I could tell that he was afraid. I was not sure why. But I could tell he was afraid of something; as if the whole thing was a lie, as if his presence solely based on insecurities. We had our first encounter in front of the library, when he opened the door for me, that was when our eyes met for a whole long second. Followed with a brief yet genuine smile as it lighted up his face. Although it was very brief, the smile lit some colours on his pale skin against his sunlit bronze hair. But quickly, so quick I could not timed, his eyes drifted away from mine. It looked like he did not want me to see brush of his dark secret from the past that he hide beneath his full framed glasses. In a way, he seemed harmless because those soft and tiny wrinkles between his eyebrows implying his ongoing awareness upon everything. Everything but himself -- he had no single clue that he was capable to capture everybody's attention in the room without trying to. Even my best intention towards him was being misjudged into something, toxic. I could tell, his past has driven him far away from now; keeping distance with everything.
It's almost Christmas again. It's true, nothing, or nowhere, is as far as one minute ago. I thought winter had start, but I have heard the sphere officially aligned on this part of the world roughly on the 21st of December. That is to say, these extra layers of clothes may need additional support. Blimey. 2013 is around the corner. I have not even tick this year's resolution just yet. Oh, I have been easily amazed with beautiful people around me; little things. Brief meetings. As if I have all the reason in this world to love or to like, everything, everyone. That sweet entertaining yet inspirational video trip to Jogjakarta from Malesbanget.com hosted by Jebraw and Naya, made me realized what I have not been noticing when I was in Indonesia. That the almost-perfect-voice of Tim Ferguson I found through youtube, been accompanying me for nearly a week with his beautiful being every night and day. Even that charming English bartender in a local whiskey bar whom had been paying good attention to remember my order in two (un)consecutive days, stole half of my subjective appraisal on changing my favorite pub in town. I cannot say things have not been changed from the last Christmas, where I might claimed a mere depression of loneliness, there are few parts of my daily routines that somehow has changed. I was hurt for a solid ten seconds when I realised it happened; but I think it's just the time. You should keep in mind, if you have been through the worse, then from there nothing can get as worse; things can only get better from then on. Now, there are too many things before your eyes that are worth to love, to cherish, to appreciate - it's okay to like a lot of things, nobody gets to call you a slut for that! let loose the hatred, give love some space!!!!!!!!
Anyhow, Merry-almost-Christmas, you filthy animal! Keep your best friends safe.
Feel free to click on those colored words, I have put a link that will lead you to another bit this cyber world have got to offer. Personal recommendation worth to check! x
"Maybe I do believe it. All this 'meant to be' stuff. Why not believe it? I mean who doesn't want more romance in their lives? Maybe it's just up to us to make it happened; to show up and be meant for each other. At least that way you'll find out for sure, if you're meant to be, or not."
"It doesn't always have to be harps playing, birds singing or rose petals falling from the sky. There are definitely days where romance is dead, but if you look around things are pretty amazing. So, stop for a second, enjoy the beauty, feel the magic, drink it in, cause it wont last forever." (Meredith Grey, 2012)
Episode 7 and 8, Season 9.
It's funny how you stumble upon something randomly and there came the thought where you didn't particularly know you were looking for it but as soon it was in front of you, you'd say, "Where have you been?" That was the kind of feeling when I found Tim Ferguson. I found this amazing musician through youtube when I was on my way back from London to Bournemouth. In the midst of mundane two-hour coach journey home, I was scrolling through my tumblr's dashboard, then I found a Pop Punk Goes Acoustic video that my friend reblogged - this instantly caught my attention because it listed most of the songs I grew up with. Honestly, I rarely bought anything through video; by all means I usually skipped video post on tumblr, but this time, I stopped and spare a couple minutes to watched. From that moment on, I could not stop listening.
There is something about his voice that drawn my attention immediately. He is so genuine; there is this sense of security flows when you listen to his songs. It is hard to elaborate more without sounding very cheesy and all but to be honest, it is thathard being objective for something this good. His kind of music hums some sort of hidden invitation to stay - as if you just find a new home. It welcomes and comforts you in the same time. You just want to lie down and relish every passing second and find yourself being at peace with the world. Too bad he lives far away in the States. I'd really like to see him live. To have a brief sense of his music, in my opinion, it sounds like a mixture of NeverShoutNever with a little mild touch of Death Cab For Cutie calming-on-the-edge-of-darkness kind of tone. It is obvious, acoustic guitar suits his voice character very well. He has this unique bit, where he almost sounds like he dragged his deep voice yet he managed to pull it right. And also when he hit the high note, it fits the whole thing. His cover for I Can't Make You Love Me by Bon Iver assured me even more because not everyone is able to do justice on covering Bon Iver's song. I mean, he definitely can make anybody love him. However, if you don't fancy all calm and standstill tunes, you can still have the best of both world through his other band project, April Chase, where you can have louder beat, and not being less amazing than his solo. So, listen. He's too good to miss.
First of all I have to say, I had not been a faithful blogger, or a faithful Twilight fans, or even faithful to anything seriously. In a nutshell, the following content of my post is going to be a brief summary of my weird overwhelming non-sense reaction regarding Breaking Dawn part two. Even though in theory, I had stopped giving appropriate attention related with Twilight hysteria since new moon ends, I do still watch the sequel, at least once. And today, it just hit me straight on my face that the end was literally passing before me. Or us. Or who ever took part in this, mystical human history that nobody with rational mind could ever solve in a thousand years.
If I am not mistaken, I have finished reading the book roughly three years ago. In essence, I have almost completely forgot the bits and details about the story. Let alone the ending. Thus, today I came in to the cinema with empty vision of what's going to happen; I guess I was just too consumed by the society so all I could think of was bad image of Kristen Stewart and how some part of the universe brutally disgusted with this movie. I mean, really brutal. Although I am not taking any part on hating or defending her, I just cannot get into the right sense why everybody hates Kristen. The closest theory I can come up with, is because she get the golden chance to know (or even better, date) Robert Pattinson (or Edward Cullen), that has this everlasting, mysterious, undeniable charm and none of us in real life can be near where she stand. So, it suppose to be more like a jealousy than hatred.
Enough rambling, onto the movie. Honestly, I was not fond of anything in the beginning of the movie, at all; it was more like a comedy, rather than watching Twilight series -- up until the ending. That was when it me hard. Oh, it is hard to explain without spilling spoilers here but just for the sake of letting my emotions and feelings out the way of my heart, body and soul, let me just say this once and for all, I walked out the theatre three hours ago, just like when I walked out of the theater back three years ago in 2009. It almost felt like I remember all over again the reason why I fell in love with Edward Cullen in the first place. I just did not know what just happened. The last part of Breaking Dawn? The end of Twilight Saga? Really? I think confessing the end of something is definitely not my thing. As if there was a bit of my soul that just been taking away.
This happens to me, who I assume myself as not a massive Twilight Saga die hard fans. The existence of my love towards Twilight Saga had soon gone after my disappointed upon Eclipse, or even maybe just after New Moon. Hence, I cannot imagine how the true and dedicated fans out there may feel. Regardless, this is the moment where I am fully aware, my teenage life has over; considering this was part of my stupid teenage obsessions and I am about to turn twenty in a week, blimey. I know, I know. I don't have to worry because I will come up with new one longing obsession soon enough as this world restlessly invents brand new obsession every breathing second. But still... you know... to hell with the end, might as well watch it again tomorrow just for the sake of letting loose the intense heat of the ending! Oh, that was a relief. Thank you and happy watching, loves.
Am I the only one who thinks this world just go around in the same circle? I mean not in geographical way. In a definition of common sense kind of way. Take fashion for example, I think classic style with buttoned up shirt, high waisted trousers and satchel bags are in again now. Probably in the next ten years society would wear neon tights, roller blade and headband all over again -- but that is not my point. Over the weekend I watched several films from 1980s. And I cannot help to have a little bit talk about it; better than I have nothing to say with my mundane English university life.
The Breakfast Club. I always have certain amazement towards one-setting movie. This movie basically set in the library and that's that. Thus, the quality relies on the script. And I'd say The Breakfast Club nailed it. Sentimental conversations are slip here and there. Can't Buy Me Love. That skinny guy is Derek Sheperd now. The McDreamy. His innocence almost made me hit my laptop screen. Anyhow, who would have thought riding a lawn mower could have any potential relativity with romance at all? Lots of credits goes for that. Say Anything. Ah, do I have to explain John Cusak? He is the absolute king of romance screenplay. If I ever make a romance movie, John Cusak would always be my first call. Oh and that parka/trench coat could not look better on anyone else but him and Judd Nelson.
In certain way, the audience could guess what is going to happen, or there are few scenes/lines that just does not really makes a good sense; but however, those little bits of quirkiness and predictable plot are meant to be there and that what makes eighties films are so sweet and genuine. They are so simple beyond compare yet it represents a lot; the beauty, the message and the goofs. I am not saying recent movies are awful. It's just, there is something about 80s movies that bound me in awe.
Oh thy love, I shall sink to the bottom of your existence.
I do not need to swear for the coldness of autumn has striking leaf by leaf fallen out of the humble trees. It is about time to let go, whispered the tree. While the wind is always there. Being its person in a way of helping the trees to let go, at least slightly easier. Though inside, there is this private war going on in controversy. The trees are not in favour just yet to let it go away. But honestly, they are secretly aware, yet is never going to be over if there is nothing that pressing. Regardless the nature's demanding behaviour, trees are still standing tall although the impression of vulnerability vividly projected. For a while, again, the tree whispered. And when it's time, the snow will cover them in sweet mercy, then, by no time, leaves will start to grow green. Again.
It is a good thing that you are not a tree. Feel free to let go any time you want if you choose to live in the past instead of now. But you will be eventually.
It is a good thing if you are like the tree. At least, there is this wind pushing you in absolute certainty to let it go. Giving you no time or space to second guess.
Do you know that the innocence of simple mind can slowly fade away day by day, books by books and breath by breath? Happiness that ought to be so close, feels so far, distant and strange -- questioning whether or not it is an illusion. The remaining voice of modesty however singing for its longing of solid faith and at the same time locking my thoughts by the ground. Not still but actively moving. Wandering. I give time for everything. Everything. Hence, every sigh is full of awareness of both sides. This is bad, but I keep on going. In silence of pretentiously sham smile, I play. Hoping a breath of fresh air might swing by, and stay, any time soon. And when it's time, I'll be able to hit you in gratitude that you are present before my eyes.
Now, I live for the words. For the story. For the pseudo existence of you and me.
I could not recall how it began. How I fell in love; maybe it was his hair or maybe his flawless jawbones. His dirty jokes. His undying charisma. His stupid voice and accent. His talent. But he was so much more. All of us, I am sure, share the same para-social relationship with one public figure at some point. I never tried to acknowledge how a strange man from strange land could interest me in the most irrelevant way of inspiring such greatness in one bit of my life. Music. Bass. He may not know this. He may know that he is loved, admired -- by thousand, million girls all over the world. But he did not fully comprehend; especially during his period when he hit the rock bottom. He did not know that he is truly loved. He knows. But he did not really know. He should, you see. That is why I am writing this. In a million chance he might or might not read this. But he has the right to know that his life means a lot more that what he sees for himself. His life means more, to me. To his fans. It was beyond words when I heard he tried to commit suicide. I thought he was perfect. I thought he was alright. I thought I could see through 140 characters of writing. But I was wrong. Nevertheless, his decision which got him this far; safe, secure and sound, was his best work. He should be proud, he should be happy. Because I am. Or on behalf of his other fans, we are proud. I love him without knowing he knows my name in person.
I have met him once, face to face, and it was one of the best day in my life. He is dangerous in a way because he has that kind of crucial power within his grip, making the best day of someone's life, without entirely know he has it. Oh boy.
Every time, I read anything online, every post trying to tell me that you are alright. You are under this, some sort of umbrella that keeps you from anything; Telling you are safe from anything, everything; the slightest pain after you are having your first hangover in a while. As if you are alright. As if everything is the same. As if you can get what you had a thousand months ago. But my friend, you are not. Everything is not the same. Everything has changed. And you are the one who need to notice that. Not him, or her. What you drink, and swallow, are a complete different era. You have learned to get through the sticky grovel. The unwanted pebbles that keeps you away from walking straight. But you still able to walk straight... A little. You learn how to manage to walk home straight, safe and sound, alone. You are a survivor. You would try your best to show you are alright. Fine as pair a of apple that keeps you away from Doctor. But you are as doomed as the stale, out of date ripe apple on the Tesco's fresh fruit display. I would pretend everything is alright. I would, if I could. Everything is fine. As I stand quite at the end of the corner, doing nothing but wishing, you and everyone I consider as the loved ones, are safe, blessed and happy. Because everyone is doing alright but me -- in the meantime, I feel nothing close but with emptiness. Nothing could feel me in. Even though bottles of wine and high fives are flowing through my presence, but that happens not for my sake. That, happens for the good time sake. And I am not there. I am in between of trying and being present. I am waiting. And waiting. Series of episodes build me into nothing but wonder. Wonder that hardly exist. Hence, I am hardly exist. I thought I would've easily exist in the land I have been praising in my entire life, but I was wrong. It did not last long. Reality was trying to crushed me into a million pieces, making me doubt the least thing I would have imagined to ever doubt in my life. But then again, growing up means watching my heroes turn human in front of me (Sadega, D. 2012). Everything becomes real. Then, you could have not decide whether this is what you want or what you are hoping or much more than that. This, is the real deal. This, is the real shit. Get out of here, or your soul would die, slowly but it's there, happening. It used to be easy, you know. To write. But I lost count how I get here, on the land of strange feeling. Unfamiliar. The one that used to not linger, now stays longer. Whilst, butterflies and racing heartbeat went missing. Days are static as if it was the line showed on the monitor of a brain-dead patient. Grey's Anatomy and Bon Iver are the only two things that might've keep me awake. Sober and alive. Oh, and you, maybe. Pretty much. I thought as I get older every second, every day, every week, the idea of dream and goal could get brighter, vivid, unambiguous. But I was not sure anymore. The hill I thought I have passed, starts to show again at the end of my view. Changing my mind about almost, almost everything. The land used to have nothing but sex appeal, become this sort of bland, that keeps me curious -- both in a good and the worst way. Because all I could see was his eyes -- his brown eyes, Switzerland Chocolate eyes; not too light as it delivered a soft touch every time he glance. Underneath his weird, stupid glasses. Then the world stopped and melt with me. As if, everything is real. As if your feeling is real; no assumption. I'll be okay.
The worst part is the minute you think you're past it, it starts all over again.
(Grey, M. 2009)
It's September. Leaf starts to turn orange, worn-out orange. Soon all going to fall off, unwanted. Shrill noises from bicycle's horn trying to dismiss the eager crowds craving for sun becomes infrequent, no more throwing balls, stripes rugs or blowing bubbles. Hands are now hiding underneath oversize jumper and the sun hides behind the pale grey cloud. Standing by the quiet autumn river never felt very sound, as if it sleeps, whilst tall buildings at the back looking weary. No, not because of the fading paint by the wall but simply because it looks bland. Nothing stands out to guard the fragile view. Often, the wind sweep the leaf-less branch, forcing them to dance. A slow dance; a waltz in the middle of autumn. It's September. Wind does not help me to clear the dust and doubts in my head. Judgement, certainty and patience are altogether wearing thin. And the surroundings give nothing to hold on to. It's cold. Afraid one tiniest and smallest movement might danger the entire existence of my will to stand and simply survive. It's too cold, I might break. The utmost passion drive me far, far up to space, suddenly gone missing. I can't breathe. I can't write. I can't tell. Rush of frigid air suffocates my throat with questions. Countless thoughts are clouding up my mind, all messy and tangled, but instead of gasping for deep breath, I bit my tongue and running in circle. It's September. A teardrop of rain fall onto my cheek. I glance up to the sky, wondering. I thought I should stop fighting. I thought I should take the easy road. Ignoring the journey, let alone the destination. But no, I am staying. I know you will come from afar, from that little bridge across the river, and hold my hand. Replacing this shabby jumper. And I don't have to feel cold anymore. This hope, this will, tiny little will, is enough for a start. You know what they say, it's not about waiting the storm to pass, it's about dancing in the rain. It's September. Your birthday is around the corner. and the toughest Summer yet is finally over.
If I broke your heart last night
It's because I love you most of all
A couple days ago, I was devastated due to one or two reasons. First times always take its toll on me. Being away from home was immensely broken my spirit in to pieces, not saying I have still got it whole in one piece though because growing old somehow cost me a little part of my soul every there a bit. Once it gets difficult, it always going to get easier. It always is. I was never able to see that, the bigger picture, when the idea of something already gotten me down. If you are feeling low, try to step back just two small steps back, then try to see the bigger picture because maybe you are seeing it too close. Well, maybe after you are strong enough to think clear, then read what I have written above.
Reality had failed to meet my personal wants to come home for this Ied; Muslims annual tradition of celebrating the big day with family after one month-full fasting. In my nineteen years old life, I have never ever missed Ied with my family until this year. It hurts, man. Knowing seventeen hours flight away, all of your loved ones are together celebrating one of your most favorite days of the year. Babe, if you were able to spend Ied with your family the other day, you were lucky, my friend. Do not ever complain about that. The first few days after I figured out the tiny little hope I might have come home vanished, I cried for hours. I have never thought hope kills, everyone. I did not know I have signed up for this. As if I was expecting to have my own terms and condition list every time I made decision. Life-changing decision. Then, I could not see anything but darkness of being alone. The lights just gone.
But then I stopped caring. I noticed I give a shit too much. So, the second point, stop giving shit to everything. I was sort of, what the word, accept. I accept the fact that I could not come home. Then everything started to get easier. I was starting to enjoy what's the fact has offered me. I spent Ied with my fellow Indonesian friends whom are far from home and loved ones as well. The contents of yesterday's celebration were 75% eating three plates of any kind of food, 15% watching this new-born baby sleeping, and 10% watching my friends go crazy on karaoke. To be honest, I was not a big fan of babies. They seemed very fragile to me, I might break them. But yesterday, I noticed, baby was one of god's best blessing. They were just beautiful on its vulnerable way. Despite the details, it almost felt like I did not even celebrate Ied in England. Everything just sound ordinary; especially no local mosque'sloud noise of takbiran. And I felt just fine.
It was funny how I was emotionally destroyed a couple days ago due to this Ied thing. I think, this was all part of the main thing about Ied. It was about forgiveness. On the last day of Ied, everyone suppose to apologize to those who they may have hurt because of one's intended actions or not and the other way around, to just simply forgive. I think I have forgive those who may have taken account on the mistake on my visa earlier this year, all the elements on this world that might have conspired all together to get on my way to come home this Ied, and him who had been messing with my head for quite a while (and a long list more). And most of all, I think I forgive myself. Nevertheless, I also plea for forgiveness upon those whom I may ever caused inconvenience. Frankly, the Ramadhan atmosphere here just does not get me enough to send text message to everyone, but you know what I want to say, so here it represent the text that never been sent.
Oh boy, this is a long post. Have a great summer, everyone. And Ied Mubarak to those who celebrate! x
Sometimes it is just hard to let yourself lie down and breathe. Just breathe. Free from incoherent thoughts or devilish whisper. As if you just live for that moment, for the sake of the ray of sun sodden on your skin in middle of Southeast European park, warm and gentle. Soft breeze caressed your hair off your shoulder, quietly, along with the unspoken pain, running wild and soon to die in the arms of nature. Pellucid lake soaring in joy as it kissed the tip of your finger when you sheepishly dip your bare hands -- a shock of lively summer's deepest secret, cold yet enslaving. Along side of your body, gleaming grass brushes your senses closer to the ground, safe and sound. Whilst rose color flowers posing at its best. And the white pliant cloud against flaring blue sky, reminding you while you peek over your eyelid, you are at peace. Everything is clear; even with your eyes shut.
In the meantime, I am the opposite of everything you have read. I am as broken as the world economy.
Don't blame people who are involved in an affair. I am sure they know what they are doing is wrong. But if you see the bigger picture, there must be something a lot stronger than anything going on -- even stronger than the awareness of doing the wrong thing itself. Don't blame them because they know it is wrong without anybody judging or telling. They know, at the end, there will be no justification regarding of what they have done. I am not saying there is righteousness involves in between affairs. I am just saying, let alone time fix everything. There is always a reason for everything. Always.
It is not about belongings, I am yours and you are mine, and we have a complete control of each other. No, it's not about that. It is about feeling secure, knowing you are there for me by wanting me enough to complete your life. Complete the thunder storm weather kind of day. Being each other personal alarm clock. It is about having faith, even though we are million miles apart, pursuing our own will and dreams, we are still bound in one. It is about the strong will that our dreams do not stop us. And distance? is nothing. It is about awareness and trust we are two individuals with two different characteristics rotating in different part of the world. We live, we are moving and as long as we are moving, friction is always there. It is about coming together to fight the feeling of missing. It is about knowing we are in this together, hand in hand. We are in this room, an invisible room, lies in distance, connecting us with its own way, against all the odds of morning and evening -- time difference, till we win. Then we will meet, oh boy, when we meet, world will stop at our feet.
It has been a far, far journey from home. The track I have plotted unconsciously and silently went wild along with nature. This was not precisely the way I imagined this land would be like. This was so much more. I might have missed all the little details when I built this paradise on earth concept in my head that drew beautifully with no sign of flaw. I forgot the little details which was very basic and essential; then as I stroke carefully with my bare hands on to the canvas, I went aware. There, I could feel the uneven surface, the fritters of previous sketch and failed skewed line.
I thought perfection exist.
But it was not. There was only a simple compromise looking at something imperfect. It was about looking beyond what you see with naked eyes. It was about swallowing bullshit by choosing which worth to give a shit. Perfection only burns. Burn in flame till it eat you bravely then left nothing but ashes of memories -- I was not sure what was lost; and I was not really trying to find any. But collection of still images hardly lie. The smile, the ray flickered through the eyes. They were not present these past couple of weeks. I have had better sunny days.
On the other hand, I do not mind getting burned. I need that intensity of sparks that stimulates my nerves. I need to feel something, again. Now all that left was stranger's warmth hospitality while I was holding Kerouac's book this morning. At least the rain did not kill anything else but my feeble spirit. But hey, let's just not underestimate summer's miracle. Magic might just around the corner.
This is the kind of night where I feel safe and sound; two in the morning, under my duvet, at the edge of sleeping and yawning. Where I do not have to worry for the next hours because I know sleep will fights it all. All the minimum effort to close my eyes then thinking the good plot to begin a dream, until the next morning when the sun reach its peak, and my mind starts to wander off far away to the place where mystery and surprises are all over the room.
Outside the sky is crying, it all started as soon the sun gone and rotates to the other side of the world, thus I don't have to see droplets of rain coming by. The curtain was closed anyway as the lights are up on its shift to guard the night. Browsing to Jack Kerouac's old quotations showers me with thousands of positive ideas. All raw and genuine. Allowing me to feel nothing but inspired. I needed that -- quietly but with an immense necessity. I needed to feel something.
Set with the mind of young and thirsty traveller, everything comes very fragile, with one simple touch or move might affect the whole longing existence, letting non-sense questions and doubt of big old faith emerge up high on the surface. Whilst, answers are running wild and hidden in transparent covers between logic and emotions. And also love has lost its sweet appeal into broken illusion, posing feverish notion. Are you offering salvation or temporary solution?
I thought this midnight rain might help me to sleep, I thought the song might ease the noise, but no, should have known none of those worked. Tell me when the next train is going to stop cause the sleep boat is nowhere near the shore. Then again, keep reminding me why I'm here. There must be a damn good reason why this ever start.
“I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don't worry. It's all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don't know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson
you forgot, which was taught in immense milky way soft cloud innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere:
Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing. It's a dream already ended. There's nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born.”
Spent three days in London, I got home with the feeling of knowing the greatest meal of all. I don't usually talk about food, but I think I have just had the best meal ever at Burger & Lobster in London. Two blocks away from Green Park's tube station. Everyone who is heading or live or currently in London, I can assure you going to this restaurant is a must. I ordered Lobster Rolls the other day, which served with bread along with French Fries and salad; sometimes, when the main course being a star, the other side dishes such as French Fries, would be a let down, but this time, nothing on that plate being a let down to me. The whole thing was amazing.
Post you later. Let this one specially dedicated for the Lobster. x
Today's report for Southern part of England is pretty quiet and calm. A bit of sunshine this morning, which was ten times better than yesterday's wind storm. Probably in tribute for England's winning against Sweden the other day; rather rad the match was! Throwing endless complaints and comments with my friend in Jakarta through Blackberry Messenger was the only thing that keeping me calm unlike the other half-drunk Brits inside the pub. And also tribute to Father's day -- though in Indonesia, everyone is missing the almost festive sales of cards and everything across Europe.
Speaking of Father's day, it might be appropriate to write a bit of appreciation post here due to the seventeen hours flight travel back home to send massive love to the best father in the universe. I am one of the lucky people in this world to have the privilege of having such loving and supportive dad. Without him, I am nowhere near where I stand, or sit, right now. Living my dream in Britain. Having him as my father is one of the best blessings God ever given to me. Both of my parents give me happiness like no other. So, thank you and cheers for life!
Today's weather was unbelievably cold during summer season. Even after I put on my mum's old University of Iowa jumper seemed not warm enough. The clock showed half past eight at night, but the sun was still hanging politely. I was not custom with any of this. Earlier I was outside, not expecting any horrible British weather, which somehow unavoidable and greeted me by my nose.
I swear my throat felt something; as if I inhale too much cold air that my lungs could not handle. The wind, love. The wind was as horrible as your worst nightmare. Wet traces of the ongoing rain was nothing compare to the wind. My black velvet heels was fortunately strong enough to got through the seven minutes long journey from my favorite cafe in town back to my flat.
And there was nothing better than staying under the familiar roof where I could snuggle in proper warmth and a cup of hot chocolate. Watching the rain through my big bedroom window, accompanied by iTunes and a couple non-sense conversations through Blackberry Messenger which was perfect for this kind of weather; aside from the fact that everything was not making any sense at all.
Tomorrow, most of my favorite people I have ever met and loved the most in this town are about to leave for the rest of the so-called summer long.
I'd rather not to think about it. Hence, I'm off eating my sushi take away downstairs.
This is how summer looks like through my bedroom. False Summer. Sun's here and there a bit, but more often grey and gloomy rainy days greets. After two long months spoiled with familiar faces and both local hospitality and non-sense values, I touched back down to Britain's soil and accent. I know many of you dying to leave home and savour the priceless journey abroad, but I must say, nothing ever beats the comfort of being at home.
All those years of your life, growing up, making memories, knowing the streets to every places in the city as if you own the place -- that is home. It is hard to avoid or ignore the best feeling of coming back to the familiarity. Because personally, I have some part of my heart on it which sometimes may not be much advantage in certain cases. I would always choose anything that familiar in my conciousness.
Don't get me wrong, Bournemouth is all lovely and decent, but I can not compare to Jakarta which has been my home town for the last eighteen years. Changing all that within, what, a year, definitely not easy. Probably before I went home, Bournemouth has already growing on me and I almost forgot half of my basic identity. I must added though, this is me, barely one day old, returning to live alone again after receiving all the joy and spoiled attention back in Jakarta.
That must be one of the reason; Jakarta seemed very nice to me because I have seen the genuine value of it right after I left for another adventures in the land with the best accent. I would not think of Jakarta the way I think of it now, if I had not leave the city. Probably the people, as well. They won't treated me like a princess if I had not left at all. I had so much fun I could not explain. Meeting new friends, catching up with the lost ones. Blimey, not to mention sleeping under the same roof, or sometimes in the same room, with my family.
Hence, this won't last long, after adjusting in one week, getting back all the routines in hand, automatically brain will function in present moment mode. Sometimes college tasks won't allow me to think about anything else which is good, I believe. School starts in a week, till then I probably will continue mumbling, whining about pretty much everything.
It almost feels like the first week all over again. The symptoms are here. I'd rather to stay at home, all day in my room only come out for bathroom and kitchen excuses. Only this time, I have Daniel and Busra to call or more like, annoyed. I feel old.
I've not seen any morning these days. I slept till noon most of the day. The dark and quiet night always have been my loyal company getting through the busiest hour in my head; sometimes in sweat -- Jakarta's nighttime wind did not give any mercy for those who weak under the circumstances of tropical heat. I live on the 21st floor, and that did not make me closer to the secret wind home office.
I was wide awake when everybody sleeps with their own lullaby, and in return, I have to gave up the morning sun. All bright yellow and wrapped in genuine freshness. The suns till there when I woke up, but it was just not as yellow as in the morning. It had turned orange just like slightly overly cooked sunny side egg or sometimes, I woke up to gloomy grey sky. Take that as unfortunate considering I was not a big fan of rainy days.
However, being home after a very long while journey in the land of accent, had never felt so much better. Everything intensifies. This was one of the best opportunity to actually seize everything as if I own every reasons in this world. The value of friends and family exceeds more than priceless. I fell in love with each and everyone of them deeper than before. And that what makes coming back, feels weirder than I anticipated.
But in my case of waking up late, I do not mind missing quite a few morning because somehow that what makes morning very special to me. I do not spoil the gifts.
Jadi, kesempatan gue jalan-jalan di toko buku Gramedia hari Jumat kemarin berhasil membuat gue untuk beli buku bahasa Indonesia setelah sekian lama. Judulnya Antologi Rasa dari Ika Natassa. Ada beberapa alasan kenapa gue beli buku ini. Yang pertama pasti cover dan judulnya. Dalam sembilan belas tahun hidup gue sebagai orang Indonesia, gue baru tau apa artinya antologi; kumpulan atau koleksi, kata google. Covernya dong, gambar jantung yang bertuliskan emotions yang dirasain sama semua manusia normal, dapet banget. Yang kedua, template buku ini bagus. Dari font-nya sampe penulisan sinopsis. Disini yang paling krusial dalam menentukan beli bukunya apa nggak (selain harga juga sih), sinopsis. Gue personally suka buku yang berceritakan sesuatu yang bisa gue relate dengan kehidupan gue. Jadi, tentang tiga sahabat, satu cewek dan dua cowok, yang kesangkut sama ribetnya perasaan. Monyet emang. Tapi bagus. Pas deh semuanya. Diantara buku-buku lain yang ada, ini yang paling menarik hati.
Nggak tau abis jalan-jalan dari planet mana, tapi dulu gue selalu berfikir novel Indonesia itu hanya tok berbahasa Indonesia. Tapi di buku Antologi rasa, ada campuran bahasa Inggrisnya. Dan somehow, itu impress gue sebagai seseorang yang lebih familiar dengan bahasa Inggris. Mungkin bahasa Inggris udah nge-brain wash otak gue secara berlebihan dan mengapus kepercayaan gue pada bahasa Indonesia. Maaf, bukannya mau sok Inggris atau gimana, tapi beneran. Default setting otak rasanya udah gitu adanya.
Balik lagi ke Antologi Rasa, buat penggemar fiksi sih bisa gue jamin bakal suka sama novel ini. Ika bisa banget ngebawa ceritanya dengan bahasa semi-formal dan tetap menarik buat dibaca. Ceritanya manusiawi sekali gitu, tanpa harus nutup-nutupin sesuatu yang biasanya nggak wajar diantara konservatif, close-minded dan tradisionalnya pemikiran kultur Indonesia. Ditambah lagi dengan konsep susahnya man and woman being just friends. Ada aja pasti campur tangan ketertarikan satu sama lain yang jatuhnya, sebenernya biologis -- dari tuhan itu asalnya. Gak bisa di pungkiri juga. Belum lagi, resemblance antara gue dan isi buku ini, seperti kutipan favorit gue dari David Foster Wallace yang This is Water. Pernah gue post kok beberapa bulan lalu artikelnya di blog ini. This definitely one of my favorite book in Indonesian.
Dengan latar belakang obsesi sebagai penulis, gue bangga dan seneng bisa baca novel ini. Bangga sekali kalau dunia literatur (dan musik) Indonesia masih hidup dengan potensi-potensi yang nggak kalah sama penulis atau musisi non-domestik. Seselesainya baca buku ini dalam semalam saja, gue langsung berinisiatif untuk merekomendasikan buku ini ke yang lainnya. Jadi, kalo lagi butuh bacaan buku bahasa Indonesia yang fiksi, beli ya. Pinjem sama yang udah punya juga boleh, nanti juga pasti pengen beli sendiri ujung-ujungnya.
It is not about belongings, I am yours and you are mine, and we have a complete control of each other. No, it's not about that. It is about feeling secure, knowing you are there for me by wanting me enough to complete your life. Complete the thunder storm weather kind of day. Being each other personal alarm clock. It is about having faith, even though we are million miles apart, pursuing our own will and dreams, we are still bound in one. It is about the strong will that our dreams do not stop us. And distance? is nothing. It is about awareness and trust we are two individuals with two different characteristics rotating in different part of the world. We live, we are moving and as long as we are moving, friction is always there. It is about coming together to fight the feeling of missing. It is about knowing we are in this together, hand in hand. We are in this room, an invisible room, lies in distance, connecting us with its own way, against all the odds of morning and evening -- time difference, till we win. Then we will meet, oh boy, when we meet, world will stop at our feet.
Nggak tau abis jalan-jalan dari planet mana, tapi dulu gue selalu berfikir novel Indonesia itu hanya tok berbahasa Indonesia. Tapi di buku Antologi rasa, ada campuran bahasa Inggrisnya. Dan somehow, itu impress gue sebagai seseorang yang lebih familiar dengan bahasa Inggris. Mungkin bahasa Inggris udah nge-brain wash otak gue secara berlebihan dan mengapus kepercayaan gue pada bahasa Indonesia. Maaf, bukannya mau sok Inggris atau gimana, tapi beneran. Default setting otak rasanya udah gitu adanya.
