Seeing dreams dashing away
Not easy to say come what may
Since the fortitude are not to convey
And how I abhor those with different say
And I’ll be here to stay
On this year Christmas day
Until come the next remedy May
Fly on the compastela as I may
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
a.m./p.m.
9 p.m. I missed Oprah hearted fully. I saw a night breaking news which showed Oprah doing speech on the going to be opened Martin Luther King Memorial Center. Bush also baptized the place, to gain some of his popularity back after the mid election, perhaps.
8 a.m. An ordinary guy clapped his hands twice while squatting fastly, moved towards KOMDAK bridge. In a flick of fingers, those tired eyes and cramped hands cleaned over the well-arranged cheap stuff. Rp.5.000,00 belt, glasses, pirated DVD’s, to the five star-marked slippers. The hands’ owners were not filthy in fashion or in a dependent mood that you’ll see on beggars. They looked like old retired fathers and mothers, with well-worn shirt and cotton pants, with nice belt and glasses. Trying to bring more bread home. The ordinary guy clapping was their sign to rushly pack up their product, or else, the navy blue uniformed people will notch them down.
11. a.m. A first world country expatriate yelled to his PR, that he won’t come to the Idul Fitri party, and told her to call him just at the time she needed him to give a speech.
4.15. p.m. Worried over my reproduction organ’s safety. For the first time, I sat on a Mayasari Bakti carpeted machine beside the driver. I promise I won’t get my organ heated by anymore. I remembered my mom’s myth: no ojek hiking, it’ll dry my ovaries up. Of course, I’ll check google.
11.30 a.m. I loved my batik skirt. It went perfectly with the luncheon
6 p.m. “I fell for nice guys,” that’s what Miranda said on a sleepover two weeks ago. And I agree now. Nice, amiable guys.
8 a.m. An ordinary guy clapped his hands twice while squatting fastly, moved towards KOMDAK bridge. In a flick of fingers, those tired eyes and cramped hands cleaned over the well-arranged cheap stuff. Rp.5.000,00 belt, glasses, pirated DVD’s, to the five star-marked slippers. The hands’ owners were not filthy in fashion or in a dependent mood that you’ll see on beggars. They looked like old retired fathers and mothers, with well-worn shirt and cotton pants, with nice belt and glasses. Trying to bring more bread home. The ordinary guy clapping was their sign to rushly pack up their product, or else, the navy blue uniformed people will notch them down.
11. a.m. A first world country expatriate yelled to his PR, that he won’t come to the Idul Fitri party, and told her to call him just at the time she needed him to give a speech.
4.15. p.m. Worried over my reproduction organ’s safety. For the first time, I sat on a Mayasari Bakti carpeted machine beside the driver. I promise I won’t get my organ heated by anymore. I remembered my mom’s myth: no ojek hiking, it’ll dry my ovaries up. Of course, I’ll check google.
11.30 a.m. I loved my batik skirt. It went perfectly with the luncheon
6 p.m. “I fell for nice guys,” that’s what Miranda said on a sleepover two weeks ago. And I agree now. Nice, amiable guys.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
a catalyst
A catalyst is someone who is touching your most sensitive
The person heralding a non-significant beautiful manner
Pressing your alarm, burgeoning your production
Of imaginations, words,
Poems, stories,
Tears, metaphors,
Associations,
Future,
features
Giving facts to serendipities,
Befriend the competitors,
Praise the competitors,
Automatic well-mannerism,
Sad hoping flirtatious smile,
Canny soften voice
The sweetest masochism
Without realizing
It’s you who empower yourself
And the person is just a catalyst.
The person heralding a non-significant beautiful manner
Pressing your alarm, burgeoning your production
Of imaginations, words,
Poems, stories,
Tears, metaphors,
Associations,
Future,
features
Giving facts to serendipities,
Befriend the competitors,
Praise the competitors,
Automatic well-mannerism,
Sad hoping flirtatious smile,
Canny soften voice
The sweetest masochism
Without realizing
It’s you who empower yourself
And the person is just a catalyst.
1940
The red car with 19 cap is a public transportation for Kampung Rambutan to Depok route. The othr one, 40, is a brown-orange painted mini van serving the Kampung Rambutan to Pasar Rebo route. Both had been a prudential arena witnessing my fragility.
Fragility would mean a situation when an illuminating haze a remedy no more for reality. A phrase that breaks the hoping wall. Makes each dreg of reality bites you back. It ricochets. Letting the drips translate a real ambition that has been buried in a manner. From calm to calamities.
The process, quelling a warm water to flow, is the hardest one, since it takes at least two hours to get in to my destination. Two hours halting me from a liberating squall like what a baby does. That is the time when I’m surrounded with people whose face I will suspected. Each time one comes and takes a seat, I will tighten my purse. Pungent smell of people who just come back from a market, with wet vegetables and fish smell on their shirt. Shirt on their black black skin from the swelting sun and rare scrubbing. People with tired eyes. Eyes that glimmer their family, and perhaps, their several wives. I believe, they were happy on their wedding day, though. Now, it’s all the art of surviving for them, not an art of sufficing. On November, last year, this type of people was with me in 19 mikrolet. This October, they are with me in the 40. With me carrying my biggest melancholy of the year.
On its high speed way, I planned systematically things to be shared with a friend on the day after. Point per point analysis. I would spell out the bare truth. However, when for hours later I found myself doing my usual method; an elusive self healing, I am convinced, that is why I don’t like a downfall. It is because, practically, it is impossible to find a significant other half a t that time. Then, the lowest point will be a never ending cycle, giving a domino effect that I see won’t be good if I am not who I am now. It might be the lowest point, and without me.
P.S: despite the late night mysterious shootings these months, thank you for the 1940 people who didn’t kill, rape, or rob me (yet) although I’m a frequent midnight rider that should be easy to be watched and anticipated as a target.
Fragility would mean a situation when an illuminating haze a remedy no more for reality. A phrase that breaks the hoping wall. Makes each dreg of reality bites you back. It ricochets. Letting the drips translate a real ambition that has been buried in a manner. From calm to calamities.
The process, quelling a warm water to flow, is the hardest one, since it takes at least two hours to get in to my destination. Two hours halting me from a liberating squall like what a baby does. That is the time when I’m surrounded with people whose face I will suspected. Each time one comes and takes a seat, I will tighten my purse. Pungent smell of people who just come back from a market, with wet vegetables and fish smell on their shirt. Shirt on their black black skin from the swelting sun and rare scrubbing. People with tired eyes. Eyes that glimmer their family, and perhaps, their several wives. I believe, they were happy on their wedding day, though. Now, it’s all the art of surviving for them, not an art of sufficing. On November, last year, this type of people was with me in 19 mikrolet. This October, they are with me in the 40. With me carrying my biggest melancholy of the year.
On its high speed way, I planned systematically things to be shared with a friend on the day after. Point per point analysis. I would spell out the bare truth. However, when for hours later I found myself doing my usual method; an elusive self healing, I am convinced, that is why I don’t like a downfall. It is because, practically, it is impossible to find a significant other half a t that time. Then, the lowest point will be a never ending cycle, giving a domino effect that I see won’t be good if I am not who I am now. It might be the lowest point, and without me.
P.S: despite the late night mysterious shootings these months, thank you for the 1940 people who didn’t kill, rape, or rob me (yet) although I’m a frequent midnight rider that should be easy to be watched and anticipated as a target.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)