Sunday, October 23, 2016

Luna (3)

Luna,

Bukankah setiap hidup layak dipertahankan, seperti apapun itu. Bukankah memang seperti itulah kita menjalaninya. Berjalan, terjatuh, dan tersungkur. Terluka sesekali. Atau bahkan ribuan kali. Untuk kemudian bangkit lagi.

Bukankah begitu?

Luna, apakah kau dengar aku? 
Pernahkan kau mendengarkan aku sebetulnya?

Tapi seberapa banyak yang bisa kukatakan padanya?. Seberapa besar yang bisa kusumbangkan untuk hati yang sudah tertoreh begitu dalam, untuk luka yang sudah menganga begitu lama.

Dan untuk kali pertama sejak aku mengenalnya, aku merasa putus asa. Tak ada lagi yang bisa kulakukan untuknya. Tidak sepatah katapun.

Aku tidak bisa lagi mengatakan padanya tentang ombak dan batu karang. Berdirilah, tegakkan kepalamu dan tantanglah angin. Ombak selalu datang dan pergi. Tetapi batu karang tetap tegak berdiri. Aku lupa, batu karang akan habis terkikis, seiring dengan berjalannya waktu, dan takdir.
Kata-kata bijak, hanya hidup bila ada keyakinan. Ternyata. Dan betapa keyakinan ternyata sangat rapuh. Sesaat saja ia meninggalkanmu, maka habislah.

Seperti Luna.

****

Kubasuh wajahku.
Tanganku.
Telingaku.
Kepalaku.
Kakiku.
Kuambil sajadah dan kukenakan mukenaku dengan bibir bergetar menahan tangis.

Ya Allah, bisikku dalam hati.
Ya Allah.
Dan aku tak bisa berkata yang lain lagi.

Entah sudah berapa lama sejak terakhir kali aku mengucap istighfar tanpa tangis penyesalan. Alhamdulillah tanpa rasa syukur yang tulus. Allahuakbar tanpa hati menggigil ketakutan.

Entah sudah berapa lama sejak aku menundukkan kepalaku di atas sajadah, tanpa merasakan betapa kecil dan sia-sianya manusia.

Luna (2)

I'm not something special, katanya suatu kali.

Something.

Ya. Dan tidak istimewa sama sekali.

Aku hanya diam.

Karena hari ini hari ulang tahunku, lanjutnya. Dan tidak satu orang pun ingat.

Sudahlah, banyak orang bahkan tidak tahu hari ulang tahunnya. Bersyukurlah kau masih bisa ingat ulang tahunmu sendiri.

Tapi kau tahu kan, akan beda ceritanya kalau hari ini Aryo yang berulang tahun? Luna memandangku dari sudut matanya.

Tanpa bisa kucegah, pikiran yang sejak tadi kutahan-tahan membebaskan dirinya di kepalaku dan mulai merembet ke mana-mana. Kalau hari ini ulang tahun Aryo, ceritanya memang pasti berbeda.
Aku tahu, ini bukan tentang ulang tahun dan kuenya. Bukan juga tentang feminisme seperti yang dituduhkan orang-orang. Ah. Aku bahkan tidak tahu ini tentang apa.

Untuk sesaat kami terdiam.

Sore itu panas dan berdebu, Hanya ada hembusan angin dan deru mobil yang menghamburkan butir-butir debu ke udara. Kering.


Luna, aku tak tahu peran apa yang sedang kau mainkan saat ini. Aku tidak berani menunjukkan ketidakmengertianku akan dirimu.  Aku tidak ingin kau tahu, bahwa aku, orang terdekatmu, juga sudah mulai kehilanganmu. Karena kau akan berkata kalau aku pun, pada akhirnya meninggalkanmu. Dan kau akan semakin yakin kalau langit perlahan-lahan runtuh di atas kepalamu.

Kuputuskan untuk tetap diam, dan menemaninya berjalan di sepanjang jalan yang berdebu sore itu.

Luna (1)

Aku Luna.

Begitu selalu katanya.

Seperti bulan yang bersinar pucat di kemuraman malam. Bulan yang dilihat ibuku dari celah jendela ketika berjuang membawaku ke dunia. Yang memberinya alasan untuk terus mempertahankan hidup. Hidup yang tak layak dipertahankan.

Hidup seperti apakah yang tak layak dipertahankan? Tanyaku suatu kali.

Hidup yang dijalani dengan berlari, terjatuh, tersuruk, tersungkur, berdiri lagi untuk kemudian terjatuh lagi, dan merangkak tersaruk-saruk. Hidup seperti hidup ibuku.

Ibumu yang hingga kini masih terus bertahan hidup?

Ya.

And how's that?

Ia hanya mengangkat bahunya.


(Tangerang Selatan, bertahun-tahun lalu)

Butterfly Chaos

What you gave me

(South Tangerang, 4 years ago)

Snail

Tuesday afternoon, 3.04 pm.


You know G, I’m listening to your song now.

I wonder what are you doing now? Are you walking somewhere now with your feet deep in the snow? Because the rain is pouring almost every day now in Jakarta and despite all the differences, I imagine the sky would be just the same. Cloudy, misty sky, a color of broken white, a hint of sad romance in a faraway land.

Oh by the way, the sky was beautiful last night.
I don’t like it when it’s too clear. Or simply cloudy.
Last night was a sky with subtle patterns of clouds, forming soft strikes from one end to another, twirling in beautiful curves, a dance of vast universe.
I feel at home looking at it.
A strange comfort.

And look at me now, doing my daily pages in the middle of working hours.

(Kebayoran, 4 years ago)

Listen to Me

My mind feels like it was going to blow away any minute. Multitasking is never a good thing.

Please, please, please, listen to me.

Listen to my subtle voice carried by the unheard wind.
Listen well. Think of the universe. Think of the connected, moving particles, older than the universe itself. We are not separated. We are forever connected. We have always been connected.

Clear your head, space out like you usually do, and try to hear me. Find me in the deafening silence when you’re alone and no one’s around. No music, no dancing, no spotlight. Just you, and the silence.

Listen well, and find me there.
I am there. In the snowflakes falling on your head and clinging to your hair when you walk under the open early winter sky. In the drops of snow melting from the leaves you see in the trees around you. The cold air of winter that you try to grab with your hands. The promise of spring afterward.

Listen well, G. Please, listen well. I am there.


(South Jakarta, 4 years ago)

Calling You

I wish you’d hear the smallest sound my dreams make.
Calling you.

(South Tangerang, 4 years ago)

When The Sun Rises




Every time I tell myself that this is a new day and the thought of you will fade as the sun rises. Every single time I learn that just like the sun, the thought of you returns. Every. Single. Day.


(Kebayoran, 4 years ago)

Does It Ever



One of those days I spend alone sitting at my front yard, waiting for the sun to set.
Wondering, does the color look the same from where you are standing?
Does it ever, look the same, from the place where you stand, walk, breath, talk, laugh, sleep, and dream?
Does it ever?

(South Tangerang, 4 years ago)

When Morning Comes


Every morning I’d wake up to a strange realization on how quiet it is inside my head. I’d spend the first few minutes sitting on the edge of the bed, thinking about you, and all the feelings I have about you; the feelings that never stop pounding loudly in my chest, the feelings that have overtaken all my logic and reasons, replacing it with something unidentifiable yet overwhelming. It’s funny how distant and strange the feeling seems to be in the morning. I wonder, what could have possibly happened during my sleep that has erased all the chaos, leaving no trace but subtle feeling of a déjà vu, so subtle like a thin transparent fabric on your window. It has died down over night.

At that very brief moment, I thought I finally got over you and all the impossibilities. It feels relieving at the beginning. Then I’d start to feel a sense of loss. I’d wonder would it felt not thinking about you every day. How would it felt not longing for you.  How would it felt to finally stop dreaming and get my feet on the ground. How unpleasant everything is if I stop dreaming and let logic takes over. How unpleasant it would be for not having you sitting silently at the corner of my mind, listening to all the tales I’ve been telling myself in my quiet moments, hoping that you’d hear, somehow. And then I’d get off my bed, feeling there’s a part of me cried for having to say goodbye to the feeling that (I thought) has ended, and at the same time relieved for finally being able to see things clearly again and continue my life.

And then, just when I finally step my feet on the floor, preparing to start another day, the feeling comes back, sweeping over me like a wave in the ocean. Waves that have reached the shore. Small, slow, uncertain to where to land, where to stop, where to hit, but keep on going nevertheless, dancing their way to the shore, sweeping everything on their way, erasing all the reasons and doubts that have been thrown at the end of the shoreline by confused souls. Drawing a new shore line. Cleaning up the surface, leaving nothing but the sands, no foot prints, no signs, no trace at all, nothing to show that once there were marks of doubts of pains of tears there.

And with that, once again I surrender to the feeling. Embracing the sight of the clean shoreline, instinctively letting in the taste of the air of a new day through my nose and into my lungs, running through my veins, and becoming the breath that I breathe for that day, before it ends and another day arrive tomorrow. And it will start all over again. And it goes on. And on. And on.

(South Tangerang, 4 years ago)

One chaotic rainy afternoon


I remember Murakami, and the Wild Sheep Chase, and how everything is so chaotic yet so lonely.

(Central Jakarta, 4 years ago)

I Can't Name It



What would you call a feeling that gives you a warm sensation creeping down from your chest to your stomach when you think of a particular person?
What would you call a feeling that stretch your heart from head to toe, and stretch it even further, far, far to the furthest impossibility, only with the slightest thought of the person?
What would you call a feeling that always gets you thinking of that particular person when you see a beautiful path with the color of autumn, or a beautiful house with a soft, dim light and a sofa with old cushions, next to a long wooden paneled window looking out to the garden full of trees and flowers?

Tell me, what would you call a feeling that makes me think of you at the sight of that beautiful serenity of a comfortable, safe place to return to… The images of home…


I cannot name it.


(Kebayoran, 4 years ago)

Meringue

Dear G, we are spreading the pink meringues on the paper tissue now. We are trying to get the chocolate ones but they were put at the bottom under the pink ones (and no one wants to try the pink ones, you know how it is, chocolates are far more appealing).

So here they are finally spread, all pinks, against the white paper tissue. They looked so cute, with all the tiny dots of red all over them. I love meringue. I always love the way they melt in my mouth.

Dear G, this is nothing but another nonsensical thoughts appear out of nowhere. You don’t have to read it. You’ll probably never read it. You might never even realize that it has been written and posted here, all these things about you. But if one day you read it, you don’t need to cringe, or frown. And you don’t have to like meringues.

It’s just me. With another nonsensical thoughts appear out of nowhere. Yet even the most nonsense things seem to be triggering the thought of you.

Dear G, we are spreading the pink meringues on the paper tissue, and I suddenly wondered, do you actually like meringues too?
But again, it’s okay, you don’t have to like it. I was just wondering how you are doing now.


(Kebayoran, 4 years ago)

Mid Afternoon

I’m sipping my coffee now. No, I’m not thinking of you.
I’m just sipping my coffee, sitting still on my chair at my cubicle, staring at the monitor, catching up with the morning news streaming like waters.

Really, I’m just sipping my coffee. I’m sipping my coffee, typing words and words and numbers into the screen, talking to my colleagues, making some phone calls to some clients, texting some friends, moving on with life.

I’m not thinking of you.
Just like the other days before this, the days when my mind was not too occupied with the thought of you, I’m just sipping my coffee.

No, I’m not thinking of you.


(Kebayoran, 4 years ago)

Saturday, October 22, 2016

Melancholy

I was talking to my brother on the phone yesterday. It was a small talk about small unimportant things, simply to catching up with each other’s life. Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, I started to wonder, what were you doing at the moment? Were you talking on the phone with someone too? Was it your sister? Or your parents? Or perhaps your friends? Some important people in your life that you don’t see every day? What were you talking about with them? Was it the small unimportant things in your life too? Something along the line of what are you doing for the weekend? Something like how life has been going so far? Something like have you heard about auntie something and her daughter cousin something? Was it the same small unimportant things of everyday life of people like me? What kind of life is the life you’re living?

All the questions brought me to a realization that I know very little about your life. That there are so many unimportant yet interesting things in my life that I want to share with you. The unimportant things that decorate the simple, uneventful life of the people like me. Wouldn’t it be nice to share them with you? Wouldn’t you love to hear that? Have you ever wonder what kind of life that people like me is living?  What are our everyday lives made of? What are our small talks on the phone consist of? The small unimportant things in my life, are they actually the same small unimportant things as yours? Do you ever wonder how life looks like, how life feels like, here in my part of the world? Have you ever thought about them, as much as I do about your world?

Then I felt tears forming in the corner of my eyes.

I think I miss you. In the most impossible way that could possibly exist. I miss you.

(South Jakarta, 4 years ago)

Late Autumn (And Rainy Days)

Here I am, sitting and listening to late autumn while watching the cars and motorcycles rushing their way home on this rainy night.

I’m thinking about you, about the difference between autumn breeze and drizzling rain. I’m thinking about how autumn turns everything brown and reddish around you, and how rain leaves small charming droplets on my window. I’m thinking about what you’re thinking when you pull the scarf around your neck and step outside your door; looking at the sky. Are you aware that hundred of miles from where you stand, there’s someone who’s also looking at the same sky, that very sky that you’re staring at? Do you know how that someone wonders what does autumn feels like while she opens her umbrella and walk outside her door in the middle of the pouring rain? Do you know how that someone wonders what it feels like to be standing next to you, watching the leaves falling to the earth, to be walking next to you along the small path, relishing the sound of brown and red leaves under your feet?

I’m thinking about you; about the grey sky above our heads, about how different things are, about the fact that the only connection between us is the cold weather that’s been lingering around us since the beginning of the autumn and the rainy season, about how it will never make any difference.

I’ve been pondering about this for some time now and I wonder, what would you think if you know that I am here, thinking about you?

(South Jakarta, 4 years ago)

Cleaning up

Doing some cleaning up and re-organizing.
Will gradually moving and (re) posting some old stuff.

Hopefully

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

Undelivered Messages for everyone


When undeliveredmessages makes an appearance at Pojok Nestapa 24th.

Pojok ekspresi dedicated to the lonely and longing souls out there (well, not so far out yes, secara tempelannya di Lt.24)

Monday, January 25, 2016

The Year of Letting Go


She was walking among the midst of mangrove forest, slowly tracing the rows of logs that made the pathway under her feet,while absentmindedly scanned her surrounding, taking in the view of the thick tangle of branches and leaves. The saltwater around her reflecting the sky above, clear blue decorated with spots of clean white fluffs.

The sun was glaring fiercely above the trees, as if trying to make a statement about its existence, just in case any of the earthlings below forgets, drowned in the constant noise and things to run for. The air has this hushed quality of a quiet lazy afternoon that lulls you to sleep, with occasional soft sound of motorboat slowing down, navigating its way through the forest.

She felt contented.

It was a very small mistake.

A press of finger that is a few seconds too long, until she realized that she was in the process of deleting all the gallery folders in her phone memory. All three thousand something of images, now gone, and irretrievable.

Is it really irretrievable? Sitting herself on a bench nearby, she asked herself that question, her first reaction to the disaster.

And then, does it really matter? She found herself already moved to the next question. And somehow it felt more important than the first one.

A motorboat passed in front of her, gliding smoothly above the murky water, and disappeared behind the forest on her right side, She stared at the rippled water left by the motorboat, gurgling quietly and died, returned to its silent form.

Her mind started to reeling, recounting names that she could contact to save the three thousand something of images, trying hard to remember the folders in her external hard disk, or any other back up that she might have made. Might have, but not really sure.

The tangled branch in the forest was messy but real, like a house that is not too neat and pristine. A home. The murky water was so murky and looked so comfortable and secure in its murkiness and firm in its silence, despite the motorboat traffic on its surface. And the frogs. Now she realized, there were the frogs, making their noises from one end of the forest to another. It wasn't loud enough to be distracting, but it was loud enough to confirm presence. It was constant, like the sound of muted radio frequency.

Yes, muted.

Everything was lovely, and muted. Even the glaring sun was muted by the thick layers of leaves.
And to her surprise, she found that brokenhearted as she was, the shock, irritation, and whatever negative emotion supposed to be existed in the wake of the missing of thousands of images, was muted. They rippled for a moment, gurgling out of obligation, and died down without struggle.

With this thought, she continued her steps on the pathway made of logs, in the midst of the thickly tangled mangrove branches.


"So you're going to try to retrieve it?"
"No, I don't think so,"
"Why?"
"I don't know."

Of course she knows why. She didn't have it in her to fight for it, for the thousands of images she held so dearly. It was not there. Whatever it is that should be there in the mind of a person who claim to love taking pictures and had just lost thousands of unprocessed images, it was just not there.

"I decided to let them go. The images. I'm not going to try to retrieve them."
"Why?"
"I don't know. It feels like the right thing to do. Letting them go."
"Three thousands is a lot, you know"
"Yeah, it is."
"Imagine how much space it takes in your heart, how much weight it carries in your heart, all this time."
"Yeah.That's surely one way to look at it."
"It is."
"And I think it's kinda fit for the situation. Some of the images have been there for too long. I kept procrastinating to process and post them. Some images have been there for years. And some images are of people that I'm not very keen on remembering, people I had part ways with on an unpleasant note or disappointment. And I just realized that."
"Then it is time to free some space in your head, in your heart."
"I guess it is, yeah."

It was right before the new year, anyway. It's only fair to give the space for new things to come; new images to capture, new stories to tell, and more room for the steps to move forward, freed from the weight of memories holding them down.

She smiled a little at the thought.





Sunday, January 24, 2016

The heart is a mystic



They say follow your heart because the heart always knows what the mind doesn’t. And the heart is always right.

I guess it’s true.

But it also true, that the heart leads you to unfamiliar places.
It brings you face to face with the scariest of feelings,
it makes you jump head first to unknown territory,
swim in the darkest of water, walk hand in hand with strange beings,
lost in the realm of  a different world

You can never have the full grasp of what the heart wants.

Because it dances and dances around, eluding the mind that persistently tries to reason with it
Because it speaks in otherworldly language that you find difficult to understand
And the only thing you manage to grasp is ‘you should’ve known, you’ve known long before you even realize it’

It changes the perspective of things.
Scary beings are not so scary anymore,
strange ideas are not so strange anymore,
It makes you remember the first thing you managed to hear on your first encounter with it:
‘Fear me not’

It gets you permanent bruises and marks all over your soul.
But you still have to thank the heart, because, after all, it leads you to where you’re supposed to be.


Thursday, June 4, 2015

31 Days of Randomness - Day 3: On torn between choices and the hands of time

Wednesday morning. Torn between writing (as a good writer-wannabe should be doing), or cleaning the house (as a good mom should be doing), or just keep reading whatever it is I'm reading (as a good-for-nothing person should be doing early in the beginning of the day).

I'm torn between choices.

Choices, choices, choices.

I'm never one to make choices. What's with all the Libra sign and a condition of acute procrastinator. Too many choices to make, nothing seems to be better _or worse_ than the others, and then it gets oh so confusing so better leave it at that and think about it later; when my head is clearer, or when there's no sun outside threatening to rise and glare its way up to the morning hours fiercely (letting everyone knows that the morning is rolling and the time is ticking).

Time does tick louder after the sun rises, don't you think?'
I suppose the hands of time are a bit like plants. Feeding from sun lights, growing firmer and sharper with every bit of light it consume, leaving no room for arguments from those who still have doubt about time's power to move everything forward.

Arguments from people like me, who can't make choices.

31 Days of Randomness, Day 2: Regret

Regret is.

The unfinished coffee in the mug.
Coffee leftover in the french press. Stale. Forgotten.
Undelivered messages (obviously).
Message distortion. Failure in encoding decoding process somewhere between your grey cells and your mouth. Harsh words that you can't take back.
Nice words that you can't take back.
Dreams, premature one, never had the chance to actually form into shape. Not even a blur one.
Missed chance. Of course. Although, do we need to regret those?
Living your life day to day with avoiding regret as the sole purpose and motivator. No harsh word, you might never get a chance to apologize. No second guessing, you might never get a second chance.

There it is.
I've used all my 'being positive' quota for the day. Or the week.


31 Days of Randomness - Day 1: Another Undelivered Message


Hi you,
I hope this undelivered message finds you well.

I had lunch with a couple of friends yesterday, when one of my friends received  a news that her uncle passed away that morning, so she had to leave the office early to catch a flight to her hometown.

Surely the universe has a lot to say to me in this 'apparently not moved on from you' phase of my life, because suddenly my mind went back to you and our conversation a few years ago. I remember you told me at the time, that you would be staying at the office that night, because your driver was not in that day and you didn't want to drive alone because the traffic is so frustrating.

You were frustrated.
(Now if I recall all the times I've known you, I can say that you were always frustrated. Although you never want to talk about it).

'My driver took a short notice leave. Said he'd need to go back to his hometown. His grandma died'.
You said with a snort. (You didn't use any emoticon but I'm very sure I can hear you snorting. It would be weird if you didn't anyway, knowing you.)

'Oh okay', I said.

'Pssshh. Grandmother dies and he went back home'.You continued.

I didn't say anything.

'I don't think I care when my grandparents passed away. I  didn't go back home'. You added.

I stayed quiet.

'Who cares. It's only grandparents'.

'Right'. I said cautiously.

'You know what, I haven't even go home for 6 months. My mom has been nagging me to come and visit but I don't care'.

'You don't', I said again. It's not a question.

'No. I don't care. It annoys me'.

'But your Mom is waiting for you', I said. Again, not a question.

'Yeah, she is'. A laugh emoticon. 'Oh but who cares. I can't stand to be there'.

'Such an ungrateful son you are, I said'. Gave a laugh emoticon too. Because, of course, that should be a joke, right?

'I know. I know I am. That's why I don't want to have kids :)'. And there's the smiley added to your sentence.

Unlike laugh emoticon, smiley unsettles me. Two dots and a curve that tend to say too much because they obviously hide too much.

So I added yet another laugh emoticon. And despite the absence of sound, I think it was an awkward one. It was awkward because I think there was this uncomfortable feeling creeping slowly into my chest. Out of embarrassment (of what, I don't know). Out of the sharp pang of understanding silently dawn on me. A realization that you are a lost cause. And I am a lost cause for thinking that you're probably not and hoping against hope for it.

We are a lost cause. All hopes are gone. Or never there in the first place. The glass walls were broken and shattered. The wind broke loose, confused as it was and died down before it had the chance to break anything breakable or touch anything touchable. Chances never had a chance.

Of course, it was a message.
Something you've been trying to tell me without hurting your ego by bringing whatever it was going on between us to the table.
Of course, it's what you've been trying to say since the very beginning of our... friendship?Acquaintance? Something close to 'being in a position of knowing someone'?  A mistake?

I should have listened.

It took me years of faithfully nurturing a heartbreak, a handful of streaks of tears (yes, only a handful, and no, I didn't cried that much for it to be more than a handful, no, despite the whirlwind of emotions you inflicted on me).
It took me hundreds of back and forth between hoping and stop hoping, waiting and letting go, continue crying or start smiling, to finally understand everything.

Still, I'm not letting you go.

Sunday, February 1, 2015

Pertama di tahun 2015


"Dia menantinya
dalam jeda-jeda hening musim yang berganti
kemarau dan hujan dan kemarau dan hujan lagi
yang datang tanpa jeda untuk membasahi jiwa atau mengeringkan air mata


Dia
telah
dan selalu
untuk pertemuan sesaat
merindukannya
dengan rasa sakit"


Demikianlah, postingan pertama di tahun 2015 (yang sudah berjalan sebulan ini), adalah potongan puisi yang saya buat sekitar satu dekade lalu.

Untuk pengingat saja, betapa saya dulu sangat piawai dan percaya diri dalam memetik dawai-dawai kegalauan dan menyandingkannya dengan rangkaian kalimat mewakili suara hati terdalam yang tak tersampaikan. Betapa saya dulu adalah salah satu pengguna jaring laba-laba raksasa dunia ini yang aktif menyebarkan pesan-pesan kepedihan hati dan cinta tak berbalas.

Mungkin, sekarang saya juga masih sepiawai itu.
Mungkin.
Tapi lalu ada 'bisa' dan 'mau', yang merupakan binatang yang berbeda meskipun masih saudara. Kemudian ada 'perlu', binatang yang berbeda, tidak ada hubungan saudara, tapi seringkali dilibatkan dalam rembugan-rembugan antara 'bisa' dan 'mau'.

'Bisa', 'mau', dan 'perlu' sibuk berdebat dalam kepala saya. Hasilnya kemudian adalah saya yang tidak menulis apa-apa.

Mudah-mudahan situasi ini segera berubah, dan saya kembali bisa menuliskan hal-hal tidak penting seperti biasa tanpa harus berpikir mengenai perdebatan 'bisa' 'mau' dan 'perlu'.
Tidak berarti suara hati saya itu penting untuk dunia atau memiliki nilai keindahan yang tak terbantahkan. Tapi saya rasa penting untuk memberi ruang pada hal-hal yang tidak bisa disampaikan dalam kehidupan nyata, untuk kemudian disampaikan kepada alam semesta melalui jaring laba-laba raksasa ini.

Siapa tahu alam semesta berbaik hati, menempatkan pesan-pesan tak terkatakan itu dalam orbit yang tepat sehingga mereka sampai di tempat tujuan dan diterima dengan baik oleh yang berkepentingan.

Kita tidak pernah tahu kan ya?


2.36, Senin dinihari



Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Nobody Cares About What Has Been






So she took a peek into the driver’s room.

It was dark, with only small ray of lights coming in through the front (or back, in this case) window.

But does it matter?

We are all moving forward, she thinks. Nobody cares about the lights behind us, despite its persistence on staying. Nobody cares about what’s left behind.

And that’s the kind of question that never fails to struck her. The kind of question that will tear all her confidence and defenses down, and shredded them to pieces as if some mysterious paper shredder have magically made its way into her mind, stole the delicate faith that she has been building slowly from nothing, and crushing it slowly through its sharp little knives with robotic indifference, non-humanly innocence.

Nobody cares about what has been.

Why should she?

Sunday, September 28, 2014

She Recognizes Him

It's a wonder to her how she still remembers even the smallest details about him.

She stared at the square image of a pair of hands in front of her, and through the limited size of her cellphone screen, she recognized him.

It’s him. She recognizes the hand.

She recognizes the fingers, the way they are curled as if ready to grasp something, anything, that comes his way. Exactly how he lives his life.

She could tell it was him in the picture from the shape of the nails; the way they are trimmed, and how the edges are always a bit dirty, though she never understands why they are dirty.

She never asks.

There were many things she understands about him, just as many as the things she doesn't. But she stopped asking since a long time ago. She learned that questions unsettled him. And after some time, questions unsettled her too. So she stopped asking questions, not only to him, but also to life.

What people talked about as moving with the flow of life, is more like a merry-go-round to her.  Sometimes you’re a few inches below life, sometimes you’re a few inches off the ground. Never too high, never too low, and even if it is, it doesn't feel like it, especially when you look back over your shoulders when everything has passed, because we are the masters of denial of our own misery. That’s what she thought.

The world is a merry-go-round, a few inches up, a few inches down, a few inches further, and before you know it you’re back where you were before, ready to be spinning in the same orbit again, running on the same path again, chasing whatever it is in front of you, reaching out to grasp whatever it is in front of you and fail every single time because they are just like you, spinning in the same orbit, running on the same path, just a few inches ahead of you.

So there's not point asking questions to life. The world is a merry-go-round and it is easier if you just know your place and stop asking questions.

‘That's pathetic’, he said, with a pair of eyes looking at hers sadly. And he left whatever questions he had hanging in the air because like her, he also knows that questions unsettle her too.

Being her usual sensitive self, she recognized the sadness in his eyes. She wondered why but kept it to herself.

‘The world is a merry-go-round, flowing like water and philosophy be damned.’ Thus, she said.

The world is a merry-go-round but somehow they never really return to where they were before. Probably there's a glitch in the mechanism of the universe. Probably all the spinning and twirling got a little too harsh and things and particles and fate and wishes are thrown out of orbit.

Probably.

Because it seems that something has been shifting along the way, and every single time, they were brought back a few inches further from where they were. Just a few inches further, but never closer to each other.

She stared at the pair of hands in the square image on her screen. Judging from the way the picture was taken, it seems that it was made based on his request. It wasn't like him to leave his face out of the frame though, but perhaps he's changed now. With all the spinning and twirling of the merry-go-round, it's only normal, she thinks.

Once again she finds herself in amazement. How easy it is for her to recognize him, even when he's moved a few inches from where he was before, changed a little bit from how he was before, hiding a little bit more than he used to.

She recognizes the hands, the veins that run from his wrist to the tips of his fingers, the way it held out in front of him, embracing everything that life has to offer, or the way it curled back moving away from her, some time during the bumpy ride of the merry-go-round. She recognizes him, from afar, from up close, with closed eyes, through the brightest day, under the darkest shadow.

They can zoom in his picture down to pixels, she thinks, and she would still be able to recognize him.

With that thought, she leaned herself back to the chair and close her eyes. It's not so much of a consolation, but it is the one thing about him that doesn't leave her unsettled.

She recognizes him, and the life in him.



Monday, January 13, 2014

A professional procrastinator, a fail multitasker, or acute introvert?

I do everything to procrastinate, especially for the things I consider as important to me. I tend to put these supposed to be important things aside, for later on, for a better time, a quieter time, time when I get to dedicate all my attention to whatever the important thing is, undivided.

Honestly, I should've known better.
Such time is rare, hardly ever easily presented before me, and when it does, I usually manage to find a way to distract myself and doing something else instead.

No question about the importance because I know how important these things are for me. And no questions about whether I'm procrastinating because I am. I am one of those successful procrastinators. Always been one. The question is why.

Putting off something that I don't like doing is no mystery. I'd procrastinate simply because I don't want to do it. But procrastinating something I like doing and consider important, makes me wonder.

I finally found out that all these important things I tend to procrastinate, I usually get them done in the unlikeliest times. The realization came down on me one day during a family gathering, when there were about fifteen people in the room, including children running around, with all the people talking. I remember I went to my room to get my drawing book, and then start drawing in the middle of the conversation around me. It was one of the things that I've been planning to do, been wanting to do, for weeks, but was kept put off because 'I couldn't find the right time to do it'. There's always some other works to do, some other house chores waiting, some phone calls to make, emails to send, and when I finally got a break and some alone time, there would be a book to read, or a daydreaming to do.

I noticed that this also happens to my plan to write (which usually was done while I'm baking a cake, or during lunch break at the office, instead of a quiet time before I sleep at night). The same thing happens to the stack of article links piled up in my evernote, saved for later to read. The plan is to read the articles before sleeping. I imagined it would be really nice to sit on my bed with my laptop, reading all the articles in silence.

The reality is, I usually finished reading most of them while I'm on the train on my way to the office. Yes, inside the crowded train, among the chaotic rush of people jammed into the confined space, swaying from time to time, leaning involuntarily to other people's shoulders or armpits because there simply is no room left to complain.

I started to think that this is probably something to do with my inability to actually face myself.

I enjoy being alone, being with my own company. But writing, and drawing, is an activity that expose us to ourselves. Or the other way round. The point is, these activities will lead you to find whatever it is hidden under the lid of your mind, and sometimes, your heart.

While I always feel the presence of other people around me when I'm writing or drawing as an intrusion to my privacy (this is me being too territorial), I started to notice that their presence ease the tension you cannot avoid to occur during the encounter with whatever it is hidden under the lid of your mind and heart. The presence of other people distract you from the real focus.

I don't know if it's a good thing though. Because, well, you face what you need to face and you just have to do it from time to time. You cannot runaway or hide forever, or pretending to forget about the things that you want to do. Things that you know you really really want to do, things that you cannot get your mind off of them no matter how hard you try avoiding them.

Or maybe I'm just too good at multitasking that I cannot help doing it whenever I get a chance to.
(*sounds very unlikely)

Either that, or I simply don't like people (as some people accused me of doing). So it's actually a good tactic to be present during any kind of gathering, without actually being present.

I don't think I'm that evil though.

So that leaves me with a question hanging: am I actually a professional procrastinator, a fail multitasker, or an acute introvert?



2.28 am, Tuesday early in the morning.
Such a deep, life changing question to ask in such an interesting hours. 







Sunday, April 7, 2013

Silence


Is being outspoken really that important?

Can we take a moment to try to appreciate the silence, and those who are silent, around us?

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Yang Akan Terjadi Jika Kau Minum Kopi di Sore Hari


  1. Kau jadi giddy dan gelisah. Kau akan merasa kelebihan energi, dan tiba-tiba sangat bersemangat bekerja sampai tengah malam atau bahkan besok paginya, tanpa mengantuk.
  2. Kau  jadi giddy dan gelisah. Terlalu gelisah untuk bisa konsentrasi dan fokus mengerjakan pekerjaan apapun, sehingga akhirnya tidak ada satu pekerjaan pun yang selesai.
  3. Perutmu jadi kembung. Kau akan terjaga sepanjang malam meresapi sakit di lambung; tidak bisa tidur, tapi juga tidak bisa bekerja.
  4. Kopinya tidak memberikan efek apa-apa. Kau akan mengantuk tepat jam 10 malam dan tertidur limabelas menit setelahnya. Sampai besok pagi. Sama sekali tidak menyelesaikan pekerjaan apapun.
Urutan kejadian berbanding terbalik dengan kemungkinannya untuk terjadi.
Demikianlah.



Monday, January 7, 2013

Why Keep A Journal?



So, 1.5 years after this post, I finally (yes, finally), decided to keep a journal again.

Life's different now and finding time to sit and write about different things is challenging for me, so I decided to have this one book to be my journal, where I'll write not only about the mundane things I do everyday, but also to keep my daily pages (which was supposed to be 'morning pages' as suggested by Julia Cameron_I changed it to daily because my mornings tend to be very hectic unless I wake up at 4am and write).

A colleague said he keeps a journal and wants his future children and grandchildren to read it one day, maybe when he's old or no longer there.

Now, while I'm not sure about the idea of my grandchildren reading my personal journal (because I write awful things), I think I really need to get into the habit again.

For one, it helps my relentless mind to calm down a bit. Sometimes it gets too crowded in my head. The thoughts can't stop shouting at each other. But I found that the intensity tends to lessen when they're on paper, so keeping a journal should be good for my health.

Two, it keeps me from posting too personal things in my social media accounts. 
I'd save the netizens around the world the unnecessary information about my uneventful life, and save the use of bandwidth and energy for electricity for more useful things, you know, for a greater good.

By doing that, I'd also save myself from any future embarrassment (which I predict mostly would consist of me being embarrassed about myself) from throwing too much nonsense. This way I also get to avoid the possibility of having to have my angst-decorated memories to exist forever in the virtual world.

Because I believe that the things you don't want people to comment about or respond to (liked, loved, laughed, frowned, shared, or questioned in real life), belongs only in your personal journal. 

So every time the urge to splutter things inside my head comes I'd remember to do it properly. That is either in the safe protection of the sheets in my personal journal because, well, it's personal, or in the middle of the competing noises in the chaotic world of social media (which leads to the possibility that those angst-ridden/happiness-overdosed/too-sweet-it's-nauseating too personal postings to go unnoticed anyway but hey, better be safe than sorry).

So help me God.



Monday, November 26, 2012

Flow

My taichi instructor used to tell me during our exercises that if it hurts, than you're not doing it right.

He said, it's not supposed to hurt.

If it hurts, that means you're fighting something.
If it hurts, that means you're fighting the flow, fighting the way your body works.
He said again, I just need to go as far as my body allows. Move as my body allows.

Recently, the words came back to me like a wave. And I don't know if I had drown in realization already, or just, simply, drowning.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Excuses for no excuses

It's been quite some time since the last time I visit my own blog. I guess I'm just not made for commitment in the first place. I can't even commit to my own life (oh yes, bitter mood is on).

No excuses for the commitment, I'm just that lousy. But I think it's also a good thing to settle with just short posts, considering my mind is actually still relentless as ever, and with such minimum release it might lead to mental explosion (is there even such a thing?) like, I guess, the one I'm currently having right now. My tongue is practically a flying dagger ready to tear at anyone insensitive enough to read the sign.


My former boss used to tell me that my subconscious is just too intense, that's why every little thing out of order, even as small as some iseng colleagues shaking my chair playfully while passing next to my desk would shock me to the point where it takes me a few seconds to return to the real world, and that by the time I do, I've completely forgot everything I was doing previously.


I don't think that's the problem now. I think it's just solitude deprived at its worst.


Life happens, life grows, and life doesn't bother to ask whether I'm ready or not. I guess that's what happened.


My workload is getting crazier, the stake is getting higher, it's rainy season the traffic is getting more impossible for everyone to commute in less than 2 hours (unless, of course, they don't commute), longer hours on the street, shorter quality hours at home, brain's getting even wearier.


Again, no excuses. I'm completely aware of that. And I've been trying to accept the fact that this is just the life I have to go through for now, so yeah, personal dreams shoved into the closet for now. And turns out that it doesn't do me good.


I need to stick to short posts if that's all that I can make for now. Because making a decent, thoroughly thought posts takes time and energy, which I'm currently lack of. And not letting is also counterproductive. Add the solitude deprived and here I am now, a collection of all forms of rage, ready to blow up with even the smallest ignition.


I just need to settle with what little I can do right now.


Saturday, September 22, 2012

My Mind

I planned to work, but then I opened my blogger account. There were also days when I planned to draw or write, but then stuck with the office email and started to develop a document, happily.

Sometimes I don't understand the way my mind works. It seems like it has a life of its own.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Another solitude deprived moment

One of those days when everything is just too much; the works, the people, the emotion, the dreams. I needed to grab a pencil and a paper and find a quiet corner. But I couldn't

I just realized that I can't draw anything or write anything when there's someone around, even if it's my own Mom reading or watching TV on the other room. I found out that I need to be alone when doing these things that I consider as releasing my emotional excess. Alone as in no one around me to realize what I'm doing. This is very important since what I'm doing (when drawing or writing) is basically pouring out my real self on to the paper and it's a very private moment for me that I find it irritating when someone finds out.

It's not that I have that much insecurity, but I just don't like it when people see too much of me.

At the office it's much easier. I could just draw whenever I have spare time, on my desk, not minding people walking back and forth around me. I've been thinking about it and wondering why. I guess perhaps it's because I know no one there really cares what I'm doing. Even if they found me drawing something they probably just think that I'm bored with the work and try to find distraction. 

At home, everything is more personal. And it really frustrates me how I can't do anything when I'm in the just right environment to do it.

These are some of the mandalas  I drew when I'm at the office.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

my emotional excess

Been quite some time since the last time I wrote in this blog.

I've been spending my time more drawing and I don't know why.

I usually wait until the emotional excess becomes unbearable before finally sat myself down in front of the computer and start writing. Simply because there will be nothing else I can do but writing, if I want to keep my sanity intact. This time, however, it doesn't seem to work that way.

All the emotions are welling up, but I just couldn't make my self to form a sentence. It's as if words have failed me, more than ever.

Right now, I'm in the middle of that chaotic emotions, perfectly developed into a quiet dark clouds ready to burst into storms inside me. Some of the emotions I can recognize, some are completely new and strange. And I have a feeling that writing it down would be very scary. I still have to do that sooner or later, but right now I think the wisest thing to do is to grab a pencil and a sheet of paper, and start drawing. Anything but words.

I feel so scared that I just want to hide my head under the pillow and sleep. But I know it will only get worse tomorrow if I don't deal with it. So this blog post is simply to loosen up myself a bit before scratching anything on paper.

If you're one of the people like me who have too many relentless thoughts in their head, you'd know what I'm talking about. And if you're not, then perhaps you'd be thinking that you're reading a crazy girl's diary, which is actually fine by me. But really, if you are one of those like me, please send me your silent prayer that I'll be just fine.

I really need it.

Thanks.










Sunday, July 8, 2012

Big girls don't cry

I wish I can be a little girl today. Running to daddy's arms and cry until my eyes swollen and nobody's going to ask because that's just what little girls do. 


Cry in their daddy's arms.



Monday, June 18, 2012

Is it an excuse?

I remember writing about INFJ last year, having finally realized for the first time what it means.


Life went on and it didn't necessarily get any easier for me as an INFJ. The world don't just agree with you when you said you'd be better left alone. But the knowledge did help me in reassuring myself that the world can talk and say what they like and I can just keep on walking.


Back then, I figured that I had read all the materials available in the internet, and I think what would be enough. I don't want to drown myself too much into the subject for fear that I might be trapped in making it as an excuse for whatever unpleasant things I need to avoid in my life.


With the just right amount of knowledge in the subject, I tried to identify a pattern and make some adjustments, and yes, I'm lucky enough to be in a workplace where that is possible, might not be able to cover everything, but enough to help me survive my weekdays with  little harm.


Time went on and many things happened, including Susan Cain and her TED talk that shed new light on the topic. I read her book Quiet and eagerly sharing the ideas to my friends and colleagues, hoping that they finally understand that there is nothing wrong with people who are quiet, and that it is scientifically proven.


Recently a friend told me that 'introverts' might want to consider a few things that can be done to fight the introversion that seems to be hampering them from moving ahead in the world. That's when I realized that scientific data is not enough to make people understand that introversion is not a defect. To these people, your good intention in sharing information about introversion might be easily seen as making excuses or justification for your defects.


But you know what?


Just like any other things about yourself that you want to change;  you might want to color your hair, or trim your teeth, or shape your eyebrow. You can change some things, and you just have to accept or make peace with some others. Introverts need to adjust to get along with their environment. Just as much as everyone else in the world need to adjust to their surrounding, no matter what their personality are.


Adjustment is one thing that everyone needs to do in order to live in harmony. But when you need to fight it, then it is a defect. How can you fight something that you are born with? Or to be exact, why should you? Why should you fight something just because it makes you different from the majority of the people? 


I decided now that I'm not going to talk about introversion unless someone asks.


Introverts might easily trapped in making their introversion as an excuse. Just as much as extroverts easily accusing them of doing it.


I might be wrong, though.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

the wisdom that we find very difficult to grasp


I finally learned that life is a linear search. You cannot rummaging through different options, trying to determine which ones to take and which ones to skip.
In order to get over them, you have to get through them. In order to get to J you have to get through the A B C and so forth. In order to get to the last chapter you have to read the first ones. 

Oh if you insist, you'll be able to skip the chapters but you will not be able to understand what it's all about actually. 

So what's the point of arriving at the last chapter in short time if you understand nothing? 

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Monday, April 23, 2012

things I want to say today (but can't)


Don't talk to me.
Don't text me, or even worse, call me, just to discuss about not-so-urgent work-related matters. 
Just, don't.

I need to be left alone today. 
So much that even a text message felt like a harsh, impolite, interruption to my privacy.

I can only stand a very few people today. And you're not one of them so please.

You have no idea how it feels to be crushed by life like this. You have no idea how I gasp for air, trying hard to breath, despite the broken bones, the broken heart, the broken dreams.

You have no idea and I will not be able to give you the idea so please. 

In fact, world, just leave me alone. Leave me, alone.


Bintaro, 11.26 am, hurt beyond help


Oh the thing we avoid so much


There's a strong, black, bitter, coffee for a lazy brain.
But there's no cure, no help, for a wounded heart. 
Nothing but tears.


The only honest cure, the one that we avoid so much.




Bintaro, 10.13 am, sentimental beyond help

Sunday, April 15, 2012

On the Introverts Ideal


Ten years ago, a friend of mine talked about remote working and I said I didn't buy the idea. Completely unaware that I am an introvert, I was thinking how boring it would be to stay at home and not meeting anyone for the whole week. Back then, I spent most of my time in campus with my close friends, and I thought, I love to be around people. Little did I know that what I needed actually was only to be around a very few people.

After graduated from the college, I joined the communication industry. I spent two years in mass media, and six years ago continued my journey to the PR industry, not knowing what I'd face. It was an industry that is flocked with loud and outgoing people, and as the years went by, the feeling that something was wrong with me slowly building up and formed an idea that maybe I am not normal enough for the work I'm doing.

Until a year ago, my professional life was basically a psychological torture. I'm working for the best company in the industry, with the best people and having the best professional experience anyone could ever hope for to grow, with all the ups and downs. However, that supposed to be rewarding experience was killing me little by little.

In every occasion, I could feel that I'm different from most of the people around me, and that it somehow keeping me from moving forward faster than needed. People think of me as socially incapable, for I always tried to find reason to not going to office parties (and failed every time). People think of me as professionally incompetent, because I was rather quiet and less argumentative than it might be needed in the work, and I wasn't really successful in multitasking.

I was always the quiet type, especially around those I'm not very close or comfortable with. I prefer to do everything alone, and unconsciously avoiding the crowd whenever I can. I'm not the type who can easily join a table occupied with people during lunch, though I never run away when someone joins me at a table. I dragged myself to every office parties, and feeling totally wasted and exhausted afterward. People start saying things like 'get a life', or 'you need to be more happy, go out and have fun', and other things along that line.

I did managed to juggle between projects and multitasking as how it is expected from everyone in the office. I went to all of the office parties that were held during the years, participated in brainstorming sessions, working in groups in every training sessions, stretching myself to the maximum to keep up with all the chaotic energy around me to make sure I wasn't left behind. I dreaded about it every single time, and contrary to my wish, the more I did it, the more I felt lost.

The years I spent with the best people, was corrupting my self-concept and eating my confidence little by little until it was left to nothing but the idea that I'm not normal.

For so many times I wished I could be as outgoing and boisterous as my other colleagues. They seem to get their way around easily. Even when they make mistake, the effect seemed to be less damaging than when I'm the one who makes it. They can easily laugh it off and moving on, while I know that when I made a mistake, no matter how insignificant it is, it'd kept my mood down for at least three days, wondering why I did what I did.

I'd run out of energy after Monday and Tuesday (which is usually very chaotic), and would have to spend the rest of the weekdays struggling to suppress my craving for solitude. I've been unconsciously having this need to be alone from time to time, and the way people around me reacted to it gives me the signals that it's not a good thing. I blamed my recent break up from traumatic relationship for it. It caused my confidence nosedived to the lowest point, close to zero. I kept telling myself that when I've recovered, I'd change, and I'd be better. Which never happened. I can say that I'm recovered enough from the trauma now, but my craving for solitude remains the same, as well as my level of tolerance to crowd.

People said I was being too sensitive. And I wished I'm not. I wished I could be more thick-skinned and shrug off indifferently what comments people might have about me. I simply wished I wasn't who I was back then.

About two years ago, I came across an article about psychological preferences, and had my first introduction to introversion.

I was finally able to see things differently. I started to search more literature on the subject, and learned that there's completely nothing wrong with me. All those energy drains, those cravings for solitude and silence, it's simply how things work for me, an introvert.

I realized that maybe it's not that I just wasn't made for this kind of work in the first place. Maybe it's about people need to learn to see things differently. I started by accepting the fact that that's how things work for introverts, and that I am actually as normal as other people.

I might not be able to do much about it. If all this time I felt like misunderstood, it might still be the same now. But at least now I know where they came from. The furthest thing I can do is to adjust my work pace, shut my ears and not listening to people's comments about me, and whenever possible, opt to work from home when the headache (that usually comes from an accumulation of solitude deprived that goes on for days) kicking in.

There are times when there's nothing I can do but to keep going in the fast lane without taking a break. But at least I know what I'd face at the end of the week and I wouldn't have to be panic about it. I'd be snappish, I wouldn't be able to stand sometimes my own daughter and would have to ask her to give me some two-three hours alone even though it's weekend, I'd shut myself down and will not answer any text messages (let alone phone calls), and would try my best to keep people from visiting me.

It may sounds weird. But now I'm able to indulge it without feeling guilty because I know the reasons why. I need to do it to keep my sanity intact.

A year ago, I found this blog on introversion, owned by Susan Cain. It's such an enlightenment to me and when I read her book Quiet, it felt like all my questions and insecurities were mirrored, and answered there.

In her book, Cain discusses about the differences of personality between the West and the East. Asian is somehow more introverted and thus having a hard time living among the Westerns. I am an Asian and live in Asia, but my workplace is totally West in style. Hence my struggling all these years.

I have a colleague who joined the company about one and a half year ago. She turns out to be an introvert too, and is having a hard time keeping up with the chaos around her while keeping her sanity intact at the same time. I'm glad that she found out about her introversion before too long, so hopefully she doesn't have to deal with all the questions about self concept and question her social capability and later on, professional competencies.

I really wish the same thing for other introverts out there. Learn to know yourself, and accept it when you finally do. Being quiet doesn't make you less intellect, it doesn't make you less competent in your field, it doesn't make you less significant to the world, and it shouldn't be an obstacle for you to achieve what you want. The key is to know yourself and accept it. You'll find your place. It might not be the highest tower or the most glamorous building in the world, but it's where you fit in, and I think, being an introvert, you should know better what it means to be where you belong.

I don't want to use my introversion as an excuse. This is the industry that we have chosen to be in, and we have to face the consequences. I wouldn't complain when I become dead-tired and drained out at every weekend, craving my healthy dose of solitude like an addict or a sociopath. But I also beg to differ when there's people who look down on quiet individuals, making one-sided judgment that quiet is a sign of incapability and incompetence.

It's simply a matter of understanding the fact that there are people who are different from the majority. Not anyone of us is made for everything. Every one must be made for something, and not everything.

Here's a quotable quote from Quiet:

So stay true to your own nature. If you like to do things in a slow and steady way, don't let others make you feel as if you have to race. If you enjoy depth, don't force yourself to seek breadth. If you prefer single tasking to multitasking, stick to your gun. Being relatively unmoved by rewards give you incalculable power to go your own way. It's up to you to use that independence to good effect.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

conversation #5: people are migraine inducer


*walked into a town hall meeting*
*picked a table at the corner of the room*

A: *tweet* "Such a migraine inducer situation"
K: *re-tweet*  "Such a migraine inducer situation"


conversation #4: please kindly read "Quiet"



Email from the boss: 
"Dear K, there's going to be a conference on bla bla subject, and they need someone from your level to go there as an observer. I supposed you'd be interested to go? I think it would be useful for you to attend and meet the people there".

K:
*completely not thrilled with the idea of meeting a lot of people thus obviously very hesitant to go, wishing she could reply the email like this*
"Dear Boss, please kindly read Quiet by Susan Cain".

How to omit the crossing wires from the sky?




I've been wondering about it for quite some time.

I'd really like to know whether there's a fair way to erase the crossing wires in the photographs that you've taken because I think it's not a question of editing. It's a question of honesty. 

I could apply filters to create ambiance, using vignette or tilt shift to direct focus, or adjust the saturation to make it looks better than the reality. But I'm not so sure about erasing something that is actually there.

I want to take picture of the sky that is beautiful. I want it to remind me that one day, there's a day when the sky is so beautiful that you wish it stays like there forever. A reminiscence of what was there. And thus would be unfair to erase the wires, because they were also there, part of the beautiful sky that I saw. The sky is beautiful, but there are the wires there and they've been there for a long time, long before I came and sit at my front yard looking at the sky and taking pictures.

I could erase them easily with simple app. But wouldn't that be an act of dishonesty?

I'd capture the beautiful sight forever, but I lied about the wires that were there. I lied about the flaw in the beauty. 

Will it be fair?

Thursday, April 5, 2012

conversation #3 - dino and normal people




A: I wonder why people love to do things together. Having lunch together. Going to see a movie together. Watching a show together. I'd prefer to go alone. I don't really like being in herd, you know. Makes me feel like dinosaur.
D: You know, when people talking about herd, they usually refer to sheep. Not dino.
A: Dinos live in herd.
D: I know. But most people don't talk about Dino in their casual conversation.
A: Oh, okay...


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D: Why are we talking about animals now?
A: I don't know. Maybe, because we're animals too?
D: Yeah. Humans are animals too.
A: So it's just like gossiping, you know. Talking about the species next door.
D: You're right. Just like gossiping.



the world spins madly on




Change is inevitable.
Resistance is futile. 
The sky is falling. 
And the world spins madly on.

Dreams are leaking into reality.
Synchronicity is everywhere, so strong that it's scary.
And the world spins madly on.


All six lessons in one week.
Too much to bear it's suffocating.
Yet the world spins madly on.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

in the face of death


Dearest world, 

Don't ask me how I came up with all these questions. They're just there, in my head, suddenly, as I was bumping in my chair on the rusty bus on my way to the office one morning.

Have I dream enough?
One of my colleagues is leaving the job for a scholarship abroad, in the major that she loves. Another colleague is leaving for another job that servers her higher purpose in life, that is teaching and social works. My other colleague, having recently found out that she's an introvert, realized that she needs to find another job if she wants to stay healthy.

Then came the next question: Have my life been useful enough?
They said a life worth living is the one that gives benefit to other people. Then I wonder, does quantity  matter in this case?
Because I am very sure that up until today, my existence in this world benefits only a very limited number of people, even further down to not more than my mother and my daughter. 
Does it make my existence in this world less useful then?

And the next question: as I was standing at the platform this morning waiting for the train, feeling the morning wind breezing, softly blowing my long tunic and trousers, all black, nothing fancy or fashionable in any way: Do I have what it takes to charm?
Do I need it?
What does it take to charm people actually? And why?

Once I got to the office, I immediately share this pointless reverie to a very dear friend, who then replied by relating to her recent dream about how she met her own death. She said, you know dear, none of those questions you've just asked, none of them matter in the face of death.


And that was the truest truth, bold enough to answer all my questions. 

I'm not against asking questions, indulging the noisy whys and hows moving back and forth in your head, especially those of you with that relentless mind constantly throwing thoughts of the most random topics in the unlikeliest times.

Don't shut them down (because you won't be able to do that anyway). But keep in mind, that there are times when you have to learn to accept things for what they are, because some of them do not really matter in the end.