Ramadan

I used to love this song so much when I was a kid, aged six or seven. I remember, I used to listen to this song every ramadan, played in my dad working room, always after he had finished his Tarawih pray (he didnt usually do his Tarawih pray in the mosque) and read some Koran verses. He always played this Bimbo song, 'Rindu Kami Padamu' along with other Bimbo's songs of course. But this song was the one I love the best. Back then, I thought the song was beautiful, It describes one's love for his prophet, his longing to feel the sincere and peaceful love of his prophet. I still think that it is a beautiful song.

Rindu Kami Padamu

Rindu kami padamu ya rasul rindu tiada terperi
berabad jarak darimu ya rasul
serasa dikau di sini

cinta ikhlasmu pada manusia
bagai cahaya suarga
dapatkah kami membalas cintamu
secara bersahaja

rindu kami padamu ya rasul
rindu tiada terperi
berabad jarak darimu ya rasul
serasa dikau di sini

cinta ikhlasmu pada manusia
bagai cahaya suarga
dapatkah kami membalas cintamu
secara bersahaja


Back then, when I used to listen to this song, I never knew that there are people that would threat me to death if I wont cover my body with their so called 'decent' clothes, if I speak up my mind and trying to question things that I think need to be questioned, if I try to find answers with my own efforts and wont surrender myself to their rigid and unquestionable rules, if I want to love my God, and my prophet with my own way.
I wonder, if Muhammad still alive, would he want to kill me too like all those people?
I might know nothing about Muhammad but if those evil people who want to behead other people because they are different to them really believe that whatever they're doing is within the guidelines of Muhammad and the religion he taught us (with all their jargons of jihad and bagaimana mereka meneladani Muhammad), I dont think I would want to have such an evil and violent prophet to guide my way.
I prefer a more peaceful and loving prophet.
Maybe it's just a matter of interpretation.

Happy Ramadan, everyone.

-sie-

absurd sekali hidup ini yah?

baby, yes you baby, one that i love really really dear...
i'm only twelve while you are eighteen
every single thing that excites me is just another mundane for you
this you already knew, that you found unsurprising
been there done that
you said
well
no baby
i havent been there and that i havent done
baby baby baby
if it's for me, would you want to do stupid things and
pretend that it is so excitingly new for you too?
then we can drown ourselves in thrill
while holding hand together looking one to another
before we close our eyes together
anticipating the waves of fun swept us overjoyed?

-sie-

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

the dining dead

Dinner at Kang's again. Are we like those poor couples, you feel sorry for in the restaurant? Are we the dining dead? I cant stand the idea of us being a couple people think that about…
Joel : How's the chicken?
Clementine : Good. More?
Joel : No. No. Thank you.

*taken from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Days and days and weeks and here comes the year. Of constant talking. Some say it is called communication. And communication is the key to the healthy relationship. It helps you to know each other better. But constantly talking doesn't necessarily means communicating. And if you keep on talking and talking and talking and explaining and opening your self up, whatever will happen when everything is all exposed? Done exposed? Period. All your thoughts then got all dug up, all your point of views and beliefs and stances got all unfurled and arrayed, all your cute little hidden dreams got all discovered, all your biggest fears, all your most shameful experiences? Whatever will happen next? What will make me think that YOU are interesting baby? All that interesting about you I already know. You are like this one my very favorite book. My most favorite book of all. I read you over and over and over and over again, I drowned myself in your crazy and wicked adventures again and again and again, now I even know every fucking single detail of the story of the book, every hidden corner, every dialogue the characters make, like I can even tell everything about the book without even reading it, with my eyes closed. Like, I know what will happen next to the hero, what will he say next and how he will get his victory. Then, baby, tell me, even though that book is my favorite book, will I still consider it interesting if I already know everything about the book? Of course I wont discard that book, because I love that book so much, but I would probably just leave the book in my book shelf, while beginning to look for something interesting to read. Not necessarily needs to be more interesting, for I know that I might not find some other book that really suits my interest like that my one favorite book, but you know... some other book that will give me something new interesting things to dig out, to discover, to unfurl...

Honey I am so lost in this thought. Help me out?

-sie-

automendification machine

I own this machine called an automendification machine.

Like its name, it works by automatically mend things

that are in need to be mended.

For its fuel, it uses anything in me that can be burnt.

picture was taken from: www.kcdawncreation.com

-sie-

depressive senseless irritation and endless furious aggravation

I say. Just kill me. Kill me quick and painless. Get over this phrenic bursting rollercoaster already. Stop torturing me every fucking single month with this depressive senseless irritation and endless furious aggravation. After writing a full page of tirade which contained exactly forty-three 'bitch' words in it and ninety-eight 'fuck/fucking' words addressed to my beloved roommate (only of course I would not want to post the writing here for the sake of avoiding some unnecessary and rather unworthy friction) and getting so raged when my boyfriend actually used the word 'expendable' to justify his argument why he thinks it is rational for him to risk his own life by dragging wherever he goes his fellow soldier's dead flesh when he's in the middle of the war (ah, the fucking long debate that I think would even be too long to be put here, well maybe later some other time). Not too mention, impulsively spending more than forty thousand rupiahs just for food today. And gotten really fucking sappily overdramatic when my boyfriend didn't call, frigging really sensitive and irritated with someone else's laughter, and had made five slaughter plans in my head today for five different persons that I found really got into my nerves today. And I feel stupid and I feel that nobody likes me and I seriously think that my boyfriend should come here and give me a hug and say sweet things to me. HAH! But of course that wouldn't happen. I want to slit some throats. One of my friends just said that he had a sore throat. Why, my friend, why don't you come here and show that velvety throat to me, maybe I can do you a favor to get rid off your sore. See, if I slit your throat, you won’t feel any sore no more. Now for that I can be one hundred percent sure.

-arghed me-

something surreal in the morning

merokok dji sam soe jam enam pagi dengan cahaya kamar redup redup gimana gitu membuat review CD Sitting On Anything Cold dan sebuah band death metal bernama death vomit (heck why do people really love to groooowwwlll in death metal, dont they know that dead people dont groooowwwwwllll? dead people are dead, what else do you expect???), jempol agak sedikit dingin dingin beku butuh kehangatan gitu, dengan teman sekamar yang setengah telanjang lagi berpelukan sama teman tidurnya. i hope they dont wake up. oh please dear lord dont let them wake up and wiggle again. nap. exactly, the power of wishing something for not happening, they tend to happen. shit. and they wiggle again. right beside me. like um fifteen centimetres next to me. and they wiggle. wiggle. wiggle. hands everywhere. shit. i cant help but notice. oh dear lord please let me concentrate on this guy's groooowwwll in my PC's speakers, whatever it is that he's grooooowwwwl-ing about. fuck. i cant. oh they change position. i want to choke my roommate's neck. nah. dont have the right to. just smoke again baby smoke. hey i make love better than her. i make better move. fuck. concentrate here, sisie. hey what if i join them?. PLAK. i slap my own head. smokesmokesmokesmoke again. oh dead guy from the cd how i love that u are growling.

-sie-

EQ sh*tes...

The bitch might be a champion dramaqueen but she surely scores best in handling emotion. Ironicly, that was also the very reason why her boyfriend decided to leave her once. ahahaha. And you thought life is so boring... :p

Your EQ is 153

50 or less: Thanks for answering honestly. Now get yourself a shrink, quick! 51-70: When it comes to understanding human emotions, you'd have better luck understanding Chinese. 71-90: You've got more emotional intelligence than the average frat boy. Barely. 91-110: You're average. It's easy to predict how you'll react to things. But anyone could have guessed that. 111-130: You usually have it going on emotionally, but roadblocks tend to land you on your butt. 131-150: You are remarkable when it comes to relating with others. Only the biggest losers get under your skin. 150+: Two possibilities - you've either out "Dr. Phil-ed" Dr. Phil... or you're a dirty liar.

What's Your EQ (Emotional Intelligence Quotient)?

told you told you told you

of out there out there
told you i'm going to be out of there soon!
wish me good luck guys! :)

body and soul

it's just the body i'm selling not my soul
it's just the body i'm selling not my soul
fluttering wings
what's the use the wings that flutter
but cant fly
closed eyes filled tears
but it's just
it's just the body i'm selling not my soul
you know?
................
but how do you know which one's your body
and which one's your soul?

-sie-

picture was taken from www.onlyinhouston.org

salaamm postmopoliteeess!

You scored as Postmodernist. Postmodernism is the belief in complete open interpretation. You see the universe as a collection of information with varying ways of putting it together. There is no absolute truth for you; even the most hardened facts are open to interpretation. Meaning relies on context and even the language you use to describe things should be subject to analysis. Existentialist 88% Postmodernist 88% Modernist 81% Cultural Creative 69% Materialist 63% Romanticist 56% Idealist 38% Fundamentalist 31% What is Your World View? (updated) created with QuizFarm.com

the night of the world cup final

Alone in my room, 9.40 PM. Boyfriend was gone out with the boys, having some beers they said before watching the world cup final at the town square. My feet were itching of the foot cream after waxing. The sublime irony of the pain and the beauty. They looked beautiful, hairless, smooth, smelled nice of lavender and mint, the smell of my foot cream. I love the look and the smell of it. Only he didnt notice.
If only he would notice. If only he would say something. It was too trivial, I guess. His girlfriend newly hairless feet, with the sweet smell of lavender and mint. How would he possibly know that there were indeed several strands of hair were gone from his girlfriend's feet? That’s just too absurd.
But at least he could say something about the hair? His girlfriend's newly dyed hair. Dark cobalt blue. Just been dyed this morning when he was once again out finishing his work in the office. It's Sunday, and he's not even home all day. He ought to know that Sunday is my only day off. Having to work from ten to seven every single day from Monday to Saturday, he ought to know that Sunday is my only day to enjoy myself all day. And when it comes to enjoying something, I always want to share it with the one I love. It's him the one I love and it's me I want to share.
But he's been out all day and this Sunday I was alone enjoying myself.
Funny how the word 'enjoying myself' sounds very much quite similar with the word 'lonely' when he's not around.
I made myself some coffee. Black, as usual. Past the mirror when I went back to my room with a cup of coffee in my hand. I took a quick glance and realized that the color of my hair was not that different from before. There was a vague sheer of dark blue gleaming subtly. But that was it. No wonder that he didnt notice.
I sipped my coffee while carefully choosing the book that I wanted to read for the night. Old Lewis Caroll's Through the Looking Glass. When the emotion's sprinkled here and there, mixed up in disarray, you would want to read something surreal.
Maybe it's true that I was too melodramatic, but I missed him, fucking chronically.
And of all the days in the world, this sappy feeling came at the night of the world cup final, where everybody in this fucking world was busy fussing about Zinedine Zidane, Gennaro Gattuso, Francesco Totti, Thierry Henry, blafblafblaf. Of course nobody would notice about some girl's newly dyed hair, or her hairless feet that smell really really nice.
Or how I would really love to share myself that night.

-sie-

Ps: all the setting and the characters were made up. Any similarity with the real life would just be a coincident.

the curse of SamsonS

Do you believe in curses? I dont. But I begin to do. I think I'm being cursed, wickedly, by this guy, this pretentious kitschy guy who sang some unforgivable song about his raunchiness of being touched by thousands of women while shamelessly flaunting that his sole purpose in life is to chase the chicks. (You know what song I mean, right? Oh please... it's eekingly everywhere in town, so happening it invades your life like Paris Hilton and her inevitable phrase of "OH...itu panaassss")
Right. So, I had placed this guy and the rest of his band beneath my contempt. I cant even count all the sarcastic remarks I've given to them. And now, I'm truly cursed.

-sigh- So for those of you who doesn't know, I'm working at some stupid tacky teenage and children magazine that proclaimed to be, and priced itself to be, an A+ magazine. They pay me quite well, but torment me every here and there with their philistine taste. When I first decided to accept the offer, I thought I could make something there, I mean...it sounded challenging enough, you know, to somehow enlighten and bring the magazine out of the dark. Besides, they seemed willing to pull themselves out of the dark by firing all the boards and the teams that used to make the unjustifiable previous editions of that magazine and making some really brand new creative teams, young people from various background mostly fresh graduates with fresh idealism and all that jazz, with me who happens to be one of them. So I was quite excited at first, you know, knowing that I could freely pour my creativity and all those evil plans in my head to somehow brainwash my readers, those children, to stop imitating Paris Hilton or… well you know what I'm talking about. I spent quite fun actually hunting for the news and report for my articles.

Until I realized, and this was known to me later, rather way too late actually, that they have a very bad and lousy management. I didnt know that the boards and the reporters from the previous editions of the magazine hadnt been discharged entirely. They had excluded the editor in chief of the previous magazine. Which of course was a truly stupid decision, because obviously she was the genesis of the deadly disease. Since she was the editor in chief she was the one who held the final decision and the one who decided what topic should be taken for the magazine. I really dont know whose idiot decided to let her stay and continuously ruin the magazine. And the worse thing about all is that, I dont know how and why, but when me and my team was working to finish the first edition of the newly born magazine, she was too doing exactly the same thing with her team in her office. So at the same time, there were two magazines being made, my version and her version. And you know what, at the end of the term, when I was quite happy that me and my team had finally made it before the deadline, all the articles and design, all of a sudden I came to the office and found a copy of a magazine, with a letter on top of it, saying that I had to translate to English some of the contents there. I was like...what? What contents? Then I looked up the magazine, and yap...you guess right, it was not my version of the magazine, it was hers, and it would be printed officially. Hers, and all her stupid articles, and not mine. I really didnt understand what had happened, why they had taken her articles instead of mine, if they really want to make a new version of the magazine and they had stated that they were quite unsatisfied with the works of the previous team, then why did they take her version instead?

But that's not even the worst part, when I looked the magazine up, I found that... instead of the name of her teams printed in the magazine, it was my team's name printed there. My team, my name, there...in that stupid magazine. As if I was the one who's responsible for the stupid contents of that magazine.
Now thats just so unethical, I didnt contribute anything to that magazine but they put my name there! You know, every single thing I made is my own portfolio, and that magazine, that edition is not my work, and I would never ever let that works become a part of my portfolio! That very stereotyping, cliche, non-creative, tacky, articles printed there. I would never make something like that!

But you know what you know what you know what? that's not even the worst of it, so when I looked up the teenage version of the magazine, this magazine, this so called self proclaiming A+ magazine with such a high price, had Nia Ramadhani and SAMSONS on the cover! What else could be tackier and stupider than that? Only idiots would pay Rp35.000 to read articles about Nia Ramadhani and Samsons while they could get it by only paying Rp.2500 at some cheap local infotainment tabloids. And when I looked at inside of it, yes...exactly...they had put my name there too. As if I agreed with all the contents written there, contributed my minds there, or wrote the articles there.

Pencemaran nama baik sungguh. Now all Jakarta would see that stupid magazines and they would also see my name in it, as if I'm the one who was responsible for all the stupidity there.
That's why I think I'm being cursed. The curse of *eeeek* Samsons.
Bleurgh.
Outta there really soon. Don't want any more pencemaran nama baik.

-sie-

Fucking Philistines!

i fucking hate my job. damn philistines who raped my name and use it anyway they want. they didnt wanna take my articles and still insisted in using their god damn philistine-worthless-cheesy-tacky-cheap topics. YET THEY PUT MY NAME ON IT as in i'm the one who wrote those WORTH-FUCKING-LESS articles.
gw marah sekali sampe ga bisa ngomong apa2. mana majalahnya udah naik cetak.
ntar gw ceritain dengan lebih lengkap deh... skrg gw lg di kantor sialan ini soalnya.
out of here pretty soon, though. they dont deserve me. i'm way too smart for them.

-sie-

THAT kind of man?

So the philosophy test I took, though it's rather pseudo-accurate... like Ferdi's remark... shows that I'm that Existensialist?
Hm. I didnt know i'm into Sartre that much. I mean... come on... the sexist who made Beauvoir appeared no more than his protegee for the rest of her life while secretely took Beauvoir's works as the source of his inspiration? Well... though of course I have to admit that his works, marked as one of the greatest works of modern philosophy...
But... you know...
The self-centered, smart-ass, arogant, think-he-knows-everything Sartre...I didnt know that it's that KIND of man that i find myself drawn into...
umm...well...
nevermind...

-jadedlittlesisie-

The philosophy I follow?

You scored as Existentialism. Your life is guided by the concept of Existentialism: You choose the meaning and purpose of your life. "Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does." "It is up to you to give [life] a meaning." --Jean-Paul Sartre More info at Arocoun's Wikipedia User Page... Existentialism 95% Kantianism 75% Utilitarianism 70% Strong Egoism 70% Hedonism 65% Justice (Fairness) 35% Nihilism 20% Divine Command 0% Apathy 0% What philosophy do you follow? (v1.03) created with QuizFarm.com

confused

now that i think of it. the fact that i'm still confused, even know. show how actively and healthily my brain works. well. maybe not healthily.
but isn't health is one of the world greatest issues, baby?

-sie-

bitchbitchbitchtheresonanceofthweordbitch

He called me bitch and then threw himself at the fire. I didn't like the antagonist part of the play but I knew that they are needed in every story. It's just that I was not used to play the role, so maybe I played it badly, not well enough to make a good criticism out of it. Perhaps thats why I didnt even like acting out, I preferred all those backstage fuss. You know, inventing plot, choosing costumes, decorating stages and all that jazz.

Bitch.
Hey, did you know that the word had gone ameliorated since the postmodern era came?

-sie-

pausing off

The dimming shades of light, right in the corner of the stage, our heroine sank down while absorbing the feeling of coldness spreading around in her chest. She's contemplating, concentrating to the sense of the flow of coldness slithering and creeping to every single vein in her body, and when the feeling of coldness reached her neck, creating a lonelier feeling even more than ever, she lifted up her right hand and placed it on her forehead, trying to seek any kind of warmness that she might still be able to sense. In a low muttering voice, she sighed "oh… the drama of my life, the pain, the agony…."
(Insert a scratching slap-in-the-head sound here…)

Alright, me had had my slap in the head, the drama queen had slapped back to the reality. Through with the drama queen phase, here goes my favorite phase, the bitter bitch; a time to chuckle a bit upon yourself while sharpening your machete. So this is where I am now, my bitter bitch phase. After spending four years an a half with a control-freak possessive psychotic, who had always managed to creep behind my back and had pledged to stab any kind of guy who’d dare tried to get near me, my next date was a blithely debonair Byronic villain who turned out to be an anti-establishment commitment phobic, whom, after our one year and a half relationship been going on quite steadily, got really freaked out and discarded me by saying "honey, I know that I’m so in love with you because it always feels like home every time I hug you, but sometimes I just don’t want to be home…" I seriously feel like a main character of a sappy chicklit now, and the worst part of it is that hell… I don’t even like chicklit. Ain’t just life a drama?
And here I am now, looking back all the paths of life I had been hopping all along, while bitterly laughing at myself. It's funny to realize that the habit of pausing off while we’re reading a book is always done in between the finished chapter, before we're starting to read on into the next chapter of the book. Ever wondered why, though? Why can't we just take a pause off in the middle of the chapter? Analyzing what had been read all along, taking little notes here and there, while thinking, guessing and predicting, based on notes and analyses we had made, of how the chapter that we’d been reading on would be in the end of the chapter. I guess it's because some of us, don't really like some spoiler of thoughts ruin the thrilling sensation of curiosity we feel while enjoying the reading. So the choose is might as well find the closure and make the more complete analysis about it afterward.
Well, the thing is, in reading books and stuff like that, you don't have to do the 'pausing off' part in a bitter bitch mood, while in the real life, it's sort of does, at least for me. Why? Because it sorts of affect my real feeling… duh… the feeling of coldness spread in the chest is not felt by the heroine in the book, it's my own coldness, my own fear, my sorrow and sadness.
But like chapters in book, the more chapters we read, the more knowledge we’d gather in understanding the story. About its main character and her role in the whole story, about her point of views, about the choices she had made, about other characters in the story and their relation and role to her, and finally about the flow of the story that leads to the climax.
So although most of the time done in my bitter bitch mood, my 'pausing off' part always at the very least give me more knowledge about me, myself, this little girl who sometimes can get so clueless in running her life. It always brings me new lessons, new understanding, new perspective in seeing my self and my life.

-sie-

sucked

i am elated in something that would definitely kill me. but who gives a fuck. people will eventually die anyway.

-sie-

the bubbles i choke

i think tomorrow, or pretty soon,
somebody's going to come and chop my head off.
i should stop choking so many bubbles.

-sie

So the cheesy title said

So the cheesy title said that you hold that shine on your braces

Trinket little bucket
Hopping around madly like zesty little pneuma
I must say I am amazed *insert smile here*
What? You don’t know pneuma?
But you learn philosophy dear baby dear
It is not love
But it is light enough to glow my gloom cookie

-sie-


So the cheesy title said that you hold that shine on your braces

Trinket little bucket
I must say that everyone is
Responsible for their own state of happiness
So do I doop doop doobie woop
So do I
Say, how about if I say that for now
I take you like a soft ray of sunshine in the morning
Or a warm feeling of a cup of coffee
Or a beautiful reddish dragonfly suddenly crossing before me
When I hold my gloom cookie

-sie-


So the cheesy title said that you hold that shine on your braces

Trinket little bucket
As cheesy as it may sound
I think you’re so snug
It’s like I want to draw a thousand of grinning smileys
Whenever the thought of you cross my mind
Woop hoop hoop hoop
Silly silly silly me

-sie-


Trinket little bucket

Trinket little bucket,
Can I quietly keep you in my pocket?
A busy little packet
Making my heart melt
Chocolate ice cream
Raspberry sugar cream
A never ending mellow stream

-sie-

hi... I'M BACK..
after a rather long yet hollow pre and post new year break.. i'm here again..
this site is still under construction, i'm currently working on it. i took the skin from blogskins.com, it's a pretty cool site, actually.
anyway... thoughts were helplessly bursting and erupting out of my head since quite sometimes... kinda miss the old melodramatic rants used to be poured down here.. but before that i have to work on with the lay out first.. so.. well..

see ya soon.
-sie-

and i am here

alright so i'm here again dear baby dear, it's like you know that i wont go for long. my entries these days, dear baby dear, are so boring with sentimental shites, it's like fully loaded with a total nothingness of my overflowing melodramatic emotion. how can i help it dear baby dear, i'm lost, and i've cursed myself for that.
look, maybe i should've talked about something else, the sky, the moon, the wrecked wrecked souls, the hatred that people declared everywhere around, the confusion, and all that. but look what i'm doing here dear baby dear, i'm standing here alone blabbering myself. even worse, it's myself in such an abstract and absurd sense. o how selfish. absurdity never worked dear baby dear, waiting for people to comprehend your soul. might as well wait forever. you understand forever, dear baby dear?
and i am lost and i am flying and i am winding and i am pretending and i am insencere and i am knowing and i am jaded and i am pretending and i am pretending and i am pretending and i am not knowing and i am insencere and i am black black black black bloody pitch black with no light at all and i am drown and i am sucked and i am lost lost lost.

blablablablablablab
and i am here. blabbering myself.
maybe one day i'll leave but i dont even know for how long then.

-sie

walkwalkwalkwalkandwalk

i'm leaving.

-sie

*image was taken from http://www.painetworks.com

floating

hidup itu, adalah kutub-kutub titik ekstrim yang mengerikan. you, my dear, and me too... are walking in the long bold line made by thousands and thousands dots of freaky and unpredictable fringe of emotion. haunting. enchanting. overwhelming. destroying.
the journey, my dear, is really never that secure, although most of us do feel that it is. covered and tangled in those overwhelming joy we feel when we coincidentally and unintentionally step on the dots of elated emotion. happiness. bliss. elation.
when we step on happiness we forget that somewhere there, are dots that waiting for us to step on them. the dots of sadness, despair, devastation, hurt, broken, damaged. they are there and waiting for us, for they too are the parts of the dots that composed the bold lines.
when i make you happy, the journey would bring you the time when i would make you sad.
when you feel blissful, you shall wait until the journey bring you despair, and devastation and dreary...

if only i could float, walking along in the air, completing my journey, without the tip of my toes touching all the dots.
but then again, could it make me feel you?

-sie-

fractured

the thing is... dear baby dear... i know that i am fractured.
and i am wounded.
and i am hurt.
but i feel too stupid
to cry.

in your shoulder, especially.

cry.
cry.
cry.
cry.
cry.

there you go, baby.
i'm done with my cry
now i could go back to see you
and smile.

-sie-

image was taken from http://fabi.blogs.sapo.pt/

the sugar-sweet bitch

because people always thought of me as 'sugar-sweet', they thought that i could tolerate everything. the thing is, of course i cant. i could be upset too. and when i am, i could be such a depressive bitch.
i havent talked to my bestfriend for almost five days now. i kinda miss her. but she's the one who started it. call me oversensitive, call me childish, but i'm just being the 'could-not-be-that-tolerant-about-every-single-fucking-thing-thrown-at-my-face' me.

-sie-

*image was taken from www.istockphoto.com

Girl Talk

“This mattress is getting harder and harder than ever, don’t you think?”
She nodded her head, stretched and yawned. “I’m tired.” She said. “I think we should get a new mattress.”
“That would cost a bit.”
“You’re right.” Then she dragged her book from the side of the mattress and started reading.
“I thought the exam week had over.”
“Me too, that’s why I really wish I could burn the campus, or at least chop my lecture’s head.”
She said that in a flat, monotonous tone. I laughed.
“How’s that guy? Did he call you?”
“Nope. I didn’t expect him to call me anyway.”
“Not at all?”
“Well… once, the next day after we did it. He called me to say he’s sorry.”
“Sorry? For what?”
“He thought I was having a problem that bothers my mind. He didn’t want me to think that he’s well… sort of using the chance.” She sneered, in a rather absurd solemn sneer.
“Was that the case?”
“Well it’s true that I was a bit upset that day… but…”
“But I’m sure that it was you…”
I looked at her eyes, she looked at me back.
“Yes… it was me who’s using him.”
We giggled, just like teenage girls who giggle in their private pajamas party, only it was in a slightly different case. She threw a cryptic smile then took a cigarette from her ciggie box and lit it.
“I was the one who seduced him, you know?”
“Oh I can tell.”
“Yes. And look how he felt guilty about it. He didn’t even know that I was the one who’s using him.”
“Is it working?”
“What?”
“I mean… you used him for some purposes, didn’t you?”
“Yes… I wanted to forget my problem a bit with that as**ole bastard.”
“Is it working? Did it make you forget your problem with that other guy?”
“No. But I felt a bit happier.”
“Happier compared to before you did it?”
“Sort of.”
“Oh alright ... as long as you’re happy.”
Then the cryptic smile was put upon her eyes once more. I looked at her and tried to throw some of my stupid jokes. She puffed her cigarette and begun to read her book again.

-sie-

Ding-Dong!

I gain weight
My cheeks are chubbier and my bum’s getting bigger
And bigger and bigger than ever
I think my eyes are bigger too
They are free and they see whatever they want to see
And since they can see whatever they want to see,
I can feel they are widening and widening more than ever
So they can capture everything by a single glance
I do think that they enjoy themselves too
These feet and these hands
They are merrier than ever
Feet are free running like crazy
And hands claps themselves every occasionally
No strain and no chain
Wherever they want to go
They know that they can
The teeth and the tongue, and the lips too
Crooning and chanting, prattling and laughing
And oh one more thing
The heart is growing too
It grows bigger and bigger
Warmer and warmer
Ding-dong!
Happy birthday to you,
I hope yours are growing too

-sie-

umm... the 22nd November guy, this is an early birthday poem for you...

Azura

Azura, beautiful blue sky
Cloudless and bright
Beaming and might
Upon a meadow covered by poppies
I lied flat on its lime green grass
Drawing a picture
With my crayons
Puffy and curvy
Of a thick big black
Really black cloud
And thousands and thousands black bold lines
Really bold lines below the cloud that I drew
They were supposed to be a drawing of raindrops
Of a heavy rain
A very very heavy rain
A very very heavy one

-sie-
For sitting on my brain twenty four seven really you should blame yourself

Orange, orange pond...

So the pond is orange
Suspiciously bright orange
There are also some strange dark blue waterlilies
Lying flat on its orangish water surface
You will never ever let yourself spread a red-plaided tablecloth
Upon its bizarrely pale lemony grass
Déjeuner sur l'herbe
Having a picnic lunch under the sun
Never while everything is too suspicious
Wrong and dubious
But the pond was always orange
The waterlilies were always dark blue
The grass was always pale lemony
They were happy that way
Maybe it was not meant
For your delusory
Red-plaided tablecloth

-sie-

Small Clover

Beautifully overshadowed
Under a big big oak tree
Where the gentle of breeze blows so mildly
Through its rich leaves
Beautifully overshadowed
Comfortable and serene
But sometimes it’s just too dark

-sie-

Smile baby smile

Smile baby smile
Supercandy, megalotoffee, my dear bubblymints
I will still call you with a thousand sweet names
No matter how apocalyptic you are
And when you are tired of the rage and frenzy
Or that pandemonium you always love to unleash
When you are mad of the world
And all its habitants seem all equally tiring
Remember that you can always come to see
My little ladybug that no one else could see
Jig and bop, skip and hop
Then we can sit and drink some coffee
Talk and talk and talk and talk
Or just sleep under the blanket and hug and hug and hug
Then I’ll smile while adoring the stars in the sky tonight
And you’ll say I’m ridiculous as usual
Because of course there is no star in our sky to sight
But who cares baby who cares, you know I don’t
Then we’ll kissed until tomorrow comes
To fly you away from me
And when that time comes,
I’ll whisper ‘see you again sweet’ to you
Though you’ll be too rushed to hear me again
Again baby again I know
But never mind I’ll just flutter my wings and
Smile baby smile

-sie-

The inconsequential petty me

Dear baby dear,
It’s not about the chocolate you have not given me
It’s not about the blueberry cheesecake
It’s not about the strawberries
You know I don’t care about those things
It’s really not about that
It’s just that
Don’t say ‘whatever’ every time you forget your promise
It makes me feel like the inconsequential petty sisie
And I don’t like that

-sie-

bitter pit on an apple

in-fucking-deed. pms shites and i'm hating everyone right now. well today i just had a tarot reading and it said that i kind of miss my merry-go-lucky self. maybe i do. maybe i dont. who gives a fucking shit anyway. he doesn't.
he doesn't.
i just opened some lovey doey sites and friendster accounts of my friends'. it's so depressive. i want to shoot my head.
ah. sisie... maybe it's just because you envy them.
do i?
i dont know.
maybe i do. maybe i dont. who gives a fucking shit anyway? he doesn't.
or maybe you're just too proud to admit that you do.
yea... yea... who gives a fuck?
-sie-

*picture is taken from http://jcv.toykeeper.net

Ramadan

Happy Ramadan

May you find your God

in a literal mean

-sie-

I mean.. I asked people the reason behind the act of fasting they always do during ramadan... very sincerely... because I really wanted to know and i felt so uncomfortable doing something just for the fuck of it and not knowing the core reason behind it... I mean... i truly wanted to do it if i think it has a right and useful means. But nobody came up with a very satisfying and convincing answer, it's rather sad, actually. I remember even there's someone who called me 'kafir' -although uttered jokingky- and there's also another one who said that i only wanted to find excuses for not fasting. Hell, all i wanted was just a convincing answer, so i could do the so called 'ibadah' with my heart instead of because everybody else's doing it. Once i decided to gamble, just tried to do it and MAYBE, just maybe, i might find the core reason why this so called 'ibadah' was created. I mean... i truly believe that something that was created must have been created with purpose, and in order to achieve the purpose, we have to know and understand it by heart. So, I found no satisfying answer from anybody, i decided to seek the answer by myself, by trying to do the fasting. But Ruli said that doing something without knowing the reason you're doing it is just like wanting to know if A nuclear bomb might kill thousands of people by trying on it. I came to agree with him. It's unwise to do something without knowing the real purpose of it. So i'm still searching... And you people, who decided to go ahead fasting without knowing why, may you also find what you're looking for...

image was taken from http://jcv.toykeeper.net

A Faint Sound in the Dead of the Night

One thirty a. m. in the morning, I was still awake, couldn’t seem to find a way to close my eyes and catch some Zz. Roald Dahl page 258, I had been reading, or to be exact; gazing, the very same page for the last a half an hour. Definitely I would not be able to go to the next page, because no words seemed to make any sense for my head that night. I was tired, really tired. A splitting neuralgia, it’s killing me. My two roommates were sleeping, and the night was so hushed.
Pretty soon, I knew, in an hour or so, the mosque’s speaker near my cramped rented cubicle would utter the distinct sounds of the Koran verses, a call for the people to Sahur.
I remembered that I had a class on eight thirty in the morning and it made me nearly puke. I had only an hour left to force myself to go to sleep before the Sahur time came, after that people would wake up and rushed for their Sahur, boys would cheer and shout during their ways to the Mosque. It’s going to be really noisy, no question it would be hopeless for me to even try to sleep.
It’s a despondent situation, indeed. I could almost predict what would exactly was going to happen. I would definitely end up sleeping at five, and then could not be able to wake up for my morning class. I would wake up cursing because I missed the class once again and would start wondering how many quota for absences I had left before I finally guaranteed failed for the class. Typical. I started blaming myself for my disorganized schedule and ruined biological clock.
Sometimes I wonder if I would definitely end up feeling like a total loser. Because it’s starting now. Everything’s ruined, everything’s not in the right place. The chronicle of the wasted time. I felt pathetic and the dead of night worsen the frustration. I felt terribly alone and foolish.
Suddenly, a faint sound of a bicycle bell interrupted the silence. It’s started indistinctly and it grew more and more distinct as the bicycle got closer and closer to my rented cubicle. I recognized that sound. It was the sound of the siomai seller’s bicycle. I knew it because everyday he passes my place selling the siomai using that sound as a signal. And as the bicycle went closer, I could hear his faint voice constantly murmuring the word siomai. There’s something terribly gloomy about his voice.
I looked at the clock, it’s almost two now and he’s still out in the street, selling siomai? Who’s going to buy? Everybody else must be sleeping tightly at that time. I remembered that the rain was heavily falling two hours ago. It had stopped, but I could guarantee that the air must be really chilling out there. I felt really sorry for him. He’s all alone out there cycling around selling his siomai. In an hour people would have their Sahur, I doubted that they would prefer to have siomai instead of heavy food. So what were you doing there siomai seller? Why weren’t you home with your wife and kids? Why weren’t you sleep and waited for your wife to wake you up to eat your Sahur?
I remembered that life has been fucked up really hard recently. I mean, of course everybody knows that the government had raised the price for oil and it had made other prices insanely high too. I had to be extra careful using money sent by my mother or else I would not be able to support my own life for the rest of the month. For instance, since the cost for an ojek ride from stasiun UI to Sastra had become 3000 rupiahs, I prefer walking even if I had already late for my class. I mean, with 3000 rupiahs I could buy food for my lunch or at least a half an hour at the warnet. So as a result, I definitely use the ojek service less often these days. Same thing also happen with food, if usually I could get pretty lose spending my money for food, like buying chocolates or stopping every single food sellers that passes in front of my house, just for the sake of the chewing and nibbling fixation, lord mercy, I began to be a bit strict about my food. I took heavy meal and no longer bought food from the sellers that pass in front of my house, because I realized that it would be a form of wasting money.
I’m sure that a lot of people also do the kind of things that I do. A form of adjustment. a cost-cut for something that is not so necessary. We have to do that to cope with the insane prices and the stagnant income.
But what about the people whose life is highly depend on my cost-cut? The tukang ojek, for instance, or the food sellers. When I, and many other people too, decided to stop buying their goods, it would definitely mean a shrinking earnings for them. Meanwhile, they also have to deal with the high prices of living as anyone of us. Can you imagine that? How fucked up life can be?
Maybe that’s why the siomai seller still out there cycling around selling his siomai that night at two o clock in the morning. Maybe he had not be able to sell out his siomai, maybe there were still many siomai left, maybe he still had not got enough money for his wife and kids. So he really had to be there outside at two o clock in the morning in the cold wind.
I heard the sound of his bicycle bell grew more and more faintly, meanwhile the first Koran verses was beginning to be chanted on the Mosque’s speaker.

-sie-

Puzzled

I think i woke up in the wrong side of my bed today because all of a sudden i feel crazily madly cheesily in love in such an overwhelming state it freaks the hell out of me out.
And the worst thing is, I dont even know why. I did not even dream last night.

Stories of the sweet and the bitter

Sweet Cake

She said that I am sickly sugary
Overly coated with sickening syrupy caramel glaze
Overly colored
Too much
Over sweet
Sickening
A kind of cake that she just can’t stand
The one you taste and then puke it away
The one that makes you giddy with revulsion
And loathe
The one that is so gushy you vomit all over yourself
So I smiled to her and said
Look, I could never be more satisfied than this,
Seeing you vomit all over yourself and looking ugly
While still being as sweet and sugary as I always cheered to be.
What a joy!

-sie-


The Black Milk

She put some bitter pills in my milk today
She hates me so much she wanted to kill me
All stupid sugary charlatans must go to hell, she said
And then stirred the milk
Stirred and stirred and stirred and stirred
Watching the white milk turned into pitch black
Posing that evil grins upon her face
You witch
If you wanted to kill me you really should be much smarter than that
A black milk like that?
Who wants to drink a black milk like that?
So all I did was giving her favorite sugary overdone smile of mine
While saying
Oh so nice of you making me a glass of milk
I lifted the glass with my hand so I could see her eyes gleaming with hatred
And a bit of excitement because she thought in a couple of minute,
I’d be a dead corpse with foam over my mouth
One, two, three, five minutes I did not do anything
But playing with the glass on the tip of my hand
She heard the sounds of my nails clinking against the class
Over and over
Oh what a melodious tunes
Clink clink clink clink
She started to shake, there was a sudden tremor in her knees
And her neck
And then I smiled to her once again so sweetly
Sincerely
Oh yes this time I was being sincere, really
She puked all over herself again
Horrible view
I put the glass back on the table and said
Don’t worry, stay there
Let me get a clean sheet for you
Stay there and look ugly you witch


-sie-


Dear Pathetic Bitter Girl

Dear pathetic bitter girl
You thought by looking me like that
I would be scared?
I don’t envy the black clouds that surround you wherever you go
I don’t envy the haunting eyes you have
I don’t envy the agonizing scream and curse and wail you have
I don’t envy you dear pathetic bitter girl
I enjoy myself seeing you puke
When you watch myself hopping merrily upon the flowery pebbled path
With a cutesy light pink dress and a rainbow over my head
You just puked again dear pathetic bitter girl
And I smiled innocently over you
Again
Dear pathetic bitter girl
Ah look, I just noticed what a beautiful day is today
The sun is shining and the birds are singing
Don’t you think so, dear?

-sie-


When I Cried

When I told you that I was made of cotton candy
I was being serious
You tried to rip my hair off my head because you did not believe me
It was not hurt me that much, really
But I cried anyway
I cried in those soft innocent weep
You nearly puked again
I did not move I did not punch you in the nose
I knew I did not have to
Because the next thing you knew
You had people all around you blamed you for making
Such a sweet innocent girl like me
Cried heartbreakingly
One big guy came over you and wanted to strike you with his
Big fist
But I said please don’t
Don’t be that evil to you because I knew you did not mean to be bad
He told you to go away
And I laughed silently in my weep

-sie-


A Sweet Little Advice

Oh you have such wretched sorrowful eyes
Dear pathetic bitter girl
You really should smile more often
To give your gloomy unhappy stare
A more radiant glow
Now, would you like some more cotton candy?

-sie-

The Pills

yes you're there, i guess... i saw you're there and unless you're just an entity happened to be existed only in someone else's head, in this case, me, or maybe it's too much if i say it's me, i mean... we dont even know each other anymore, right? erased, that's what i used to say, right, erased, but i'm not complaining about that, really i am not, so unless you're just some kind of the super mega persistent intruder of my hollow space between the conscious and the unconscious, i'm pretty sure that you're there, i saw you, yes i did see you.
it's so amazing how i can feel that you hate me, you really really really do hate me, or not, maybe hatred should not even be the exact word to describe what you feel about me, what? feel, what kind of word is that? you dont even think that i exist anymore, how can you feel the presence that had never existed at all.
i had never existed. right. you erased all my trace. you are there but we are stranger. we are. you dont even know my friends anymore, you know they used to know you. but it's so amazing how you could do that. i mean, i would definitely need some mighty pills or something that would help me erase all your trace. well maybe you have taken those pills, some kind who have some amnesiac effects. amazing pills. they should distribute those pills more widely. i mean, a great invention should not stay uncovered, yes, that's what i always said, remember? oh of course not. those pills. right, right...
so you're there. i wanted to touch you to see if you're really exist there, or is it just me creating some kind of visual image about you standing there. but i couldnt touch you. i was afraid that if i touch you my hand will suddenly burnt to ashes, and my body too. and then i would die. i am afraid to die. it's so obscure. i always afraid of obscurity. so i did not do anything. i just stare.
i could not lie to myself. and everybody hates you. but i just could not do that. everybody hates you for what you did to me. but i know, that in some cases, it was you who could touch my deepest fear.
fear.
i am afraid of you. even know. in a different kind of way. i always managed to find new ways of being afraid of you. could you please go and stop haunting me?
STOP.
and please dont stare back.

-sie-

Ah... the drama queen...

YAK AMPUN... ternyata memang benar gw segitu drama queen nya... I mean... menulis tiga halaman panjang lebar berkeluh kesah penuh gulana tentang pacar... ah tembak saja saya dikepala...
Aduh maapkan, ignore saja tulisan dibawah ini... sungguh-sungguh-sungguh amat impulsif, pasti gara2 pengaruh PMS.. (lagi???)
Ngomong2 soal PMS, ternyata tulisan2 gw di blog gw bersiklus dan memiliki hierarki ke-menye-an... hahahaha... I just realize that setiap PMS ternyata tulisan gw modelnya begini smuah.. ha ha ha ha... :p sungguh gak jelas...

Ya udah mendingan ngomongin yang lain aja...
Waktu gw ke Bandung kemarin, gw nemuin album poto lama dan gw sempat memindai beberapa, dan it's so funny knowing that once... you're a happy little girl, unworried about the world and running aroung in the field of flower and feel a blissful joy... :)

So I guess i was once a little girl... life wasn't so much of a drama back then...

-sie-

Murmur and purr

Dear baby, I realize that we’ve been kinda busy with our lives lately, you with your new projects and all the ‘magic’ evolve around you while me with my lunatic and deceiving schedules as well as my day-to-day sickness, that we have so little time to share our thoughts and stories and emotion. It’s alright, though, I understand. But I kinda miss the time when we talk and talk and talk for hours about every little thing in life that fascinates us, well… we used to do that a lot back then. I’m not saying that a goodnight call in the middle of the night before we go to sleep is pointless, really, it’s really sweet and pleasant for me to hear your voice before I close my eyes and sleep, and I really thank you for willing to spend your time to call me at night, knowing exactly that you’re often too exhausted by everything you did on that day. I love you baby, I love you so much. But you know me, I don’t know if it’s really something wrong with my head or it’s just me being too much of a drama queen, I always feel that there are soooo many things that I want to share with you. I mean, I think about a lot of things everyday, funny things, stupid things, weird things, confusing things, some of them are quite worthwhile, and the rest are really unimportant, but since I love you so much, I really want to share those things with you, it makes me happy, in a way, it makes me spark and merry in a good mood (which… usually resulted in my extreme cheesiness kind of mood). Well, of course I tried to share the thoughts about those things to everyone else around me, I wrote some writings to pour out my thoughts and all stuff like that, and logically speaking, if I had already pour out everything I think of in my head, I would not feel that I want to share those things with you, because there wont be anything left in my head that needs to be poured out. But it’s so weird for me because I can still feel that I want to share those things with you, even if I had already poured out everything. So then I started wondering why on earth I still feel that way, where I put myself in a position where I kind of have to bother you with those stuffs while maybe sometimes you’re just too busy for it, or you’re just so not in the mood, or it’s just not your priority. It’s sort of depressing for me, you know, because you know how I really don’t want to trouble or bother people. And baby, after some times spent staring at the ceiling while lying on my bed trying so hard to get to sleep, I realized that, warning; this might sound a bit cheesy, it’s because the feeling I felt from sharing my thoughts with you is different from the feeling I felt from pouring out everything I think of to anybody else or by doing anything else. When I share what I think of to other people, or by writing something, or anything, I feel relief or cheery or affectional, there’s totally nothing wrong with that, I guess, but when I share my thoughts with you, I feel really comfortable (umm… well sometimes, when you’re not too busy being angered and annoyed by my-often-too-weak-and-ineffecient-approach to other people) and most of all, I feel content and… happy (I cant find any better word to describe how I feel, I’m sorry) and I like feeling that way, really, it’s just like a nice tiny warm feeling, like when you’re so tired of walking in a stifling bloody hot noon then all of a sudden there’s someone who rides a nice air-conditioned car offers you a ride and while you’re inside the car, while listening to the smooth-soothing music and enjoying the air-con, he offers you a chocolate ice cream… yum yum. So I like feeling that way, baby, maybe that’s why I like sharing my thoughts with you. And I guess the reason why I feel that way about you, maybe because, umm… I think you’re the emotionally closest person for me now, that’s why I feel happy when I share my thoughts with you.
I feel even more relief now that I know there’s nothing wrong with me feeling that way (at first I always tried to deny those feelings, because I really don’t want to bother you with those stuffs, I mean… I always feel that if you’re busy then you’re busy… it’s a stupid and illogical thing to still feeling that way and I really should find other resort to solve my problem, or just simply tell them to go away) but now that I’ve thought about it, I know that it’s not that illogical to feel this way and I don’t have to feel that I’m bothering you.
So baby, while you’re busy and we don’t have time to talk, my thoughts were piling up because I haven’t got the time to share them with you. And because I think it’s alright for me to still thinking that I want to share them with you, and I don’t need to tell them to go away and not bother you with them while you’re busy, I decided to write them here in this entry, I guess it’ll solve the problem in a way, I would feel happy and you would not lose your sleep or your ‘magic’ :)
So these are my random thoughts:

• - I think girls have bigger chance to be lesbian than boys to be gay, do you think so?
• - I think Hume is an interesting person, for he said that man does not have to be enslaved by his logic.
• -It’s so amazing how here buying condoms at store is found as a real shame, I mean, you should look at all those eyes looking at you as one guilty mice. I am so tickled to think that how could people feel awkward doing something that is not well-adjust with their socially acceptable norms. Socially acceptable norms, hmm… funny… speaking of socially acceptable norms, if people just don’t seem to care or even agree with the despicable act those FPI people do to declare war, hatred and idiocy, maybe it is true, baby, that those acts are socially acceptable here.
• - One of my lecturers had given me an interesting view of why those monotheist religions could be called as cultural products. It’s so fun when I hear that because I thought when I asked that to her she would come up with a boring and too textual or too conventional answer because she’s an MKDU lecturer, on the other hand, she came up with a quite interesting view, and my logic could accept that.
• - Antie and Hany said that my new haircut looks just fine and it makes my cheeks look less chubby, but the truth is I don’t really like it. The hairdresser misunderstood my instruction and this is not the haircut that I wanted at first. I really DO have problem in explaining things to people.
• - Is it really true that Hinduism is one of the monotheist religions as people say? I don’t believe that but I think I have to back up my arguments with clear facts and data.
• - I still don’t know what I should write for my final writing projects, I was thinking of going to british council, freedom institute or other libraries to try to find some insights.
• - I still don’t have enough money to pay for Lurince’s vaccination, I do have some money, but I’m allocating them because there are so many text books that I have to buy this semester. So, if you don’t mind, if you have some spare money, could I use your money first? I promise I’ll pay for it as soon as I could save some money. Besides, Antie is going to pay for it too, so if it costs us around 175. 000, each of us would only have to pay for about 58. 000.
• - There’s something that really bother my mind lately. I’m so afraid to say that I miss you now, well… maybe afraid is not the word, it’s more like… hesitant, I guess. Not because I think that you might be bothered hearing me saying those words all the time, I know I could do and say what the hell I want. It’s just that every time I feel that way, and I want to say that I miss you, I always feel that somehow there might be a chance that you would be annoyed, I know you would not mind, but I remember our last conversation regarding this, and I just don’t want to make you feel unhappy. But I know I should not feel this way, so I’m still thinking how to solve this problem now.
• - I don’t understand how people could be so compassionless and hard-hearted, sometimes I wish I could do that, but I don’t know how.
• - Ovi has a blog now, it’s pretty interesting, you might want to check it out.
  

Now I know why some people think that I’m tiring… ha ha ha… anyway, I don’t want you to think that I somehow oblige you to listen to all my murmurs, no, not at all. I don’t mind you busy with your own life, I mean, I too have my own life and my own priorities, but this is how I am and don’t want to stop myself from being what I am no matter how menye it is. I know you and your ability to detach a bit from your emotion when doing something, while me who always so sensitive and melodramatic about everything and tend to mix emotion with everything that I do. But I completely know that we think differently, therefore I never ever expect you to think the way I think as well as I know that I don’t have to think like you think. You could still be as ruthless (ha-ha) as you want while I will still be as melodramatic as I always am. I love you so much, pig-pig.


PS: huhuhuhuhuuu…. This is by far the menyeist entry I have of all… hahahhaha…

-sie-

Mister Firefighter

Mister firefighter died yesterday when he was on his duty. His daughter cried.
And i feel so sorry because he looked like a realy nice and humble man. I bet the filthy crooked government never paid him well and forced him to work like a slave.
I feel so sad. I wonder who will be the one to take that little girl to school everyday now.
Rest in peace Mister firefighter, rest in peace...

feeling is an absurd content

i'm feeling myself and this is how i feel

image was taken from: www.vampirefreaks.com

Beep.. Beep... Melodrama Soap Alert

So my boyfriend said that it's okay for him if i turn out to be a lesbian one day but it'll mean that i have to break up with him, because i could not be a lesbian and a hetero at the same time, unless if i turn out to be a bisexual of course, but of course i will still have to choose between him and my girlfriend one day and could not be with both at the same time. And he said that i could sleep with Ashton Kutcher as long as i let him sleep with Angelina Jolie. And he said that he will still love me eventhough my cheesy naked pictures are all over every single cell phone in the universe and uploaded in the internet, because he believes that i took those cheesy naked pictures because i am secure with my own body, and there's totally absolutely nothing wrong with that. And he said that i should think of other people who could not see that as nothing but a dust on my shoes. And although he doesn't wanna watch Bewitched with me (he thinks it's just another stupid girl movie), and we had a fight five minutes before the movie Charlie and the Chocolate Factory started because of some another irrelevant reasons, he held my hand and did not let it go until the movie's over.
And i love him so much eventhough we fight a lot.

>hug< -sie-

Face it, baby... Don't be a phoney.

If you remember the beautifully enchanting Eternal Sunshine for the Spotless Mind, there’s this line spoken by Clementine Kruszcinski (do I spell her name correctly?) to Joel, “Too many guys think I’m a concept, or… I complete them, or… I’m gonna make them alive. But I’m just a fucked-up girl who’s looking for my own peace of mind. Don’t assign me yours.”
She asked Joel not to assign her his own peace of mind. Don’t assign anything regarding his own state of mind upon her.
The thing is, when two people agreed to be attached themselves in the state of being connected, that is, in the name of a relationship, which in this case is… a romantic-kind of relationship, they will always, always, assign their own peace of mind upon one another. That’s why they are agreed to be connected one another, that’s how they are deliberately decided to be joined. Because, deep down inside, they know, that particular person with whom they plan to be in relationship is assign-able for their own needs, whatever that might be.
A boy with an inferiority complex would prefer to let himself be in a relationship with a girl that would make him feel less inferior, which means that he assigns his need to be not in the state of inferiority, there’s this state of secureness in his mind that he wants to achieve, and he needs that girl to assure that he would reach that state of secureness. His own peace of mind where he no longer needs to be worried, his own peace of mind where that girl, helps him to complete the task. And the other way around, of course. That particular girl might needs him to assure herself that her presence in this world is needed badly by someone, that there’s someone out there who feels comfortable being in her hand, that her touches and love do matter for someone. A search for acknowledgement, I guess, to reassure yourself that you are significant, in a way. So the girl assigns her needs upon him, there’s also this state of mind that she needs to achieve, a reassurement that she has to be sure of, and therefore the boy also carries the task for her. He helps her to complete the task of her own piece of mind.
A need to be heard, a need to be accepted, a need to feel loved, a need to be free, a need to find an equal partner, a need of security, the list of needs could go forever, the peace of mind of one man is of course different from another. But there’s one thing in common, though. In order to have the relationship, those kind of assignment of needs have to be reciprocal, that is, a guy whose need is to have a complete freedom for instance, should meet someone whose need is compatible with his. If its not compatible, then there wont be any reciprocity in the assignment, then what would happen is there’ll be one side that would feel burdened and all. Just like a system of barter, in a way.
Maybe that’s why sometimes it feel so hard for one to get in a ‘real’ relationship, the romantic kind, because probably he (or she) has not find someone whose need, whose peace of mind, could be assigned upon him or her. In other word, he (or she) has not find, someone who is compatible with him.
A friend of mine once said that my relationship with my boyfriend is sort of erratic in a way, that is, we’re more like two people who are involved in some trade business or something. But the thing is, no matter how dull and colorless those analogy are used to explain love in a relationship, like it or not, it’s true.
It might sound anything but a fairy tale-ish love where the prince holds the hand of the princess and said that he loves her with those glaring beautiful eyes and then takes the princess to his castle deep down in the forest, and they live happily ever after with their genuine, unspoiled love. But think about it, even the prince must have his own reason why he had chosen to choose the girl to be his princess. Even the prince has his own peace of mind. As well as the princess of course.

Yeah… of course… what the hell am I blabbering here, anyway… never mind, it must be because of that book ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ of J. D. Salinger, you have to read that book, really, at least once, the more the better. It gave you insights and stuff in some oddly peculiar way, at least that’s what the guy who killed John Lennon felt before he decided to kill him, I guess, he read that book first.

-sie-

Talking about compulsive shopping...

I bet for those of you who don’t believe that any act of some spasmodically compulsive shopping could by all means create some euphoric stress relieving therapy are definitely never be in a situation where you found a vintage second-handed fifty-ish little black dress that only cost you 20.000 , rupiah of course, not dollars. Or a cute girly knee-length flower patterned dress with averagely the same prize.
Of course the fact that you obviously would not know to what hell of an occasion would you wear those dresses since you’re just a plain ordinary college girl with very less money in your pocket and obviously totally not a happening socialite in town, would not even be matter anymore. As well as the fact that you need more casual shirts or sweaters instead to wear everyday to campus since you’re running out of decent clothes in your closet.
And just ignore the most likely possibility that those dresses would find their fate as the loyal and eternal residences of your old closet instead, since of course you would most likely never ever going to wear them anyway because you would not find any right occasion to wear them or probably by the time you’d find one, you’d be too fat and those cute dresses just would not fit you anymore. Never mind, you know it’s just too unimportant to be thought about.

The thing is you own the dresses now. You’re happy, and you’re satisfied.

Now, think about the accessories. Is there anyone who happens to read my blog and care to compound this euphoric pointlessness know any vintage store in town where I can get this really classic gloves, like the pair that is used to wear by Audrey Hepburn in the picture above, with a reasonably cheap price? Or is it possible to have them custom made by any tailor?
This is really serious. I’m dying to have them as the accessories for my not-going-to-wear-it-anywhere cute dresses. Just call it another act of euphoric stress relieving therapy, god knows I need those therapy. So please, any recommendation would be highly appreciated.

Sincerely,
-sisie-

Pikebubbles *

I just realized a funny thing. For the past 48 days alone, I hade unconsciously used the phrase ‘ah… he really looks like my dad’ or ‘he reminds me of my dad’ for at least three times, addressed to at least three different men. First, it was Popo, when he kindly drove me home and refused to let me pay for his gas after I got ripped off by that dumb and irresponsible bandit - quoting the term used by the Russian government to refer the Chechen terrorists - on that bloody Friday afternoon. Second, it was the ‘dad’ from an oldskool Japanese quiz show in television who was struggling to pile up three hundred coins of 10 yen in less than seven minutes in order to win prizes for his family, he had five children, all of them are under 10, and an unadorned beautiful wife, the ‘dad’ was given five days to practice making the coins tower in his own house before had had to do it live in the studio. He practiced and practiced and practiced, and the coins tower was always fell, fell, and fell. In that five days of practice, out of… maybe more than 100 attempts of piling up the coins, he succeeded only three times, because his house was so small and he had so many children, small children who could not stop running and bouncing around while keep on screaming and yelling all the time. Every time the coins tower was beginning to stand high, the smallest child came and sat curiously next to the ‘dad’, unfortunately, he was always making too much moves which of course made the table in which the ‘dad’ pile up those coins shook and the tower fell once again. However, although knowing that he really should make it right if he really wanted to win the prizes for his family, not a single time the ‘dad’ was caught making even an annoyed face when his children disturbing his concentration over and over again, he always gave the same patient smile, never once got snap even though his coins tower always fell and fell. When the day of the show really came, they invited the whole family to watch him making the coins tower, but this time… no more practice, it’s the final, once he failed and the tower fell, there would not be any second chance, and those prizes for his family would be gone forever. And everything went so tense at that time, minute after minute, coins after coins, the camera rolled and the viewer could even see how his children closed their eyes and prayed for him, one of them even got too anxious and worried, he got burst in tears. But finally, in the minute six and fifty seconds, their dad succeeded in making the coins tower. He was a hero for them at that moment.
Then the third man reminded me of my dad was the character of Victor Navorsky in The Terminal, played by Tom Hanks. Navorsky was the stranded immigrant from Krakhozia, who was compelled by the power-syndrome-evil immigration officer to stay at the airport while waiting for permission from the USA government to grant his visa and passport and allow him to enter the USA in order to complete his mission. This however, would remain nearly impossible, because at the very same time of his landing, it precisely coincided the point of time where the war had struck in his country, which had caused his nation of origin to no longer exist, making him a man without a country, who did not have any valid identity that might be acknowledged by the states. So he was stuck at the airport and had no other choice but to make his life went on. But Navorsky did not complain, he was not even angered. He did not face his oppressor with fist and fury but he chose to try to make the best out of his bounded life instead. He found every simple joy of life that would somehow make him smile and make other people smile, and that’s how he swept the board.

I miss my dad, and maybe that’s why those three persons remind me of my dad so much. They definitely do not share any similarity in terms of physical, but they do share things in common; they are all the kind of person who doesn’t use rage and anger as their weapon.
It’s very rare to see my dad pull an angry face, he’s the kind of person who instead of chosing to use his energy to lower the car window to shout angrily and give a finger to those sickly annoying motorcycles or metrominis that always overtake his road, his energy is used to lower the car window to give a smile and a thumb up for all those people who kindly let him pass his way. He’s the kind of person who faces his client’s exasperating complaints with a patient smile while listening to all their needs. He ceases anger with smile and, most of the time, it does work.

I remember one day when we’re driving, there’s a car that pass his way so sudden it almost hit our car. My dad had to brake hard to avoid the car. He was a bit pissed, I know, but he did not crack up, he let the car passed through his way while taking a deep breath. I was the one who got a bit angry that time and could not stop protesting his weak respond. My dad only smiled and said, ‘Sisie, it’s not a weak respond, think of it as an act of kindness, as a good deed, probably the driver of that car really had to do that because his wife is about to give birth and therefore he needed to be in a very rush, or maybe his daughter is dying and he really needed to be there on the side of his daughter or… whatever. I mean… we never really know, don’t we? Had we chosen to unleash the rage, it would only make things worse for him. Besides, it did not do us too much of a harm if we chose to yield a bit, instead, it might help other people. And believe me, any act of kindness always come round again, it’ll always be returned. Every time I do my act of kindness I always remember my family and I always remember you, If I do kindness to other people, I know that other people will also be kind to my daughter.’

I was touched knowing that he really do care about me so much, but I had to admit that I never really believed on such thing. I mean, what kind of logical explanation could explain the possibility of my dad’s act of kindness, no matter how kind and touching it might be, would be straightly returned to his daughter? None, I believe.

However, at the very same day, I had to go back to Jakarta. Everyone who knew me really well of course how bad my spatial sense is, so at that time, after my third visit to Gambir, I still got lost. But fortunately, everyone there had been so nice and helpful I managed to find the right gate and took the right train to Depok. Of course I still thought that it had nothing to do with ‘the act of kindness’ philosophy my dad told me, not until I finally got to the train. The train was a bit crowded, so I had to stand. It was a bit difficult because my backpack was a bit heavy and I carried two small paper bags on both of my hands, so practically I could not be able to take a grip on anything to keep me steady. And it was a bit annoying too, because there, right in front of me, there was a young man who was pretending to sleep, so that he would not have any obligation to give his seat for me. I mean, not that I was expecting for him to give his seat or anything, but his faking was so obvious it really nauseated me. But suddenly there was a pat on my hand, I looked and there was an old woman with worn-out clothes and a shabby look, sat right next to that young man, she was smiling and said ‘Mbak, turun dimana? Kasihan… sepertinya bawaannya berat sekali… mari saya pegangin bawaannya, mbak. Saya masih jauh turunnya, di stasiun Bogor.’

I was touched. Well… maybe it was because I looked so pitiful at that time, or could be… because my dad’s right.

And I think I envy my mum, she’s a darn lucky woman.


-sie-

*A title of a song about dad sung by the Cardigans in the Emmerdale album.

Meaningless Mumble

This is sickening... i just had a chat with some guy who tagged me at YM who said that Punk is the root of all evil, came from antichrist movement who was eventually became the root of all moral degradation or whatsoever including free sex, the anarchy movement, even nudism!
-sigh- hopeless... and he implicitly said that i knew nothing about that so just shut up and listen...

kalo orang2 kaya gini semua, enlightment apaan juga yang bisa ngebantu ya.. :(

anyway, better go home now i guess, males juga ngebahas yang kaya gini, i have a final test tomorrow so i guess i'll better burn and torture myself with that shocking pink semantics book, plus... there are two topics that i'm in the process of writing now for my blog, i guess i have to finish those two so that i can post it here.

*masih pusing kepala*
-sie-

oh iya... a flash info... me and hany had a big upcoming project, tapi masih raw banget
check this out and tell me what u think (jadi ceritanya gw mo menjual seseorang...engg... sesuatu... atau apapun itu lah..)

Rino the Rhino
Adult entertainment all in one package
He can dance, he can sing.. and he's a one way ticket to pleasure island.

Gimana? kira2 kalo gw pake tag begitu dah cukup menjual belum ya?
atau ada ide lain?
hmm.. desperately needs money... -_-'

Je Cherche Un Homme

Je cherche un homme, un homme, un homme
Un Pierre, ou Paul, un Jacques, ou Tom
Mais n'importe comment il se nomme
S'il est un homme, homme, homme

Je n'exige pas un ???
Qui s' ??? dans les salons
Ni un type fort comme un Samson
Pourvu que j'ai un «mate » un ???

Il n'a pas besoin d'être un milliardaire
Qu'il soit beau, non ça m'est égale
Il n'a pas besoin d'être un grand lumièrestar du cinéma, ni prince royal

Je cherche un homme, un homme, un homme
Qu'il s'appelle Pierre, ou Paul, ou Tom
Pourvu qu'il donne son maximum

Je cherche un homme, un homme, un homme
Doesn't have to be prince or movie-star
A Texas oilman, or a French marquis
Doesn't have to be handsome as a picture
An ordinary guy is allright with me

Je cherche un hommme, un homme, un homme
Qu'il s'appelle Pierre, ou Paul, ou Tom
Pourvu qu'il donne son maximum

Je cherche un homme, un homme, un homme
Je cherche un homme, un homme, un homme

*Eartha Kitt*

tidak tidak... saya tidak mengerti bahasa Perancis... tapi lagu ini menyenangkan sekali :)
setelah kemarin menonton To Wong Foo, thanks for everything, yang sangat hillarious itu, saya jadi ingat lagu ini lagi... :) ahahaha... padahal waktu dulu jaman2nya kerja di ak'sa ra denger lagu ini bisa sampai empat-lima kali dalam satu shift... hahahaha... ah senangnya.. ada yang punya MP3 atau CD nya lagu ini nggak? mau dong...

Gelangputih buat mutihin kulit...

Sekarang bergaya 'bling-bling' tu lagi keren ya? Yah well... nggak tau dan terserah juga sih. Gw nggak gitu peduli... kalo gw ngerasa berhak make baju apa aja yang gw suka ya berarti orang lain juga lah. Saya sih senang2 saja lah, kadang2 menyenangkan juga jalan2 ke mal dan ngeliat bermacam2 AGJ yang berlomba2 dandan paling 'bling-bling' dengan celana hipster gede banget n anting2 kinclong nan gede... dengan kulit yang makin lama makin tan aja... mungkin disekolahnya mereka sengaja ngisengin guru supaya dapet alesan dijemur di lapangan upacara biar kulitnya jadi makin coklat ala artis2 hip hop n r 'n b luar negeri...
Tapi ada yang sedikit ngeganggu... salah satu temen gw kebetulan bergaya kaya gitu juga. No offense ya man, beneran gw ga keberatan kok sama fashion statement lo... cuma mau ngebenerin dikit aja. Inget gak waktu gw tanya kenapa lo pake gelang putih di tangan kanan lo? Trus lo ngeliat gw dengan tatapan aneh seolah pengen bilang 'ini sisie knapaaa lagi nanya pertanyaan ga penting kaya gitu... ya suka2 gw lah mau pake apaan...' trus sambil ketawa kecil lo jawab asal2an... 'Ga pa pa... putih... biar bisa mutihin kulit. Lagian emang kenapa sih?'
Trus gw cuma senyum kecil aja.
Sebenernya lo pake gelang putih bukan buat mutihin kulit kok, apalagi buat gaya2an... tapi karena ini .

Umm... tapi nggak juga kali ya... mungkin gelang putih yang lo pake emang bukan buat yang ada di link diatas.. tapi murni buat mutihin kulit... bener nggak?

-sisie-