8 girls in one car; all single and not even close to dating guys anytime soon. What are the chances right? Answer is, it happens. As a matter of fact, I was actually one of the girls. Sucker!
So what do we exactly call that? Most people would shout SAD! Others would automatically think that those girls must be really unworthy of appraisals that no guys would ever try to touch (this, my friends, is not true nevertheless). In other word, SAD! SAD! SAD!!!
Me? I wouldn’t call that sad. Sad is a situation when everyone else around you has the same code ethic of coolness, but for some reason you couldn’t live up to the standards. Then you should feel free to call yourself a big fat loser.
But in the 8-single-girls-in-one-car case, DATING is actually not a code ethic of coolness in their environment. Hah, you’re probably thinking what the heck kinda environment is that, right? Well I’ll tell you what kind of environment that is: It’s the kind that somehow lets 6 of those 8 girls aforementioned above never ever gotten their first kiss!! Oh to prove my point, I shouldn’t say girls. LADIES is probably a better term.
If you still can’t picture the kind of environment we’re sinking our souls and bodies into, let me try to describe more in vivid details:
- It is the kind of environment that nurtures and recreates followers.
Those who follow the most and those who are far from being individualistic are considered as the gods and goddesses of funk! YAY!
- It is the kind of environment that always tries hard to unite its people together; ironically the result drifts one group even further from the other.
Okay people tomorrow we meet up altogether to play some soccer! Oh but umm, of course, that emo bitch shouldn’t come because if she comes, people will start wondering why on earth did she come, and we sure don’t want to cause some confusion ,do we now? Unity in diversity!
- It is the kind of environment where Chinese Whisper is the most played game of all.
Hey I heard that she was rebelling to the seniors during the orientation program, wait no didn’t she also cry or something, nah man I heard she was yelling at the seniors because they told her not to eat with her hands during lunch, yeah dude but then all the seniors started yelling back at her and she ended up CRYING!!! (My suggestion is: GET THE FUCKING FACTS RIGHT!!!)
- It is the kind of environment in which dating and relationships are as boring as ever.
Dude have you frenched her? Nah man it’s only been three months. What have you guys done then? Well yesterday I kinda gave her a peck. DUUUDEEE that’s still cool man I mean me and my girl have said the world LOVE to each other but she still wants to save her first cheek-kiss until we’re married!
- It is the kind of environment where indulgence is always in whereas sufferings are underrated.
Hey let’s just take the public transport, it’s cheap and way faster than if we wait for your chauffeur to pick us up. Noooo I don’t want to get into those dirty little cars, they stink and I don’t want my odor to mix with those wretched little poor creatures inside!
- It is the kind of environment where in order to get boys to like you, you have to have some certain traits.
First, you have to be cute. Second, clingy. Third, whiny. Next, you have to have a hint of stupidity so those boys wouldn’t feel intimidated by you, also they’d have something to make fun of. Oh and one last thing, you have to be utterly passive. None of them like an aggression, since obviously all are still virgin. Cheers to *oppressed* innocence!
- It is the kind of environment in which groups are so close-knitted it lets no air to breathe in.
I know right guys, as popular as we are, we should celebrate new year’s eve in a 5-star hotel! Oh just make sure the hotel we’re staying in isn’t also occupied by those other kids from public highschools, we’d like to enjoy our sucking-up moments to ourselves, puhlease!
- It is the kind of environment in which the word difference is synonym with outcast.
Oh haven’t you gotten yourself a blackberry? I mean why not, literally everyone else did! It’s like, how are we gonna keep in touch with you when you don’t keep yourself on track through blackberry messenger? Text messages are sooo five minutes ago girl, so we’re sorry if you weren’t informed about our next hang-out, your fault for not having a blackberry in hand!
Now you see why I’ve been more than desperate to break the fuck free??
P.S. My apologies for those who are offended by this, but I know deep down you know I'm right. Like always, I tell it like it is.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Literature and music.
We Make The World Go Round :DTop 5 books:
- The God of Small Things
- Jane Eyre
- The Little Prince
- Time Traveller's Wife
- CATCHER IN THE RYE!!!
Top 5 bands (at the moment):
- The White Stripes
- The Temper Trap
- Foo Fighters
- Aerosmith
- The Smiths
model: Adilla and Tara (again)
- The God of Small Things
- Jane Eyre
- The Little Prince
- Time Traveller's Wife
- CATCHER IN THE RYE!!!
Top 5 bands (at the moment):
- The White Stripes
- The Temper Trap
- Foo Fighters
- Aerosmith
- The Smiths
model: Adilla and Tara (again)
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Highschool is more fun if there's somebody to stalk.
This is me and my bff, Tara
We share the same crush at school
But instead of turning into rivals
We decided to go for threesome
(IF we have the chance to, obviously)
But anyways, how AWESOME are we?? :D
P.S. Puppy love is the coolest kind of love ever exist
We share the same crush at school
But instead of turning into rivals
We decided to go for threesome
(IF we have the chance to, obviously)
But anyways, how AWESOME are we?? :D
P.S. Puppy love is the coolest kind of love ever exist
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Cosmic irrelevance.
Tonight was pretty depressing. I had a long conversation over the phone and MSN with one of my closest friends (initial M) and we kinda poured our hearts out about how unhappy and unexciting our lives are at this stage, and this situation. She said she'd rather keep a positive thought at bay and get over those feelings of dissatisfaction and just keep living. I said, let's have a what if game.
adilla caulfield says:
what if i stayed in Australia
M says:
you would never meet us three AND MATTTTTT
I can't help but ponder over this one a bit. True, if I didn't move out to Indonesia, I would've never met all these people, some of whom I've shared everything with. But the real question is, so what? So what if I never met him or her or whatever, I would've met other people in other places too anyway. And obviously I wouldn't have regretted not meeting him or her or whatever, since I couldn't possibly predict how my life would turn out with/without having these/those people in my life, and since I would've never gotten close with their existence in the first place. Same goes for them. If they didn't meet me, they wouldn't know what it's like if they did, so practically they lose/gain nothing.
For example, if I stayed in Australia, I might be dating Charlie right now, and have the time of my life? But do I regret having to move to Indonesia and not date Charlie? NO, because obviously I don't know who the fuck Charlie is, I never met him yet. For all it's worth, you don't know what's going to happen to you until it happens.
Point is... Jesus do I even have any point?? I guess not, this is just one of those i-hate-the-world midnight ramblings people tend to write when they have nothing else to do except hating the world...
P.S. I'd still date Charlie Chaplin though, gives me something to laugh about in the middle of this chaotic, cruel world.
adilla caulfield says:
what if i stayed in Australia
M says:
you would never meet us three AND MATTTTTT
I can't help but ponder over this one a bit. True, if I didn't move out to Indonesia, I would've never met all these people, some of whom I've shared everything with. But the real question is, so what? So what if I never met him or her or whatever, I would've met other people in other places too anyway. And obviously I wouldn't have regretted not meeting him or her or whatever, since I couldn't possibly predict how my life would turn out with/without having these/those people in my life, and since I would've never gotten close with their existence in the first place. Same goes for them. If they didn't meet me, they wouldn't know what it's like if they did, so practically they lose/gain nothing.
For example, if I stayed in Australia, I might be dating Charlie right now, and have the time of my life? But do I regret having to move to Indonesia and not date Charlie? NO, because obviously I don't know who the fuck Charlie is, I never met him yet. For all it's worth, you don't know what's going to happen to you until it happens.
Point is... Jesus do I even have any point?? I guess not, this is just one of those i-hate-the-world midnight ramblings people tend to write when they have nothing else to do except hating the world...
P.S. I'd still date Charlie Chaplin though, gives me something to laugh about in the middle of this chaotic, cruel world.
Friday, November 27, 2009
I miss this guy.
It's been almost a year now since we first met. It's been months since I stopped missing him. It's been two hours since I started feeling melancholic today - the kind of melancholy that triggers you to miss somebody - therefore I started missing him all over again. At times like this, the only thing I could think about is his voice over the phone, saying "I promise someday we'll see each other again."
"Long ago, men went to sea, and women waited for them, standing on the edge of the water, scanning the horizon for the tiny ship. Now I wait for Henry. He vanishes unwillingly, without warning. I wait for him. Each moment that I wait feels like a year, an eternity. Each moment is as slow and transparent as glass. Through each moment I can see infinite moments lined up, waiting. Why has he gone where I cannot follow?"
An excerpt from The Time Traveler's Wife
P.S. I hope he doesn't read my blog!!!
Monday, November 23, 2009
My adolescent life is an anti-climax.
Like a roller coaster on a straight lane
Like faking an orgasm
Like a movie with a boring ending
Like a long road trip not arriving
Like skateboarding with dislocated knees
Like bad first dates
Like baaaddd first kisses
Like an expired stand-up comedian
Like David Haselhoff
Like the point of no return, except it ain’t a point, it’s a circle that goes round
and round so tediously even the sun eventually gets bored of providing wasted sunrays
Never mind, this is emo Adilla talking
Like faking an orgasm
Like a movie with a boring ending
Like a long road trip not arriving
Like skateboarding with dislocated knees
Like bad first dates
Like baaaddd first kisses
Like an expired stand-up comedian
Like David Haselhoff
Like the point of no return, except it ain’t a point, it’s a circle that goes round
and round so tediously even the sun eventually gets bored of providing wasted sunrays
Never mind, this is emo Adilla talking
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Call me over-the-top, but I love rain.
Call me cheesy, but one of the things I wish to do before I die is to kiss under a pouring rain. And by pouring rain I really meant like the storm in that particular scene on Notebook, not just some stupid drizzle in some stupid park in Tasmania on a year 9 camp with a guy who barely looked like Ryan Gosling.
Call me naive, but rainbows make me happy. And of course rainbow only appears after rain pours. In short, rain makes me happy.
Call me a nutcase, but when I was about 7 I thought those tiny drops of water coming down from the sky were literally God’s tears, and when it rained, I believed God was crying for the sake of humankind. For some reason, those irrational believes kind of put a deeper meaning of how I viewed rain when I was little.
Call me a pseudomaniac, but I hate the saying “Always have your umbrella ready in case it rains”. It’s like, dude how boring can you be?? Accept some challenges instead of avoiding them in the first place, for God’s sake!
Call me a bitch, but I hate sharing umbrellas. At times like that, the world only belongs to me and the sound of raindrops hitting the umbrella, so no need of intruders please.
The only time I hate rain is the hours before it happened. The weather gets super hot and all humid and sticky and makes me wanna kill somebody, but when finally the rain comes everything turns composed and replenished again.
Call me naive, but rainbows make me happy. And of course rainbow only appears after rain pours. In short, rain makes me happy.
Call me a nutcase, but when I was about 7 I thought those tiny drops of water coming down from the sky were literally God’s tears, and when it rained, I believed God was crying for the sake of humankind. For some reason, those irrational believes kind of put a deeper meaning of how I viewed rain when I was little.
Call me a pseudomaniac, but I hate the saying “Always have your umbrella ready in case it rains”. It’s like, dude how boring can you be?? Accept some challenges instead of avoiding them in the first place, for God’s sake!
Call me a bitch, but I hate sharing umbrellas. At times like that, the world only belongs to me and the sound of raindrops hitting the umbrella, so no need of intruders please.
The only time I hate rain is the hours before it happened. The weather gets super hot and all humid and sticky and makes me wanna kill somebody, but when finally the rain comes everything turns composed and replenished again.
Friday, November 20, 2009
The pressure is on.
Right now all of us 12th graders are put under a gigantic amount of pressure, considering the exaggeratedly demanding yet useless Indonesian educational system that requires us to have brains as big as Einstein’s.
At times like this, boys become books. Hanging out at the malls becomes studying at home. Stalking random people on the internet becomes stalking your teachers at school for extra lessons. Being angry at God for reasons unknown becomes begging God to bless you with enough patience and perseverance. Gossiping about whom made out with whom becomes discussing about the velocity of gravitational pull and the interconnection of DNA determinations. Wanting to become a movie star becomes striving to get into a good university.
Most of my friends have two options: If they don’t get accepted into one of the best universities in Indonesia, they have one of those expensive, foreign-owned, socially-homogenetic private colleges for back-ups. But me, I don’t have any back-ups. I have one option, and one option only. It’s either architecture ITB (Bandung Institution of Technology), or total embarrassment. The pressure is doubled, and I become like a weak donkey who’s spine almost cracks in two due to the obese, merciless master fully pressing his weight upon the pitiful donkey.
At times like this, I wish Holden Caulfield would come to rescue:
“ Here’s my idea. How would you like to get the hell out of here? Here’s my idea. I know this guy down in Greenwich Village that we can borrow his car for a couple of weeks. He used to go to the same school I did and he still owes me ten bucks. What we could do is, tomorrow morning we could drive up to Massachusetts and Vermont, and all around there, see. It’s beautiful up there. It really is” ... “I have about a hundr
ed and eighty bucks in the bank. I can take it out when it opens in the morning, and then I could go down and get this guy’s car. No kidding. We’ll stay in these cabin camps and stuff like that till the dough runs out. Then, when the dough runs out, I could get a job somewhere and we could live somewhere with a brook and all and, later on, we could get married or something. I could chop all our own wood in the wintertime and all. Honest to God, we could have a terrific time! Wuddaya say? C’mon! Wuddaya say? Will you do it with me? Please!”
If only he would magically materialize from the pages of the book and popped me the question, I would shout on top of my lungs with vibrations so ear-numbing I’d kill birds: “YES!!! A THOUSAND TIMES YES!!! PLEASE HOLDEN, JUST GET ME OUTTA HERE!!!” Hey don’t judge me, all I want is a sweet escape! Plus it’d be way fun to live somewhere deep in a forest, with nothing to mind and nobody else to interfere. And when winter comes, all day long I’d sit on a rocking chair on my wrap-around porch and watch the muscles on Holden’s arms flexing as he chops the firewood.
If only...
At times like this, boys become books. Hanging out at the malls becomes studying at home. Stalking random people on the internet becomes stalking your teachers at school for extra lessons. Being angry at God for reasons unknown becomes begging God to bless you with enough patience and perseverance. Gossiping about whom made out with whom becomes discussing about the velocity of gravitational pull and the interconnection of DNA determinations. Wanting to become a movie star becomes striving to get into a good university.
Most of my friends have two options: If they don’t get accepted into one of the best universities in Indonesia, they have one of those expensive, foreign-owned, socially-homogenetic private colleges for back-ups. But me, I don’t have any back-ups. I have one option, and one option only. It’s either architecture ITB (Bandung Institution of Technology), or total embarrassment. The pressure is doubled, and I become like a weak donkey who’s spine almost cracks in two due to the obese, merciless master fully pressing his weight upon the pitiful donkey.
At times like this, I wish Holden Caulfield would come to rescue:
“ Here’s my idea. How would you like to get the hell out of here? Here’s my idea. I know this guy down in Greenwich Village that we can borrow his car for a couple of weeks. He used to go to the same school I did and he still owes me ten bucks. What we could do is, tomorrow morning we could drive up to Massachusetts and Vermont, and all around there, see. It’s beautiful up there. It really is” ... “I have about a hundr
ed and eighty bucks in the bank. I can take it out when it opens in the morning, and then I could go down and get this guy’s car. No kidding. We’ll stay in these cabin camps and stuff like that till the dough runs out. Then, when the dough runs out, I could get a job somewhere and we could live somewhere with a brook and all and, later on, we could get married or something. I could chop all our own wood in the wintertime and all. Honest to God, we could have a terrific time! Wuddaya say? C’mon! Wuddaya say? Will you do it with me? Please!”If only he would magically materialize from the pages of the book and popped me the question, I would shout on top of my lungs with vibrations so ear-numbing I’d kill birds: “YES!!! A THOUSAND TIMES YES!!! PLEASE HOLDEN, JUST GET ME OUTTA HERE!!!” Hey don’t judge me, all I want is a sweet escape! Plus it’d be way fun to live somewhere deep in a forest, with nothing to mind and nobody else to interfere. And when winter comes, all day long I’d sit on a rocking chair on my wrap-around porch and watch the muscles on Holden’s arms flexing as he chops the firewood.
If only...
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The maternal side of me.
I have my own (rather immature, yet completely honest) reasons of not wanting to have babies:
- I don't wanna go through the trouble of gaining like, 60 pounds and not being able to lose some weight after
- I don't wanna go through the trouble of extra vicious mood swings and killing my own husband because I'd feel unfair that he doesn't have to go through what I'm going through at the moment
- I don't wanna go through the trouble of being insanely wretched by pure, anti-human pain of labor and be crippled forever (okay this one is exaggerated)
- I just don't wanna go through the trouble
Yet, I do have one good reason to have babies: I LOVE THE EXCITEMENT OF GIVING NAMES!!! :D
And yes, I already came up with some ideas of what my daughters would be named. See how motherly I could be??
Hindi based: Drupadi Lakshmarya Durga
...Which is stupid since the word Lakshmarya is derived from Laksmi, and in Hinduism Laksmi is the Goddess of Wisdom, Prosperity, Generosity, Fertility, and Light. Whereas Durga is the Goddess of War and Destruction. Nevertheless, me likey!!! Those words really do ring, for my defense.
Islam Based: Bahar Amnasheera Shafaq
Shafaq translates to "the redness in the sky at sunset". Which is relevant, since I'm a sunset-maniac. And for Bahar (which translates to "spring"), seriously who wouldn't want their daughters to look as beautiful as this one -->
This one is named Bahar, and she's my soulmate <3
So yeah, I guess that was enough to prove that I can be a good mother too, since good mothers know how to pick beautiful names for their kids so they won't get bullied at school... Yay me!
P.S. I haven't tried formulating boys names yet, they're pretty tricky!
- I don't wanna go through the trouble of gaining like, 60 pounds and not being able to lose some weight after
- I don't wanna go through the trouble of extra vicious mood swings and killing my own husband because I'd feel unfair that he doesn't have to go through what I'm going through at the moment
- I don't wanna go through the trouble of being insanely wretched by pure, anti-human pain of labor and be crippled forever (okay this one is exaggerated)
- I just don't wanna go through the trouble
Yet, I do have one good reason to have babies: I LOVE THE EXCITEMENT OF GIVING NAMES!!! :D
And yes, I already came up with some ideas of what my daughters would be named. See how motherly I could be??
Hindi based: Drupadi Lakshmarya Durga
...Which is stupid since the word Lakshmarya is derived from Laksmi, and in Hinduism Laksmi is the Goddess of Wisdom, Prosperity, Generosity, Fertility, and Light. Whereas Durga is the Goddess of War and Destruction. Nevertheless, me likey!!! Those words really do ring, for my defense.
Islam Based: Bahar Amnasheera Shafaq
Shafaq translates to "the redness in the sky at sunset". Which is relevant, since I'm a sunset-maniac. And for Bahar (which translates to "spring"), seriously who wouldn't want their daughters to look as beautiful as this one -->
This one is named Bahar, and she's my soulmate <3So yeah, I guess that was enough to prove that I can be a good mother too, since good mothers know how to pick beautiful names for their kids so they won't get bullied at school... Yay me!
P.S. I haven't tried formulating boys names yet, they're pretty tricky!
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Mediocre Adilla in her mediocre world.
One if the things long awaited at the end of my senior year is the Yearbook. This year, I happen to commit myself to join the Yearbook Committee, and we were having a meeting to discuss the theme, design, etc. One of the most exciting sections everyone tend to get all excited about is the “The Most” section. Here, we categorize stereotypes and put in one girl and one boy who fit into the criteria the most. Example: Most unique, most bullied (yes, seriously), most eligible, most obsessed (?), best couple, and the list goes on.
Suddenly it occurred to me: If I were to be stereotyped, what would I be “The Most” at?? Here are some considerations, just for the heck of it...
- I am not strikingly pretty nor am I hideously ugly
- I am not brilliantly intelligent nor am I humiliatingly idiotic
- I am not saint-like nor am I an evil bitch
- I am not intimidatingly popular nor am I a dying loser
- I am not disturbingly talkative nor am I dully silent
- I am not conspicuously bold nor am I pathetically weak
- I am not much of an achiever nor do I have completely nothing to boast about
- I am not passionately compassionate nor am I an ignorant snob
- I am not paper thin nor do I look like a bloated pig
- I am not remarkably visionary nor am I a slow-progressing dimwit
- I am not pleasantly lovable nor am I horrendously hate-able
- I am not outstandingly talented nor am I utterly talentless
XXX: So what is your talent?
Me: Well i can play a bit of violin.
XXX: Oh that’s wonderful! Can you play *insert sonata* by *insert composer* from the *romantic/renaissance/baroque* period?
Me: Umm, no...
So yeah, my point is... It takes me whole lotta guts to say this, but oh my fucking god am I that fucking mediocre?? Even my teacher said this himself, “You are too mediocre, Adilla.” (Well, actually he said “Your grades are too mediocre, I’m sure you can do better than that”. But the only word my brain could perceive was MEDIOCRE MEDIOCRE MEDIOCRE!!!)
And no, I don’t think I’d fit into one of those “The Most” categories, except if there was one called The Most Mediocre. But then again, there might be a whole lotta other people who are more mediocre than me, so how mediocre is The Most Mediocre? This is just great, I’m even mediocre at being mediocre...
Me with my mediocre smile, mediocre hair, mediocre camera-gaze, mediocre plain white tee...
Mediocre me, mediocre me
How much more mediocre can I ever be?
Lock me in a box and throw away the key
And ship me forever out into the Mediocre Sea
P.S. You can call me mediocre all you like, but I would never accept the word GENERIC. Being generic is like being one those really cheap, mass-produced generic medicine they sell on ragged-looking pharmacies, or one of those generic Barbies with empty staring eyes and frozen smile and plastic curves you see rowing down the isles of supermarkets. And that’s the one thing I’m pretty sure I’m not ;)
Suddenly it occurred to me: If I were to be stereotyped, what would I be “The Most” at?? Here are some considerations, just for the heck of it...
- I am not strikingly pretty nor am I hideously ugly
- I am not brilliantly intelligent nor am I humiliatingly idiotic
- I am not saint-like nor am I an evil bitch
- I am not intimidatingly popular nor am I a dying loser
- I am not disturbingly talkative nor am I dully silent
- I am not conspicuously bold nor am I pathetically weak
- I am not much of an achiever nor do I have completely nothing to boast about
- I am not passionately compassionate nor am I an ignorant snob
- I am not paper thin nor do I look like a bloated pig
- I am not remarkably visionary nor am I a slow-progressing dimwit
- I am not pleasantly lovable nor am I horrendously hate-able
- I am not outstandingly talented nor am I utterly talentless
XXX: So what is your talent?
Me: Well i can play a bit of violin.
XXX: Oh that’s wonderful! Can you play *insert sonata* by *insert composer* from the *romantic/renaissance/baroque* period?
Me: Umm, no...
So yeah, my point is... It takes me whole lotta guts to say this, but oh my fucking god am I that fucking mediocre?? Even my teacher said this himself, “You are too mediocre, Adilla.” (Well, actually he said “Your grades are too mediocre, I’m sure you can do better than that”. But the only word my brain could perceive was MEDIOCRE MEDIOCRE MEDIOCRE!!!)
And no, I don’t think I’d fit into one of those “The Most” categories, except if there was one called The Most Mediocre. But then again, there might be a whole lotta other people who are more mediocre than me, so how mediocre is The Most Mediocre? This is just great, I’m even mediocre at being mediocre...
Me with my mediocre smile, mediocre hair, mediocre camera-gaze, mediocre plain white tee...Mediocre me, mediocre me
How much more mediocre can I ever be?
Lock me in a box and throw away the key
And ship me forever out into the Mediocre Sea
P.S. You can call me mediocre all you like, but I would never accept the word GENERIC. Being generic is like being one those really cheap, mass-produced generic medicine they sell on ragged-looking pharmacies, or one of those generic Barbies with empty staring eyes and frozen smile and plastic curves you see rowing down the isles of supermarkets. And that’s the one thing I’m pretty sure I’m not ;)
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Elephant Man, oh Elephant Man...
"Tis true my form is something odd,
But blaming me is blaming God.
Could I create myself anew,
I would not fail in pleasing you.
If I could reach from pole to pole,
Or grasp the ocean with a span,
I would be measured by the soul,
The mind's the standard of the man."
A poem by Isaac Watts that Joseph Merrick would use to end his letters.
My reply:
Elephant man, oh Elephant Man
Thou art indeed excluded from any clan
Fairness had not been betrothed upon thee
As bizarre and twisted thou may be
Foul smelling skin and distorted joints
Malformed cells infecting every loins
Thus, no woman ever walked the earth
Would ever show thee a loving mirth
Indeed, thy true form is something odd
And blaming thee is blaming God
And living in thy world, being in thy form
Is like living inside a sad, tormented storm
Of which people walk round as to not pass by
And no vultures are even tempted to pry
But Elephant Man, oh Elephant Man
I feel thee, a heart too broken to mend
Living in a world where people see no more
Instead they stare, eyes empty of any lore
Dim-witted, narrow minds colliding vanity
Black-blooded, wickedness corrupting morality
Like lazy, glorious tyrants whose tongues tell lies
As they vanish behind the thin line that separates men from mice
Therefore, my dear Elephant Man
Thou may try to grasp the ocean with a span
Alas, there's no point in trying to please
Since humanity proveth to be nothing but a tease
Monday, November 2, 2009
The type of city Jakarta is.
The notch in your bedpost.
People come, People go, people forget. What was that city’s name again? You know, the one as chaotic as Bangkok only uglier trannies?
The going going gone.
Everything is fast forwarded. Turtles die, rabits triumphed. Finders’ keepers, you snooze you loose, time’s more precious than money. Tick tock TICK TOCK.
The please forget me not, please.
Really friggin’ desperate for some appreciation here. I mean helloooo I got lights, I got Louis Vuitton, I got shiny fast cars, I got kids starving to death begging in the middle of a pouring rain, don’t I at least deserve some credit?
The gold maker life ruiner.
The centre of opportunities indeed. Just don’t cry regretting over your lost life when you’re in the middle of it. I warned you!
The over dignified whore.
I can’t afford to look cheap! Gotta put some more make up on so more and more human beings will get attracted to my fabricated beauty!! Hm where’s my botox shot?
The I’m the new NY yo, only hotter. Literally.
I mean I realize that at least NY got winter. But hey, I’m sexy I’m hot, I’m everything you’re not! ;)
The bully.
Fuck those poor small cities ya’ll, I can easily crush ‘em all with my gigantic power and wealth. After all, I’m such a pro on luring those wealthy executives to triple their money on my fat money stuffed belly.
The obese.
Population of 12 million by day and 8 million by night. Whew, I’m still starving nevertheless. Delivery please!
The why the fuck am I not in the center of the stage! Oh I am already? Then why the fuck isn’t the spotlight pointed at me! Oh it is already?
I feed on attention. Yeah look at me world, I can put my whole fist into my mouth YAY!
The inside of Barbie’s head.
Empty. No brainer. Brains are only for hideous looking people so they’ll find something to feel good about. Nuh-uh. Too sexy for that.
The life guru.
I teach patience. If you don’t have enough patience living here, you’ll end up either crazy or die a premature death, which will be caused either by craziness, heart-attack, or suicide. YEAH FINALLY I HAVE SOMETHING DELIGHTFUL TO BOAST ABOUT!!!
Boy do I love trashing Jakarta...
People come, People go, people forget. What was that city’s name again? You know, the one as chaotic as Bangkok only uglier trannies?
The going going gone.
Everything is fast forwarded. Turtles die, rabits triumphed. Finders’ keepers, you snooze you loose, time’s more precious than money. Tick tock TICK TOCK.
The please forget me not, please.
Really friggin’ desperate for some appreciation here. I mean helloooo I got lights, I got Louis Vuitton, I got shiny fast cars, I got kids starving to death begging in the middle of a pouring rain, don’t I at least deserve some credit?
The gold maker life ruiner.
The centre of opportunities indeed. Just don’t cry regretting over your lost life when you’re in the middle of it. I warned you!
The over dignified whore.
I can’t afford to look cheap! Gotta put some more make up on so more and more human beings will get attracted to my fabricated beauty!! Hm where’s my botox shot?
The I’m the new NY yo, only hotter. Literally.
I mean I realize that at least NY got winter. But hey, I’m sexy I’m hot, I’m everything you’re not! ;)
The bully.
Fuck those poor small cities ya’ll, I can easily crush ‘em all with my gigantic power and wealth. After all, I’m such a pro on luring those wealthy executives to triple their money on my fat money stuffed belly.
The obese.
Population of 12 million by day and 8 million by night. Whew, I’m still starving nevertheless. Delivery please!
The why the fuck am I not in the center of the stage! Oh I am already? Then why the fuck isn’t the spotlight pointed at me! Oh it is already?
I feed on attention. Yeah look at me world, I can put my whole fist into my mouth YAY!
The inside of Barbie’s head.
Empty. No brainer. Brains are only for hideous looking people so they’ll find something to feel good about. Nuh-uh. Too sexy for that.
The life guru.
I teach patience. If you don’t have enough patience living here, you’ll end up either crazy or die a premature death, which will be caused either by craziness, heart-attack, or suicide. YEAH FINALLY I HAVE SOMETHING DELIGHTFUL TO BOAST ABOUT!!!
Boy do I love trashing Jakarta...
Saturday, October 31, 2009
2009, oh 2009...
Looks like I’m going to have to assume that years with uneven numbers bring bad luck to me. I gotta say I’m not much of a superstitious person, but jeez seriously, by the way one good year passed simultaneously followed by a bad one and so on, I’m starting to believe that even though my favorite number is 9, I’d do better with 0, 2, 4, 6, or 8.
Let’s see... I was born in 1992, a year that ends with an even number. My being born oughtta be a good thing right, so I’ll use 1992 as a strong alibi to prove that my theory is correct. Unless if I’m some kind of ungrateful douche who actually regrets her own existence and wishes that the year 1992 will forever be erased in the whole history of mankind... But I’m not, thanks
Or am I? Hm...
Moving on, I can’t vividly remember and also too effin lazy to try to remember the details of what happened throughout the following years, up till 2004. So I’m just gonna make a little comparison here:
2004: Moved to Melbourne. I loved travelling, and as a runny-nose kid I had always dreamt about living overseas. Until finally one bright day on 2004 mom decided to take me and brother to live in Melbourne during her 3 years of PhD. GOOD YEAR.
2005: Fitting in is hard. Trying to fit in a completely alienated environment where almost nobody speaks the same language you do is even fucking harder. Didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to speak properly, didn’t know who to hang with, didn’t know what to expect, got bullied by some redneck loser. BAD YEAR. Oh maybe it wasn’t so bad since this was the first time Bahar and I met. But then at first I didn’t like her, she didn’t like me, and bitch fight was all it was about. So yeah BAD YEAR after all.
2006: Best year during my overseas stay. I wouldn’t call it the happiest year, because God only knows how emo I was during those moments, but I would call it The Year That Mattered The Most. Excitement was definitely in the air. Found a soulmate, fell in love, experienced pleasure like the first time a kiddo licks a candy, learnt to love the people I was with, learnt the joy of learning (or whatever), got labeled as “rebellious” (hell yeah I’m proud of this), got labeled as “slutty” (maybe not so proud, but it was actually a pleasant shock since I thought I was shy). This would’ve been the best year in my whole 17 years life if it wasn’t for those little bumps like the frequent occurences of suicidal thoughts while quietly crying my eyeballs out alone in school toilets because apparently the guy I was in love with was dating some hideous bitch.
Again, God only knows how much of an emo I was back then. But now I can only laugh about it and say that it was indeed an enlightening experience. Overall, GOOD YEAR.
2007: Moved back to Indonesia. Ew. Got eternally heart-broken. Yuck. Gained a father. Blurgh. Weird early school moments where fitting in turned to be as difficult yet pointless as ever. Plus annual school play sucked ass, especially if the role you got consisted of only a few tedious lines in one unimportant scene. Unimaginable. BAD YEAR indeed.
2008: I’d call this a good year because finally I made some achievements: 1. Got my English short story published on the newspaper, 2. Got my Indonesian short story as one of the runner ups for a national short story writing competition, 3. Got picked and accepted to participate in Asian Science Camp 2008 (Truth be told I hated science like a living hell, and the only reason the teacher picked me was because my English was adequate, not because I excelled in stupid maths. Bali was worth it tho), 4. Granted a short cultural excange scholarship to Japan for a couple of weeks (this I felt like a champion). So yeah, GOOD YEAR.
2009: Love live is going downhill, no achievement whatsoever (I sent my short stories to a couple of competitions and for fuck’s sake I’m such a loser), parents are getting more irritating as they are getting older, my education’s future is an uncertain mumble jumble, moreover my search for divine happiness (LOL at this, how can I be divine if pray I never? Meh I’ll sort this one out later. Late Er). Ha, I feel like I’m undergoing a mid-life crisis here... at the age of 17!! Geez since when did we Asians grow so fast, weren’t we envied for our long-lasting youthful appearances? Unbelievable. Anyways, BAAAD YEAAARRR.
Nearing the end of 2009, I actually have one thing to look forward to: 2010! If my theory is correct, 2010 will be a heck of a good year. And if a good year includes my getting accepted into the university and the faculty I’m aiming for, and my mom keeps her promise of letting me visit Melbourne if I succeeded, then hail to you, World, I just triumphantly decipher the secret ways of Fate!!! Muahahahahahahaha (Unless if nowadays she is called Destiny... But yeah one way or another biatch)
Let’s see... I was born in 1992, a year that ends with an even number. My being born oughtta be a good thing right, so I’ll use 1992 as a strong alibi to prove that my theory is correct. Unless if I’m some kind of ungrateful douche who actually regrets her own existence and wishes that the year 1992 will forever be erased in the whole history of mankind... But I’m not, thanks
Or am I? Hm...
Moving on, I can’t vividly remember and also too effin lazy to try to remember the details of what happened throughout the following years, up till 2004. So I’m just gonna make a little comparison here:
2004: Moved to Melbourne. I loved travelling, and as a runny-nose kid I had always dreamt about living overseas. Until finally one bright day on 2004 mom decided to take me and brother to live in Melbourne during her 3 years of PhD. GOOD YEAR.
2005: Fitting in is hard. Trying to fit in a completely alienated environment where almost nobody speaks the same language you do is even fucking harder. Didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to speak properly, didn’t know who to hang with, didn’t know what to expect, got bullied by some redneck loser. BAD YEAR. Oh maybe it wasn’t so bad since this was the first time Bahar and I met. But then at first I didn’t like her, she didn’t like me, and bitch fight was all it was about. So yeah BAD YEAR after all.
2006: Best year during my overseas stay. I wouldn’t call it the happiest year, because God only knows how emo I was during those moments, but I would call it The Year That Mattered The Most. Excitement was definitely in the air. Found a soulmate, fell in love, experienced pleasure like the first time a kiddo licks a candy, learnt to love the people I was with, learnt the joy of learning (or whatever), got labeled as “rebellious” (hell yeah I’m proud of this), got labeled as “slutty” (maybe not so proud, but it was actually a pleasant shock since I thought I was shy). This would’ve been the best year in my whole 17 years life if it wasn’t for those little bumps like the frequent occurences of suicidal thoughts while quietly crying my eyeballs out alone in school toilets because apparently the guy I was in love with was dating some hideous bitch.
Again, God only knows how much of an emo I was back then. But now I can only laugh about it and say that it was indeed an enlightening experience. Overall, GOOD YEAR.
2007: Moved back to Indonesia. Ew. Got eternally heart-broken. Yuck. Gained a father. Blurgh. Weird early school moments where fitting in turned to be as difficult yet pointless as ever. Plus annual school play sucked ass, especially if the role you got consisted of only a few tedious lines in one unimportant scene. Unimaginable. BAD YEAR indeed.
2008: I’d call this a good year because finally I made some achievements: 1. Got my English short story published on the newspaper, 2. Got my Indonesian short story as one of the runner ups for a national short story writing competition, 3. Got picked and accepted to participate in Asian Science Camp 2008 (Truth be told I hated science like a living hell, and the only reason the teacher picked me was because my English was adequate, not because I excelled in stupid maths. Bali was worth it tho), 4. Granted a short cultural excange scholarship to Japan for a couple of weeks (this I felt like a champion). So yeah, GOOD YEAR.
2009: Love live is going downhill, no achievement whatsoever (I sent my short stories to a couple of competitions and for fuck’s sake I’m such a loser), parents are getting more irritating as they are getting older, my education’s future is an uncertain mumble jumble, moreover my search for divine happiness (LOL at this, how can I be divine if pray I never? Meh I’ll sort this one out later. Late Er). Ha, I feel like I’m undergoing a mid-life crisis here... at the age of 17!! Geez since when did we Asians grow so fast, weren’t we envied for our long-lasting youthful appearances? Unbelievable. Anyways, BAAAD YEAAARRR.
Nearing the end of 2009, I actually have one thing to look forward to: 2010! If my theory is correct, 2010 will be a heck of a good year. And if a good year includes my getting accepted into the university and the faculty I’m aiming for, and my mom keeps her promise of letting me visit Melbourne if I succeeded, then hail to you, World, I just triumphantly decipher the secret ways of Fate!!! Muahahahahahahaha (Unless if nowadays she is called Destiny... But yeah one way or another biatch)
Sunday, October 25, 2009
I am a lonesome stalker.
9:30 pm
yesss YESSS finally I'm in the mood to do my long-procrastinated school project/thesis/assignment!!! Caffeine is indeed the new Santa...
9:45 pm
Whoa that actually felt like days... I think I deserve a little break, let's open my facebook page and see if anyone had actually remembered my existence during the weekend!
9:47 pm
Hmmm... friends from my old school had already posted their graduation pics. Wouldn't hurt to take a 'lil peek would it now?
9:50 pm
Dress ups by day and formal graduation party by night? Interesting... Remind me why I'm not in the pics right now smiling happily to the camera while some dude's hand is resting around my waist, again?
9:51 pm
OMG this has got to stop!!! Friggin' hell why can't you stop hovering about the past? What's dead is DEAD Adilla, get over it. Plus you should be doing your schoolwork by now, so snap out of it!!
... Oh well maybe a couple more pics would be just fine...
9:55 pm
Holy fucking shit I should've realized this was coming!! I should've shutted down my whole internet connection like I knew better!! I should've cut my wrist open and smeared my computer screen with blood thick and good to prevent me from seeing what I'm seeing now!! WHY oh WHY my graceful forgiving loving God, doesn't he at least have the mercy as NOT to look hot even in his facebook pics??????????????????????????
9:58 pm
Oh my last breath indeed had just passed away before me... Look at how beautifully the sunlight shineth on that sleek dark hair of his... Look at that radiant smile that even the most blossomed roses are jealous of its unforgivable curse of exquisite charm...
10:00 pm
And now he is nothing but a Spanish Sex God (A Spanish Sex God who of course, isn't actually Spanish). That figure... OH THAT FIGURE! Which could seduce the most obstinate girls in the whole wide world, which could turn Casanova either enraged or suicidal with envy, since no true lady would ever disregard the exotic sensuality that exudes from his aura... That lady being me of course.
10:05 pm
"Oh love! Oh fire! Once he drew with one long kiss my whole sould through my lips, as sunlight drinketh dew"
10:20 pm
Dear God, Allah, Jesus, Yahweh, whichever, if you can hear me right now, please let me bump into an ugly photo of him, therefore as vain as I am, I'll be able to get over him simply by noticing misperfection on his ever-perfect face, and life will go about just fine and I'll be able to finish my schoolwork tonight...
10:30 pm
OMG YESS YESS nailed you byotch!! I've found a not-so-good-looking photo of you, finally!! HA turns out you're not as hot as you thought you were, are you? (Correction: Turns out you're not as hot as I thought you were, are you?) Anyways lemme just have a good 2 minutes look and soon I'll be over you.
10:45 pm
Naah I can't lie to myself, COME ON!! No matter how bad you look in that particular stupid facebook photo, in the back of my mind you're still the perfect young lover-slash-heartbreaker who made my old days as unforgettable as ever...
10:46 pm
SO WHAT NOW??
Note: These writings are exaggerated, of course, it's more fun that way. I'm not as stalker-ish as I appeared to be, honest to God.
... Or am I??
yesss YESSS finally I'm in the mood to do my long-procrastinated school project/thesis/assignment!!! Caffeine is indeed the new Santa...
9:45 pm
Whoa that actually felt like days... I think I deserve a little break, let's open my facebook page and see if anyone had actually remembered my existence during the weekend!
9:47 pm
Hmmm... friends from my old school had already posted their graduation pics. Wouldn't hurt to take a 'lil peek would it now?
9:50 pm
Dress ups by day and formal graduation party by night? Interesting... Remind me why I'm not in the pics right now smiling happily to the camera while some dude's hand is resting around my waist, again?
9:51 pm
OMG this has got to stop!!! Friggin' hell why can't you stop hovering about the past? What's dead is DEAD Adilla, get over it. Plus you should be doing your schoolwork by now, so snap out of it!!
... Oh well maybe a couple more pics would be just fine...
9:55 pm
Holy fucking shit I should've realized this was coming!! I should've shutted down my whole internet connection like I knew better!! I should've cut my wrist open and smeared my computer screen with blood thick and good to prevent me from seeing what I'm seeing now!! WHY oh WHY my graceful forgiving loving God, doesn't he at least have the mercy as NOT to look hot even in his facebook pics??????????????????????????
9:58 pm
Oh my last breath indeed had just passed away before me... Look at how beautifully the sunlight shineth on that sleek dark hair of his... Look at that radiant smile that even the most blossomed roses are jealous of its unforgivable curse of exquisite charm...
10:00 pm
And now he is nothing but a Spanish Sex God (A Spanish Sex God who of course, isn't actually Spanish). That figure... OH THAT FIGURE! Which could seduce the most obstinate girls in the whole wide world, which could turn Casanova either enraged or suicidal with envy, since no true lady would ever disregard the exotic sensuality that exudes from his aura... That lady being me of course.
10:05 pm
"Oh love! Oh fire! Once he drew with one long kiss my whole sould through my lips, as sunlight drinketh dew"
10:20 pm
Dear God, Allah, Jesus, Yahweh, whichever, if you can hear me right now, please let me bump into an ugly photo of him, therefore as vain as I am, I'll be able to get over him simply by noticing misperfection on his ever-perfect face, and life will go about just fine and I'll be able to finish my schoolwork tonight...
10:30 pm
OMG YESS YESS nailed you byotch!! I've found a not-so-good-looking photo of you, finally!! HA turns out you're not as hot as you thought you were, are you? (Correction: Turns out you're not as hot as I thought you were, are you?) Anyways lemme just have a good 2 minutes look and soon I'll be over you.
10:45 pm
Naah I can't lie to myself, COME ON!! No matter how bad you look in that particular stupid facebook photo, in the back of my mind you're still the perfect young lover-slash-heartbreaker who made my old days as unforgettable as ever...
10:46 pm
SO WHAT NOW??
Note: These writings are exaggerated, of course, it's more fun that way. I'm not as stalker-ish as I appeared to be, honest to God.
... Or am I??
Monday, October 19, 2009
A letter to al sexual harassers on behalf of all sexually harassed girls.
Jakarta, 18 October 2009
Dear Sexual Harassers,
You seriously amaze me. You amaze me for being able to somehow create a self-fulfilling enjoyment out of something so morally corrupt. You amaze me for succeeding in finding you own way to satisfy your revolting, sickened libido in every situation possible, whenever wherever however. You amaze me for not having to feel any pangs of shame at all, because you think what you do is hands-down righteous according to the fact that you seem to have more power and control over you victims, therefore you are free to act. You amaze me for being able to just walk off light-heartedly after sexually harassing someone, with eyes sparkling with pleasure and sperm cells accumulating inside your testicles waiting to be more roused up.
Remember 6 years ago, when I was nothing but a merry 6th grader, and as I was walking down the street with a friend, one of you walked in the opposite direction and as we came across, like a professional nasty thing that you are, you very stealthily landed your left hand onto my left breast? Wow you really do amaze me, for not even minding the fact that my breasts hadn’t actually grown, and nothing from my body except for my face was exposed, since I was wearing a goddamn hijjab. I wonder how that felt for you, really. Because for me, it felt like suddenly i was not a child anymore, like God had just unjustly decided to snatch back my girlhood innocenceby sending you to deliberately taint my naive purity. I bet you don’t even know what its like to think that you’re no longer pure, do ya, only because of one split moment made appaling by a random stranger who thought of your 11-year-old flat breasts as a jerk-off apparatus? Well, it’s equal with having your balls chopped off with a rusty chainsaw, because by then you would have nothing to be proud of.
OMFG remember last night, 6 bloody whole years after the booby incident, when I was among the thousand of people who were making their exit from a gig, and suddenly one of you grabbed my ass? Boy, did I feel your highly desperate sexual tensions flowing from that nasty squeeze. Let me guess, your looks are so vomit-inducing that you never actually had any girls putting special attentions to you before, therefore there is no way that you can actually feel the warmth and loving of a proper girlfriend, thus your only solution is to lurk beneath the dark so you can fervently stretch your hand and nimble on the cute softness of girls’ asses in your reach, without them not being able to see how grotesque you look so their faces won’t strain in disgust? Jesus Christ you really do amaze me. Oh, remember how I turned around, even though I didn’t exactly know which one of you did it, and I called you ANJING and TAI and shouted curses like there was no tomorrow? Ha, I bet you didn’t expect that coming did ya? You think most girls wouldn’t have the guts to do this, but I swear to Allah if my friend didn’t stop me right that moment I might’ve ended up screaming insults to your whole defected generation for not raising you up properly, thus you became the depraved, pathetic loser you are now.
And how about you, verbal sexual harassers? You think it’s less decadent to harass girls with words instead of actions? Well guess what, it’s not. In fact, it makes you more of a loser in a way, a talk only no action loser. Besides, what did you actually get from whistling at me passing by, or saying that I have a pair of sexy ass, with all your friends and their acne-suffused face, yellow teeth, and dandruff flakes snickering past? Nothing but a 3-second laugh indeed. So for humankind’s better future, why don’t you get up for a change and open the newspaper for a job vacancy search, for God’s sake, and try lifting off a bit of your old folks’ burden of still having you useless around the house by the age of 40.
One last thing, dear sexual harassers, never EVER use alibies such as “It’s her fault for showing too much skin” or “I wouldn’t have touched her if she didn’t wear that short of a skirt” to cover up your moral deficient minds. Take Australia for instance, girls wear panty-like shorts and tank tops with their cleavages flashing everywhere, and did they get their ass grabbed every time they go public? NO. Congratulations, dear sexual harassers, you just succeeded in making the image of our beloved nation low and corrupted in the eyes of others. You know what, I’ll be fair and try not to compare our Muslim-based country with a non-Muslim one. Take upper class Jakarta, instead. Girls don’t go to Grand Indonesia with really mini dresses peeping out bits of their butt cheeks only so some sad losers could get them squeezed, do they? Seriously, it’s not US who “don’t have any respect towards ourselves”, it’s indefinitely YOU, bastardious parasite-like morally inane you.
Fuck You a Thousand Times Over,
Adilla Mutia Fatimah
Dear Sexual Harassers,
You seriously amaze me. You amaze me for being able to somehow create a self-fulfilling enjoyment out of something so morally corrupt. You amaze me for succeeding in finding you own way to satisfy your revolting, sickened libido in every situation possible, whenever wherever however. You amaze me for not having to feel any pangs of shame at all, because you think what you do is hands-down righteous according to the fact that you seem to have more power and control over you victims, therefore you are free to act. You amaze me for being able to just walk off light-heartedly after sexually harassing someone, with eyes sparkling with pleasure and sperm cells accumulating inside your testicles waiting to be more roused up.
Remember 6 years ago, when I was nothing but a merry 6th grader, and as I was walking down the street with a friend, one of you walked in the opposite direction and as we came across, like a professional nasty thing that you are, you very stealthily landed your left hand onto my left breast? Wow you really do amaze me, for not even minding the fact that my breasts hadn’t actually grown, and nothing from my body except for my face was exposed, since I was wearing a goddamn hijjab. I wonder how that felt for you, really. Because for me, it felt like suddenly i was not a child anymore, like God had just unjustly decided to snatch back my girlhood innocenceby sending you to deliberately taint my naive purity. I bet you don’t even know what its like to think that you’re no longer pure, do ya, only because of one split moment made appaling by a random stranger who thought of your 11-year-old flat breasts as a jerk-off apparatus? Well, it’s equal with having your balls chopped off with a rusty chainsaw, because by then you would have nothing to be proud of.
OMFG remember last night, 6 bloody whole years after the booby incident, when I was among the thousand of people who were making their exit from a gig, and suddenly one of you grabbed my ass? Boy, did I feel your highly desperate sexual tensions flowing from that nasty squeeze. Let me guess, your looks are so vomit-inducing that you never actually had any girls putting special attentions to you before, therefore there is no way that you can actually feel the warmth and loving of a proper girlfriend, thus your only solution is to lurk beneath the dark so you can fervently stretch your hand and nimble on the cute softness of girls’ asses in your reach, without them not being able to see how grotesque you look so their faces won’t strain in disgust? Jesus Christ you really do amaze me. Oh, remember how I turned around, even though I didn’t exactly know which one of you did it, and I called you ANJING and TAI and shouted curses like there was no tomorrow? Ha, I bet you didn’t expect that coming did ya? You think most girls wouldn’t have the guts to do this, but I swear to Allah if my friend didn’t stop me right that moment I might’ve ended up screaming insults to your whole defected generation for not raising you up properly, thus you became the depraved, pathetic loser you are now.
And how about you, verbal sexual harassers? You think it’s less decadent to harass girls with words instead of actions? Well guess what, it’s not. In fact, it makes you more of a loser in a way, a talk only no action loser. Besides, what did you actually get from whistling at me passing by, or saying that I have a pair of sexy ass, with all your friends and their acne-suffused face, yellow teeth, and dandruff flakes snickering past? Nothing but a 3-second laugh indeed. So for humankind’s better future, why don’t you get up for a change and open the newspaper for a job vacancy search, for God’s sake, and try lifting off a bit of your old folks’ burden of still having you useless around the house by the age of 40.
One last thing, dear sexual harassers, never EVER use alibies such as “It’s her fault for showing too much skin” or “I wouldn’t have touched her if she didn’t wear that short of a skirt” to cover up your moral deficient minds. Take Australia for instance, girls wear panty-like shorts and tank tops with their cleavages flashing everywhere, and did they get their ass grabbed every time they go public? NO. Congratulations, dear sexual harassers, you just succeeded in making the image of our beloved nation low and corrupted in the eyes of others. You know what, I’ll be fair and try not to compare our Muslim-based country with a non-Muslim one. Take upper class Jakarta, instead. Girls don’t go to Grand Indonesia with really mini dresses peeping out bits of their butt cheeks only so some sad losers could get them squeezed, do they? Seriously, it’s not US who “don’t have any respect towards ourselves”, it’s indefinitely YOU, bastardious parasite-like morally inane you.
Fuck You a Thousand Times Over,
Adilla Mutia Fatimah
Thursday, October 15, 2009
The girl who proves.
I want to be the girl who sees beauty the way it should be. Who laughs in tune with the rustling leaves on the tallest treetops like an unstructured harmony of careless whispers. Who, on rainy days, views soaked street-children as badly behaved cupids fallen fom grace, with premolar teeth and malleable bones. Who knows how to search for deeper, concealed meanings in things that are utterly dejected, and thus rejected; to prove that beauty doesn’t always necessarily comes from something pretty.
I want to be the girl who’s willing to befriend pain, angst, heartbreaks, regrets, sadness, errors, and thousands of other emotions that humans tend to leave untouched, discarded. Who deals with them face to face, runs them through her veins like a shot of morphine, truly inhaling the sensations as they sink deep like rain soaking into the dry earth. Who isn’t scared of facing the absurd, cruel, backstabbing reality and be dissapointed over and over again; to prove that the reason we fall down is so we can learn to pick ourselves up.
I want to be the girl who’s able to stand tough on the ground when all else falls away. Who is not afraid of being herself, even if it means being different, or being labeled as different. Who lives life distinctively, significantly, separated from the typicals, the trivials, and the cliches; to prove that rocks stay unharmed because they’re not easily swept by the wind.
I want to be the girl whose perspectives are crystal-clear and unbiased. Whose strong believes exceeds others’ expectations, yet whose enduring tolerance overcome those with dim wits and narrow minds. Who’s able to distinguish, without judging, good from evil, right from wrong, winners from losers, the mended from the broken; to prove that naive judgments only lead to multiple fragments of misunderstandings.
I want to be the girl who accepts challenges with wide open arms and dares to venture into the wild unknown. Who’s willing to combat oncoming obstacles till her last crimson drop of blood, even when there’s only a small chance of victory. Who feels the sudden urge to climb up the highest mountain only to stand at the edge of the cliff, face the world below, and shout as loud as possible till her lungs shrink, muscles disjointed, nerves numbed down, and blood exasperated with thrilled excitements; to prove that nothing is impossible.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
One depressing chat.
Bahar says:
adilla, do u really srsly still feel the same way abt him, the way u did like 3 years ago man?
what is it that u cant exactly let go of?
adilla caulfield says:
not exactly the same way
but like, there are leftover feelings still stuck inside me that i cant possibly get rid of
the weird thing is, i think i cant let go of the fact that i never get what i wanted with him
that everything went wrong
and as long as im not satisfied, ill never get over it
Bahar says:
u know
i know exactly how that feeels..
but adilla, at some point, we all have to let go
u know i can sit here and listen to depressing songs all i want and cry my eyes out
but he wont hear a damn thing.. he wont hear me
the thing is
we r so caught up in the past and "how it used to be" or how we would've liked it to be, that not only we miss the present, but we r gonna miss the future too..
Damn, it's not fun being involuntarily stuck in your past...
adilla, do u really srsly still feel the same way abt him, the way u did like 3 years ago man?
what is it that u cant exactly let go of?
adilla caulfield says:
not exactly the same way
but like, there are leftover feelings still stuck inside me that i cant possibly get rid of
the weird thing is, i think i cant let go of the fact that i never get what i wanted with him
that everything went wrong
and as long as im not satisfied, ill never get over it
Bahar
u know
i know exactly how that feeels..
but adilla, at some point, we all have to let go
u know i can sit here and listen to depressing songs all i want and cry my eyes out
but he wont hear a damn thing.. he wont hear me
the thing is
we r so caught up in the past and "how it used to be" or how we would've liked it to be, that not only we miss the present, but we r gonna miss the future too..
Damn, it's not fun being involuntarily stuck in your past...
Friday, October 9, 2009
Reality is harsh.
Today I discovered two ugly truths:
1. Sometimes people who you care about the most can turn to be the people who hurt you the most.
2. Sometimes people who you thought care about you the most are the people who actually don't give the slightest damn at all.
enough said
1. Sometimes people who you care about the most can turn to be the people who hurt you the most.
2. Sometimes people who you thought care about you the most are the people who actually don't give the slightest damn at all.
enough said
Friday, October 2, 2009
The limitations of being human.
If there was ever a psychological disease called not-exactly-living-in-the-past-but-still-very-much-affected-by-it disorder, then I might as well be suffering from it. My past wasn't haunting nor was it glorious enough to be reminisced, yet it's still attached to the back of my skull like a raw, sweet-smelling secret. My definition of past here is the times when i had grown up enough to accustom life in my own ways yet still innocent enough that everything i perceived went straight into my comprehension without much filtering.
I remember what it felt like to NOT realize the transition from being a girl to a teenager. It felt like nothing was going on, like what you see is what you get, no strings attached, no grotesque monsters or beautiful angels lurking in the dark to surprise you. Smooth as how the river flows. And then overtime I come to realize that suddenly, I'm not as I was were three years ago, and truth starts hammering down onto me like the seeping of rainfall into the hard ground. I can feel and see the transition that suddenly awakened itself clearly now, and it saddens me so much that in this strange and nothing-is-impossible world, there's no such thing as a time machine.
Since I can't seem to forget (let alone forgive) my past, I start to make comparisons. I compare everything: The friends I have and the friends I had, the things that wasn't there before but is here now and likewise, the possibilities of lives I could've led then and the ones I can choose to lead now, the quality of boyfriends and the varied feelings of attachment, the reasons of my anger and grieves back then and what makes me sad and angry now, the joys i had then and the joys i have now.
It's funny how even after so long, the songs that used to make you cry back then are now still able to shed your tears for no reason. It's funny how in a way, you like yourself better back then than the state you're in now, how you wish to escape reality and just indulge yourselves in memories of your past.
"Maybe we've been living with eyes half open, maybe we're bent and broken."
I remember what it felt like to NOT realize the transition from being a girl to a teenager. It felt like nothing was going on, like what you see is what you get, no strings attached, no grotesque monsters or beautiful angels lurking in the dark to surprise you. Smooth as how the river flows. And then overtime I come to realize that suddenly, I'm not as I was were three years ago, and truth starts hammering down onto me like the seeping of rainfall into the hard ground. I can feel and see the transition that suddenly awakened itself clearly now, and it saddens me so much that in this strange and nothing-is-impossible world, there's no such thing as a time machine.
Since I can't seem to forget (let alone forgive) my past, I start to make comparisons. I compare everything: The friends I have and the friends I had, the things that wasn't there before but is here now and likewise, the possibilities of lives I could've led then and the ones I can choose to lead now, the quality of boyfriends and the varied feelings of attachment, the reasons of my anger and grieves back then and what makes me sad and angry now, the joys i had then and the joys i have now.
It's funny how even after so long, the songs that used to make you cry back then are now still able to shed your tears for no reason. It's funny how in a way, you like yourself better back then than the state you're in now, how you wish to escape reality and just indulge yourselves in memories of your past.
"Maybe we've been living with eyes half open, maybe we're bent and broken."
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Happiness is a warm gun.
“They say that in the beginning Happiness was a large crystall ball. The Gods used to play with it. One day, while they were asleep, Happiness fell on earth and shattered into millions of tiny pieces. People were so fascinated with their beauty that they immediately began collecting them. Some gathered a lot, others found only a few. No one, however, could collect them all.”
Whenever we are being asked what we want to achieve most in life, some of us would say Success, some say Happiness, others say Success AND Happiness. It is no wonder, since the assumption goes that if we are successful and capable, the gap between having a wish and actually fulfilling that wish automatically diminish, thus leaving us happy.
Whenever I am being asked what I want to achieve most in life, I would be gaping wide-eyed and dumb-founded in search of a satisfying answer and it sure would take me a lot of time to finally come up with one. So far, I haven’t came up with any, instead I would tackle the question with the most ridiculous answers I can think of, like “to find a true love and live happily ever after” or “to be rich and live like a king” or a simple “apa keehhhkkk”.
Let’s review my options: I can’t say that my utmost dream is to be successful, because being successful has a limit and it still doesn’t guarantee that I’ll be happy. I can’t say that my utmost dream is to be happy either since truthfully, I don’t even know what happiness is. I can’t touch it, smell it, eat it, hear it, feel it, so why should I wish for something that even my sharpest senses cannot distinguish? It would be like trying to capture a moonbeam; it’s too airy and formless that even if it’s right in front of you, you can’t help but to see past right through it.
Us Indonesians have this special ability to accept any joy and tragedy that happen to us merely as the divine movements of fate. It is fair to say that we have suffered through enough misfortunes living in a country where according to a research, happiness is hard to find, that overtime the irony had become something to laugh at and to be accepted with open arms.
And that’s how I roll. I cherish joy as it should be and swallow whole whatever bad luck that comes in the way. In other words, my biggest, most desperate wish in life is to be able to sway to whatever direction the wind blows, swim to whatever direction the river flows, with feet stil firmly fixed to the ground. Like a tree with its sturdy roots tenacious deep inside earth, yet its leaves carefree and dancing in mid air, in the hope that with the right combination of firm principles mixed with acceptance, happiness will finally resurface from within.
Although, I actually have one secret wish: I want to be useful to humankind, so my short life on earth will not go to waste J Now that’s what I call optimism...
Friday, September 11, 2009
Sunset avenue.
Have you ever tried going for a drive on a highway at sunset, just when the thin line of the horizon lies right in the middle of the sinking sun?
If u haven't , I'll tell you what it feels like. It feels like going on a ride that you secretly wish would never end. It feels like it doesn't matter anymore where you're heading and what's your purpose, because for a moment you feel contented and mildly disconnected to any other world beyond your little own. It feels like galloping on some ethereal dream-like road which final destination is slightly forgotten. It feels as if you have the ability to freeze time every time you turn a corner and wish that the distant sun would stay partially afloat above the horizon.
You think of colors. There aren't that many colors you can see when you go for a drive on a highway at sunset. Grey, fading azure, yellow, a strike of orange, silhouetted green. Clashing colors of light and dark so harmonized it makes you unsure whether to feel depressed or blissful. Nevertheless, those vague colors reminds you of how things are not always within your comprehension, and sometimes obscurity could lead to something breathtaking.
You think of sounds. Sadly, there's nothing else you can hear except the buzzing noise of wind striking against the machine and the unfamiliar chit-chat coming from the radio. You strive for something else, an uplifting sound to match the overwhelming twilight that falls gracefully just before the night stars show up. Add then it crosses your mind that maybe what you actually need is silence, because only with the absence of sound one can perfectly absorb the essence of a certain beauty.
It feels like entering a pathway in which everything suddenly turns delicate and fragile, and you begin to realize that nothing lasts forever.
If u haven't , I'll tell you what it feels like. It feels like going on a ride that you secretly wish would never end. It feels like it doesn't matter anymore where you're heading and what's your purpose, because for a moment you feel contented and mildly disconnected to any other world beyond your little own. It feels like galloping on some ethereal dream-like road which final destination is slightly forgotten. It feels as if you have the ability to freeze time every time you turn a corner and wish that the distant sun would stay partially afloat above the horizon.
You think of colors. There aren't that many colors you can see when you go for a drive on a highway at sunset. Grey, fading azure, yellow, a strike of orange, silhouetted green. Clashing colors of light and dark so harmonized it makes you unsure whether to feel depressed or blissful. Nevertheless, those vague colors reminds you of how things are not always within your comprehension, and sometimes obscurity could lead to something breathtaking.
You think of sounds. Sadly, there's nothing else you can hear except the buzzing noise of wind striking against the machine and the unfamiliar chit-chat coming from the radio. You strive for something else, an uplifting sound to match the overwhelming twilight that falls gracefully just before the night stars show up. Add then it crosses your mind that maybe what you actually need is silence, because only with the absence of sound one can perfectly absorb the essence of a certain beauty.
It feels like entering a pathway in which everything suddenly turns delicate and fragile, and you begin to realize that nothing lasts forever.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
5 reason why i should get the heck outta this city.
1. Sanity is crucial. I once read a book entitled Cala Ibi by one of Indonesia’s most prolific contemporary writers, Nukila Amal, and there was this one special chapter dedicated to Jakarta.
One passage reads: “Ini kota duka. Bisa membuat orang gila.”
(This is the city of grief. It can drive people crazy)
Another one: “Pernah ada penelitian tentang kewarasan manusia Jakarta. Tiga dari lima manusianya terganggu mental. Itu mengkhawatirkanku. Tiga dari lima siapapun manusia yang berpapasan denganku berpotensi menjelma orang gila.”
(There was a research about the sanity of Jakartans. Three out of five of its citizens are mentally disturbed. That worries me. Three out of five people I meet has the potential to turn into a lunatic)
And another one: “Ini kota yang menyebarkan energi negatif. Dan paranoia, menjadi insting paling primitif.”
(This city channels negative energy. And paranoia, becomes the most primal instinct)
Also, I found an article on Sunday Jakarta Post this morning (August 16/09), in the streetsmart column by Kartika Jahja, entitled Schizophrenic City. “Jakarta, being the city that it is, undoubtedly offers moist soil for mental illnesses to flourish in. Jobs are scarce, people are predators, living is expensive, and commuting is a daily battle.” Damn right. And her friend was right too, that “Jakarta should have more mental facilities than malls.” But then again, “The malls are mental facilities. They just don’t know it.” Big fat LOL.
I know that dying from Schizophrenia is far from possible, but I can just picture my funeral if say, my cause of death was mental illness.
Some guy/girl: Oh this is very sad, how did she die?
A friend: Lunacy killed her.
Some guy/girl: *confused* Luna-who?
A friend: She spent most of her life in Jakarta.
Some guy/girl: (with a look of comprehension) Ahh, no wonder...
That gets me scared shitless, when madness in Jakarta gradually becomes a normal daily sight.
2. Time is money. Not in here, apparently. Time means spending valuable seconds on road, getting dead stuck in some everlasting traffic jam. I did my calculations. On a normal basis, if you lived in Jakarta for all your lifetime, and you lived for 70 years, you would spend 8 bloody years on traffic. That is: 4 hours per day = 1460 hours per year = (say you have about 50 productive years) 73000 in total, which calculates to 8.3 years. EIGHT POINT THREE YEARS OF YOUR LIFE you spend from the inside of your car, grumpily complaining how chaotic the traffic is, grumpily wondering when your car is finally going to move, grumpily turning the inside of your brain into a massive soggy lump of absurd dullness. Imagine what you can do with those 8 years. You can go around the globe, relaxing weed-smoking deer-hunting adventure-craving spirituality-cleansing. You can pursue your lifelong dreams, cure cancer become a president invent talking trees be successfully happy. Or you can just simply enjoy life.
In case I was exaggerating, I told my mom about my calculations. Her response was, “No, you’re wrong. I read the official statistic on the internet once, and it’s actually 15 years more or less.” Now you see what I’m talking about?
3. Hypocrisy prevails. You take one upper class mall in Jakarta, get into one of the branded or semi-branded shops you can find, and there you will find a tank top costs near 1 million rupiah. And people who actually buy it. Don’t get me wrong, of course they do that in other countries too, like America. But have you realized that America is one of the countries with the most powerful economics in the world, and we live in one of the most economically under-developed countries on earth? In Jakarta we own most of the richest people in Indonesia, but when you take a little peek under the freeway bridge, you’ll find some of the most degraded, rejected, underprivileged citizens Indonesia can ever offer. The thing that the haves mostly don’t realize is that 20% of the richest people in Jakarta own about 70% of the city’s wealth, which leaves the rest 80% of its citizen with a mere 30%. And I’m not even going to talk about corruption and the power of capitalism, which makes the rich richer and the poor poorer. So when you buy that 1 million rupiah tank top, where exactly is your shame? One thing straight, I don’t want to live in a city where its citizens have no shame! Drives me nuts...
4. To volunteer in minimizing Jakarta’s excessive population. 8 million at night, 12 million at noon working hours. With an infrastructure this bad, how is that not excessive? Every one of them equally too desperate to leave, thinking that this city offers anything they’d ever wanted. And I’m not going to deny that alright, you can find everything here; it’s a goddamn luxurious paradise. With the increasing numbers of newcomers each year, apparently some need to do a bit of volunteering just to keep the population balanced, and I am indefinitely more than pleasured to be that sacrificial lamb.
5. Last but not least, I sweat like a pig here. I know this is a tropical country, and it is supposed to be hot and all, but this is just absurd! In Jakarta you don’t get only the heat from the sun, but also from the traffic pollution, the air-conditioner which blows hot wind outside of your house, the reflected sunrays from the windows of a skyscraper onto another, the rigorous breath of the 20 million living objects. If this keeps going on, in 2030 we’d be nothing but a bunch of slow-cooked meats on a gigantic cauldron. I can’t live well under this unbearable heat, especially when it’s not the kind of breezy heat you get in beaches either. I can’t think, I can’t feel, I complain all the time, I spend fortune on sunscreens, all I want to do is just stick my head in the freezer and pretend I’m on a vacation in Alaska. FYI, if you are wondering what gives me the right to complain about the heat since it’s just the way it is, I actually do my share not to make hell hotter than it already is. I don’t use aircon in my room, I recycle used papers for printing, my family very rarely ever buys frozen food, and I take public transport 60% of the time, even though God only knows how much I hate it. Eat that.
So there goes. Whoever reads this, please do not hesitate to give me a reason why I should love living in Jakarta; then maybe, just maybe, I’ll consider staying. Who knows?
Call me an escapist, but that’s still not going to prevent me from trying to be happy.
One passage reads: “Ini kota duka. Bisa membuat orang gila.”
(This is the city of grief. It can drive people crazy)
Another one: “Pernah ada penelitian tentang kewarasan manusia Jakarta. Tiga dari lima manusianya terganggu mental. Itu mengkhawatirkanku. Tiga dari lima siapapun manusia yang berpapasan denganku berpotensi menjelma orang gila.”
(There was a research about the sanity of Jakartans. Three out of five of its citizens are mentally disturbed. That worries me. Three out of five people I meet has the potential to turn into a lunatic)
And another one: “Ini kota yang menyebarkan energi negatif. Dan paranoia, menjadi insting paling primitif.”
(This city channels negative energy. And paranoia, becomes the most primal instinct)
Also, I found an article on Sunday Jakarta Post this morning (August 16/09), in the streetsmart column by Kartika Jahja, entitled Schizophrenic City. “Jakarta, being the city that it is, undoubtedly offers moist soil for mental illnesses to flourish in. Jobs are scarce, people are predators, living is expensive, and commuting is a daily battle.” Damn right. And her friend was right too, that “Jakarta should have more mental facilities than malls.” But then again, “The malls are mental facilities. They just don’t know it.” Big fat LOL.
I know that dying from Schizophrenia is far from possible, but I can just picture my funeral if say, my cause of death was mental illness.
Some guy/girl: Oh this is very sad, how did she die?
A friend: Lunacy killed her.
Some guy/girl: *confused* Luna-who?
A friend: She spent most of her life in Jakarta.
Some guy/girl: (with a look of comprehension) Ahh, no wonder...
That gets me scared shitless, when madness in Jakarta gradually becomes a normal daily sight.
2. Time is money. Not in here, apparently. Time means spending valuable seconds on road, getting dead stuck in some everlasting traffic jam. I did my calculations. On a normal basis, if you lived in Jakarta for all your lifetime, and you lived for 70 years, you would spend 8 bloody years on traffic. That is: 4 hours per day = 1460 hours per year = (say you have about 50 productive years) 73000 in total, which calculates to 8.3 years. EIGHT POINT THREE YEARS OF YOUR LIFE you spend from the inside of your car, grumpily complaining how chaotic the traffic is, grumpily wondering when your car is finally going to move, grumpily turning the inside of your brain into a massive soggy lump of absurd dullness. Imagine what you can do with those 8 years. You can go around the globe, relaxing weed-smoking deer-hunting adventure-craving spirituality-cleansing. You can pursue your lifelong dreams, cure cancer become a president invent talking trees be successfully happy. Or you can just simply enjoy life.
In case I was exaggerating, I told my mom about my calculations. Her response was, “No, you’re wrong. I read the official statistic on the internet once, and it’s actually 15 years more or less.” Now you see what I’m talking about?
3. Hypocrisy prevails. You take one upper class mall in Jakarta, get into one of the branded or semi-branded shops you can find, and there you will find a tank top costs near 1 million rupiah. And people who actually buy it. Don’t get me wrong, of course they do that in other countries too, like America. But have you realized that America is one of the countries with the most powerful economics in the world, and we live in one of the most economically under-developed countries on earth? In Jakarta we own most of the richest people in Indonesia, but when you take a little peek under the freeway bridge, you’ll find some of the most degraded, rejected, underprivileged citizens Indonesia can ever offer. The thing that the haves mostly don’t realize is that 20% of the richest people in Jakarta own about 70% of the city’s wealth, which leaves the rest 80% of its citizen with a mere 30%. And I’m not even going to talk about corruption and the power of capitalism, which makes the rich richer and the poor poorer. So when you buy that 1 million rupiah tank top, where exactly is your shame? One thing straight, I don’t want to live in a city where its citizens have no shame! Drives me nuts...
4. To volunteer in minimizing Jakarta’s excessive population. 8 million at night, 12 million at noon working hours. With an infrastructure this bad, how is that not excessive? Every one of them equally too desperate to leave, thinking that this city offers anything they’d ever wanted. And I’m not going to deny that alright, you can find everything here; it’s a goddamn luxurious paradise. With the increasing numbers of newcomers each year, apparently some need to do a bit of volunteering just to keep the population balanced, and I am indefinitely more than pleasured to be that sacrificial lamb.
5. Last but not least, I sweat like a pig here. I know this is a tropical country, and it is supposed to be hot and all, but this is just absurd! In Jakarta you don’t get only the heat from the sun, but also from the traffic pollution, the air-conditioner which blows hot wind outside of your house, the reflected sunrays from the windows of a skyscraper onto another, the rigorous breath of the 20 million living objects. If this keeps going on, in 2030 we’d be nothing but a bunch of slow-cooked meats on a gigantic cauldron. I can’t live well under this unbearable heat, especially when it’s not the kind of breezy heat you get in beaches either. I can’t think, I can’t feel, I complain all the time, I spend fortune on sunscreens, all I want to do is just stick my head in the freezer and pretend I’m on a vacation in Alaska. FYI, if you are wondering what gives me the right to complain about the heat since it’s just the way it is, I actually do my share not to make hell hotter than it already is. I don’t use aircon in my room, I recycle used papers for printing, my family very rarely ever buys frozen food, and I take public transport 60% of the time, even though God only knows how much I hate it. Eat that.
So there goes. Whoever reads this, please do not hesitate to give me a reason why I should love living in Jakarta; then maybe, just maybe, I’ll consider staying. Who knows?
Call me an escapist, but that’s still not going to prevent me from trying to be happy.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Human behaviour.
Have you ever felt that u were too individualistic that u started disliking people around you? Or maybe, for some reason unexplainable, have you ever felt like you just didn't like the people you were with, and the only reason u could think about was because you were too individualistic?
My point is, I perfectly know that we all were destined to be socially-dependent creatures, that we couldn't live without one another. The things is, we are all different. And I do realize that we have to have enough tolerance and patience to be able to connect to each other. But sometimes, what's lacking is understanding. When somebody behaves differently than you do, if you were a sensible person, you try to be tolerant enough to accept them. You tell yourself to ignore your differences and just accept them into your life. But ignoring the differences doesn't mean understanding them. When you ignore, you don't even try to understand, instead you just jump right into the finish line to make everything easier.
Ignoring differences are almost as bad as not accepting them at all. Slightly worse maybe, because if you don't accept them at all, at least you've saved some energy and emotions by not being a hypocrite, rather than people who act like they gladly accept those differences, but actually deep inside they couldn't actually care less.
Since I'm in my hating mood right now, I'm very much tempted to list the kinds of people i hate. Well, hate is a strong word, so may i say, dislike.
1. Bad listeners. People who have their eyes all over the place when you talk to them, and then give a really bad response which indicates that they don't give a damn.
2. Over-the-top ignorants. If you don't care about anything else, then give me a good reason why I should care about you. If you only cared for survival, try life for a change.
3. Anti-criticisms critics. I know you like to point out other people's flaws so much. Maybe it gives you pleasure doing that, maybe you feel superior above the people you critisize, maybe you think you know better, who knows? But how come you get all frowny when we criticize you?
4. Narrow-minded stuck-ups. Ha, it's funny how some people can be both narrow-minded and stuck-up. Or maybe it does make sense, since if you were narrow minded, the only thing that revolves around in your little world would be yourself, so that automatically makes you a stuck-up. And if you were a stuck up, you would think that you were the most sparkling diamond around, and every other thing would be nothing but sad little specks of dust, and that automatically makes you narrow-minded. Anyhoo, both are dejected in the same measure.
5. Smartasses. Hear yourself talking, please.
I might be a hypocrite for writing the list above, but hey, fortunately hypocrites aren't included in the list! So as long as I don't hate myself, everything will go along juuust fine... Like what the say, love yourself, love life.
P.S. Boy, do I need too add some new people into my life...
My point is, I perfectly know that we all were destined to be socially-dependent creatures, that we couldn't live without one another. The things is, we are all different. And I do realize that we have to have enough tolerance and patience to be able to connect to each other. But sometimes, what's lacking is understanding. When somebody behaves differently than you do, if you were a sensible person, you try to be tolerant enough to accept them. You tell yourself to ignore your differences and just accept them into your life. But ignoring the differences doesn't mean understanding them. When you ignore, you don't even try to understand, instead you just jump right into the finish line to make everything easier.
Ignoring differences are almost as bad as not accepting them at all. Slightly worse maybe, because if you don't accept them at all, at least you've saved some energy and emotions by not being a hypocrite, rather than people who act like they gladly accept those differences, but actually deep inside they couldn't actually care less.
Since I'm in my hating mood right now, I'm very much tempted to list the kinds of people i hate. Well, hate is a strong word, so may i say, dislike.
1. Bad listeners. People who have their eyes all over the place when you talk to them, and then give a really bad response which indicates that they don't give a damn.
2. Over-the-top ignorants. If you don't care about anything else, then give me a good reason why I should care about you. If you only cared for survival, try life for a change.
3. Anti-criticisms critics. I know you like to point out other people's flaws so much. Maybe it gives you pleasure doing that, maybe you feel superior above the people you critisize, maybe you think you know better, who knows? But how come you get all frowny when we criticize you?
4. Narrow-minded stuck-ups. Ha, it's funny how some people can be both narrow-minded and stuck-up. Or maybe it does make sense, since if you were narrow minded, the only thing that revolves around in your little world would be yourself, so that automatically makes you a stuck-up. And if you were a stuck up, you would think that you were the most sparkling diamond around, and every other thing would be nothing but sad little specks of dust, and that automatically makes you narrow-minded. Anyhoo, both are dejected in the same measure.
5. Smartasses. Hear yourself talking, please.
I might be a hypocrite for writing the list above, but hey, fortunately hypocrites aren't included in the list! So as long as I don't hate myself, everything will go along juuust fine... Like what the say, love yourself, love life.
"...You'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior..."
The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger
(Spoken by the character Mr. Antolini)
The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger
(Spoken by the character Mr. Antolini)
P.S. Boy, do I need too add some new people into my life...
Saturday, August 1, 2009
I'm selfish for not being a nationalist.
I’m selfish for hating to go on public buses, because their condition is far from adequate.
I’m selfish for continually watching American cable TV, because the local TV channels are filled with nothing but tacky soap operas and cheap entertainments.
I’m selfish for not enjoying the scenery whenever I drive around the city, because the sights of street children and beggars everywhere are sure not pretty.
I’m selfish for having a second thought of whom I may choose on the presidential election, because, well, how could we all not?
I’m selfish for always comparing my country to others that had achieved their independence later than mine, nevertheless develops faster and stronger in time.
I’m selfish for questioning, where did all that money go? To national growth or corporate greed?
I’m selfish for never rolling my window down on a morning city drive, simply because I don’t want to get killed by the carbon-monoxide pollution.
I’m selfish for realizing the big contrast between the rich and the poor, and who eats whom.
I’m selfish for doubting them as they say “Treasure our own culture”, because all I can see is their willingness to let Westernization in and turn ethnic morality into a form of ambiguity.
I’m selfish for wishing I could fly, so I don’t have to waste one-third of my day getting stuck in a chaotic traffic jam.
I’m selfish for wondering how the geographical benefits we had at first could turn into a profit for wealthy nations with dominating powers and left us nothing with but defeat.
I’m selfish for wanting to get out, to escape; because overtime, my faith in my own country is getting distorted in shape.
I’m selfish for continually watching American cable TV, because the local TV channels are filled with nothing but tacky soap operas and cheap entertainments.
I’m selfish for not enjoying the scenery whenever I drive around the city, because the sights of street children and beggars everywhere are sure not pretty.
I’m selfish for having a second thought of whom I may choose on the presidential election, because, well, how could we all not?
I’m selfish for always comparing my country to others that had achieved their independence later than mine, nevertheless develops faster and stronger in time.
I’m selfish for questioning, where did all that money go? To national growth or corporate greed?
I’m selfish for never rolling my window down on a morning city drive, simply because I don’t want to get killed by the carbon-monoxide pollution.
I’m selfish for realizing the big contrast between the rich and the poor, and who eats whom.
I’m selfish for doubting them as they say “Treasure our own culture”, because all I can see is their willingness to let Westernization in and turn ethnic morality into a form of ambiguity.
I’m selfish for wishing I could fly, so I don’t have to waste one-third of my day getting stuck in a chaotic traffic jam.
I’m selfish for wondering how the geographical benefits we had at first could turn into a profit for wealthy nations with dominating powers and left us nothing with but defeat.
I’m selfish for wanting to get out, to escape; because overtime, my faith in my own country is getting distorted in shape.
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