Maybe This Time

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There is certain kind of relationship where you know as clear and pure as Heisenberg's blue crystal meth, that both of you are not working well. Thus, it leaves the best option: to end it. But there is a part of you that so stubborn and dominant, invading your mind saying that you don't want it to end. You still want him; over and over again. Because you thought this would work -- this should have worked as you had put a great deal of effort and feelings. Feelings that you are not easily give away to, that you used to keep in a safe-deposit box behind 1000 feet tall brick of wall but somehow he managed to climb and figured out the secret code or the feeling that you think you may not be able to feel it again. And what's worse is the past keeps playing a magic trick on you; as subconsciously turns everything that you see or hear will remind you of him. But solely reminding about the good things, like your first date at your favourite Japanese restaurant, spontaneous trip to the amusement park, the first kiss. Not the spilled drink over your favourite shoes when you were trying to convey your point in the middle of an intense argument or the unreturned texts that made you worried to death. And all of those interrupt you to make sense of everything.


You are too focused on the fact that you are no longer with him not why you are no longer with him. All you remember is you were once shared good memories together. Your current self is blinded to foresee a long way ahead that moving on is actually possible. Not just some myth or a fairy dust waiting to happen, but a concrete outcome hiding in space and time. You forget that you will meet someone, by chance, not having enough common things to like but enough to start off a conversation which lead to the stage where you are no longer strangers; you will learn to understand the other half of his interest that is apparently completely different than yours or what you thought he would be; he likes to write poems, his favourite movie is a Korean cold-blooded action-thriller film with a lot of killings and bloody scenes and he listens to British Rock from the 60s but regardless, you will still like him. The kind of movie he'd like to see or the kind of music on his Most Played Playlist does not matter. What matter is he makes you feel like more than a diamond ring; he makes you feel wanted and belong. He fills in the void. There, you will realise that it is possible -- to move on. Or maybe, just a tiny bit of a hopeful maybe, you will grow older in a few years time as so does he, and your path will come across with his again, and the older version of you may turn out to be far more compatible with each other. And maybe, this time both of you will get it right.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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The Last Phone Call

fiction

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We were sitting on the table for two in one of the most crowded restaurant in town. It was a farewell lunch before his departure to the land up north. It had been a while I have not seen his face. His exquisite jawline made him stood up among others. At that moment, it felt like we were never went wrong. Everything was in place. As if no scratch or broken heart was ever happened. I was not sure whether it was a good thing or the opposite. All I knew was I was glad to see him again.

He sat before me in his favourite black sweater. The sweater that reminded me of him. He did not change a bit. Only perhaps, he lost few pounds judging by his thinner cheek. He was still the best friend he claimed to be; all loud and pretty much attractive. During the second plate of main course, we stumbled upon the conversation about plane crash regarding his irrelevant research on the internet about the recent history of his choice of airline to South Korea in three weeks.

‘It’s not about the idea of dying alone that scares me. I just don’t want to die with bunch of foreigners and strangers.’ He said as he raised his shoulder to show his objection and his typical arrogance. ‘I would probably just get out of the plane before it crashed, and sky dive a little.’ His eyes drifted away from me. Staring empty towards the table next to us, ‘Feel the air pressing against my skin, and probably will get a boner at some point.’ I chuckled. His pervert side never failed to amuse me.

I was busy forking the remaining paprika bits to the side of the plate while listening to him. Before I got the chance to comment, he put his two fingers by his ear as if he was holding a phone, and said, ‘Oh, and I’d call my girlfriend and say, “Hello? Katherine? I love you. Bye.” Then I can die in peace.’ I stopped; giving all of my attention to him. I did not expect to hear what he just said. It was a good thing that I was not chewing anything because I might have just spill it out all over the place.

I was not sure what that was – the shocking nerve as if I just got tasered. Was it the unspoken affection I felt towards him that never been mutual, shared and should have ever existed or a genuine amazement to acknowledge after all, he could feel love too? Under our undefined relationship half a year ago, he tried to imply he was capable of everything but loving. Just now, he sounded the opposite. Maybe, he was just incapable of loving me. Slowly I ate the last bit of my grilled chicken with dry throat, idly processing thoughts more than the food.

The fact that he is in a relationship with someone always involuntarily missing under my consciousness. I had to keep reminding myself, he was not mine. Never was and never will. We were together at that moment though; but only within the literal meaning of our presence in the same space and time. Then I smiled. They both were just so lucky to find one and another. It would be nice to have someone who loved you that much they would choose to call you in the last moment of their lives. I was never been that jealous.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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I am Under Your Skin

letter

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To: Bournemouth, June 2013.

I am about to leave you in less than ten days. Not forever, I know. I will be back as soon the leaves touch the ground in September. It's just, I have not been home for more than a year. I feel this odd jitters about going home because you have made me forget how home feels like -- I am still familiar with the language and food, but the mundane routine of the utmost traffic or others have lost its familiarity. Things have changed. I have changed. Now, I am stuffed with you and your indecisive weather. I have been through the worst and best with you in the brightest and gloomy days. Even though you are still strange, and I have not adapt your sweet accent, yet, I am under your skin.

A lot of things has happened over the year. I remember it was not easy to get along with you in the beginning. Especially after returning last Summer. I went through the toughest time away from family and the place I used to call home. I almost hated you back then. For a split second, I thought you were the wrong decision. The reality once slapped me hard on the face, but you kept me still; nearly content with the vast life of youth from dusk till dawn. In December, where the season hit the lowest temperature, I found comfort in one small local pub next to a Chinese restaurant. There, I was immediately reserved to another bit of this world that I fall in love with. Slowly and gradually, I gathered the conclusion I was actually happy.

The initial plan to have you as a rebound obviously did not stay long because since then I felt you started to give me life on a silver platter. You were growing on me. I made friends with the coolest bunch whom I am proud of and I wanted to tell my mum about. The comfort had turned into an exciting weekend routine. And most of all, I met a guy with the greatest accent whom I have always wanted since I was able to think that  I could be in love. However, that was also when I realised that any of this was not on a silver platter. I fell apart again before you as he made his exit. Everything seemed like a cycle. Only this time, I was stronger as I only needed to cry once at 3 in the morning by the bus stop.

Nevertheless, I cannot ever hate you. Just like any other relationship, the more things and memories I have had with you, I don't want to leave you entirely. I have fall in and out of love around you. You gave me plenty in return of my innocence. If the definition of home is about familiarity, you are my home now. Not that I love Jakarta any less, believe me it never been any stronger, but it is not where familiarity lies any longer. Jakarta will always be the place where I'm from but most of the things there are no longer within my grip. I know you better now. The streets, bus routes, attractions, the good deals in local restaurants, like 50% off in Revolution and Slug & Lettuce every Monday; or maybe, you are home because the boy I want is still here with you.

I have a feeling you may be able to keep me for a very very very long while.

Take a good care of yourself. I'll miss you for the rest of the summer.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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A Letter to the Bartender

letter

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Dear Bartender,

I understand that you are part of the night's treasure. When the lights are on and slightly dimmed, then music starts to eat away the silence of faded day, that is when you are starting to breathe in life to the restless evening. That is when the story begins as you pour drinks into my glass.

I can tell those eyes have witnessed series of events -- or perhaps, was once bruised when you were trying to assist a drunk man to leave the premise but then aggressively refused to do so. Aside from being able to make the greatest drink ever served, those gifted pair of hands may have been bled when you were trying to clean up pieces of broken glass on the floor that accidentally dropped by irresponsible adult in the middle of their intense argument. Night after night, those lips are trained to tell the sweetest compliments as rich and intoxicating as the flavor of alcohol, which sometimes may get you a kiss or two from beautiful girls of your dream that happen to walk in to the bar. I also know, you are a great listener. Those ears have heard the darkest secret and lies, the sweetest love story, day in and day out complaints, numbers of swears, flirts or even one night stand invitations that you said yes to, as if those are your supper before sunrise calls you to sleep.

These does not justify anything in your behalf; the perception of sins and your good deeds. You are still the free-spirit angels of the night and as human as you can be when I see you sneaking to the corner of the bar, stealing one or two sips of whiskey as you catch your breath in between serving the customers. All I wanted to say is: to me, you are not just a bartender who serves drink behind the wooden bar and slippery floor; you are the fresh air, the holiday or getaway from mundane routines -- boring lectures, assignments, faux-hope of unreturned texts and even heartbreak. Sometimes, you are the only good thing I look forward to the entire week.

By any chance, you may turn up to be the ideal husband or the guy every parents warned their daughter about -- but either way, I'd still be willing to clean up the champagne foil cut on your thumb if you let me.

Sincerely,

Your customer.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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Matters

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I have Language Matters exam coming up in two days. Yes, the unit is called Language Matter. I'm not sure any of you are familiar with the topic or not; just in case you are clueless, it is about Language and telling us how it matters. Ha. It is basically a creation out of a bunch of over-thinker's mind, seeing pass through the subtle denotation of language, or text - how it uses in different situation, what it refers to and last but not least, how it relates with gender. Yes, this is where feminism topic arise. Feminism. Ugh. Probably the third most complicated topic after religion and politics/sex. Regardless, it seems like bullshit in the beginning because language world is (almost) completely... completely... subjective or complex. It really depends on how one would define what it means. I think, without trying, I have already set my mind to ignore the beauty of the complexity of language. (This also maybe because the lecture is at 9 in the morning, and I'm definitely NOT a morning person - so it is either I'm still half-awake in the lecture or... no, that's probably it.) But then, as I'm being a slightly good student, when I revised for the exam I slowly and gradually, starting to see what I haven't been able to see these past months. It's actually interesting! (Or maybe I'm drunk)

It is weirdly fascinating seeing the way you arrange words can have massive effects on something. For example, if you are able to write a complaint letter using persuasive words without sounding like a complain and they would probably end up feeling sorry for you, and at your service immediately and happily, instead of feeling grumpy. Okay, it is a little bit devilish, but hey, who gives a shit. Words are like those Moulin Rouge actresses persuade their potential 'funding', minus the romance part where she ends up falling in love with the charming scriptwriter. Oh, wait! Scriptwriter; it must be because they are good with words! Nevertheless, my point is, it is interesting if you take a careful look. The way it persuades and potentially make your life easier as it is possible to make your way to, maybe technically, anything just by using the right language or let say, words. Also, it covers psychoanalysis terms in Language and gender. Speaking of feminism, the word it self sounds tiring to me. I was kind of bummed to study those (mostly) women's theories arguing about power and men. I mean, let it go, girls. In my opinion, as long as you think yourself have the power, then that's enough. You don't necessarily have to declare in a book. Okay, sorry, I'm off the track again. Yes, however, after I read shitload of articles about it, it started to make sense. Let me attach several points I came across and immediately laughed at (I suppose in a good way because oh boy, I can relate with it, like tots. Pun intended) then highlighted with bright yellow marker:

• In effect, women inclined to see relationship in terms of intimacy, connection and disclosure whereas men are inclined to see them in terms of hierarchy, status and independence.-- Martin Montgomery, 1996. An Introduction to Language and Society. P. 150
• Women talk about troubles to share them; men talk about problems to solve them.  – Both of them speak the same language but use it for different interactive purposes and at this level that the most profound misunderstanding arises. -- Martin Montgomery, 1996. An Introduction to Language and Society. P. 151
• He: wanna go to the movies?
  She: I don't know... Do you?
  This is one traditional form of the male-female game. Linguistic Politics: she is trying to retain what power she has by never being proved incompetent;  by leaving all the decision up to him, she gets him to make the commitment and run all the risks. -- Robin Lakoff, 1989. Talking Power: the politics of language. P. 18.

Boom. I leave you to it. *wink*

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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A Place Where Opposites Collide

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Uncertainty is one of the worst status in human life. Often worry emerged as the immediate result of uncertainty, where insecurities are starting to creep in like a cold weather on to your skin. Invisible but there; as if it has sharp edges, pinching for a grip of reality and screaming for warmth. But aren't we all live in uncertainty? It almost like the skeleton of life. So fragile it may break. It may actually break you. Or, uncertainty to life is like the series of dots in children's book -- the dots are the set of uncertainty and once you connect each of them with straight line, it shapes an existence, life. It's depressing and challenging in the same time. It is like one of the places where the opposite collides. A bloodbath between negative and positive thoughts for the ultimate (supposedly comfort) zone.

It is so mystical how things live side by side, life and uncertainty, so close yet very hard to get used to and still terrifying. There are times when it gets very strong. The kind of day when you say, "I have not never felt anything like this". Where you sit in your bed, under the duvet, watching the day turns into night, and cannot be bothered to turn on the lights even though the switch is just two steps away from where you are. Waiting, and waiting, in vain, for one single simple text message. That tiny bit of uncertainty; not knowing how the other person's doing. The worry. The bad thoughts, monsters in disguise. Changing your mind from a playground to a crime scene. During that kind of moment, I would say, have a little faith. But it hardly works during your worst. I know, I know. But then again, there is nothing else you can do to change the situation but to have a little faith (and find tons of distractions). Cause at the end,  you will hear that everything is okay anyway.

Kisses,

Your petite friend.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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Rainbow and Storm

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Most of the things in life, comes in twos.

In a nutshell, if you like something, there are two options: pursue it or leave it as it is. Once you pursue it, there are another two following outcomes: you like it even more or you are starting to notice the flaws thus it deteriorates the level of your interest. Then, it comes to the final phase where you decided to stick with it or move on. Change your mind. Find something else. Repeat the process all over again.

This relates to the revelation of the ugly truth. Which often hides behind the things you loved. Some people say it shows when you entered adulthood. It is sad letting know the truth to those who are not yet aware of what is going to come next. You do not want to spoil the party; but the fact that rainbow and unicorn go hand in hand with the existence of storm and monsters is evident. Whether or not its under your bed or inside you, its out there.

I did not know what happened back then, or who brought it, that changed this world so dramatically in to this field of contrast opinions, perspectives, thoughts, beliefs and/or common sense -- although in the same time, I was never sure this world was once one. Like, no split ends or things did not come in twos, or more, branches. Even so, this world is far too messy now. Might as well dance along with it.

Eventually, what matters is the end -- not end, end. Let just say, the final decision whether you are staying or leaving (of course after the long and winding road of weighing the goods and bads, ups and downs, vices and virtues). Nevertheless, I am sure, if it is the real thing, love or passion, you are going to stick around for the long run. Regardless the other twos. Or anything else. Just make sure that is what you want. The real thing.

And go get them.

Kisses,

F.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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