Page 329: Fuck you 2016

The only thing that made the Hong Kong airport lounge stopped looking fuzzy and implode in a slow motion that noon was a pack of tissue that some old lady offered. I stopped sobbing for a second to thank her. Not just because of what she offered, but because she held my hand too. She had already sat next to me when I received many notifications the second I turned my phone on; whatsapp messages, missed calls, SMS. The messengers that delivered a news that I knew would break my heart. Even before I read them, I knew that my aunt has passed away. The woman who was like my second mom has gone because of the illness that attacked her a week before. And I couldn’t attend her funeral. No last kiss on her cheek, no farewell words were spoken.

After that, everything in my life seemed to crumbling down, one by one. My former employer decided not to renew my contract as a consultant. And then I didn’t get the scholarship I wanted. And my mom was sick. And my dad was on the verge of mild depression. And my heart was broken..again. 

They all happened in 2016. It’s not a good year. It’s a huge reminder that life has defeated me by throwing me the huge rocks called “misfortune”, over and over. I know I still have a decent place to stay and food to swallow, but it doesn’t mean that my problems weren’t real. This year I took the break. I allowed myself to cry when I felt like I need to. I allowed myself to curse the universe.

But 2016 helped me to realize who my real friends are, people I can’t count on even when I reveal the bitter queen in me. It helped me to know who’d say “take your time, let me know if you need anything”; or those who’d send me a cake all of a sudden just to cheer me up; or those who’d listen to me whining for the umpteenth time, and still hug me afterwards. That they will be my support system most of the time and I would do the same when they need me the most.

And I went to UK this year, a country that I wanted to visit from the age of 13. And I loved it. I loved the weather (that it rained a lot. Don’t you just love the smell of the earth after the rain?), the diversity, the tube, the old buildings, the houses, the park, and how I can be the real pedestrian and walked most of the time. I went to Tate Modern and saw Salvador Dali’s Metamorphosis of Narcissus, Rene Magritte’s The Annunciation and Jane Alexander’s African Adventure with my own eyes. I met my buddies again. And I remembered how happy I was.

Right now, I can say that the hurricane has gone. Well pretty much. I got a new job, I’m learning new things, I’m making plans for personal projects, and I smile every time I remember something about my aunt. My heart? Still beating somehow. Surviving. Reposing?

Reposing..yeah she needs it.

I hate you, 2016. And I’m sure many people feel the same. You’re a shitty year, you’re a rotten year. Thank you for torturing me, thank you for London and Scotland, thank you for giving me a new job. But I still hate you. I do. Fuck you 2016.

Page 328: Tease

Yeah..
Life will tease you with things you can't have.
I know that.

#eaaaaa #lagipinginlebay

I don't wanna be your friend

I just wanna be your lover

Page 327: The Inexplicable Acceptance

Some story is shorter than the other. And with him, it started with that glint in his eyes that you saw that night. That you tried to describe..to understand.

There’s some amount of sadness, and some recklessness, and some mischievousness.
But it ended abruptly, before you could understand. Before you're sure.

But somehow you’re fine with that. 

The inexplicable acceptance.

Page 326: On Asking a Guy Out

People who know me well know that I can be weird and silly sometimes. Like I can randomly ask them “hey, when you’re on a date, and you have that urge to fart, and you can’t leave the table, which one would you prefer: a stink one or a loud one”. Or when I pretended to be deaf and mute because I got stuck in an angkot when a stranger asked me my number. Or when I ate glue because I was curious.

There are silly challenges I would commit to do for the sake of YOLO, but not asking a guy out. For years, one of my closest friends often tells me to ask guys out if I find them interesting, but I used to think that it’s not..okay. Funny, huh? Neng Tia likes to tell people that she’s a feminist and believes that women should do what they can do because we need to break gender stereotype, but still, when it comes to asking a guy out, she thought that it should come from men.

Maybe because I grew up with older women in my life who kept telling me that “aggressive” women were bad. Even my mom, although she’s independent, smart, and pretty decisive, she played that passive-aggressive strategy to my dad before he asked her out (FYI, my dad was a big nerd who paid attention too much on music and alien, he didn’t even realize that my mom, his own best friend had a crush on him back then).

Yeah, us, woman know that, talk about that once in a while, that asking a guy out is kinda taboo. That you can’t show interest first, that you have to attract them, and wait, like some animal in a pet store. Well, tinder and other dating apps sort of help us to make the first move, but let's admit it, if we could avoid using that card, we would. Because somehow it “defines” our “values”, that we are good enough to be wanted. To be chased.

And I get that. No matter how awesome you think you are, or your friends often tell you that you’re amazing or cool, once in a while you still need some external factor to justify that. And that factor, ladies, are men (or women, depends on your preferences).

It’s nice to be wanted, especially when a guy whom you think is cool, or smart, or hot, or has it all asks your number and asks you out on a date. I get that. Once this hot-successful (I’m talking about a Doctor giving lecturers at Harvard, Berkeley, did amazing projects on urban planning, has his own organization and curated numerous art exhibitions kind of successful) guy told me that I’m attractive and smart and asked me out. In my head I was like “YES, YES, FUCKING YES, OH GAWD DEFINITELY A HUNDRED YESS, SIR YOU HAD ME WHEN YOU MENTIONED YOU HAD A COPY OF CODEX SERAPHINIANUS YES SIR I’M FUCKING YOURS SIR YESS!!!” but of course I simply replied “sure. Yes. Somewhere in SCBD maybe?”. Although it didn’t work out the way I imagined it would be, and it was my friend who finally tapped him, I still think that it’s an accomplishment. Haha.

I digress. Where was I? Oh, yes, asking a man out is kinda taboo. Because we don’t want to be seen that desperate. We don’t want that man to think “are you really that lonely?”. Not until two weeks ago I decided to try asking a man out. I mean..I’m an INTP who’s really bad at flirting, so of course Mr.Spock in my head was telling me to ask a guy that I find interesting out. It’s harmless, it’s just an invitation, and it’s sort of empowering.

image courtesy: here

So last week I asked this guy out. I sent him a simple line, “hey, are you free tomorrow night?” He said yes. An hour before he came I texted my friend and told her that I’m gonna laugh really hard if he shows up with a friend because he thought I was asking for a hanging out session. Laugh or would be like Jane of IT Crowd who suddenly asked people to dance together just to get away from awkward situation. But he came alone, and I had a good time, good conversation, and free food. 

So you know, ladies, it’s okay to ask a guy out. It doesn’t mean that you’re aggressive, even if it makes you look like an aggressive woman, it doesn’t make you a bad person. And trust me, it feels good to finally be able to conquer your own fear of being judged as not wanted or pathetic. If a guy whom you asked thinks that you are, it’s still going to be just fine, it’s not the end of the world. Remember, you’re not some animal in a pet store. 

;)

Page 325: Stories and The Benefit of Doubt

Was it Chbosky who said that some moment will just be another story someday? I know all I have to do to put this curiosity to an end is to google it, but somehow I’m sure he said (or wrote) that line. And I’m sure I agreed with him. Some moment will just be another story. Another thing that will be carved on the surface of some part of your brain that once in a while will appear even when you aren’t trying to recall it.

The line sounds a little bit sad to me, it’s like suppressing the hope that not everything is temporary. But maybe actually everything is, and all we can do is to make peace with that sadness. The kinda sadness that make you go to bed with emotionless face and tired eyes, and chuckle a little bit for nurturing false hope. Nurturing the benefit of doubt. That things will actually get better for the rest of the year.

This is one of the plights of being a human with free will and jaded soul, we nurture that hope that something better from what we have or has happened to us will happen with new experience or experiment. We collect stories, collect memories, add feelings and distort it a little bit so it will comfort us when we read it. Because that’s what we all have. And we try not to get hurt, put patches on our comfort bubble here and there so it won’t collapse or let go of the air that we breathe in. We try not to be suffocated. And try to let the memories be good for those who stay.

The flesh that lived and loved will be eaten by plague

So let the memories be good for those who stay

Page 324: Fleabag

There are two types of sadness that can caused by a movie or a TV show, in my opinion:
1. Classic one. The one that makes you cry, the kind of sadness that’s easier to be understood. The less complicated one.
2. The one that shakes your soul, makes you speechless, haunts you for days, and once in a while makes you think about your life. But there’s no tears, it’s just inexplicable and sort of depressive, just like Darren Aronofsky’s movies.

Fleabag contains the second one, like most dark comedy shows. The final episode from its season 1 made me feel uncomfortable after some mysteries finally have been revealed and the dots have been connected. I read somewhere that Phoebe Waller-Bridge, the writer and creator intentionally put the sad and or shocking scene after a funny one. Because that's the right time to attack the audience with the right amount of bitterness since happiness makes them a little bit fragile. I personally think it’s brilliant. Sick, sort of, ha, but brilliant.

image courtesy: here

image courtesy: here

Fleabag is definitely for people with morbid sense of humor – like me and my friend who recommended it to me; who love to laugh at shitty things that happen in our life since that’s one of our best coping mechanisms; who more often than not, laugh at inappropriate moments; and have fondness for metaphors and irony. But as a single woman in this modern life who sometimes feels the anxiety for knowing that some people in my life expect me to have a life that’s perceived as a normal one, it’s more than just entertaining. It makes me feel normal and not so alone.

I can relate to some of her problems. I can relate to loneliness that makes her more reckless. I can relate to her effort to be an independent woman who's too proud to admit that she needs help sometimes. I understand her weariness for having a big sister who seems to have a normal life. I understand that sometimes, laughing at problems that can make other people cry is your only weapon to make life more bearable and postpone the ache.

image courtesy: here

Fleabag is a not a lovable character. She’s pretty far from delightful, and you can’t say that she has many endearing qualities. Pity her? Yes, maybe. But at some point you might wish she kills herself. But the way she sees life and the way she survives in this life makes her interesting. She’s every fucked up 30(ish) person who is still clueless, silly, (sometimes) childish, with foggy career path and doesn’t seem to make it. She’s the anti-heroine you need to make you feel better about yourself, the martyr that put us on pedestal. 

But she’s also every single middle class girl who sometimes asks herself “what the hell is wrong with me?” or “how did I get here?” for lacking the ability to control herself from repeating the same mistake.

The series also talks about some issues related to woman, for instance, male ego in a changing world where gender equality is rising and they have to share the big cake of privilege and opportunities. (Okay, sorry, spoiler alert) One episode presented this in such a hilarious way. They had this camp to make men "a better man" by allowing them to yell at this sex doll about things that annoy them from women in their life. Like "slut!" or "who did you blow to get that job?". They had female only camp too, which was way weirder. One of the most memorable scenes for me was the speech that fleabag heard in the camp her father sent her to:

Leaving your voice in your head and trapping your heads in your skull. Think of it as a thought prison in your mind. Firstly, we're going to teach you how to breathe. Then we will have a short meditation, then we will find our sanctuary in the partaking of menial tasks all in perfect silence. Principal rules are no talking. If you need to communicate with any of our other superiors, you can write on that board. No matter what happens, a word must not be heard.

It’s like a satire of how women are still, somehow oppressed to not really express their thoughts and be more submissive. You’d find it funny, you might chuckle, but also curse a little bit.

I also liked how fleabag discussed female sexuality and modern dating (and the plight of it). From sexting, hooking up, to instant gratification and complacency. Her comment on anal sex was memorable and the masturbating part was silly yet true (sometimes, you're the only one whom you can count on, right, girls? Ha). After a terrific first season, I wonder what Phoebe Waller-Bridge would bring in the next season – something that I’m excited about.

image courtesy: here

Page 323: She knew

It was a few minutes before her bedtime when all of a sudden she remembered what her aunt told her about shadow: that it exists to remind us that there's a light somewhere. And shadow can comfort us when the light is too bright, when we feel like it blinds our eyes or burns our skin. Just like life, one minute you're happy, the next you're sad. A right amount of darkness in our life can teach us about balance and humility.

She missed her aunt, the woman who was like her second mom. She cried a little bit, although she knew that it won't change a thing, that it won't turn back the time and allow her to kiss her aunt's cheeks for the last time before she passed away, or allow her to buy more time so she could attend her funeral.

But she cried anyway. Released the storm so she would get the quiet peace of the night after.

Page 322: it's (not) just a pat

To be a woman means that every now and then you can have bad days when strangers assault you on the street and you’d still have the strength to yell at them, or punch them in the face, or kick them in the balls.

But there’s a day, like today, when you had a long day, and feel too tired to yell. Too tired to express the anger. Too tired to hold your tears when some stranger on a motorbike squeezed your ass and laughed as he fled. All you want that it never happened. And you just stared at the older man who saw it and told you to stop crying, because “it’s just a pat”. You’re speechless. You’re tired.

Because to him, it’s just a pat or a squeeze. To you, it’s a violation of your personal space, your haven, your approval. To him it’s just a pat or a squeeze. To you it’s a cruel act, telling you that what you wear, how you behave, or do things that make you feel proud of yourself, doesn’t matter that much. Because on the street, you’re just a piece of meat that they can touch whenever they want to feel more powerful.

There’s a day, like today, when I wished I had the power to be invisible.

Page 321: The Ultimate Expression

He was a stranger that happened to be one my closest friends’ good friend. I heard stories about him. About the depression he had, and how he’d been trying to fight it before he shot himself. I never met him, but one night, a few days after his death, I cried for him. I cried for anyone that committed suicide. I cried for everyone who’s still dealing with the urge to check out early. I understand depression. I understand loneliness. I know the irksome feeling that comes from not knowing why you can’t be happy with a life that people perceive as a good life. But before that night, I didn’t think that somehow I would understand suicide.  

It’s logical, isn’t it? In a way. It's like the ultimate expression of free will. It's like..leaving a room that you've been living in since you could remember although you knew that you never signed anything to be placed in that room. And then you realized it's a shitty room. And there's an unlocked door to leave it forever. When you don't believe that the afterlife exists, and you constantly feel this pain, but you don't know why, it makes sense that you just want to vanish, right?

Right.

Page 320: A Brief Exploration of Gloomy Glasgow and Vibrant Edinburgh

One shirt and one sweater underneath my coat, and I still shivered. It was 3 AM in Carlisle, a city in UK where bus passengers who wanted to continue the trip to Glasgow had to transit. Traveling with bus wasn’t my first choice. I’d booked a flight to Glasgow but then I missed it, and it’s too expensive to buy a new ticket. So I decided to take a bus from Victoria Coach Station, London (ticket price: GBP39). After 8 hours on the road, the driver told me to wait at some tiny shelter with nothing to protect me from cold wind. I was pretty surprised, because I thought the shelter would be more..decent. Haha. “That..shelter? Ah, lovely” I told that middle aged man with a chagrined smile on my face. Thank God I wasn’t alone. There were 3 women with their kids who also waited for the next bus. They shivered too. So it’s not because I was such a tropical baby.

It was my first time visiting UK so of course, Scotland was on the list. But with only 3 days to spend, I had to forget the idea to see Loch Ness, a place where nessy legend was born. As a cryptozoology enthusiast, it was quite a bummer. Nevertheless, the excitement to visit Glasgow and Edinburgh wiped that frown off my face.

The bus to Glasgow came sooner than I thought. I hopped on the bus and slept until it arrived at Buchanan Bus Station at 5 AM. The first thing that I did was trying to find a charging station. I kinda hated myself for not bringing a power bank for this trip, because unlike in Indonesia where you can easily find outlets in public space, plug the cord and charge your phone for free, in UK you have to pay GBP1.5 for 30 minutes of charging.

Glasgow in the morning. So many biiirrdsss

As soon as my phone got back to life, I asked my friend to pick me up. We had coffee and talked for almost two hours before headed to her apartment. On the way, she told me a little bit of this and that about Glasgow and Scotland. Like the origin of the name Scotland, “skotos” which means “darkness”, or that Scotland’s national animal is the unicorn (a fact that amuses me since it’s one of my favorite mythological creatures).

To me, Glasgow was like a slow burn. At first, I saw it as just cold and gloomy, but the next day, i realized there's something beautiful about the gloomy atmosphere in this city - the light brown bricks they used for their buildings and the cloudy sky are enticing. If you’re an arts enthusiast, it’s not hard to find places where you can feed your artsy fartsy side in Glasgow. But during my trip, I only visited 3 places; Centre for Contemporary Arts (CCA), Glasgow School of Art and Lighthouse. CCA reminds me of Dia.Lo.Gue, an art space where you can find interesting exhibition, artshop, and a café. Glasgow School of Art has a regular exhibition of students called “Degree Show” that you can see for free. I love the souvenirs that you can get there. Well..it depends on the artists I think, maybe it’s just my luck that some of them provided nice postcards that “frame-able”. The third place, Lighthouse also has a space to hold an exhibition. When i went there, they had this nice architecture exhibition.

I always think it won’t feel like traveling if you don’t try the local cuisine of the place you visit. For Scotland, it means Haggis, deep-fried mars bars and Shortbread, at least. Haggis is a savory pudding containing pork or sheep's pluck (heart, liver and lungs); minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt, mixed with stock. If you don’t eat pork, you can try the kosher version of it – it exists, trust me. I didn’t try the deep-fried mars bars, but I wasn’t that curious either. I was more curious about this ice cream store in Edinburgh that my friend had been telling about, Mary’s Milk Bar, which I will tell you later. Shortbread fits with coffee or tea, because it’s not that sweet. Not a huge fan of it, but it was okay.

There’s a franchise in UK where you can find cute things for your house called Tiger. Gosh, if only I didn’t have maximum checked baggage weight (and more money to spend, haha) I would’ve bought so many things. I didn’t take the picture of the Glasgow branch I visited, but I bought a set of espresso glasses there. Another nice spot to chill in Glasgow was near River Clyde where people can sit on the green grass where sometimes seagull will join you. Haha. My friend said that seagulls here are like stray cats in Jakarta, they will come to you just to check whether you have food to share or not.

I visited Edinburgh on the second day. My friend and I took the bus from Buchanan bus station and we only had to pay £3.5 per person for round trip, because they had sale or something. You can buy the tickets online and sometimes they give discount. So make sure to check the website one or two days before your trip. Edinburgh was so different from Glasgow, more people and vibrant. The first destination was Edinburgh Castle, one of the famous tourist attractions in that Scotland’s capitol. When we went there, they were building some kind of extended stadium for a festival, we assumed, since Edinburgh is famous with its festivals. The ticket to enter the castle was expensive, £16.50 for adult (16-59 years) and £9.90 for child (5-15years), so I decided to just take pictures in front of it. Haha.

After that, my friend took me to get around the city. We saw street performers here and there, most of them are street musicians carrying bagpipe and wearing Scottish traditional dress – kilt included. We also found a man dressed like Mel Gibson in Braveheart in front of The Scotch Whisky Experience, a 25 year old place where visitors can buy whisky at the shop, take a whisky tasting tour and or whisky school. Our next destination was Mary’s Milk Bar! Yeay! Finally! Located in Grassmarket area, this small place offers more than just delicious gelato (Italian word for ice cream). They also have floats and chocolate bars, but the star of this place is course the ice cream. The price for one scoop was £2, £3 for 2 scoops, and £4 for three. I chose salted caramel, raspberry, and dark chocolate. OMG they’re absolutely amazing! With the perfect level of sweetness and texture, they melted in my mouth in a very delightful way. I like the vintage decoration too, it plays old music and is filled with vintage furniture and has a 60-year-old milkshake machine that’s still in perfect working order. The owner, Mary Hillard, who was there too during our visit, also looked like a girl that came out from a vintage photo. I hated myself not to take picture or having a conversation with her. I googled her and found out that she’s a trained chocolatier and an ex-student of Gelato University in Anzola dell’Emilia, near Bologna, Italy. Gelato University! Didn’t know that they have a university to master the art of gelato making!

We continued our journey by visiting Scottish National Gallery and had dinner at this nice spanish restaurant nearby. After that we went to Elephant House, the restaurant where JK Rowling wrote Harry Potter books. Like Edinburgh Castle, we didn’t get in, just took photos in front of it *insert innocent grin here*. We also visited Greyfriars Kirkyard by accident. I was attracted by a statue of Greyfriar Bobby, a dog who became known in 19th-century Edinburgh for supposedly spending 14 years guarding the grave of his owner until he died himself on 14 January 1872. Near the statue, there was a cemetery and a church inside, so I was curious and asked my friend to explore a little bit. There I found out a flyer, saying that it’s one of the most haunted cemeteries in the world and they even have a regular tour to show visitors famous spots where poltergeist activities often take place around the graveyard. I told my friend that Indonesia has potential market for this kind of tour since we’re superstitious and have so many places that are believed to be haunted. We just need a better marketing strategy, hehe. We didn’t stay long because it’s 10 PM already and the summer sky has started to turn dark, so yeah, it was creepy. Haha.

We then went to some restaurant who served many variants of beer and coffee before taking the bus that took us back to Glasgow. And that’s the end of our journey. The next day I flew back to London, hoping someday I can go back to explore Highlands and Aberdeen.

Page 319: Current Addiction (Part 19)

Seagull by Saturday Sun

I need more time to breathe

Lone seagull flies, into the waves

Our sun goes down, in covering clouds

Page 318: Hiatus

It's time to take a break. 

Find bliss in ignorance.

It's time to listen to 

the voice inside of you 

and the beautiful elusive sounds the nature made.

“Detach. Detach. Detach.”

they whispered.

“From the thoughts of fate and luck.

From the noise from mouths of others.

From ache. From ache.”

they whispered.

Jakarta, 09.07.2016

Amazing artwork by Elicia Adijanto

Page 317: We Do Have That Culture, Indonesia

Yuyun was 14 when she got raped by 14 men and murdered. This sick incident is the reason why we need to change the law in Indonesia and educate people about rape culture. Seriously, we DO have a rape culture problem.

My buddy Fely sent me the link of this thoughtful writing about Rape Culture in Indonesia.
Go read this so we can learn to stop blaming on things like alcohol or woman's body.

Dear Yuyun, I hope your soul is in the most peaceful place right now.

"But rape and sexual assault isn’t just because of alcohol. To blame it on the alcohol is to detract the perpetrator’s responsibility from their actions. And that epitomizes the flawed system we have which propagates a rape culture.

But no one ever taught boys to not do catcalls. In fact, our people prides on it. Most believe catcalls should be taken as a compliment to the women, and they should be flattered. So whenever sexual crimes occur, it’s the blame game again: what was the woman wearing? was she flirty? Why not blame it on the men? Because it’s simply more convenient and more culturally acceptable to blame the women."

Page 316: Fascinate

This will be over.

I promise this will be over soon.

The pain, the jealousy, the cheesy imagination in my head.

It will be over soon.

You've found a new home.

I should be happy.

I should.

Still, I wish I fascinated you at some point, 

in some particular way.

Page 315: All I have left is the story*

It’s kinda funny how Interpol’s songs are the salve that I need every time I decided to heal the wound and move on.
Every time I realized that the ship has sailed.

Despite the sexual innuendos in their lyrics, Paul Banks seems to know how to represent how I feel inside when it comes to letting go. Or to comprehend how weary souls try to deal with all “bad lucks” they have.

Anyway, guess it’s the sign I need to continue chasing my dreams. No pause this time, Neng Tia. 

No pause.

I know Carlos D has left, but for me, this is interpol.

*from The Depths

Page 314: [Not] Brave Enough

She told me to gather the courage that I once had, to be brave once again.
Be brave enough to break my own heart.
I think I did. Or you did.
You didn’t mean to. But you did break it.
Rejection doesn’t always come in a form of a word “no”, right?
She encouraged me to confess to you.

And I refused. 

Because some part of me believes that you knew I’m kinda into you.
And some part of me believes that even if you feel a little bit of attraction, you wouldn’t nurture it. Why would you? You have her. And it seems simpler to be with her. And you seem happier. You adore her.
Why wouldn't you? She seems amazing. I envy her. I do.

Still,
I loved the feeling when you touched my scar.

Page 313: Once Again

And 

once again

you threw

your little 

tired heart

to a person

who refused

to catch it.

image courtesy: battery_full

Page 312: Kuala Lumpur Trip

It was an unplanned trip that turns out to be a sort of pilgrimage for me. While for her it was a closure of a love story that didn’t end as happy as she thought would be. She had an invisible wound to heal, caused by an enormous betrayal and dishonesty. And I had a mission to get a little piece of my heart back from that man, who promised me things but blew them all.

Never thought that Kuala Lumpur would be the place where both of us can learn more about letting go. To learn that what’s done cannot be undone and it’s always better to move on. She embraced the failed marriage. And I got that piece back when that guy didn’t even want to meet me although he lives in the same city, and how I didn't feel sad at all. It was pretty easy to explore KL. Unlike Jakarta where there’s no center for all public transportations, this city has KL sentral. 

A few days before the trip, I made a little research about how to go from a place to another. My main destination was Batu Caves, which was easy to reach from Grid 9, the hotel I stayed in. I also searched tips how to reach Grid 9 from the airport.

From airport, I took the Skybus to KL sentral (RM 11). From there, I took the MRT (RM 1.25 if I’m not mistaken, haha, kinda forgot the price) to Maharajalela. It’s so easy to find this hotel. As soon as you get out from the Maharajalela station, just cross the street and you’ll see the signage. Don’t forget to prepare RM 50 for deposit. Grid 9 was pretty nice. Clean, minimalistic, and they provide shampoo and soap, but not toothpaste, so you have to buy it – there’s a seven eleven and other convenience store nearby, so it’s easy to get it.

the room we stayed in

the common area

The next morning, my friend and I went to Batu Cave. We took MRT to KL Sentral and continue the journey with a train (RM 2.6 for a single trip) to Batu Caves. There’s no entrance fee for Batu Caves main temple, but you have to buy tickets to get in some temples inside the area.

Batu Caves was amazing! Ever since I was a kid, I've always been fascinated by myth, legends, folklore and stories about deities, from Greek to Chinese, but especially Hindu. Maybe because when my grandma was still alive, she used to choose Mahabharata and Ramayana as my bedtime stories. Hinduism played a big role in shaping Javanese culture and wayang, and she loved wayang so much, and I inherited the fondness. I think that’s the reason why

Page 311: On Faith and Some People

O boy, 

Some people do have that urge to create hell in this life for those who don't share the same belief as theirs because (maybe) they believe it will make it easier for them to get to heaven later. Sometimes I wonder how it feels to be them. For not accepting that faith is personal, it's something that you hold dear to your heart and that it's elusive sometimes. I just don't understand why some people just wanna create a battle field to show that they're right, that they have more power and prerogative. Those people, who refuse to learn more about what's really going on, who refuse that some people can believe what they don't and it can be harmless and discussion should be enough. If they believe that their God is almighty, shouldn't they believe that God will take care of everything?

Page 310: Oh, Kazu

You'll know we are equally damaged

Don't be a fool, make it easier

You'll learn to say when

Signal if you can't say, "no more"

Kazu Makino, For the Damaged

image courtesy: here

Page 309: 31 and Still Wandering

“I thought I was just seeing and listening, that in my idle wanderings I was nothing but a reflector of received images, a white screen onto which reality projected colours and light instead of shadows. But, though I was unaware of it, I was more than that.” – Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet.

-
The clouds couldn’t hold the rain any longer. I started to hear uncountable tiny drops hit the roof at 2 PM. The sound that I love, but not that day. Because it was my birthday, and I needed to go to a place to do my annual “ritual”: The birthday trip, a journey where I can contemplate and cleanse my soul a little bit. And rain can ruin it.

-
This year, I chose a hill. Not too far, Bukit Moko in Bandung. I was planning to go there on foot. And by “on foot” I mean walking from Saung Angklung Udjo. Glad I didn’t do it. Haha. I ordered gojek to take me to the closest spot to the gate. You still have to hike anyway to reach the top of the hill.

-
For those who haven’t been to Bukit Moko (or Bukit Bintang), the best Route is from Padasuka. Find Saung Angklung Udjo and just follow the path. There’s no public transportation to reach Moko. So either you use a 4WD car or a motorbike like I did.

It was 3 PM when we left the house. We had to stop for a while because it was raining really hard. I prayed to God to make it stop and give me sunset. It was almost 4 PM when the rain stopped. Well..kind of. It was still drizzling, actually.

The road to Moko was pretty challenging: steep, narrow and muddy. There was a time when we had to stop because a vegetables truck was broken down and sort of blocked the road. So we helped them, you know, gave it a push so the engine would start. No, I’m not kidding. My ojek driver was a good guy. He was the one who had the idea.

-
It was almost 5 PM when we reached the gate. I saw the pines forest from afar and got so excited. The ticket to get in was pretty cheap, IDR 12,000/ person. When we finally entered the forest, the hill was inundated by the mist. It was eerie yet pretty. Kinda reminded me of Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hollow. 

After taking pictures, we stayed at some kind of shelter because it was raining again. I was still hoping that the rain would stop and the clear sky would expel the mist and invite the beautiful sunset to come. My mind used the chance to drag me to that corner where I can find fragments of memories, thoughts and feelings. About my plans. About that guy who once talked to me about building future together, but then left this country to chase..other things than me. 

[The shuffle option on my phone suddenly chose The Cure’s A Letter to Elise. “but i let the dream go // and the promises broke // and the make-believe ran out”. “Shit..” I murmured before I giggled.]

About my parents. About other guy who has that nice guy syndrome – another short story that i should label as “just another laughing stock”. About mistakes. About life. About fate. About faith.

-
5.30. The rain stopped, the mist disappeared, and I saw a golden line. Sunset was coming, not really stunning, but it’s still comforting. 

I thanked God for it, took a deep breath, and then smiled before I left the top of the hill.

31 and still wandering. May the Force be with me.

Page 308: Fragments of Pessoa

Finally got The Book of Disquiet.
Page 23 so far, and maybe it's too soon to say this, but screw it, I LOVE this book!

I fall for it.
Fast and hard.

Thank you, Mr. Pessoa!
Thank you for writing those beautiful sentences.
Thank you for articulating the feelings elegantly - I used to think they were ineffable.
:)

Page 307: Scavenging

It was a stupid game after all - to took a little piece of my heart and slipped it in your pocket.

I thought it would be fun.

I thought I would remember and would get it back before we're apart.

You didn’t realize it. 

And I forgot about it.

So you may have thrown it somewhere along with things you didn’t need.
[like the leftovers in the fridge,
or the dirt on your shoes,
or the conversation that has run dry]

But no worries.

I'll find it.

I’ll get it back someday. 

I’m pretty good at scavenging.
[and repairing]

Even without instructions,
without maps.

Let’s be strangers again.

It’s better.

It’s safer.

"Pack up, don't stray"
Maps - YYYs