akhirnya di sore yang gloomy ini, aku menyanyi jugaa...

head over feet

I had no choice but to hear you
You stated your choice time and again
I thought about it

You treat me like i'm a princess
I'm not used to liking that
You ask how my day was

Chorus:
You've already won me over in spite of me
Don't be alarmed if i fall head over feet
Don't be surprised if i love you for all that you are
I couldn't help it
It's all your fault

You love is thick and it swallowed me whole
You're so much braver than i gave you credit for
That's not lip service

You are the bearer of unconditional things
You held your breath and the door for me
Thanks for your patience

You're the best listener that i've ever met
You're my best friend
Best friend with benefits
What took me so long

I've never felt this healthy before
I've never wanted something rational
I am aware now
I am aware now

lihat, matahari? lihat, matahari? aku bernyanyi lagi :)

sendirian di suatu sore yang gloomy, ah ingin menyanyi...

aku kesepiaannn...hwa..hwa...hwa...

when i decided to leave him, i know that i left a part of me there,
my love my dear love...i know it hurts, i know it does, and the pain will still be aching in our heart for the time that i dont even know until when...
but this is the rightest way my love, for by being brave and encouraging ourselves to open our eyes would make us grow...to see the truth...to let our bare feets feel the real coldness of the grass in the misty moor...
one day, if we finally have fully grown, we will be able to look back to this one particular point in our live when we are forced to leave our warm and steady hiding cave, and smile...feeling glad that at the least point we know that we had finally able to let go our deepest feeling that had been locked inside for a long time...the feeling called courage...for we know that only by trusting ourselves with our own courage, we could open our eyes and see the world, feel the world with our most honesty, not with superficiality...

i love you, i hope you know that... and i guess that 'love' is far beyond romance now, i love you because i care for you, i want to see you grow, i want to see you smile to the world because i know you could, i want to see you run fast to reach your dreams...
so please dont cry... you are more than everything to me, you are a part of me...my best friend that i care for...

i want you to know that i could take care of myself, no need to be worry... :) i'm reaching my sunshine, i'm running and hopping and cheering and smiling to my dreams, i will see the world with my own eyes, with honesty and with hope :)

jadi hari ini, tanggal 27, aku tahu aku kesepian dan aku memikirkanmu... i hope ur doing fine there :) aku tidak lupa tanggal ini, dan meski tidak kulakukan lagi meneleponmu di tengah malam hanya untuk mengucapkan selamat tanggal 27, aku memeluk tanggal ini, tanggal kita. dan aku akan tersenyum karena hati ini tahu bahwa aku, dan kamu, dan the rest of the world akan baik-baik saja.

dan matahari, matahari yang kumiliki, menggenggam tanganku erat hari ini dan membuat hari yang dingin ini menghangat... setidaknya di hatiku.
hujanku, suatu hari nanti akan kubawa kamu pada matahari.

dan matahariku...bersinar hari ini.
biarkan aku tersenyum untukmu?

---sisie---

raining ode for rainy him

Katakanlah, ketika malam datang, aku melihatmu disana.
Kamu tersenyum, dan menggenggam tanganku erat.
Tidur saja, bisikmu, lalu selimutku kamu naikkan.
Tidak perlu, sudah hangat, kataku. Kamu tidurlah.
Kamu tersenyum, tidak berkata apa-apa, tidak juga membiarkan aku melepaskan selimut yang nyaman memeluk itu.
Lalu jemarimu membelai rambutku, aku menutup mata.
Dan hangat jemarimu, tetap terasa sampai aku benar terlelap.

Lalu sebutlah, di malam lain, ketika hujan dan angin meniup dingin.
Aku melihat keluar jendela dan kamu ada disana.
Menunggu dengan diam, hendak membawaku pulang.
Lalu keluarku dan kamu tersenyum.
Dingin, kataku sambil merapatkan jaket.
Ayo cepat pulang, katamu. Aku tidak ingin angin membawa sakit untukmu.
Lalu kamu menggenggam tanganku erat, dan aku sadar kalau kamu tidak mengenakan jaketmu.
Mana jaketmu? Tanyaku. Aku juga tidak mau angin membawa sakit untukmu.
Jaketku ada di tas, nanti saja. Katamu.
Nanti bagaimana? Lihat angin yang meniup itu. Sikerasku.
Kamu terdiam lalu menarik tanganku sambil mengelus jemariku dengan jemarimu.
Aku terdiam, tidak ingin berdebat.
Dan ketika kita berdua naik ke atas bis yang akan membawa kita pulang.
Pendingin buatan semakin menusuk tulang.
Lalu aku melihat kearahmu, khawatir akan keadaanmu.
Ingin bicara tapi aku diam saja, tidak ingin berdebat, tidak ingin memancing amarahmu.
Lalu kamu membuka tasmu dan mengeluarkan jaket itu.
Pakai ini, katamu. Aku sengaja menyimpannya dalam tas,
Karena kalau aku pakai lebih dulu ketika hujan dan angin meniup saat aku menunggumu di luar jendela,
Maka jaket ini akan menjadi dingin oleh hujan dan angin.
Dan aku tidak bisa menghangatkanmu lagi.
Pakai ini, aku tidak ingin angin membawa sakit untukmu.
Aku terdiam, tidak tahu harus berkata apa.
Aku tahu aku juga tidak ingin angin membawa sakit untukmu, aku tahu aku sayang kamu.
Lalu kamu menggenggam tanganku erat,
Dan aku mengenakan jaketmu diatas jaketku,
Sambil bersandar di bahu dinginmu yang tidak terlindung penghangat apa pun.

Lalu hari lain ketika aku berbohong,
Kamu peluk aku erat dan mengelus rambutku.
Air mata, disana.
Tapi kamu tetap peluk aku meski air mata disana.

Lalu semua kata-kata
Baik, buruk, benci, jahat, indah, kekanakkan...
Semua air mata
Semua genggaman tangan dan tarian dalam hujan
Semua pelukan erat dan semua menit dimana kita lama terdiam
Semua amarah dan semua senyum yang ada
Hari ini harus pergi.

Dan aku sedih.
Sedih sendiri.
Dan kamu sedih.
Sedih sendiri.

Dan aku berjalan, sendiri di tengah hujan.
Tidak lagi menengok.
Dan kamu menatap
Jauh dibelakang.

Cintaku pada hujan, cintaku pada awan yang mendung
Bau tanah yang basah dan genangan air di ujung jemari kaki.
Pergi.

Matahari, pagi ini.







Tidak akan hilang, muffin ku. Selamanya disini.
Meski cinta sudah berbeda.
----sisie----
191202
2211

staying awake at night in a stupid stiff bed, staring at the ceiling, rationalizing love...

There's this time in my life when i held his hand tight
and looked deeply to his eyes, his observant adorable eyes which i always relish
to gaze and wonder how does it feel to see the world through those eyes, and
there he was smiling at me and said that he loves me.

you do? i asked him. quite rhetoric i guess because i
knew exactly what he was going to say.

yes. i do. do you? he asked me back. And i knew that it
did not meant to be rhetoric for the fact that i kind of always hid at my warm
blanket and sort of baffle him with my endless doubts and the rickety stage i
put him in to.

what is love? i gave him a question as an answer for
his question. And i found his reaction towards my question was very amazing
because most people would be pretty annoyed to have this kind of answer for
their question - this i know because most people ask questions because they do
not keen to think further thus searching for a settlement for the anxiety which
trouble their minds, however, if someone answers their questions with another
questions, the settlement stage for their anxiety would not be achieved, because
they are forced to think more, and to think more means to be involved more in
those anxiety status of mind. therefore, they will most likely feel annoyed, for
the fact that they are sort of obliged to think more. - his reaction, however,
is far from annoyed, and i knew that was because he loves to think. So he gazed
at a distant and i knew that's because he was thinking.

it is... when you feel that someone has become a part
of you. he said. you are a part of me. he continued.

oh okay. i thought. maybe he is right. this feeling
called love is beyond caring, beyond liking, those are the elements of love, but
the love itself is far more beyond that.

so last night i kind of observed my own feeling towards
him. i starred at the ceiling and tried to recall all of the feeling i have when
he is around.

my feeling. i know my feeling is very complex, and at
certain points, it became really complicated that it caused a lot of trouble,
not only for me but also for other people. and that night i tried to understand
my own feeling, to rationalize whatever i'm feeling inside, to examine
logically what is going on deep within my head (and heart, i guess... ).

feel. feeling. what do i feel for him? what do i feel
inside when i'm with him?

i feel so many things going on within me when i'm with
him. so many things at the same time.

i feel happy yet afraid.

i feel excited and thrilled yet mellow.

i feel taking yet taken.

i feel this unusual sense of being smart and full of
inspiration, yet i feel my nothingness.

those feelings are contradicting each other and they
are all happen at the same time when i'm with him. i hardly couldnt explain why
such state is happening in my head, let alone define what is actually the
meaning of all these. however, as i spent more hours awake on my stupid stiffed
bed, i started to see those contradictive feelings, those feelings which oppose
one another as a form of a balance. just like the yin and yang, things are
opposing each other and they are completing one another. then i came to one
conclusion that at the state when you are completing each other, then it means
that you are a part of one another.

so i feel that he is a part of me

therefore i 'love' him.

i guess now i could answer his question not with
another question.

good night, thinker-bell.

161204 - 2.54

--sisie--

One Trifling Day...

Thinker-bell… that day you laughed.
You and me, sitting together in
two stupid little red chairs
sort of inhaling death.

And you said it was funny,
because all of a sudden I was there
There in your life.

And I said it was zany
because all of a sudden you were here
stayed in my heart.

And you said that you love me.
And I said that I don’t know,
guessed I feel the same way too.

And you said
with a funny furrowed brow
‘what do you mean that you don’t know?!
one should be able to define one’s own feeling’.

And I kissed you that day.
And I saw you closed your eyes.
And I let you held my hand.

And the next thing I knew
was that
I agree with you

---sisie---
6.12.2004
2202

Admirably Enjoyable, But Not in A Relaxing Way

A review on Pat Barker’s Union Street

‘… But even when he had succeeded in forcing her hand to close around the smelly purple toadstool, it wasn’t enough. He forced her down and spread himself over her, his breath smelling strongly of peppermint and decay. At first her tight skin resisted him, and he swore at her until he found the way in...’

Terrified, shocked and swept. Nobody would ever forget those lines when Kelly Brown, the first character introduced by Pat Barker in this novel, is being occupied by the man. Terrified, yes, for Barker described the episodes with a smooth, terrifying and emotionally-throbbing plot with a very descriptive language that suck our mind into it. Shocked, certainly, for she had successfully managed to create a nice flowing story where we keep questioning about Kelly’s mind and her next fate, which make us decide to keep on following that little girl wherever she go in order to peek right into every single action that she did, and guessing on what would probably happen to her. And yes, as we got the result, still we got that striking shocking sensation for Barker had managed to frame and play with that cliché episode carefully so it doesn’t come out to be cliché at all. And for sure yes we got swept, for the author had made our mind so engaged with the character that we even beg and wish unconsciously when it has come to the line when we finally made our guess that yes, that man is going to rape her, that no, we wish so bad that it is not happening. We wished as if we were Kelly, as if we were thinking as she did, and feel the same fear as she was.

Probably those descriptions might sound a little bit too exaggerated. There’s no way a writer could create such superb sensation, well at least not on her FIRST NOVEL, right? And by the way, what the hell is this about anyway? She called it a novel but she had made it as if it is a collection of short story with titled the main character’s name each. Is it because she hadn’t been able to develop a full and long story just like a novel supposed to be so she decided to divided into several shorter stories describing each character’s life? And who’s the main character of this novel anyway? If she decided to tell every single inches of each character’s life, then which one did she meant to be the bold one just like a main character supposed to be?

Questions, questions, questions. And yes, to be able to answer those you definitely need to read this book. It’s a fun searching though, you will find yourself enjoy your trip on searching for the answer of those questions, but probably it is not enjoyable as in relaxing and cheering kind of way, for this novel is deep, almost depressing.

It is a novel which tells a story about a street, called Union Street, where people from working class lived and died. There are people living in that street, and each character has their own stories, their own suffers, their own masks, and yet their own happiness, or escapes. And as you read the story one by one, character per character, yes you’ll get the sensation of being terrified, shocked and swept at once for these stories are alive and stayed in our minds even after we finish reading it. Just like we won’t forget Kelly’s pain and anger, we will feel Joanne Wilson’s fear and dilemmas, Lisa Goddard’s burden, Muriel Scaife’s sorrow, and so on and so on. Barker uses a very strong and descriptive language, as well as a nice flowing yet hard-to-predict plot which really contributes in her success in creating such sense. She zooms up close to a significant or emblematic detail to magnify the scene for the reader. Depending on the detail she chooses, the effect can be vivid, moving, shocking.

Furthermore you’ll see then, that Union Street is not a collection of short stories, each story of each character are united by a thin red line, the street, the fact that they live in the same street allocated for the working class people, Union Street. This fact shows that even though they carve up different problems and tales, they share one similarity; they are living poorly and are all working-class women, who try to survive. Barker’s trying to picture this condition of working-class life, and she chose women as the characters that she wants to explore and emphasize to portrait their struggle towards the disheartening situations.

And in this novel, every character is the main character, for she believed that every eye has it own vision and every heart has its own beats. The women in this novel are the main character of their own life, and every single inch of their life is meaningful and poignant. All of their stories contribute and strengthen the same idea, that life is a battle for the survivor.

So if you’re looking for a fluffy lovey fairy tale with lots of beautiful dreams and sweet tingling sensations, here’s a suggestion; find another book, for this is the kind of book that will always pat in you in the head in every single line you read to remind you the reality of the life. If you the kind of person who reads for fun to escape from your already tough daily stressful work, you won’t find this book relaxing. Well, probably not at all scenes, there is still a humorous section with a bit of sexual content in Blonde Dinah’s chapter, you can skip the entire chapter and read that one. It is still quite depressing and touching in a way to find out or to guess her real miserable life or feeling, but there’s still the funny sexual content, you might enjoy that. But yes, if you’re looking for a good book with an admirable exploration on languages which carry your emotion deeply and keep your feet on the ground, you will definitely enjoy this one.

Prettier Eyes to See Prettier World

A Review on Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye

…“Please, God,” she whispered into the palm of her hand. “Please make me disappear.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Little parts of her body faded away. Now slowly, now with a rush. Slowly again. Her fingers went, one by one; then her arms disappeared all the way to the elbow. Then her chest, her neck. The face was hard, too. Almost done, almost. Only her tight, tight eyes were left. They were always left.

Try as she might, she could never get her eyes to disappear. So what was the point? They were everything. Everything was there, in them…

Everything was there indeed. Pecola Breedlove couldn’t be able to make her own self whole fully disappear from this catastrophic and miserable life. Her eyes were always left, forcing her to see the world with those eyes. World full of calamity and misery, world of never-ending whipping and beating, world where you see yourself seen with a distant gaze, a total absence of human recognition even by the storeowner from whom you bought candy, world where your friends, if you might call them so, use your name to mock others, world where you see other kid call your mother Polly, a given name you could never ever dare to give to your mother, world where you’re always afraid, world of pain, world of total submission.

You could not possibly do anything about it, for your eyes were always there. Like it or not they would seemingly force you to see that world. And even for the worst part of it; those eyes let you see yourself, there in the mirror. Your face, stood there in a nauseating distant. You’d then begin to see and realize that your face stood there without the skin of fairest complexion and without a sheer of beautiful pink blush on each cheek, without the hair which is dazzlingly blond and the curls that shines, and the eyes which is so not beautiful, which is not blue. Those eyes force you to see all of the ugliness of life, all of the ugliness that could ever bear by a person.

Pecola Breedlove could no longer bear those ugliness. And because God couldn’t grant her wish to make her eyes disappear to save her from seeing those ugliness, she’s thinking of another wish. Another wish that would solve her problem. She wished and she prayed to God, to make her eyes blue. Because blue eyes are pretty and if she could see through prettier eyes, then probably she would see prettier world. Probably everything would be better if she’s prettier.

It’s a complete package of pain, anger and pitiful feeling as Toni Morrison, the author of this novel, brought the issue of racist beauty through this novel. At first she brought up the issue of standard beauty with the haven standard of living; a happy beautiful white family with pets in a happy beautiful house. If everyone wants to seek for a happy life, everyone should refer to that concept. The results for those who can not fulfilled to reach those described, however, is a mix of frustration and anger.

The frustration and the anger are everywhere in this novel. We can feel it in the deep thought of mostly all characters. What is interesting is that their frustration and anger was also the root of other character’s frustration and anger. For instance, Pauline Breedlove, who can not fulfill her standard of happiness she dug up from beautiful actor and actress in the movie screen, uttered her frustration and anger to her family that she considered as a part of her devastated life, something that she always want to deny. The fact that she bore two ugly, not beautiful, children were making her denial even worse. Similar case occurred also in other characters in this novel.

In Pecola Breedlove, the main character of this novel, the frustration and anger had somehow gathered in a different retort of reaction and emotion. For all the calamity, misery and sadness she felt, she was trapped in a situation of hatred and powerless at the same time. This powerless made her could not do anything to save her from her feeling of frustration and anger. The only elucidation she could think of to cope with the situation is to eliminate the ugliness from her, something that she believed as the cause of her frustration and anger.

As a result of her elucidation conversely is the bridge that brings the reader of this novel to the whole real message conveyed by its novel. That’s why it is even more astonishing and enjoyable for the reader to read this novel more than once, because by reading the novel over again several loop holes within the whole flow of the story that would only be patched as the message is fully conveyed would be whole fully patched up, thus make the story even more heart-throbbing.

The issue of racist beauty chosen by Toni Morrison is a strong point that emphasized the eminence of this novel. She successfully conveys the anxiety of the black society in answering the concept of standard beauty. With Pecola Breedlove as her tool, she gives a picture of frustration and anger in the community at that moment. As the result, she left the reader with the feeling of touched, petrified, after finishing this novel. Yet the philosophic questions will still linger, if you were prettier, would life be better?

A Puzzle Game

A Review about the Novel ‘Snake’ by Dewi Anggraeni.

Reading Dewi Anggraeni’s Snake is like playing the jigsaw puzzle game without knowing how the puzzle would be when it has already performed in full form at the end of the game. The excitement you’d have at first, the curiosity that pump up in your mind, and the challenging sensation that tingling in your minds for finishing the game.

And yes, likewise any puzzle games that touch your curiosity, so does this novel successfully done in building the heat of the story, well at least at the first parts of the novel. Enriched with the unique cultural elements of the East, by dissolving the exoticness of the East such as superstitions, unique customs as well as the meeting of the East culture and West culture – Serena, the central character of this novel, is described as a mix-blooded of a Chinese-Sundanese mother and an Australian father – make this novel is appealing and elicits the readers’ curiosity.

So, as the first page of the story within this novel is opened, the game then starts to begin. Pieces by pieces of puzzle are thrown everywhere and it’s the readers’ duty to collect those pieces one by one in order to make them a complete form. At first, it’s a very exciting game. As soon as you find the first pieces, which introduce you to the journey, you’ll begin to enjoy it. There is the description about Serena, a brief explanation about her life, a little touch about her love life and quite appealing sensations about the East culture in the first piece of the puzzle you’ll find. And then, as you continue the game, the next piece you’ll find will give you a little clue about how finally the puzzle would be then. It’s about the Snake brooch that Serena got and the mystery that surrounds it which would really attach your curiosity. You’ll then feel the sense of mystery which most likely is the most visible factor for you to keep on playing and enjoying your puzzle game.

However, as the story flows, as a player of this game you have to keep on searching for every single pieces of puzzle which are scattered around in order to make it a one finished work. Unfortunately, Dewi had made too many puzzle pieces and she had scattered them too far that makes the readers rather confused to collect them all along and to arrange them correctly. For instance, the pieces she made about the family ties and the long-winded description about minor characters who rather irrelevant and unimportant to the main picture of the novel. It seems like she has made too many unnecessary pieces, describing about unimportant details and forget her duty to emphasis the most important picture she wants the readers to see within the puzzle game she made. As a result of this, the pulse and excitement as well as the curiosity the readers had already have at the beginning of the game will beginning to decrease as they are forced to collect every single pieces, some of them are really confusing, in order to finish the game.

This is quite risky, however, if Dewi had wanted to create a puzzle full of mysterious journey, she ought to make it more intense. Even if she decided to make a huge number of puzzle pieces, each piece should contribute to shocking, relevant and important details of the picture so the readers would keep on searching for other pieces because each piece will attach them deeper and deeper to the game and deepening the excitement. By creating too many unnecessary and monotone details, not only is Dewi retarding the process of finding the puzzle pieces, but also forcing the readers to develop an extra patient if they want to finish the puzzle game.

Nothings would be matter then if the players of the puzzle game, in this case, the readers, are patient and persevering enough to work on the puzzle until the last pieces and see how it looks like at last. The rewards would be a beautiful picture that might be seen as a unique picture of the melting point and the exoticness between the East and the West. But that would never be happened and the picture would never be seen if the readers get too bored and impatient with the game. Instead of enjoying the beautiful picture, they’ll leave the game immediately.

when frankenstein is combined with an uproar true story

When Frankenstein is Combined with an Uproar True Story

A Review on Peter Carey’s My Life As A Fake

If you are a writer, or a director, or a comic strip artist, or whoever person involves in a process of making an imagery character to live up the story you’re making, have you ever thought, or imagined, that somewhere, somehow, your imagery character is happened to be a true and a real authentic person, living up his or her life on her daily ordinary life which is precisely the same as the one you’ve designed through your story?

Knowing the sudden fact that your inventions had somehow became reality would probably makes your minds fill up with enough eeriness and strange sensations. Now, let’s imagine that your supposedly-imagery character then turns out to be your stalker, one that haunt you with lots of questions and follows you wherever you go, unquestionably it will freak you out!

Those dreadful premises probably were the one trigger Peter Carey to write this book. Having the Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein note on his first page, Carey underlines the fear of creating a real monster through your imagination that will someday then pursuit and ruin your life, in which he splendidly describe and transform to this appealing novel.

Actually, Carey did more than just describing the fear inspired by Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. He combined it with an uproar true-story based incident happened in Australia in 1944, where an imagery poet was invented by some other poets to trick or to make fool one editor of a magazine called ‘Angry Penguins’. The imagery poet was named Ern Malley, whose poems was so fascinated the editor of that magazine, named Max Harris, who afterward recalled Malley as someone so brilliant that even at the time when he finally found out that Ern Malley was only a hoax made to humiliate him; he still believed that Malley was somewhere out there, alive and breathing.

In My Life as A Fake, Carey transforms the hoax in the form of fraud character made by Christopher Chubb to treat a lesson to David Weiss, an editor of a poetry magazine, who is envied by Chubb. The hoax character invented by Chubb was named Bob McCorcle, and it’s successfully tricked Weiss whom then publish the hoax and grant the poems made by McCorcle, in this case is Chubb as the inventor. Later on, because Weiss publish that poem, he then fell into an accusation of exposing obscenity and has to be trial in court. Suffer from the humiliation, Weiss was reported killed himself after the court.

Interestingly, and fruitfully unique, Peter Carey dissolve that inspired-from-a-true-story element with the fear of having created a monster inspired by Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. As the story flows, surprisingly Chubb was shocked by the fact that there’s this man, described with disturbing giant figure and big forehead, which came and claimed himself as the real Bob McCorcle. The sudden appearance of the real Bob McCorcle was said to be the real cause of Weiss’ death, and much more than that, he turned out to be a stalker to Chubb’s life and even had ruined his life for fifteen years, as well as being the perpetrator of his daughter’s kidnapping which involved him in a long yet interesting pursuit adventure in the Malay and Indonesian jungle. As a result, Carey had invented an attention-grabbing story full of unusual ideas and interesting descriptions about the Malay-Indonesian culture here and there. He even makes Chubb’s dialogue so singlish that I found it as one other thing that would make this novel is considered favorable.

Another thing unique from this novel is the existence of a character named Sarah Douglass, an editor of London poetry magazine, who acts as a narrator in this story. She tries to writes the story of Chubb and his becoming-real invention, Bob McCorcle. But Sarah is not only functioned as a narrator, she too has her own story which later on revealed as the story flows. In where later on the reader would probably see her life as what is referred by this novel’s title; My Life as A Fake. Whose life as a fake anyway? Well, it could be Chubb’s, McCorcle’s, Sarah’s or even all of them.

With those unique, intense and strong plot which drag the reader’s question even until the last page and the appealing description of Malay and Indonesian culture here and there, this novel is so worth reading. The only flaw contained in this novel is probably the method of no punctuations used by Carey. It might considered unique at first, but as the story flows and becoming more complex, especially at the time when Sarah’s acting as a narrator of a story narrate by Chubb, the punctuationless makes the story rather difficult to understand because the readers are often forced to figure out who’s saying who. However, aside from that, for those of you who seek for good book with touch of unique culture in it, you won’t find any regret reading this book.

Across The Universe... renungan tengah malam ku...

Across The Universe

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,
They slither while they pass,
they slip away across the universe

Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind,
Possessing and caressing me.
Jai guru de va om

Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes,
That call me on and on across the universe,
Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box they
Tumble blindly as they make their way
Across the universe
Jai guru de va om

Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Sounds of laughter shades of earth are ringing
Through my open ears inciting and inviting me
Limitless undying love which shines around me like a
Million suns, it calls me on and on
Across the universe
Jai guru de va om

Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Jai guru de va,
jai guru de va
Jai guru de va,
jai guru de va
Jai guru de va.
Jai guru de va, jai guru de va.