aku punya teman.
nama bekennya ada ranum-ranumnya gitu, deh.
trus belakangnya bee-bo, hehehe... pasti tau dong. (lokal, buat sastra Inggris UI). Tapi, ini ga ada hubungannya, sih.

Point is, I wanna be ripe.
In experience, in focus in life.
I think, it is so easy to find inspiring, ripe people.
When you see the lecturers in the department,
when I see them,
I know, I stll have lots to dig in in this world.

Ov, come on, Consolate yourself!

Feeling exhausted, it is official, Midtest is not all around anymore, but

* I lost my lovely agenda, which its each page I made on my own! plus... all notes about my final essay is all there. So, please... if you found a colorful agenda with the cover "Samuel Barber's Piano Concerto" at front and "Classic meets Cuba at the back", It belongs to me.

* Applying for a visa is not as easy as I imagined, plus... the bird flu issue plus Bali bombing II, make it harder. (lucky damn all first world citizen, for your accessibleness for visa on arrival).

* The thought of what I read in Sejarah Kebudayaan Indonesia materials for midtest is just too much to endure. Names of Buddha's hand gestures, their meanings, years and years passed by Pithecanthropus erectus, meganthropus, and fellows. Despite the real questions in midtest, which appeared to be EXACTLY THE SAME AS LAST YEAR'S.

*I couldn't speak fluently on basic conversation in Spanish! Moncho must had been dying to send me again to Bahasa Spanyol Sumber. I am so not typical of student in Bahasa Spanyol Sumber Lanjutan. Well, the typical ? ya, actually, the class is only joined by two legal interested students: me and Indah. Indah did spend her last summer in Spain. So, you can tell... I'm so ashamed of myself. Hope my smiles work.

* I have to search and find corpuses: articles, interviews, anything... for my final essay, about contemporary new age religions in US. can you help? :)

* I really dying without my agenda. It's pretty lovely, so I don't doubt the possibility that someone had seen it fell out of my stupid blue leathered bag and just took it. It consists of: two unique postcards, which I covered with sticky transparent plastic, Rp. 6.000. Plus, one pack of colorful papers in spotlight green, yellow, blue, orange, and pink, Rp. 20.000,00. Plus, a white binder, Rp. 10.000 for the process. Most importantly, my schedule for the next two weeks and my period calendar!

one consolation for tonite: Toni Morisson's "Love"
consolation for weekend: my lovely brother's birthday: Mossa is turning ten. Plus, his concert at Kelapa Gading. Won't miss the show, lil' bro!

Hail to writers. To those who abundantly ornate the ordinary into an extra. Feel lucky, hey, those people whose names are written. Whose forms inspire the senses of right people. Right people, those who will documented these standard thus becomes an embroided stitch in history.

*sigh* you guys, bloggers. Damn lucky those people whose body and soul alter into phrases. Though they might look good, actually the quality is in the tellers. Not in the object.

-a comment, after seeing abundant words of joy, tears, and confusions from my fellow bloggers...err... writers-

a midnite chat

Someone came and slept over at my room, asked, “Whom is you lean on?”, I replied, “God.” Then, unsatisfied question,” Oh, come on, you must have someone whose shoulders you put on when you need. Someone stronger and can cloak your world with breezy and relaxing atmosphere!”

Then, I described this in my head. On a circle plate, there I stand. Between me and other people, there is a ravine . It is God. Full with mixed consciousness, I say, whatever gender it is has a strength to control the balance of wind, thus I can stand steadily.

Afterward, I finished the answer by putting families near to my circle plate.

“And men?”

“I can take them as a complimentary. As a part of me. (Property, is that the word?) Not something haloing my plate.”

“Ah, I’m beginning to trust you…I can picture you doing that.”

“Good then,” said me.

Ode untuk Hati yang Terpatah

Untuk teman-temanku, yang baru mencoba merajut kembali tangganya, walau tangga itu penuh duri.
Aku sangat mengerti.

Seorang pelukis menggambarkan tangga untukmu
Ia membuatnya begitu rapi
begiti tersususn, periodik, teratur, hingga kau terbiasa...
Duniamu pun bagaikan imaji
Kauagungkannya dengan bingkai, kaupajang di ruang paling terang
Bahkan kaupun masuk ke dalamnya.
Lihat,
kamu, dengan senyum bahagia, bangga menantang dunia
Karena kamu punya tangga
yang akan menjagamu dari kejatuhan
akan membisikkan alunan sejuk saat kaumengaduh
yang menginspirasikanmu untuk berbuat yang terbaik
bukan demi nilai
demi dia
Namun,
saat tangga dihapus,
kau seperti lukisan bodoh di sana
semua orang yang menggunjingkanmu
semua yang menikmati ceritamu
semua penggosip di Kansas
Semua teman menceramahimu dengan ajaran POSA , KUKSA, atau Musholla
Bahkan sang pelukis
menganggapmu
bodoh.
Pathethic!
Aku mengerti itu,
bukan salahmu terpana pada lukisanmu sendiri
Menangislah.
Jadilah saksi untuk semua penikmat
bahwa dalam dunia sureal itu,
kaulah yang paling logis.
Saat mereka ingin menarikmu kembali,
hanya peri waktu yang dapat membuat bingkai itu lebih kecil
hingga dapat berpindah tempat.
Tidak lagi mengkotakkimu.
Tapi dapat kaujinjing,
kausimpan,
kaukunci di ruang berdebu,
kaujual,
atau bahkan
kaubuang.

hail to PLN
Ibu Asistia.... we love you so much!!!

-dhika-ovi-pade-melanie-arief-astrid...

-to be continued-

mental breakdown

1. No money to go to WUDC 2006
2. No efficient effort to debate, nationally, and internationally
3. No faith in my own final thesis
4. ...can think no more...
5. no sports time...bad, bad, bad!!! even no time for salsa!

see you soon, think that I really need a super suplements in handling my days. Probably, also need a haircut.

tattoos from an angel

She was very kind. Her Christian name is even Angela. Suits perfectly. And that day, strikingly, each of her friends had a tearful problem. Afterward, she bought a strip of temporary tattoo in the bazaar. With a help of a cup of Aqua, a pack of Paseo, and a scissors or cutter, then voila!
Meci got one sexy butterfly on the side of her neck.
Billy got one on his wrist.
Andie got two butterflies. One for his right bicep, and one for his back neck.
Billy then asked for more. This one was a flower on his right bicep.
And me? I got a butterfly on my left wrist, for a tearful problem that I thought it was me who hallucinated the whole knots of signs to become an agony, which I endure until I felt blessed.
And the angel? She got one too. One beautiful butterfly on her right hand, in between the thumb and forefinger, signified that she also had a problem.
And t’was, a real perfect painful day for us to smile over.

and this is a different story, played by the different butterfly...


.…and the butterfly didn’t understand. It flied around a yellow buttercup held in a strong grasp. At first, the hand shooed it off. The wave moved the wind around. It soothed the butterfly in this dry season. Wind run smoothly through its skin. Tickling sheer optimized by the pat of the hand. The hand admired beautiful pattern, which lingering on it. Butterfly really enjoyed, and didn’t understand. Then, the hand shooed, without patting. Minimum spoil made the butterfly reacted. It didn’t go away, but went nearer to the hand, asked for more. Then, I didn’t know what happened. I just turned my head for a while, attracted to adzan maghrib that stroke. Or adzan subuh, or the church bell, I couldn’t tell the difference. Since the puzzled mind was hardly processing what my ears heard, I came back to the butterfly. It was exhaustedly lying on a garbage pile beside the soil where the dandelions grew. And I heard the butterfly, “Ah, now I understand,” while it was struggling, twisted, in between stinky heap. The carbonate produced by the waste pulverized on the air, soaked into its skin, complete with low hiss. Ruined the beauty. And the butterfly said, “Thank you, for making me understand.”
Poor butterfly, I thought.

An SMS from a friend: “ There was an explosion in Kuta Square. Don’t know what that was. And I was 2 minutes away from the site.” I could not imagine the wariness I have of losing another friend, but in Indonesia, you just keep your finger crossed.

For the Stiff

I felt rocks fulfilling my stomach. Sick and tired. Sick of om om who kept on trying to impress. Tired of frowning my face, put maximum effort to be undesirable. So I wanted to spill those out. OUT. Unfortunately, best friends were sleeping, average friends couldn’t be contacted, undefined friends were not enthusiastic, and I do not have that many friends at all.
“What?” stroke him.
“Ehmm… nothing. Just have no fellows to share my stories with,” said me in spoiled voice.
“Ya, it’s you, ya… always have no clear aim why you call someone, why you talk with someone,”he talked graphically as he used to be.
Considering the noise as his background, then I asked where was he. And he was in public place. He is so like my father when it comes to public place: public enemy. Meaning: always complaining person, even to innocent sweet little kids. Absolutely with anger voices.
“Ouhkay, Mr. Stiff… how do you expect me to act to you? As your colleague? As your subordinate in your networking world? For those positions unable me having casual chit chats. But we’re more than that, rite?”
Glossary: “We’re friends!”
And friends do unimportant shares.

Waiting for the stiff to be loosened.

“Every now and then she looked around for tangible evidence of his having ever been there. Where were the butterflies? The blueberries? The whistling reed? She could find nothing, for he had left nothing but his stunning absence. An absence so decorative, so ornate, it was difficult for her to understand how she had ever endured, without falling dead or being consumed, his magnificent presence.”
-Toni Morison in Sula-

for me: the massive messages have been deleted.

Dreams of the Sexies

When her lips splashed out the word T H E C L A S H or T H E C U R E, 80’s and 90’s songs, the sexiness is still there. Still the same senses you felt nine years ago when she spelled B O Y Z O N E, or C O D E R E D D U E T S W I T H A L D A. No one could really copies her smirky face tickles the celebrities but then it will be neutralized with her apologic smiles and honorable mention of the upcoming artist with their videos. Originally entertaining. For my teenager hero, I do not want to exchange the dream with the real. She is an editor in chief for a hip female teenage magazine in Jakarta now. Knowing that behind the scenes of glossy pages are usually cloudy, dark effort to shine each day with pieces of abundant accessories to cover up their flows, thus they can be accepted and called unique beauty, as United Colours of Benetton campaigns. Absorbing that what actually happens out there are women versus women to defend their own identities in the name of postmodernism.
I opt to be still in teenage dream and crown her as my sexy hero.
Just as I do not want my lecturers to act casually, I want they to keep on the high dreams of mine. They’re good up there. Once touches my senses, all will be ruined.

A Phrase of Agony

How much do a frame takes more attention than the painting itself? It is when you as yourself, and only you, consider the real attraction is the frame, which used to be the painting, but somehow must be shifted into a frame. Straightforwardly,

She stared at standing people in front of her bleakly. Dark men in dark suits. Heavy skeletons kept them alive and faithfully brought them home to the ladies and children. Really, no glimpse of rainbows, or sparkled lights, which usually may glee her. All was a hard puzzle to be interpreted through lines and wrinkles on faces. You should contemplate rigidly until you may take the meaning of those old, exhausted faces were a struggle of life. Hard to think, when she was really in their same struggle too.
She did not do that. The staring of the big picture was just a full concentration, so she could see the line through the tip of her left eye. She couldn’t see it barely, though. But for sure, firm figure was there. The neck was higher than her softest hair on the peak of her head. You could tell the chest beating together with hers, though not in the same rhyme.

For it had decided not to take the same rhyme anymore.
For hands will not intermingled.
For the greatest power was conducting the organs, Dio.
And she understood and understands
Dio mysteriously will always right at the end.
Gloria in Excelsis Deo, they sing harkly on Christmas.
For the Dio, she shifted the main attraction into frame.
He had determined
To be the frame
Too
Stop painting all heavenly fountains of honey, sparkling, and apple that may pour and abundant her throat with sin.
The sweetest one.

kata menyesak lensa dengan hitam putih
alun menabuh gendang dengan ritma gembira
tipu banjiri udara lewat dua katup terbuka
Minteva penuhi rasa memberi intimasi semerbak
sengat dan beku meresap, aku lebih bahagia
itu baru indera
pun ribuan imaji kutusukkan ke labirinku
aku pun tunduk ke pembuat candu
anginnya meniup luka hingga halusinasi datang
karena darah membeku dan mengering
semua, agar kau tak terlihat,
sayangku.

You can See Much on A Bus

Taking public transportation makes you not immune for several things. First, pollution, of course. Second, being near to strange people, om om specially. Third, you’re also not immune to hate speech.

I was on my way back home on Sunday. Plead for more dosage of religious sanity. Budi was busy with Go and they would go together for a family lunch, so I didn’t wanna join. On one of the most comfortable bus in Jakarta, 102 (in my opinion, pardon), there came a man. A man with a face you can’t hate, fatherly figure. Thus, when you gaze at him, the depiction of children will emerge on his face. And he told us, the passenger: “Let us fight immorality. Immoralities like prostitution, gambling, et cetera. Those which was popularized by Jewish and Christian people. Now, let us do something, not just silent our actions. Where did all Christian people go when FPI was busy closing the pubs and prostitution? Christian people must also help the Moslem. Do not only quiet! Act! Or maybe they just want to let us act and be happy, laugh out loud when the Moslems died?...and he spoke out few verses from Quran.

I guess, God did not need my fortification. It was me, who needed the power
To stay calm
And still felt blissful that I was going to comfort myself at his/her/or whatever gender it is’s home


N.B: The next day afterward, I was on an ojek, took my way to the university when I saw a BIG baliho on the street saying, "Do not build any church here! If there is a buliding, just prepare for the risk! -Young Moslem Society-"

and it was near. So near to my house.

. .... .....

The diner is nearly closed for it was only the girl and a couple busy with their so called dinner. The girl sat in the seat near to the glass transparent window with dripped water of rain. The toaster was there paralleled a plate with tall neck where on top of it remained few slices of home-made pie. Old man was busy behind the desk counting how much he got for today. The billboard bulbs lost their ray sometimes, that the glowing multiplied colors on wet asphalt appeared on and out, delighted then sublimous grey. It was powerful since the moon was still hiding behind grayish clouds, which just had continued the sea work. Old recorder played Harry James’ It’s Been A Long Time, Dick Haymes’ It Might As Well Be Spring, Blue Moon, even from the Grease soundtrack, blues in the night. This is the setting I wanna go every time I need to cry out loud. Not by disappearing from earth. Guess this situation has a high quality to authority you exanimate yourself.

picture taken from www.film.org

Umeboshi

Narumi was an ordinary girl. Kind, polite, and unfussy. When the others grabbed salem and soft green polo shirts, she just stood in front of the display. The other four were hopping from Zara, Body Shop, Body & Soul, and a lil bit Kinokuniya. And Narumi left herself behind with native girls who also find a shop hop is too happening for them. As someone who had to use body language every time I connected with them, of course I left myself behind too. Tried to make a conversation with Narumi, explaining the name of this mall is Pondok Indah Mall 2 and we were going to Pondok Indah Mall 1… in half an hour gesture talking, which eventually she could understand the meaning by saying 1 is old and 2 is new. Being nice to each other, we gave our contact numbers and tried to gesture other meanings. Later on, Narumi handed me a little cute transparent wrapping with kanji and cartoon on it. What was inside? Umeboshi.
Umeboshi, a brownish round cake, seems like a big ginger candy with jellish texture. It has a solid core on its center, darker than the other side. The umeboshi was a lil bit wet. And I bite a bit. Hard corer than my mom’s jamu kencur. Muscles on my chins wrinkled automatically, and my eyes narrowed.
“Suki?”
“humm..ok. Nice,”said me, smirked, to the nice Narumi.
Tell me other tips to respect others’ traditional food rather than eat it wholly and say that it is ok. While wrinkled and smirked, Go came after me and said, “Ovi san… you should eat it fully at once.”
Thanks for the tips, Go.

so someone said, "Ov, you're smart, but not threatening enough."
Then I considered it means I'm not smart enough.

.....
too sweet, just like brown sugar or jasmine tea wrapped in delightful, firm, wooden craved box. Gratia gusti. Displaying tender view; purplish blossomed flowers on the valley, equaling the face to face touch and soft vocals. Understanding eyes aware of what really happens. Pitiful. Chained before glass ceiling. False consciusness accepted right. Framing the whole that cannot be bursted out.
Untouchable

picture taken from www.wrightslaw.com