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
Monday, November 23, 2009
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...
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