Poetry Prairie is Out!

On December 18th, this email was received. GYA! I had the book in my hand the next two days, met the contributor right away somewhere near where I live. More than stoked to have it! So this is what it feels like to own a book with your name in it. Finally, one of those things in my bucket list is accomplished! I feel contented. Alhamdulillah!

A 100-Words Love Story

I love how Wendy notices everything about me without the need to ask. She’s a great observer, like she knows that my favorite color is red though I always wear black, she knows how I like my coffee: hot, black, and bitter, with several sips of cigarette. She’s my faithful reader and I’m the wide-opened book, something no one but her would bother to read or to even take a look. But at times I wonder how she likes her coffee or is her favorite color blue, she’d answer me with a smile, “Here inside, Peter, it’s always been you.”

Particular Things

Have you ever miss something so much? Not a person, just some particular things.

Like the sound of the first rain in November, and the scent it brings when it hits the ground,
the smell of cold coffee in the morning, to end the night and start the day, a perfect rebound,
the short static between your favorite songs, those you'd sing with that special someone all night long,
or the sound your fingers make when you type, writing sentences your lips couldn't form,
as the whole world stop for awhile, making your weak heart strong.

08.24 PM

It feels silent, despite the fact that there are noises in the background; the breaking news on a television that no one watches, non stop splashing sound from the fish pond, and once in a while, the dispenser would go "blurp blurp" as the air trapped inside makes its way to the surface. Yet still, it feels silent.

The Beauty of Acceptance

Him.

He is such a nerd, with big rounded glasses,

no life but the poems he writes and he, himself publishes,

until he met this girl, with thick eyelashes,

and sweet pink lips he would kill for some kisses.

Her.

She is no beauty, even more a princess,

not with her brackets, big hairs, and freckles,

but she's born with these dreams people call "madness",

those only this boy thinks, "you can chase it".

Them.

Years passed by and both have learned,

that he is such an ass, and she's so stubborn,

that he drinks a lot, and it makes her concerned,

and that she can't cook well it makes his stomach ruined.

But poems about her are continuously written,

and they've reached Eiffel together- haters are beaten,

in the aisle of Paris, they exchange the words as the candles burn,

"I vow to you my love, and to always cherish the beauty of acceptance".

Wave-back Wednesday

He wasn't a man in an armor,
nor a knight on a horse.
While some men do it better,
sometimes he did it worse.

He was weak and tired,
but he was always steady.
He was one who'd most likely hurt
everyone but his own ladies.

Instead of those strong hands girls dream of,
I had a pair of thin-wrinkled ones instead.
But those hands would hold me when I need them,
so tight and close that his palms would turn red.

He had the eyes of a promising father,
and they always invited me in.
Now that he's gone away forever,
I'm just a lost daddy's girl without him.

Jeux D'enfants: Tu Me Manques.

Hello, there.

How have you been doing, besides disappearing and being out of track? At times when I have no better things to be thought about, I think about you. I let you slip into my mind, and it is surprisingly easy, despite the fact that my logic, and even my dumb heart knows that I shouldn't have done it again.

At times I don't think I need anyone to caress this fragile heart of mine but myself, you come across. It is weird, and you're such a disturbing image to see, such a disastrous distraction to fight, and an awful, painful memory to be remembered and reminisced.

Yet no matter how stupid it is, how illogically ill I am, and how a scumbag you once were or still are, I enjoy those moments when I catch myself thinking about you, daydreaming about you. I can feel my heart shouting at my sanity, to not drag it into the same old hole full of those pathetic feelings I once had for you. I can feel my mind struggling, scratching the inside of my skull with its hard logical truth, trying to remind me of the same old pain you once dragged me into.

But remembering you is easy, remembering us is easy, forgetting you is not, and erasing you is worse. So I let my insanity takes over. It's like being in a complicated maze, knowing I will never find a way out, but I'm enjoying every similar corner I encounter inside: the flowers once bloomed. Its scent lingers me, bringing up everything about you back onto the surface, as I sink deeper into this ocean, drowning in the memory of you and me, we and us.

The shrugged shoulders,
the "I don't know"s...
The almost,
the in-betweens...
I think about you so much now,
are you dreaming about me?

There Goes My 20s

People said that your 20s would go faster than you have ever thought it would. One day you woke up being a freshman of the 20-line, then the next morning could just be your last 20-some day. That's what I'm feeling right now, though I haven't even the reach the middle part of it but indeed, the first three went so fast.

I'm a girl with big dreams, hell yeah I dream big. But I'm also that kind of person who let things flow, too easily sometimes that I make no effort of changing my direction and just follow the wave that lead me toward the same old island called the 30s. Too busy keeping my head up the water and my body balance in this warm and still ocean I am in, I guess, that I have passed some other islands along my way.

Those islands might take more effort than just keeping your head up and balancing your body with your arms, it might have some big waves, even storms to welcome you in, and you might have to use your legs too to keep you moving forward toward those islands despite the bad-bad-bad weather, to those islands called Adventures.

I might have passed three, if only the island appears annually, but I might have passed some numbers too if there were lots of them.The warm-still water keeps me where I am. Not that I'm not happy about it. What could have been more comforting, right? Your families are waiting for you on the 30s, your future's clear. You'll find a man, be a good housewife like perhaps the rest of the females in your family are, make and raising kids, a family of your own, clean the house, cook the meals, 24/7, for the rest of your upcoming life. That's what us girls will be in the end, like it or not, we're the female of the species. Unlike those Adventure islands, who knows what's inside? There might be where the monsters from your nightmares live!

But... when the day arrive, I would be spending my days on that island not knowing what storm looks like, or-or-or how surfing on those big waves feels like. Because again, whether or not have you "visited" those islands of Adventures, you're still going to end up in 30s anyway, right? So why bother not visiting? Said my heart.

Soon, it's going to be my 4th year in this 20s ocean. I'm counting months, and the bad thing about is, it's that in the 20s ocean, months felt like days, and days like hours, and hours like minutes, and it goes on and on and on. Like... Yesterday was May! It's almost mid July already? You have got to be fucking kidding me, man! Will I let another Adventure island pass? Will I not find new things to learn, like big waves and storms? All of us will say "there goes my 20s" the moment we arrive in our 30s. It's about what tone will we use. Are we satisfied? Will I be satisfied?

I hope, when I reach my 30s, I'll have a proud smile on my face, a tired sigh out of my mouth, with a kid of my own on my lap as I finish this story, "there goes my 20s," and there my kid would answer, "I want a 20s journey like yours, Ma!" I hope. Let's keep on swimming for now.

20s ocean, please be nice.

Flava and the Seven Wonders

It's a wrap! was the only thing I could think of uttering when this art project was finally finished. Yes, a project based on my college friends and I, titled Flava and the Seven Wonders. It all started on one night when we had a chat together. One of them, Kanira, insisted on having an all-English conversation in our chat room, said that it was to improve her English. So all of us agree, I mean, why not? We have left our English speaking and writing skill for quite some times anyway. So there we had it.

We shared about most things, practicing our English along, and so I did. I shared them my current favorite song, the one I had been listening to quite a lot since I watched Rio 2. It was an OST from the movie, sung beautifully by Anne Hathaway and Flavia Maia, both in English and Portuguese, titled Don't Go Away. That was when I fell deeply in love with Brazil, its culture, and its language.

I couldn't clearly remember how did it all started but I chose Flava, from Flavia Maia's name of course, to be my name during our so-called English session, said that she (Flava) was from Rio de Janeiro, which how she had her full name: Flava de Janeiro (amazing how Janeiro means January, since I was born in that exact month). Two of my friends who joined the nickname thingy right away were Arin and Tia. Each chose the name Sexy and Latin as theirs.

It all went fun, calling each other with our new names with new background, it was like having an exclusive inner-group roleplay. (Sexy and Latin were from South America btw). And so the others followed; Kanira as Snow, Sarah as Candy, Manda as Ruby, Tria as Dove, and Sheilla as White. There was when it all started, I guess, the idea of doodling-out Flava and her seven wonders.

The idea was warmly welcomed by my girls and so I started that night right away, begun with some ugly drafts and raw sketches, 'till I finally used my big thumb over my giant-screen of my phablet to visualize them into a colored digital doodle. I updated them on my Instagram, one character per one day, started by Flava, Latin, Candy, and so's and so's and on and on. It took me eight days in a row to upload them all, and this is how they turned out:

Flava and the Seven Wonders

I know lotso practices are needed, but I'm pretty happy with the result, for each character represents at least a little of my true seven wonders. (Look how Flava's explosive hairs represent mine! Lol!) Until the next art project, (thinking of a Trio Rio for Ochi, Aii, and I) thanks for stopping by!

Xoxo,

Q :D

The Seventh June 30th

"You may be out of my sight, but not out of my mind.

You may be out of my reach, but not out of my heart.

I may mean nothing to you, but you will always be special to me."

J.U

I am proud to say that I quoted these beautiful lines not from those poets I'm a fan of, and that this well-written piece belonged to the man of my life, my Daddy. Those lines above, however, was given to me on my 14th birthday, and so it was given to my older sisters on their birthdays during the same year. All that we could think about (or at least I thought about) was "Oh, Daddy! You are such a Casanova! Just how many times you write a piece like this for a woman?"

His answer was, "Four. Shanty, Mieke, Shinta, and the sexiest, tan-skinned girl I have, you."

That didn't mean that much back then, not until he went "home". It was a bright June 30th of 2007, an ordinary Saturday morning when his last kiss landed on my forehead. "Don't skip prayers," was all he ever said. It was the day I experienced my first loss.

Though I was undoubtedly depressed to have the fate insisted me to be a sudden "head of the family" (when I was still 15 years old) with an ill mom (Mama had a stroke back then), I always remembered what Daddy said the night before he left. "Sometimes, I wonder why people feel like giving up, of which result's a suicide. Do they not have Him, The One they can lean on?"

I stupidly answered him with, "Maybe because when they pray, He doesn't answer." I remember just how mad he was at me for giving him such answer, and how actually disappointed he was.

"How can you, a daughter of an Ustadz have such idea?!" Then he said, "Allah always answer. Some of His people aren't smart enough to see His signs. How could they? I bet they don't know what those lines in the five-times-a-day prayers even mean. Do they even read the Qur'an? No. They're busy being sad and complaining. But even for those stupid people, Allah answers. It's a pity that they can't see it. Don't be a stupid one too, Nis."

That was what kept me strong the whole years. Each time I face a difficulty, deep in my heart I believe, Allah will answer. The day I lost my Dad, I asked Allah, how will my life be from there, who will take care of me, and so's and so's and on, and on. Allah answered right away, with my Uncle (from my mom's side) came to us saying, "We cannot take Kiki and her mother with us." My older sister, along with her mom (Daddy had wives lol) and her husband then welcomed me. Alhamdulillah, I live with them up until now, and heaven knows how happy I am. See? Again, Allah answered.

I'm thankful it means that I'm not one of those stupid people my Daddy talked about. Now that the 7th June 30th came, I asked Him again, "Is my Daddy doing well? Is he happy? Does he miss me?" And again, Allah answered. On the d-day, June 30th, my sister reminded me of the lines he wrote for us in one of her status updates, and that night, we couldn't help but cry.

We're doing fine, too Daddy.
It's Ramadan here.
Just like you said:
out of sight, not out of mind,
out of reach, not out of heart,
and yes, you will always be special to us too.

The sexiest, tan-skinned girl you have,

Kiki.

A Moment

Dear, you.

Remember those moments you wished so hard to grow up? Just so them adults would listen to what you ought to say instead of their usual reply, "you're just a kid, so shut up." And what did you do? You act tough and stuffs, pretending that you were strong enough, though the fact was you were too weak, even just to fall in love.

So I leaned toward you, close enough so you could hear, "I'm just a moment, so don't let me pass you by," I whispered you clear. But you chose to be deaf, thought that I was one of your fears. You tried, fought, and got rid of me, not letting me get any nearer.

What happened right after was all things went too fast. You fell in and out of love, ended up breaking your own heart for those promises that won't last. You chose to grow up before those young blood in your veins left. You walked chin-up ahead, not looking back, so I let you passed. It was your choice, do not forget, so why do you nag? You complain about the moments lost and how you feel like you were losing the track. Now that you have your wish granted, you said you'd trade everything just to have your childhood back? ...Don't make me laugh!

Childhood... Those days you spent with nothing but having fun. What now, you think being in school is better than paying those bills, collecting money by the time the sun shines until there comes dawn? You used to think sleeping-time is unnecessary but now that your routines made you stay awake at night, all that you want to do is run. You spend your time complaining without a will to move on, a will to accept your guilt and to carry on. You said that it feels like having the back of your head attached to a gun, but you never say "game on".

One day you'll wake up and realize just how many times you have wasted and how many moments have flied. You'll wake up and realize the wrinkles on your cheeks and the dark marks under your eyes. You'll wake up and realize that all these times, all that you do was running away from your own life, a life that you should have enjoyed...but you let me passed you by. Now face your consequences because I have to say goodbye.

Sincerely,

Your moment.

Okay? Okay

I promise this will be the last time for me to complain about everything for the rest of 2014. Maybe it's right. Maybe I feel this way because I have been complaining too much. Right after this post, I have promised myself not to complain about anything anymore. But until then, and for now, let me just question these...

Is being safe enough?

Is it okay to live not the way I'd plan it to be, not the way I want it to be, and leave the wicked dreams of mine for some normal things that might probably be the best answer to my needs?

Is wishing for something more, more of everything, means that I'm not being thankful enough?

Is dreaming of something people would go like "that's impossible" and go with it anyway is wrong?

Is blaming myself for being a coward not to take any action is normal?

Is having a safe routine and wanting for some extreme ones is abnormal?

Is ignoring my dream the right thing to do?

And does that mean walking away is wrong?

Is staying where I am right now and seeing others achieving their goals okay?

Is being jealous and envious fair for them and for me?

Which should I go with, living for others or for myself?

Does staying in the same lines, box, and zone make me a hero?

Does that make me selfless?

And does stepping outside the old lines, box, and zone make me a villain?

Does that make me selfish?

Is being loyal a curse, and being a scaredy-cat a blessing?

Is it ungrateful to not be satisfied with what I have and ask for more?

Is writing this shitty?

Am I being a total bitch right now?

Do you think I'm exaggerating this way?

Is it really okay not to be okay?

Because I'm not.

E-certificate

It's arrived! The e-certificate that was promised to be sent to me for being one of the 150 chosen contributors for Poetry Praire's poem anthology is arrived! I like the simplicity of its look, though I'd like it more if it's white and classic with italic letters, stuffs like that. But hey, who am I to request? Hahaha. I'll be sharing more about the anthology book once it's arrived at my house. It'll be the first book ever published in the book store with my name written in it. I feel proud of myself, and that is definitely a trigger to keep me writing, and writing, and writing more!

PS: I hope I'd be able to write more poems though, but the situation nowadays prevent my mind to romanticize words as it used to be able to. But I'll try. 'Till the next post, invisible readers, see you!

Writing

It is a way to let out what you have in mind without the need to shout. It is a way to let everyone knows about how you really feel or think without the need to speak up. It is a way to cry out in pain, laugh in happiness, or just awkwardly say something about being a misfit. It's the simplest way to be yourself, and to introduce yourself to the world. It is a way to make people finally turn toward you, recognize you, without the need to make a sound, and no sound at all. 

Always

I couldn't remember clearly the first sentence you said to me after the sweet "hello". I guess I was too busy calming my pounding heart as we exchanged a smile to each other.

I couldn't recall completely what movie we first watched together or the colors of the clothes we wore. Maybe I was too nervous to say a word as you linked our fingers together.

But I bet one day, when I even forget about your best friend's name and our special dates as we grow old, I will always remember how you make my cold heart warm and my winter a summer.

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

— Maya Angelou (via observando)

Again, a random post

Inspired by a post randomly found

First Anthology-Book Contribution!

So this was all started when my college friend, Manda and I had a talk about her mentor at her previous office. “She writes a lot of poems and short stories, like us! And she even got some of her works published in the form of a book of anthology!” She said to me one night when we texted. Having my writing published has always been in my bucket list, and I really-really want it come true. So I asked Manda further about how her mentor did it, and she answered, “An internet competition. Whoever wins got their writings published in a book, along with a certain amount of money, of course.”

So the very next day at the office, I used my lunch-break to research about such competition, using some lame keywords like “lomba puisi menang jadi buku” and “lomba puisi dibukukan”, things like that. It brought me to this page, where an event on-going was described briefly. It was a poem-writing competition, with no particular theme, and may be written both in Indonesian and English. Considering my very very bad Indonesian (despite the fact that it’s my mother-tongue language), I decided to join for the English category. Each participant was allowed to submit up to five of their writings (which may have been published but shouldn’t be submitted for any different event at the same time), so I chose five among all the romantic-shit and gloomy-mess I wrote on my blog (because I was too muse-less to write a new one at that time). I ended up choosing Romeo & Juliet, I Miss You, The Call, Best Friends, and Us, which you can still view here on my blog.

The first announcement was made at (if I’m not mistaken) June 1st, and among all 1.170s poems submitted by varies of people 290 were chosen to continue to the next selection and 3 of them were mine! The poems that got selected were Romeo & Juliet, The Call, and Best Friends. I have no exaggerating-hope of to win the first for the English category and thinking, “being a contributor for the book would be enough. At least I got my works published, finally.”

The next (and final) announcement was on June 5th here, and among the last 290 poems, only 150 would be published in the book. Guess what. My name’s in the list, along with Romeo & Juliet and The Call! KYAAA! I didn’t win anything, not money, not free published-prove book, and so’s and so’s and on and on, but MY GODDAMN POEMS WILL BE RELEASED IN A BOOK. AREN’T I STOKED? ISN’T IT RAD?! I was more than happy to have the news! If only my friend Manda (and Sarah too, bad-me forgot to tell her any bit of it otl) joined, she (or they) would have won one of the categories. Manda’s Indonesian literature-style language is heavenly good, and Sarah’s vocabulary for English poems is spectacular.

I hope I will be accidentally “encountered” with such event again, might as well post them here on my blog for my friends to see. I will tell you more about the book when it’s done edited, printed, and delivered to my house. ‘Till then, we’ll just talk about something else.

Q’s out!

The Click

“Sometimes when you meet someone, there’s a click.
I don’t believe in love at first sight but I believe in that click.”
— Ann Aguirre, Blue Diablo (via sexual-feelings)

Have you been in a completely new place with a bunch of strangers and that you can barely imagine what kind of friends you’ll make, but then there are these bunch of people who are so cool and you all get along pretty well you almost bet you've met them in another existence before?

Not that I believe in another existence. But at times when I meet new people, from at least the first 30 minutes we talk, I know how well we will get along later on. That’s what happened when I entered Senior High. Among my closest friends in Junior High, only a few joined the Senior High School I joined, and at first I was a bit worried of how well will I make some new friends there. But then it just happened. I met these awesome people, some are my old friends, and some are those I just met during the welcoming-ceremony thingy, and now the word ‘separate’ is the least thing I could think of when I’m with them.

That’s what happened too when I joined college, when the worry I had has gotten bigger, since among all people I know, I was the only one who joined the university where I studied (not forget to mention that I was supposed to join French Linguistic major when a technical mistake threw me off to study English Literature instead). I thought I was going to spend my college life feeling lonely and away from my old pals, studying a subject I don’t think I’d have a passion in. But, boom. Another welcoming-freshmen-ceremony thingy and I was put into a group of 8, consists of those awesome people later I took as sisters. (Heaven knows how deeply in love I am with English literature right now)

I didn't remember our first conversation, I couldn't even remember how or when did we added the word “best” right before our current title at that time. It just happened, again. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe I was meant to have that holy technical mistake on my examination, maybe I was meant to be in the English Department. Maybe when my senior shuffled our names, we were meant to be in the same group, though all was an accident at first.

But then there are times when, unlike my effortless days of making friends in Senior High and college, the click is just not there. Have you tried so hard to become one of a group of friends yet no matter how nice they are to you, you don’t feel like you belong there? It all started in my internship at a big TV station in my country. I swear no strangers have been so nice to me like the people I met in my internship. They are such a bunch of joyful people, kind-nice-understanding and so’s-and-so’s, and on and on. Guess what. Though no matter how hard I try, I couldn't be myself. I couldn't relax, and laugh the way I wanted to, talk about things I wanted to talk about, all I wanted to do at that time was for the clock to tick faster so that my internship would be ended soon.

Sometimes I spend awhile thinking about what ifs. What if I got accepted in another Senior High? Or that I chose to be a social student rather than a science one? What if I didn't make mistake in my examination? Or if it really was another people’s mistake, what if they didn't? What if my name was put in that jar at a different minute and when the names got shuffled, I wasn't in the group where I was in last time? What if?

So I guess it’s not about how people act toward you and how you are toward them, not about how cozy the places are, or how such a wreck it is when you guys met. It’s the click. You don’t have the click, you can’t make the clique.  It was as if something isn't meant to happen if it doesn't feel right for you. Maybe another existence doesn't exist. But the click simply does.

A random post

Inspired by a post randomly found

Love is...

Love is when every love song pops him up in your mind,
when the look of his eyes shivers you,
when his motions become the most disastrous thing ever,
when his words romanticize the whole scene without the meaning to.

Love is the conversation goes on replay every time you're about to sleep,
how you start liking things just because he does,
how he makes you feel that you can actually understand men,
the exact same amount of the confusions he causes you at times.

Love is losing your appetite just because your phone hasn't ring,
when a single moment without his presence drives you nuts,
the sudden loneliness you feel when it rains,
those lines in your favorite book you want him to read
as soon as you two meet before anyone else does.

Love is crazy.

In Early May

She hates to think of nothing, to leave her mind not as busy as her body parts are, to have an empty space in her head for him to come and slip in like he always does. Him, the one she met by accident, the one she never plan of keeping, the one she always fail getting rid of, the one she hates because she loves. It is because she loves him she hates herself. Her, the one who sees him only from afar, the one who dreams of changing the world yet can barely change her own feelings, the one who wishes to be more daunting yet is too afraid of losing, despite the fact that he is something that she never owns.

It's early May, but why does it feel like late December?

It's probably because of me, love.

Why is that?

You're missing me.

Only One

When midnight comes and eyes are closed, nameless faces wander inside my mind and You're standing among them. It replays back the poems of life and death they wrote for You, undressing my mind and my soul as the lights are slowly dimmed. Illumination left on some words and phrases for me to read and embrace, those that read "hold onto your faith." and "there'll come sunshine." But even when darkness wins, shutting down my hopes and dreams, You're always there to keep my sanity clean and my screams redeemed.

You're the Only One.

Tired

It's when your body refuses to get out of the bed, and your skin feels like it's burning every single time it touches the fabric of your clothes. It's when the burden you've been dealing with march its way to your head, and your eyes felt like they're burning inside every time they're closed.

The Vibe is Back!

I haven't write anything for the past 5 days, why? Not that I was too busy, since I have my long weekend this week, (April 18th-20th were my days off). Not that Ameera kept me full-handed in my home either, since she's been a really nice baby recently (she eats and sleeps well). Why, then?

Good news...for myself, for the vibe is back! What vibe? My writing vibe! Writing a blog was such a "turn on" for me to write some more, and now here I am, having my recent fiction in process. I've reached the second chapter last night, and it consists of around 2,000 words, and I feel pretty much stoked and excited about it!

It's been really awhile since the last time I wrote a fanfiction, moreover a fiction, like the original one. I thought that my job was the one that's keeping me away from the "vibe" of writing a fiction, but I guess that's not it. I stopped roleplaying for more than a week now, I urge myself not to open any of my roleplay facebook account and to standby on my own for work and socializing purpose.

And guess what, it helps a lot! I spent every single damn minute to write, write, and write each time Ameera is with her babysitter, each time I'm free, (mostly when I'm about to fall asleep). I may not be as fast as I did back then when I was still in college writing a fanfiction called "Clueless", where I stayed in a dormitory and my classes were ended before 4PM (obvious reasons). But I think I manage my time quite well this time, in between my chores at home and research at work, I still manage quite well to write, and just to add, to read my friend's fiction in process too!

It feels pretty much like the old days, when she and I are such active authors in AFF, when we tend to exchange our updates every time we're done with a new chapter for our story, and how it would trigger each other to write more, to finish faster, just so it will be read. I miss those.

It feels good too, to know that I still manage to write on my blog too, though I've been absent for 5 days. But 5 days aren't forever, right? I will make sure that I still write things here, be it my journal or some things stinking cheesy for my literature corner. So until the next update, see you around and take care, peeps!

Bahagia Bukanlah Sempurna: Worth Some Vote-ups!

So I was in my dining room two days ago when suddenly my older sister came to me running with a confused-yet-excited face. I asked her what happened, of course, and that was when she enthusiastically told me about her cousin (yes, her, not mine, since we only share the same father, not womb, if you know what I mean), Mas Levi, we used to call him. He participated in this Indonesian Indie Movie Competition held by Buronan Film (or so it is stated on the website's name). What she said to me was, "Ki, Mas Levi has posted the trailer for his movie in this website," she said as she gave me her iPhone, showed her safari browser with this website opened. "He needs a lot of votes so he could win the top three."

Confused and interested with the topic, (I have always been interested in Indie movies, especially those came from my own country) I asked her again of what will the top three get as the price. "The top three will receive donations, of which will be enough for the participants to make a real movie out of their trailers. So if Mas Levi win this, he'll be able to direct his own movie!"

Curious with what the trailer looks like, I opened the website given to me awhile ago and logged in using my Facebook account. An email verification is needed before anyone could log into the website and browse the gallery. After I was done doing the procedures needed to view the gallery, I searched for Mas Levi's trailer right away. The title is Bahagia Bukanlah Sempurna (briefly translated into Happiness isn't about Perfection), which you can see yourself through this link here, or by playing the video below:

The movie's plot is stated below the trailer in Bahasa. I've translated it into English here for anyone from outside the country to read:

It is about a disabled little girl who only has one leg and one arm. She only lives with her father, who likes to drink a hell lot since his wife abandoned him with their child. The poor girl quit her school for being bullied by her normal classmates, only spends some of her times with a very few neighbors she has as friends, while most are spent alone. There comes a day when her father came home drunk. Losing the control of his temper, he hit the girl on her face until she lost her consciousness. That was the last time she saw him around. The plot jumped into years later, when the girl has turned into an independent woman with a supporting mannequin leg and arm. Lives in an apartment all by herself, she tends to have nightmares at night, about a ghost of a little girl pulling her mannequin body parts away from her, makes her feel uncomfortable. She then decided to go back to her old house, where she finds a box filled with old Polaroid pictures, and the picture shocks her. The picture captures herself in blood, with a leg and an arm belongs to another little girl. She tries to remember about what has happened in the past, and the ending reveals the reason for her nightmares. She killed a girl who bullied her a lot when she was still in school, just for having a perfection that doesn't even bring her any happiness.

Ergh, scary much, eh? *shivers* Ghost stories don't scare me, but they do, when they have a touch of thriller in it. I hate thriller, not that I dislike it, it's actually one of my favorite genres, but it scares the shit out of me. And I think this movie, if Mas Levi ever win this (in which I hope he will), will scare the shit out of me too. I mean, come on, don't you think cutting other people's body parts aren't horrifying enough?! Personally, I like the plot, it is something one could use in a fiction, but one doesn't simply come up with such idea. It's unique in its own way. I'm being a little biased here, though, since I think he has some heavy competitors there *amazed with what's in the gallery* but really, he deserves some more votes than he got already right now. 38?! Others have above 400 votes, I mean, come on!

Best of luck for Mas Levi. I hope anyone who read this wouldn't bother to use some of their minutes to give it a try, to put on some vote-ups, to give a chance for this guy to give what Indonesian Horror Movie needs, the "vibe", and ain't the porn. (PORN IS WHAT'S IN INDONESIAN'S MOST HORROR MOVIES, HOW PATHETIC IS THAT?!) Apart from that, I wish everyone a good day ahead.

Honolulu, peeps!

Life as a Research Assistant

I had been complaining about my job ever since I got here on July 16th 2013, knowing that my friends have "cooler" job titles, like "copy writer" and "publicity officer". The fact that the company I'm working in right now is a new and small company got me insecure too, moreover that I'm the kind of person who tends to compare my situation with my friends'.

"Where do you work?" is my less favorite question to answer about my career. Others (referring to those friends of mine) would answer proudly with "RCTI" (a big television company in my country), "Rolling Stone Magazine", or "Allianz". Mine, if I have to answer, would be, "just a small company in West Jakarta. An IT company in property field, stuffs like that."

Then people would go like, "So your company sells houses and buildings, yes?" ARGH. We're an IT company, not a property agent, or broker, or whatsoever company! It frustrates me at times, when some families of mine keep on asking when will my boss give me a free house to live in. Like what the actual fuckery, man? Zzz.

So... My title for this company right now is "Research Assistant and Administrative", sounds cool, yet so rare I hate it when people questions about it. Because the more I explain them about what I'm doing, the less cooler it will be. So what do I do? I'm collecting data, as much as possible, as much as I could, as much as time would let me, just so I could calculate the exact number of how much each land per square-meter costs in each region in big cities in my country. Sounds so simple, yet it's a hell lot thing to do. It takes times and a great concentration. Well, actually, it's something anyone who's willing to learn can do, one doesn't have to reach a bachelor degree (moreover a literature student like me) to get a research done.

That's why I feel a bit of... Well, what's my three and a half years of studying English language, linguistic, and literature for, then, if I end up doing math here instead? Then I ran across this blog, and I read it carefully, "Research Assistant" is described as something more interesting than it did on mine up there just now. It says:

Being a Research Assistant is very similar to being a detective. You have been given an objective - to uncover as much information you can about a subject - and you must go to any means to retrieve this information. Sometimes this will include wandering through libraries for hours, collapsing in defeat between the stacks, carrying copious amounts of books which obscure your vision, and other courageous acts of research. Often you must be stealthy and exploit all the resources available - even if this involves assuming another identity, picking up on the smallest clues left behind and following these leads meticulously. You must be dedicated, you must be tireless, and most importantly you must have an abnormally long attention span.

And still, from the same blog, added up below the paragraphs are:

The experience of research has its own unique joys and frustrations which I believe are universal, no matter the topic of study.

It makes me realized that, actually, I'm a detective after all these times! Really! I've been in phone calls as a made-up identity, just to collect data from brokers about the cost of certain lands in the cities, act out as if I have the interest to buy it myself. It's tough, especially when they call you back to follow you up about it. I was like, "I don't even have money fml."

The blog, thankfully, has opened my eyes for a new perspective of my job, that it isn't as boring as I thought. Even more, I gained a lot of knowledge from this job regarding property industry! Not forget to mention the research skill increased.

I feel better right now, knowing that what I'm doing isn't just something anyone could do. One would need a hell lot of dedication, concentration, and stuffs to conduct a research. And I have survived almost a year doing this thing every day. I named my office's computer "Jawn" as in John Watson, for he is my best friend and source for my research and many other "cases".

Okay then, that's all about it for now. Detective Q is out!

The Truth Is...

If I should list some things that are his,

of which I truly miss,
it would be his smile, his lips against my cheeks,
his palms on my forehead, his good-night-kiss,
and his creaky voice when he said "Good day ahead, little miss,"
things I really wish up until now still exists.

The Night is Young

Don't be too careful,
go on and sing along.
Walk chin-up ahead,
like there's nothing wrong.
Your life's waiting,
so leave your fears abandoned.
Take all the risks, darling,
for the night is still young.

Patience

Lang Leav, Love & Misadventure

A beautiful suggestion well-told.

Extra Ordinary

You aren't the red roses in anniversaries,
nor the chocolates in Valentine's day,
you're something extra ordinary,
one that isn't simply found and stays.

Original

I love this, the feeling I have every time I shower. The water rinse down from my head to my ankles, fades away my colors. I feel plain as I look at my reflection in the mirror; so pale, so tired, without those make-ups in layers, I feel like I know her better.

A Love Story

Would take too many papers for it to be written,
and so many hours for it to be told,
the story before you came, after, and things in between,
and those you brought along; promises and hopes.

Romeo & Juliet

Him.
He's no Romeo, though he is known as the name,
for he serenades the town with romance so lame,
songs he wrote for her, the girl of his dream,
whose face he can't forget since the day she first came.

Her.
She's no Juliet, though she seems a bit like the lady,
days and nights she waits for him on her balcony,
to utter the words of love in such symphony,
for his voice has become her favorite melody.

Them.
They're not the legendary couple, though in some ways are as ironic,
they love each other terribly but neither is bold enough to speak.
What are they so afraid of, they don't know, and they don't bother to seek.
Maybe it's their feelings too strong yet their hearts too weak?

I Miss You

It was mid September,

and I was looking at our picture,

you know, the one we took that summer?

In your hands were those flowers,

along with their beautiful colors,

and their sweet scents, yes, I still remember.

Time passed so fast, it was almost winter,

the coldness brought back my thought from its corner,

realized me that, really, nothing lasts forever.

So I just sat there in silence and wondered,

how does it feel like to be up there, with me under?

Do you miss me like I miss you, Mother?

In Between

I'm stuck in a gravity,
not the same old push and pull,
it's a new one.

Something about insanity,
about feeling sick and dull,
about wanting to move on.

In between the was, is, and what will be,
among those chances of "once and for all",
so crowded yet so alone.

Silence is Golden

One of these days I find silence is golden,
most people can't stop to blabber out what should have been hidden.

The great wall of bond is broken,
respect is sinking.

They don't bother to think of what they did and how it caused others' feelings,
toward the words that shouldn't be uttered and the tone they used when they were speaking.

How did it start, when, or will it ever end?
I pray hard to Lord Almighty for the silence to come again.

Stop

I'm currently nowhere,

not having my feet on the ground,

neither my head in the clouds, I'm invisible.

I'm currently no one,

still waiting for a sound,

to sign me of who I am, I'm vulnerable.

I'm currently nothing,

at times I want to scream out loud,

but even to myself, I'm not voluble.

I want to stop.

Election = Reflection

Semakin gue tua, (gamau ngomong dewasa, soalnya emang belom) semakin berasa kalo ekonomi negeri tercinta ini emang semerawut, dari mulai yg kecil kayak harga pasaran bawang sama cabe, sampe yang gede kayak properti, udah mulai gue icip sedikit-sedikit.

Terus gue jadi inget, gimana si Daddy dulu marahnya bukan main pas tau si Mawar (sebut saja Mawar lah ya), yang udh dia perjuangkan atas nama rakyat untuk duduk di kursi presiden, malah ingkar janji. Gimana dia (subjek ganti lagi ke si Daddy) banting setir untuk jadi "pengkhianat" dan mengusung nama lain yg dikiranya lebih pantas menjabat. Ga jauh-jauh dari si Mawar, Tono (sebut saja Tono lah ya) juga dianggep bokap gue sangat mengecawakan kepercayaan rakyat kecil yang udh milih dia.

Setelah bokap ga ada, udah hampir ada 2 kali pemilihan presiden, yang terakhir terpilih, yang sedikit gue icipin tata perekonomiannya, ga bisa gue bilang bikin rakyat terpuruk, tapi as far as I observe, he doesn't try hard enough to make it better. Or he did, and somehow, only God knows why, it didn't work.

Nah, sekarang lagi rame lagi nih kampanye caleg untuk pemda sama capres dimana-mana. Partai lama mulai mencoba untuk merebut kembali hati rakyat, partai baru naikin pamor pake capres yang namanya terkenal, malah sampe ada rumor raja dangdut mau (atau sudah?) ikutan baris.

Mungkin belom aja ya, tapi gue ngerasa, walaupun persaingan untuk merebutkan si "jabatan" ini makin ketat karena yg nyalon makin banyak, gue ngerasa kampanye nya ga seramai dulu waktu jaman si Mawar, yang sampe jalanan macet penuh sama warna merah gambar banteng.

Kesimpulan sesaat gue adalah, "Maybe this will be a better one, Insha Allah." Karena tidak terlalu gembornya kampanye dan blusu'an massal, gue merasa kalo orang-orang ini berusaha memenangkan hati rakyat lewat fair-play. It's like, "I won't put so much effort, let the people see and decide themselves." But God, I was wrong.

Jadi gini, minggu lalu, saat pulang kantor sama ojek langganan, sebut aja Jupri (emang namanya Jupri, sih) tiba-tiba nanya ke gue, "Ki. Udah tau, mau coblos siapa?" Gue pikir dia lg ngmgin pemilihan presiden, jadi gue blg, "Belom ada pasangan favorite, tapi kayaknya sih ada beberapa pegangan." Trs dia nanya lagi, "Bukan, buat yang Tangsel, Ki." Oh, oke. Jadi dia ngomongin soal pemda. Gue jawab lah, "Belom, orang nya aja saya ga ada yg kenal kecuali temen smp saya. Mungkin saya coblos dia."

Barulah abis itu si Jupri jelasin, "Gini, Ki. di tempat pengajian gue, ada tetangga Kiki, orangnya baik, jujur deh pokoknya. Nah, dia nih nyaleg. Katanya kalo ampe dia kepilih, dia mau ngundi orang-orang yang udah milih dia. Nanti hadiahnya banyak, udah disiapin. Ada motor, ada duit, ada umroh, banyak lah. Nah, Pak Jupri disuruh nyari orang buat milih, nanti per KTP gue dikasih 20 ribu. Cuma butuh fotokopi KTP aja kok." Gue cuma spontan blg, "nanti aja saya kasih 20 ribu buat Pak Jupri, tapi saya ga ikutan."

Ngerasa ga puas, dia nerusin, "Pak Haji ini udh biasa bawa org umroh tiap taun, jadi pasti dapet jatah. Ga mungkin kabur."

Dan gue cuma bisa jawab, sok demokratis, "Maaf pak, suara Kiki ga bisa dibeli." Walaupun sebenernya sih gue juga gatau gue akan pilih siapa nantinya.

What's on my mind? Yah, ternyata kampanye yg fair-play itu doesn't exist. Bayangin aja, ini baru pemda loh, gimana yang tinggian kayak presiden, yang jatah kampanye nya lebih banyak? Gue juga gatau, tipikal cara berpikir orang Indonesia sebenernya gimana. Apakah mereka rela pilih pemimpin karena dikasih hadiah di muka? Terus pas pemimpinnya lalai ikutan menghujat? Entahlah. Sekedar pemikiran. Kebayang sih, kalo Daddy masih ada, dia bakal "ngebacot" apa. "The process of the election itself, is the reflection of our nation", itu yang dulu pernah dia bilang.

Yasudahlah ya! Mari berdoa aja untuk Indonesia!

PS: sekali-sekali lah tulisan serius di blog gue. pusing? minum panadol!

PPS: #bukaniklan

The Call

O, you ignorant people,
the call can be heard from every direction but you choose not to care.

When the earth is crumbled,
you'll be arose from the ground and nothing can help you but your scale.

Don't wait for your face to wrinkle,
do what you're told to and always be aware.

Because it's all been written,
your life, your death, and the day the last call is heard in the air.

Maybe, Perhaps

I wish I'm not this lazy,
I wish they aren't so busy,
I wish forgetting isn't that easy,

Maybe, perhaps,
perhaps, maybe.

Friday, I'm (not) in Love

The title says it all. Looks like I won't be in love with Friday anymore. My office just came up with a new regulation. Yes, I'm going to have my office hour on Saturday too.

Office hour on Sat = no time for hanging out = bored = I want to kill someone right now.

This week's long weekend would be my last long weekend for as long as I'm staying in this company. It is there, waiting for me as if it wants to have a good farewell party with me. Like, "Oh hey, you're not going to have us again. So you can have a long one for now. But bye for later!" Ugh. Even the days are teasing me!

I've been wanting to let out "everything" here about this new regulation, and about what happened these past few days, about what I feel, about what I think, about the insecurity I'm having toward almost everything. But, meh. I'll just save it for later. I'm not sure if I want my friends, or some strangers who just happened to cross this blog accidentally, know anything about it.

So for now, let's just say, I fall out of love with Friday.

God, please guide me through the days. Amen.

Where Did the Party Go?

Honolulu! Greeting, earthlings!

I know I haven't write that much but anything gloomy these days, I don't know why either. Maybe it's because I'm just lazy that way, but probably because I'm in my gloomy mood too recently.

I don't feel like I'm in my best stage right now, not my worst either but I'm in a low one, I just know it. I lost my excitement for things I found important a year ago. And that's terrible. Because those used to be my source of energy, and with the excitement gone, I feel pretty much energy-less (lol is there even a word?!)

Even for social-interaction with my friends, tell you what! My junior high besties came visit me two days ago, they nagged on how it was difficult for them to reach me via anything, text message, phone call, and I only had two reasons to defend myself with, "lazy", and "I forgot to reply."

Roleplay used to be my perfect escape when I'm in this kind of situation, but it affects me nomore. It bores me too. I tend to get online just to seen-zone these people, like some posts, and then log myself out again.

I don't know what I'm currently searching right now but I feel the need to be back on track. I don't know, to socialize more, perhaps? To write more, draw more, even if it's only a trashy doodle. To listen to some more new songs and sing in the bathroom (it's been awhile since the last time I did the latter). To feel excited again.

Come on, Q.

Get out of your I'm-bored-and-boring stage, please!

Anyway I hope you all a very good day ahead. Tata for now, okay? I hope I'll be writing again soon.

Inside the Circle

It's like being in another world,

leaving your mask, stop being a poser for awhile,
like being whole,
being yourself, having all the reasons you need to smile.

It's when the whole world stops and distance doesn't matter,
though in fact the clock passes so fast,
it's when your worries fade and your days felt better,
as I pray in loud whispers for the circle to last.

Rain, Rain, Go Away

The knocking sound on my window,

along with the cold breeze,
reminds me of today, two years ago,
when the ground filled with autumn leaves.

The brown, grayish color the green leaves had turn into,
and those empty benches on each side of the road,
none of them seemed to change as I pass on with holes on my shoe,
and holes in my heart too, if only they knew, but I didn't stop.

"Rain, rain, go away,"
is what I used to sing in my head every time the rain shows up,
though it sure won't be a better day,
if the rain stops but the snow starts to drop.

Bo Burnham, Everyone.

Idiot. Idiot and I love him. Hahahahahahahahahaha. Read his book you guys.

Here are some of what's inside.

I don't know what to say anymore. Bo Burnham, everyone.

Not Accustomed To

I'm not accustomed to be away from you,
to not having your presence the moment I wake up,
to not smelling the scent of the coffee you sip in the morning,
to not helping you make the bed,
to not having you tell me about your weird dream,
to not watching the weather forecast with you,
to not laughing together about absolutely nothing.

I'm still not accustomed to have no you.

PS: I miss you, Dad.

Two Months and a Day of a Twenty-two.

Hello, cold world.

Something is happening to me, I don't know what that is but I know it is not something good. I lost my passion for literally, almost everything. I used to love writing so much, and I know I still do. It's just, I feel like there are tons of things blocking my mind to have new ideas, and my fingers to actually move around the keyboard and start visualize things. So it occurs with editing and photographs. I love those two a lot, used to depend my mood on how many comments and favorites I got on my Deviant Art account, which has probably been dead for years.

I'm observing those who live around me, my families, my friends, my co-workers, even my network mates. I don't know whether or not they have been through this stage of mine or that they never encounter with this situation at all, but they all seem fine. Their life is exciting, they have stories to tell, new activities to do besides their routine, inside-jokes, whatever it is that I don't think I have right now.

My life is so dull and stagnant and I don't know what to do with it anymore to excite myself. I've started writing again days ago. At some moment, I feel like something is filling me up again, but then when I stopped my fingers from moving, the feeling is back. I've tried listening to some new music too, just to widened my field of interest, tried to learn new languages, practiced on my amateur skill of typography, still, it wasn't enough.

Maybe it's a part of being a twenty-two. Maybe it's true that this age has given me too much freedom, that I don't even know what to do with it anymore. Call me exaggerating, but I really think that I'm starting to lose myself.

Why?

...Why do we write fiction?
"To express ourselves,"
"Because we like the sound of our own voices,"
Why do I write?
"To explore new worlds,"
"To explore old ones,"
To be somewhere else,
"Maybe to make sense of ourselves?"
"To set ourselves free,"
To get free of ourselves.
"To show people what it's like inside our heads,"
"To make people laugh,"
"To get attention."
"To stop hearing the voices in our heads,"
To stop, to stop being anything or anywhere at all.
"To leave our mark,"
"To create something that will outlive us."
"Asexual reproduction."
"To share something true,"

Cath shook her head.
"Why do we write fiction?" Professor Piper asked.
Cath looked down at her notebook.
To disappear.

Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl, ch. 2, pg 23.

My personal muse.

Fangirl

Love, love, love, the cover design

Just bought myself another Rainbow Rowell's masterpiece last night! The book title says it all of what the book's about. I'm going to start reading it tomorrow, and maybe, just maybe when I'm not lazy, I'll put up a review for it here in my blog. Read you later, Cath!

Belated Birthday, Ki!

2014 is a special year, indeed. I had never, in my entire life, celebrate my own birthday outside the island I live in. God just gave me the chance, so I took it. Spent the first whole week of 2014 in Bali with my beloved quirksome family. It was splendid. Alhamdulillah, Ya Allah, for your gift.

My birthday cake! Hm, vintage much? Typo though. It should be "bunda", not "buda" -_-