I Want John Hughes to Direct My Life

Read Article →

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.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
0 Comments

Long Distance Runner

Read Article →

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.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
0 Comments

The Unsaid Things

Read Article →

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.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
0 Comments

It's Twenty Seconds 'til the Last Call

Read Article →

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.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
0 Comments

If You're Still Bleeding, You're the Lucky Ones.

Read Article →

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.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
0 Comments

Forgive & Forget

Read Article →

 

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's loud 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

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
0 Comments

Hold Me Close, I've Never Been This Far From Home.

Read Article →

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.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
0 Comments