Pain pain pain and more pain. Sadly, I have no sympathy for her.

Wedding, funeral, and loneliness

I have been attending two weddings in two weekends. It wasn't all bad, but on principal I don't like weddings. I used to joke with a friend, that we prefer to go to funerals than weddings because it's less annoying. You get to give your condolences, and no one will come to you asking, "So when are you coming up (or down, I guess)?" While another friend wrote that she always finds funerals awkward. I guess I embrace death better than holy matrimony.

But going to (too many) wedding receptions highlighted my unmarried and single status. My mum also gave additional seasonings to the whole recipe, saying that it's about a damn time and that I shall not put the burden to my (two) older siblings. How weird is that? The youngest child should also share the responsibility to procreation. I am not changing my mind, mind you (and me). I still don't have good enough reasons to tie the knot with anyone. Plus the "anyone" does not exist at this point. Even better.

Meanwhile, I haven't gone to any funeral this year. People still die, of course (just like people are still getting married even if I refuse to come). There were friends, relatives, and other people whom I didn't know personally, but still regretted the fact the world has lost someone decent. My grandmum died sometime last year. I think it's March last year. I didn't go to her funeral, since she lived in a different island and things were a bit hectic. But her death didn't come as a surprise. She's quite old and fragile. Funny thing is sometimes I still think that she's still alive, living in her big old house, watching telly and eating sticky rice, chewing loudly with her false teeth.

I just told a friend that I am lacking optimism for my social life's current state. I have poured it all out for my work... which sounds terribly lame, I know. I cannot help it though. It is not something that I regret. I do feel lonely, most of the time. But apparently I only feel a wee bit sad. Quite impressive considering I tended to be hysterical when alone. The same friend (with morbid taste of funeral) explained the theory of life changing process and how one has to tread the changes and life itself carefully, especially if you just had a life changing experience. My past relationship (strangely it's the same case with my friend) had taught me a lot. One thing is to say no to someone whom you used to care or perhaps still care a lot. I didn't think it was THAT hard. Apparently it was.

I think this is the phase when I just gladly (and perhaps blindly) accept things without too much protest, making the best out of it because I know nothing lasts forever. I know my chance of getting married is slim, but the possibility of me dying soon, who knows? So might as well enjoy life while I still have it. Life is a twisted joke, anyway :)

The power of complaining

I get these a lot, i.e. complains. Sometimes (I don't want to brag and say often) about myself, sometimes about other people's life. Sometimes, it's good to get it out of your chest. Sometimes, you just need to complain and whine, because it will make you feel slightly better. Sometimes, though, it is bloody annoying.

There's no standard really when you can and cannot complain. If you believe you have a certain air of "freedom", no matter how absurd the concept of freedom is, you may do whatever you wish. That includes complaining. You always (or often) think that your life and life problems are the worse thing in the world, that other people are having a blast, when you are suffering alone in the corner of your bedroom. Well, those other people whom you think are having a blast might feel the same like you do.

It is basic human nature: to never feel satisfied. It's in our blood, that's why we always complain. But I think there should be a certain logic to this nature. At least, you need to be able to rationalise it. Don't say you don't like things (e.g. your job, your spouse, your relationship, your friends, your house, whatever) just because you don't like them. Specify the reasons, and then do something about it. Wallowing and cursing will only satisfy you for a bit. Reality will still bite.

I sometimes feel tired with myself because I often feel bad about my life but not really doing anything about it. And I realise now, that I'm in a process of moving forward. I complain less (I think) and try to plan things (more) seriously. And if other people ARE having a blast, it's because they deserve it. Out of luck or chance, or hard effort, there are reasons why those guys are enjoying their life. I just need to make one (or many) reason(s) for myself. I managed to get out of a demonic affair with an ex. I also managed to establish a good relationship with a "special" friend without too much conflict. And the most important thing, I'm getting along well with myself.

Complaining will do you good, if you treat it carefully. Just like having a vicious dog to guard your house, treat it carefully, it will guard your house. Treat it wrong, it will bite your hand. And that will definitely hurt.

Writing a sinetron

I heard the president said last night on a press conference that drugs corrupted the young generations, making them unproductive, lazy, ill, and such. I would say that sinetron is equally worse to drugs. It makes people stupid, uncreative, unrealistic, and just plain sad.

I was doing my usual script screening. There were four scripts on my desk, waiting to be either tossed away or given to another editor for a second opinion. I've read two so far and both were written by highschoolers, tender in age (and I guess in writing experience). I am not going to rattle about their age, because it has nothing to do with creativity. It's their choice of characters. Their main "actors" are near perfect. They are smart, immensely handsome/pretty, athletic, and come from an established family. The divine type.

Yes, I know it's fiction, but why the stereotype? Why the sinetron stereotype, to be more exact? The young, fit, smart, handsome, kind, sincere... as if God made a mistake and created the "perfect" man. It feels like these young writers don't live in the same world like I do. Where do we find these divine people? I sure want one for myself.

I am not trying to generalise. This is just an observation, coming from reading I-don't-know-how-many-local scripts. Most of the teenage stories are like the Harlequin-published books with no sex and local setting, which predictably worse. The rest is just the same Cinderella-complex.

I guess one can relate it to one's wish. Perhaps the author(s) was (were) picturing her/his ideal picture of a family, life, oneself, etc. And it's all there in their "novels". A fiction diary. Thank God, they are still young. So they will have plenty of time to evolve. God protects me from bad literature. Amen.

Attention seeker

Have you ever felt desperate for a social interaction? Be it only a random conversation over coffee with a friend, or a long session of cuddling with your loved ones. Desperation comes when you know that you don't have anyone close enough to do that. You know you need it from other people, but none will provide for you.

A person once said to me that I need to be proactive and seek out those people. After trying for some time, I realised that it's not really about finding these people, but it's about coping with the loneliness. You will never be able to rely on anyone. We, humans, regardless our social tendency, are individuals; created different with one another, bearing our own unique traits.

I know that I'm not good with myself. I need companions almost all the time. I don't need intense conversations 24/7 of course, but I have to be with other people. Or I'll be quite depressed. I need to talk to and hear stories from another human being.

I guess I'm lame in that sense, not being able to withstand myself when I'm alone. But, that's just the way I am. Of course, this is related to the previous post. The sense of being expendable doesn't really help.

But then again, maybe I just need a decent sleep. Something that I have not yet able to do until now.

The Expendable *unlike the movie*

I have written something similar actually on my other blog (which on a serious consideration of putting it to sleep, forever) and maybe stupidly cross-posted it here: about how friends eventually drift apart, not because we grow hatred towards each other; it's just because we fail to find the thing that sticks us together.

I remembered I wrote it in terms of natural selection, was it Darwin or the other guy? Anyway, the issue now is the expendable(s). Nothing like the movie, I can assure you. It's more to the fact that most of the time (this year anyway) I feel expendable. And, perhaps, have made other people feel the same.

It's a common practice in this social life: you reach people when you need them and dump them when you're finished. Hence, the phrase "taking things for granted". You tend to ignore the fact that friends don't come easily. You just take things for granted, acting as if these people are there for your purposes. Not caring whether they have any feelings about your cockiness or not.

My latest dumping did not go well (when will it go well, anyway?). I was dumped and felt extremely hurt. Just when I expected my life would go on slowly and safe after that, I encountered a similar situation. It was not dumped-dumping per se, but I was pushed away... hard, which felt, sadly, similar to being dumped. Then again, they are only different words with the same meaning.

Whether you are dumped or dumping or drifting apart from your friend(s), it doesn't change the fact that this kind of event hurts you. A bit, much, tremendously... it's your call. But knowing that the names on your friends list have decreased really put you (me, in this case) into a perspective.

I realise that my existing friends (not that many, I'm afraid) will stay there no matter what. We might not see each other for a couple months but when we do, there's no gap. We behave normally, as if we've seen each other every day.

The rest of the names on the list: they will either delete themselves or be deleted. And such is life. It sucks, but I know that I just have to move along.

Asing di Tanah Sendiri

Saya baru kembali dari liburan keluarga di Bali. Pelesir keluarga setelah entah berapa lama kami tidak pernah menghabiskan waktu bersama-sama. Perjalanan kemarin itu semacam membayar jeda 24 tahun, 1987 - 2011, perjalanan terakhir orangtua saya ke pulau itu. Seorang teman bertanya bagaimana orangtua saya memandang Bali sekarang. Mostly amused, tanpa ada rasa senang atau tidak senang yang nyata. Ibu saya punya ketidaksukaannya sendiri terhadap kuliner Bali dan hal lainnya, tapi lebih banyak soal itu dalam tulisan lain.

Sebenarnya yang menarik, untuk saya, dari perjalanan ke Bali ini adalah pembicaraan yang terjadi sesudah liburan berakhir. Pembicaraan itu terjadi dengan seorang teman dari Australia yang sudah menetap di ibukota selama beberapa tahun terakhir. Saya menemuinya untuk memberikan sepaket kecil kopi Bali dan tentu saja menceritakan perihal liburan ini. Terhadap si teman Aussie ini, saya menceritakan betapa banyaknya turis Australia di pulau itu (saya menginap di daerah Kuta Legian) dan bagaimana mereka mencolok karena jumlah.

Saya menyadari bahwa orang-orang Australia tersebut (terutama yang muda) tidak berusaha berinteraksi dengan turis lokal. Jika pun mereka berinteraksi dengan orang lokal, itu semata-mata (menurut saya) karena kemudahan transaksi atau kualitas pelayanan yang baik saja. Hubungan mereka dengan orang lokal terbatas pada pertukaran uang - jasa. Teman saya mengatakan Bali sudah menjadi semacam North Coast-nya Australia, dengan peselancar, pengendara motor besar, penyuka kelab malam, dan entah apa lagi bersatu berkumpul dalam satu pulau kecil. Menurutnya, para bule ini kerap kali tidak sadar mereka ada di negara yang berbeda, maka dari itu mencari hal-hal berbeda atau berinteraksi dengan orang yang berbeda. Lagi-lagi ini karena jumlah turis Australia yang banyak dan bagaimana pihak penyedia jasa sendiri berusaha "menyamankan" para turis ini dengan menyajikan hal-hal berbau rumah.

Saya ingat leher saya nyaris keseleo ketika menengok terlalu cepat mendengar seseorang mengatakan "G'day, mate!" dengan logat Australia kental. Wajah tersenyum sumber suara yang saya dengar ternyata adalah salah satu pelayan restoran. Tentu saja dia bukan orang Australia. Tapi tampaknya penting bagi mereka, si penyedia jasa, untuk mengadopsi hal-hal macam ini. Termasuk mampu bicara bahasa Inggris dengan aksen paling mengganggu telinga.

Satu hal, yang menurut saya dan si teman, terasa cukup aneh dan mengganggu adalah bagaimana para orang asing di Bali terasa tetap asing. Dia menceritakan beberapa orang asing (Australian) yang dia kenal sudah tinggal di Bali bertahun-tahun bahkan berbelas-belas tahun dan masih tidak paham bahasa Indonesia; bagaimana mereka tidak atau jarang berinteraksi dengan kebudayaan lokal. Mereka meneruskan pola hidup sebelum mereka datang ke Bali dan tidak berusaha keras untuk mengintegrasikan diri ke kebaruan di sekeliling mereka. Kedatangan para orang asing ini pun tidak memberikan dampak positif yang signifikan terhadap masyarakat Bali. Si teman bercerita bahwa yogis Bali tidak mampu mengikuti festival-festival yoga internasional karena entry fee yang kelewat mahal. Sementara beberapa (atau mungkin banyak) orang dari dunia "Barat" yang datang ke "Timur" (Bali) untuk (katanya) mencari kepuasan spiritual.

Saya juga ingat pengalaman teman lain yang bekerja untuk sebuah NGO kecil di sana. Si pemilik, orang asing, ingin melakukan sesuatu untuk kebaikan banyak orang. Terdengar mulia memang, tapi sayangnya NGO pendidikan yang dia dirikan tidak berjalan baik karena dia tidak tahu apa yang sebenarnya masyarakat butuhkan dari NGO macam itu. Dia tidak tahu karena selama empat tahun tinggal di Bali, kemampuannya berbahasa Indonesia tidak lebih baik dari seorang yang baru saja berkunjung selama sebulan. Itu dan kelemahan manajerial membuat NGO ini berjalan tanpa arah yang jelas.

Si teman diskusi saya mengeluarkan satu analogi yang sangat tepat untuk situasi ini: "They [the foreigners] are like oil on the water. They just float there." Dan saya mengangguk-angguk setuju. Saya agak sedikit khawatir hal ini akan mengikis wajah Bali yang sebenarnya menjadi sesuatu yang sama sekali asing dan berjarak. Bukan perkara menolak kemajuan atau globalisasi atau apa pun itu. Saya hanya cemas kekayaan budaya kemudian hanyalah menjadi gimmick bukan identitas lagi.

Er... um... er....

I woke up this morning because of one text message. It was my mum, telling me that my ulcer problem IS definitely related to stress issue and mental problems. Well, she didn't actually say "mental", but I assumed that's what she meant. I think my mum is a bit worried after several episodes of Emergency Room and job desperation. She meant well, I know that. Oh, she also reminded me to pray to the huge G--to ask God's blessing. Yea. I didn't reply to that.

And then I decided that five in the morning was just inhumane and went back to sleep. Woke up around seven to find another text. Not my mum (phew!), but a friend. He's having issues with ex girlfriend from hell. He wanted me to kill him so he could be freed from the tortures given by ExGFFH. Not a nice thing to read right after you woke up. It actually upset me.

Went to the office and got on with my work. Nothing unusual happened. I wrote a long e-mail for my friend, telling him about my experience with ExBFFH (you should get the abbreviations by now). It's a bit similar to what he currently has to endure. And then went back to usual work... or pretending to work, in my case (procrastinating always feels nicer, especially while reading an essay or article or anything other than your work).

My story sounds a bit pointless by now--I know--anyway, later on I heard from my colleague about what might going to happen to the temp staff in this office. It's again confirmed that the office will not hire any temp staff permanently. She heard this from the HR people. Funny thing, I was not surprised. Not even freaked out. Just calmly took the news. I guess I have lost my hopes for this office quite some time ago.

I used to have a point (or points) if I wrote something. There should be a certain topic or theme. That's what I told my students in my class (not teaching them now at the moment, unfortunately). This one... is a bit pointless, just like my job, my friend's ExGFFH, my mum's text message (a part of it anyway)...

Now, if all of you can just move along....

Welcome to Boredom!

The mundanity, the boredom of every hour that passes. It has been several weeks since I first felt boredom crawling in the back of my mind. I had found no excitement of things that I did. Work felt like a constant deadline, one followed by another. Sometimes it felt like my life's depended on these deadlines. As if I'd stop breathing if I didn't have any.

Being busy all the time does not mean that I can stop feeling bored and dispirited. I do have a (limited) number of friends whom I can talk to or just hang out with. But it doesn't happen all the time, and several of them can be quite depressive sometimes. I just want to have excitements, does that necessarily correlate with happiness? Maybe... maybe not.

I remembered a conversation that I over-heard (couldn't help it. It was in an angkot and the lady was talking quite loud. I didn't even have to try to listen) between a mother and daughter. Mum was not that old, girl was in her junior high uniform, carrying a magazine that I used to read when I was her age. Mum started the banality by talking about a couple of ex-convicts who repented and converted into Islam. She basically questioned whether they would receive God's blessing after going to Mecca using their (allegedly) illegal money. And then, she and the girl continued the discussion, one was fueling the other to give negative comments on these ex-convicts' actions toward goodness.

I nearly clawed my eyes out. First, because the mother didn't stop talking bullshit (up to the point her daughter was asleep on her lap and she's still rambling away). Second, the banality and ignorance they presented in. It was frustrating. Plus, I had probably the longest trip ever to go back home (3.5 hours by train, and 1 hour angkot trip). When I decided to stop listening, I sort of made this self-reflection. And I knew I was really bored. Why? Because nothing exciting was happening in my life. Things are so ordinary, so typical, so cliche. One day I text a friend telling him that I felt a certain emptiness and general confusion in my present life. His answer was short: "Welcome to my life."

Maybe it's because I have not had enough sleep since God-knows-when. Which makes me very sensitive and stupid at the same time *I'm typing this with my eyes half closed*

I'm so bored and tired.

The Old Man and The Young(er) Girls

I just asked this question to a friend: is it a bad thing to hang out with older men often (in public or personal space)? Let's define "older". My friend thought 35 yo was older. I was talking about 50 to 60-ish years old. Men double my age, or almost triple even.

Why hang out with them at the first place? First, I have a couple older friends who are just smart and fascinating, precisely because they have reached that age when they can tell you anything that you need to know. Well, of course anything does not mean everything. But, trust me they have enough information to amuse you for days. Second, I guess it comes back to nationalities. All of my older friends are foreigners with interesting jobs. Don't imagine the typical Indonesian bapak-bapak or even your (or my) own father. Thus, these friends of mine have a witty sense of humour. It's almost like they cultivated that skill altogether during the same time. I still haven't been able to find an equal comparison in my younger friends.

Why the question came up? Because I was thinking about one comment coming from a younger person. This man, I just met him a couple of times, once said that he felt sorry that I had to go back and hang out with my (old) friend. I told him that my friend was okay, and that we're having a great time. So pity's rejected, thank you very much. And then another friend commented that these old guys sounded like the typical old bule perverts. I told him that they were always flirtatious but that's just for the fuck of it. I mean, they didn't think it's perversion. And I, to be honest, don't care as long as they don't over-do it. Since they're smart enough, they know when to stop.

Coming from a friend who's known me since 10 years ago, he perceived the men first and not me. But, I'm sure if it's coming from other people who judge things fast (as most of us do), it won't sound pretty. Gold-digger is the nicest way to say it, slut or bitch is another way to name it. "It" here is translated into "me": she-who-hangs-out-with-old-bule-for-god-knows-what-reason. I was thinking about this issue when I met my (old) friend in a public space. No, we didn't hold hands; we didn't act like a couple since we're not; but I thought I could feel people were staring (or maybe that's just me being paranoid).

The problem is even I tend to think the same. Especially if there's a clear evidence that the couple IS a couple. If I see a young (or slightly young) Indonesian woman with a clearly older foreign dude, I will have the same prejudice in my mind. The woman is not better than a stupid full-make-up-gold-digger and the man is no better that an old-perverted-dickhead. Why? (again) I asked that question. I think it's the general way our society perceive this issue. And I, embarrassing as it is, am still in line with these narrow-minded people. Fuck.

See, that's why hanging out with older people gives benefits. Now I realise something quite important: basic prejudice and how I'm still trapped in it. I think from now on I shall learn to give myself enough time before start bitching about other people and their life.

"They [women] believe that inside every heartless bastard is a small boy yearning to be loved. But their theory falls short because what they don't understand is that there are certain types of heartless bastard who if hacked in two would only be found to contain yet more heartless bastard." -Mike Gayle-

I think to become a true bastard, you have to be heartless. You cannot share feelings, pride, guilt, or whatever that will identify you as a person with a heart (no matter how rotten it is). If you think that feelings, especially guilt, will haunt you for the rest of your life, forget it. Go back to the righteous way and become a decent proper guy. It's not bad, both heartless bastard and decent proper guy. As long as you know where to position yourself in the society.

I, once, was faced by massive guilt. It was too massive, I pitied the person. Luckily, I was not the one who experienced it. And that pity slowly turned into disgust, somehow, because I thought that guilt shouldn't be dramatised. Especially, as my friend would have said it, after you have been warned.

I can be a cold heartless bitch from time to time. It requires so much anger and hate to turn me into one. Normally, I react from a victim role, either victimised by the universe or someone. When rage controls me, I just turned into this nasty nasty you-don't-want-to-see-me-ever person. It takes skill though to drive me to the dark side.

My point is don't be something or someone that you don't like. Because you will see your reflection on the mirror sooner or later. If later, you don't like what you see, that's not the mirror bearer's fault. That's your fault for failing to recognise yourself well.

Moving on

I was half wishing that by the time I posted anything on this blog, my latest dumped-by-BF-on-birthday crisis had ceased and passed away. Unfortunately, and without any significant surprise on my side, it's still there.

I will not probably name it a "crisis" anymore. I'm feeling less depressed than before. I managed to find out what is wrong with my head (cause I honestly thought I was in a process of going mental, like proper sick in the head). I succeeded ignoring everyone at the office, thus making myself less annoyed. In general, I can say that I'm doing better.

BUT, I also know that I cannot lie and say everything is sparkling good. Have you ever been in that situation when mother nature is just taking the piss at you now? It's like the whole universe conspiring to push your buttons, and you are left there wanting to scream your lungs out: WHHHHHYYYYYYYY??!! You know?

It's funny that in this specific moment, I can always point out what's wrong with me but not with other people. Everybody else seems perfect, have perfect life with perfect house and perfect spouse, not to mention the perfect newly-born-baby. While, I'm the perfect sore loser who recently just got dumped and went into severe burn-out stress with dead-end job. See? It's so easy to make myself feel or look like a sorry-ass-cow.

BUT (again), everybody keeps on telling me that blaming myself at this point will prove useless. First, it's not really my fault. So, I might be crazy... a bit, but that doesn't mean my craziness was the only cause of the fail relationship. Second, it takes two to tango, said my sister. And sure that sounds right. I can't continue blaming myself for everything. Even though, victimising yourself can be so entertaining (in an obscene-depressive-horrid way). My beloved ex contributed the shit that I (we) had to go through.

They are baby steps; I have only made baby steps. Perhaps, baby midget steps... not that it makes significant difference. Point is, I don't want to put this issue as a central issue anymore. It's bloody frustrating. It exhausts me. It makes me feel that every dude in the world is just a different form of punching bags. Or a sack of potatoes.

Let's put some mantras: getoveritgetoveritgetoveritlupalupalupalupalupalukalukalukalupalupalupa

Amen.

Post-breakup

If anyone tells you that experiences teach you to hurt less, tell that person to fuck him/herself in the ass and jump from a 30-story-building. No, I'm not serious... about the 30-store-building, that is. You can choose your personal height.

Anyways, talking about getting hurt by another party, a.k.a (ex) boyfriend. Yes, my ducklings, the evil ex-boyfriends are there, ready to hurt you in every possible way that you cannot imagine. You thought you have learned enough in the past; you thought you have endured every horrid moment and heard all the nasty statements. Well, NOT.

I will not refuse to admit that, yes, past experiences do teach things, which kind of help me to move on. But these experiences, of course, DO NOT reduce the pain. Considering that I was facing a different person, thus encountering different ways of afflicting pain towards one another. Everyone that I talked to said the same thing. It's the gap; that huge deep bloody hole where your heart used to lay blissfully.

You are promised friendship afterwards, which is eventually adding insult to the injury. What's the point of being a friend if you are still oriented to the fact that you used to date your friend? Just give it a rest. Move on from the fact that there was used to be a relationship. We all want to forget it, because personally the relationship becomes meaningless when I know that the ending came easily and any efforts to fix anything was ignored.

Men are just... bunch of weird and nasty creatures that sometimes come to their senses, for a very brief moment. I still like them, but for God's sake, evolution should have not stopped.

So, if you're experiencing pain, make sure you: 1) have enough willing friends to just be there for you, 2) find a way to end your depression (if you're experiencing any), 3) pray that the universe will act fair and just, and that dickhead will get what he deserves sooner or later.