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.