Breaking the Bad

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If you have not watched the season finale of Breaking Bad, which I highly recommend you to do so, effective immediately, because your life would miss one of the greatest, finest things that ever happened in human history, I advise you not to read this post below.

The season finale explains the loose ends and ended the oh-so cliche of the initial reason why Walter White started doing his meth empire — after all this time, he has been saying he did this for the family but then, when he bound to have his last goodbye, he confessed, "I did it for me. I liked it. I was good at it." Moreover, it closes with an intense pause of clarity and justification to what he had done, "And I was alive." That is the moment that settles everything; everything since the plot started on a boiling van in the middle of dry Albuquerque desert. As quoted from the mastermind-slash-creator, Vince Gilligan, that is the long overdue of Walter's honesty. In the last three episodes, the relationship between Walt and Jesse has been tossed around in hatred, however, when Jesse ended up not pulling the trigger and later, he gave him a silent nod as he stares at Walt's bleeding wound, that is their final goodbye. They both know, this is it. The actual end. What is best also, the production brilliantly relates the song Baby Blue that was once played in the beginning of their first batch of crystal blue meth, to the very last scene where Walt dies in peace with his one true, well, baby — the meth lab. It gets emotional, as the camera panned out, and you can hear the song playing: the special love, I have for you, my baby blue. That, screams for every word of banned from parental advisor.

Bryan Cranston and Aaron Paul did more than justice bringing those characters alive. They have what makes everything works: chemistry. Oh, the pun. Vince Gilligan said on an interview saying he wants to have "that kind of immortality through the work" where it could long outlived him — those who have not born yet would still know. Well, I would just like to say, there you have it, Vince. There you have it.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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Malam Itu

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Malam itu kembali lagi. Setelah terkubur di dalam bayangan hitam masa lalu dua tahun silam. Aku pikir percikan itu telah padam, mati dibawah derasnya hujan akan masa depan. Tapi ternyata tidak, masih disitu. Menyala bagaikan matahari di bulan Juni.

Aku, dia dan tiga teman lainnya berjalan pulang terhuyung angin dan alkohol setelah acara mengobrol santai dengan teman lama berakhir dengan sedikit lebih banyak tegukan bir. Malam itu seharusnya berakhir pada gelas bir kedua, satu setengah jam yang lalu. Tapi sampai sekarang dia masih berada disampingku, dengan percikan itu dan semua berlebur bersama buih-buih intuisi untuk menjamah tangan itu untuk menuntunku lurus, bahu itu untuk menyandarkan kepalaku yang semakin lama semakin berat, dan bibir itu...

Namun perlahan langkah kita melambat. Satu blok lagi aku akan sampai pada rumahku. Seakan mencuri detik-detik terakhir untuk bisa berdua dalam dinginnya malam di awal musim semi, dibawah remangnya lampu jalan dia merapatkan badannya padaku sampai aku terpojok dan bersandar lemas pada mobil yang parkir di pinggir jalan. Pada saat itu jarak kita semakin dekat. Terlalu dekat. Kedua tangannya mengunciku diantaranya. Hanya bibir itu yang ada dikepalaku. Setengah jengkal lagi, lidahnya dapat beradu dengan lidahku, menari di dalam mulutku.

Tapi aku terhenti. Bayangan itu hilang seraya aku menolehkan kepalaku menjauh darinya dengan elusan akal sehat. Sekarang aku dapat merasakan nafasnya berhembus pada leherku. Hangat. Dengan irama tertatih akan deru jantungnya. Aku dan dia tahu betapa salahnya semua ini. Ini tidak seharusnya terjadi. Dan disaat yang sama betapa aku menginginkan dia, pada detik itu, seutuhnya, dengan semua yang ada didalamku menjerit akannya.

Tapi pandanganku kini tertuju pada jemari tangan yang mengunciku diam, ya, jari manisnya — alasan kenapa aku tidak bisa memilikinya dari awal. Cincin itu. Menandakan kalau dia bukan milikku. Tapi tunangannya.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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A Place to Long For

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"Mba Yaya betah di Jakarta. She likes it here." 

"And you don't?"

His eyes diverted somewhere else, looking through the glass window as if he was staring at his life in Jeddah.

"Gimana ya, Fiya." he answered hesitantly, "Kerjaan aku disana."

Then his eyes went back to mine. I smiled, trying to look content with his answer. Anggi is a friend of mine. He's Indonesian but grew up in the Middle East and only come to visit Jakarta every Summer. We were reunited again on his last night before his departure back to Jeddah. And we stumbled upon a conversation about the city we were not meant to stay for the time being and on the contrary, how his sister grew fond of this place. To think of it, I'd like to hide behind work, too, if that helps to settle a place to long for. Anggi was clear upon his answer. He was completely practical sticking to 'I have work, friends and cars there' respond. The only hesitation in his voice was probably he was afraid to offend me because in our position, I was the one in this room that was more attached to this city. And somehow, I also feel obligated to like this city thus at least one of us does. But I am not sure, myself. Even though I know it is my default settings to root for Jakarta, because the thread that tie us both is thicker than blood, but Jakarta isn't the same; and if I have to follow his context, I don't have work or cars to bound me over a place. If the question addressed back to myself: do I like it here? I don't think I have a definite answer. Jakarta has changed since last time I was here.

I have noticed things have shifted into different equation while I was away. Being the one who leaves, I remember better where exactly I left off my life before leaving this city. It was almost like my life was a movie that was on pause, and I'd just need to press play to resume the last scene where it stopped. My high school friends were the ones who dominates the biggest chunk of my life back then. And they were also the scene where my life was on hold. We were young and naive, we'd go anywhere, everywhere after the sun set and home before the sun rise. I didn't realise they have grown and changed. I returned with the expectation I could find them easily, then we could reminisce the good old rebelion days together. I thought they were exactly where I left them. But they weren't. They are now somewhere farther beyond the pine trees. Not all of them, of course, but the changes were so severe in most of them I could tell they were not really laughing, or present for that matter. It seemed I have missed a phase in their lives that even though they were trying to tell me through stories, I didn't think it would be the same as being present while the phase was happening.

For instance, one of my closest friends that used to share each other's darkest secrets and was capable of loving great things, now stood quietly in his shell trying to keep distance as far as possible from love. Maybe that one time he was broken hearted, it traumatised him. We went from hours of talking to short text messaging that lasts no longer than five replies. And another good friend of mine, the joker in the group that I have never recalled seeing him frowned, had changed from the funny happy-go-lucky one to sour, and almost bitter. The loud laugh that used to paint his face bright was absent. They have gone quiet. The flickers of naivety, reckless, and freedom in their eyes were missing. I'd like to tell them, look I'm here. To listen, to laugh at or with. I'm here, let's be young and naive once again. Let's hang out, drive the night away and curse to the sky. I'd like to tell them don't change. But maybe, I have changed too. I can't reach them the way I used to. They used to be a quarter of my life that keeps me longing for this city, but somehow, I felt like I have lost them, though not entirely, to the nature of growing up.

Maybe it's time to get a job, and fancy cars, to get the absolute answer. Just like Anggi did. 

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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For You, Forever Ago

fiction

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I think loving you has become a habit. I have you programmed in my brain, that I have to love you, you the one with thick glasses and husky voice. Even though I do not have any sensible reason to, I cannot stop. It is non-negotiable. A done deal. It almost sounds like I loved you in a manner of science — my brain cells conspire in the most selfish way to only recognise you as love and associates with nothing else but since the day I fell in love with you three summers ago.

The world was still in a box when I met you, but the feelings I had was larger than life as I loved you with everything I had and able to give. I loved genuinely and unconditionally. I loved you alone, unselfishly without involving me. And I loved you for so long, I thought I did not know how to stop.

I have loved you closely as close as sitting next to you, and through the distance as far as twelve hours flight and time difference. I have loved you more and I have loved you less. I loved you even in between the awake and the sleep. I have loved you everywhere and in every way. I have loved you everyday — but not today. Because just like the death of snow, I am melting away to the equator line, farther from the Northern Hemisphere, and you. Today, I learned that the older the brain gets, it loses its cells but continue to grow and make new ones; I think I have lost some parts of you. And also today, is the day I decided to stop loving you.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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I Should Have Told You

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I hate to see you go. I should have not let you go. I should have told you that I want you longer than the summer. Hell, I want you longer than forever. I did not want you just over the coffee break that ended when the melted ice leaving traces by the bottle like the morning dew. I should have told you to stay, not to go on that plane that take you back to your life. Just stay — with me. We could count the stars, watch the sun rise, filmed the world, go on arguing which row is the best seating on IMAX theatre or we could just talk under the moonlit sky. I’d tell you how much I loved the sea side yet how scared I was of the ocean. I’d tell you stories I would not share with anyone else, like my mum’s habit. I'd tell you this not just because you know her, but because talking to you gives me the sense of belonging and being acknowledged, though in the least bit, in the way I have always wanted. Then I’d listen to you too, as this would be my favourite part of the day — I get to listen to what’s in your mind. I loved the part when you told me that you have just visited the place where you grew up last weekend and how surprised you were because it had not change a bit, unlike this metropolitan city with vast growth of construction and traffic. You'd rolled your eyes trying to remember the sound of cricket at night, and then you'd smiled. You'd smile over the fact that you used to collect stones and buried it under the mango tree when you were seven. You’d smile, like it was the best day in your life, as if you have just won the world at the carnival and you disclose happiness. Across the table, I’d smile too, for you and with you, noticing I have found the best version of you. And over dinner, you'd say everything starting to matter in your last night before your flight calls in the morning. Even though we were just having small bites of fried chicken in one of the overrated American fast food chain at this newly-built mall on the Southern part of Jakarta, you said, it matters. Right there was where I should have told I want you to stay in this this city and grow old on the road with me. We’d speak the same language and continue to love and hate this place at the same time by mocking the laws, economy and politicians in between the empty seconds before the red light turns green.

I should have told you I want you to stay.

I should have told you that I want you.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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So Close

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Have you ever felt so close, like the border line between two states, so precise and absolute, to fall in love with someone? You met this person with the least expectation you have got as you only prepared a notebook and a pen for yourself. You figured the rest would find its own way. Maybe this person was someone from the past; a childhood friend that you had a secret crush on. The first time you have seen this person's face again after years, everything suddenly escalated so quickly into a firm existence of realness. You did not know you were about to get caught off guard.

He sat before you, looking as exceptional as he was expected to grow up to be since you were playing swinging rope together in his backyard twelve years ago. His hair was still as dark as dark as raven's wings, matched with his thick eyebrows. Whilst his eyes utters the coldest yet brightest impression in shades of caramel-coloured iris. He did not smile so often, this scares you because you were dying to read his mind, but when he did, that was the kind of smile that lights up the room.

You hid your shaky nerves in between the sips of your caramel latte as the conversation began. It started off quietly, like calm pool with steady surface till he jumped right in and create this magnified wave of perfect curls. In a glimpse, you thought, if this carries on, something big could happen. Maybe like the second big bang, where both of you would explode into million bits of micro-particles, dissolve into the air and create this new universe that you were bound to exist forever.

By the time the blended ice melted under the arch of plastic bottle lid, you were reminded that he had changed from the person that you held impulsively when you were nine, and fell into foolish monkey-love with. But somehow you liked him even better, the darker-and-more-real version of him, in a way you could not explain, in a way you could never be able to shake off the idea of him that was so persistent and impeccable, no matter how fucked up he was.

Right before you had to say goodbye, your eyes met his. It was not the first time throughout conversation that you just happen to caught in a crossfire of glances, but this time you saw the sunset of your childhood dream disappearing at the end of the horizon of his eyelid, shifting into clusters of stars where you look up to. There you noticed, you had been longing for him without even knowing. That he could be your muse and you were so close to fall in love with him. Even closer than the length between your pointy nose and your soft lips.

Have you ever felt so close to fall in love with someone, for his mistakes, achievements, his words and past, you were just one blink away to fall head over heels towards him? But you couldn't. It was not because a moment of hesitation or sprinkles of doubts. But because your fear of falling, failing and getting hurt once again was too much. You just couldn't, so you let this one go.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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Good Enough

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I am so tired, I'm so tired I cannot feel anything but. As if those three days had consumed the entire supply of joy for the next three waking weeks. It is tiring, it is bloody tiring. Not being able to get ahold of myself, and everything seems to be not good enough. It's never good enough but you were more than good enough. And I want more than good enough. It gets harder to breathe, almost literally, when a little too often the memories of you strikes back, follows with a clotted blood stream right in the middle of your chest; even though it lasts only for two good seconds, but I can feel it - right there. It is real, it is not myth or a made-up story. I want to make it go away but instead every corner of this city reminds me of you, then it hit again. What bugs me the most, is you are more than good enough. I thought you weren't. Hence nothing, no one, can be just good or good enough because now I want more than good enough. Not even the Atlantic ocean by the New York skyline, it has lost its appeal once you stand near. And how can you expect me to swim when your current is too strong? At least you could have warned me. And now I am drowned and tired to fight back. I have been staying up most of the nights, counting the stars just because I can get busy thinking what comes after 771, and eventually I can close my eyes without wondering all the what ifs of us that has dissolve into oxygen. I just want to take a rest for wanting everything to be good enough. It's confusing. Gravity is starting to revolve around you - and I am falling. And I'm falling alone.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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