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.