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

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.

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)

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.

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.

Just because I'm alone doesn't mean I'm lonely.

It's over midnite and I'm nowhere near sleepy. I hate it when I'm suposed to be doing something (like sleeping) but then I'm not. It opens up a gate in my head for random thoughts to come rushing in. And I hate having to think over things at this wee of hour, my brain is certainly not functioning well. I wish I had a switch to turn off and on the flow of my brain, or to temporarily erase memories. That way when I don't feel like getting burdened over thoughts, I can just shut the whole system down.

Right now I'm thinking about someone, but I'm not exactly sure what to think about since that person just kinda... dissapeared. Well that's not true, I am sure of what I can think about, coz there are lots of detailed ways to think about a certain somebody. Like the way that person smiles, talks, eats, smells, or even calls you names. But I mean, I'm not even sure if that person is still alive. Ok that's not true, I perfectly know that that person is still alive, it's just that that person seems to be dead rite now. I don't mean dead as in buried 5 foot beneath the earth, but dead as in not showing any signs of existence whatsoever. And if I think about that person over and over again, that would make me miss that person even more. And imagine if that person is actually *please god don't let this happen* dead, how shattered and broken down into blood-drenched, fragmented pieces would my heart be. Especially since that person kept going round and round in my head. So I'm just trying not to think about that person as much as I used to, coz everything is possible yet nothing is perfect. And still there's the friggin' Indian ocean that bids us part.

And there's this one more person, who's always either sleepy or tired and you couldn't possibly tell whether that person is in the mood or not. Ok fine that's not true, that person is always in the mood.

Oh and theres this last person, whose body makes girls wanna dry hump. Well at least I do. Too bad that person had been nothing but talks.

Well enough about them. I'm totally comfortable with being alone.

At least for now.

Another day wasted.

I like it when guys like me coz they think I'm different. Like, when they (or he, whatever) sent me a text message at 4 o'clock in the morning to say "...i think you're different from most girls, in a good way". And when the next day I told him, "thanks, you made me feel special", he replied with "you are special". It felt drop-dead-satisfying. It's like winning a game you've been playing for your entire life. It's like having a glow-in-the-dark substance flowing through your veins. It's like being bold when every other thing is dull.

Unfortunately that particular guy is somewhere across the universe.

Anyway, i have a book recommendation: the Catcher in the Rye.


It's a about a boy named Holden Caulfield, and he's like, totally lost. Not lost as in stranded on some solitary island, bust lost as in not knowing what to expect from life. He just got expelled from his boarding school - in which he never felt belong anyway - and he decided to runaway home, because, well, he thought he just couldn't live there anymore.

So in search of himself, he did a concealed, internal rebellion on the world - his world, to be precise. He viewed everything like nobody had ever done before, minding the simple trivial details while exuding logical skepticism out of his every thought. He examined everything he saw, felt, heard, tasted, fantasized, with descriptions that were both obscure yet engaging, exaggerated yet inevitably true. His feeling of alienation made him hard to trust anyone. Anyone except his little sister, Phoebe, whom he thought was the only one he knew who had a clear mind amidst all the nonsense he was getting through.

And to that little Phoebe he finally spilled out his whole heart. His deepest, incomprehensible thought that made him the way he was:

"...I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around — nobody big, I mean — except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff — I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be. I know it's crazy."

And instantly i fell in love with him.

P.S. This entry is titled Another Day Wasted because right now, right this moment, I'm supposed to be studying physics for the upcoming exam. All i did was flick through a couple of pages and then got tempted to write. *sigh*


peter loves wendy

Walking on a dream.

How would you define boredom?

For me, boredom represents repetition. Endless repetition that got me unaware of when it even started and when it's going to come for an end. It's an inevitable routine that takes me running through time, blindly pursuing for something unknown at the end of the tunnel while also ignoring the small shapeless details perched on the surroundings. Each passing day would continuously repeat itself: wake up in the morning, go to school, do some talks laughs gossips, come home from school, do homework, eat, sleep, and wake up the next morning again.

Ironically not many people are aware that they are undergoing that kind of boredom. For some of them it's just like, one day down, thousands more to go. But then again, if we were the ones who indefinitely are boredom-concious, what could we do about it anyway? Possibly nothing. We would still choose the safer way to survive by sticking to the routine, sucking up every passing joy and irk that the world produces. In other words, just live with it. And then someday when we - for a short while - find an excuse to break out from our routine, we would frantically enjoy it - for a short while - but then we would start missing our old life again. Excitements wouldn't be so exciting if it happens everyday, otherwise it would be just another form of repetition aka boredom. It's like like a splash of icy cold water on lazy, brooding summer days.

Right now, what I really wanna do to get out of this boredom and dive into the excitements are:
- Backpack around Africa and have a taste of the exotic heat, fragrance, people, wilderness, way of life
- Write a pulitzer-winning memoir
- Swim across the Indian ocean just to climb the Sydney Harbor Bridge while the sun sets
- Shove it up their asses
- Fly like Peter
- Turn malls into wildlife preservation rainforests
- Burn every single exam sheets to ashes and bury them 100 meters deep into the ground so we won't be having them next week

Seriously are those too much to ask for? ;)



We are always running for the thrill of it thrill of it
Always pushing up the hill searching for the thrill of it
On and on and on we are calling out and out again
Never looking down I’m just in awe of what’s in front of me

Walking on a Dream - Empire of the Sun