Holidays in Jogjakarta

Wow I love low-qual photos dari pinggir jalan, love it.

This is from ello, where Topaz tagged me. And I am including it here because I think it is interesting enough. I'm grumpy.

Where were you 3 hours ago? 

Asleep.

Who are you in love with? 

Someone with the whole world in his eyes.

Have you ever eaten a crayon? 

You know, I like to think I was a civilized child.

Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you? 

I am wearing a glorious pink dress with white bird silhouettes on it. Other than that, no.

When is the last time you went to the mall? 

I can't recall. Recently, though. I went to Aeon a week or so ago.

Are you wearing socks right now? 

I haven't worn socks in 5 months.

Does your family have a car worth over $2,000?

All our cars are worth over $2,000 because we're snobby.

When was the last time you drove out of town? 

Last week.

Have you been to the movies in the last 5 days? 

The last time I went to the movies was in November to watch 'the gift' and I prefer not to think about that.

Are you hot? 

Hell yes I am.

What was the last thing you had to drink? 

Hot jasmine tea, which is my favorite.

What are you wearing right now? 

See question #04.

Do you wash your car or let the car wash do it? 

I'll answer this question another time, when I am in possession of a car.

Last food that you ate? 

Christmas cookies, which were divine.

Where were you last week at this time?
In Rain's house preparing for her book launch.

Have you bought any clothing items in the last week?
I have not. I am hoping to this week. I'm afraid I didn't bring enough clothes to Jogja.

When is the last time you ran? 

High school, maybe, when I was afraid of being late to class. I don't run anymore.

What's the last sporting event you watched? 

I don't watch the television and I don't keep up with sports.

What is your favourite animal?
Deer, sheep and sharks.

Your dream vacation?
Travelling the world with a camera, books, and the as-of-yet-unknown love of my life. Or camping. Anywhere, really.

Last person's house you were in?
My aunt's home in Condong Catur, Jogjakarta.

Worst injury you've ever had?
One time I spent three years loving someone and then we came to a point where we could no longer love each other.

Have you been in love? 

Are you stupid?

Do you miss anyone right now? 

Yes, yes, yes.

Last play you saw? 

The Sound of Music in 2014.

Who is the last person you sent a myspace message or comment? 

What is this, the stone age?

Next trip you are going to take? 

Next year I might go to Bali again. And I'm on a vacation right now to Jogja.

Ever go to camp? 

Yes! I've been to lots of camps and retreats; most of them were terrible.

Were you an honour roll student in school? 

I was. Although I don't think that matters.

What do you want to know about the future? 

I would like to know why I have met certain people and where they are going to lead me and whether I will be as successful of a writer as I wish to be.

Are you wearing any perfume or cologne? 

Nope! 

Are you due sometime this year for a doctor's visit?

I am not.

Where is your best friend? 

In a different town.

How is your best friend? 

Doing very well, I should think, now that it's the holidays.

Do you have a tan? 

Unfortunately, I have one from bali that lingers. It is very stubborn.

What are you listening to right now? 

Silence. I don't often listen to music while working.

Do you collect anything? 

Books and the hearts of men.

Who is the biggest gossiper you know? 

My grandmother. It's thrilling. That's how I get all the family/extended family news.

Last time you got stopped by a cop or pulled over? 

I'm too cute for that and too young to drive. I'm being facetious.

Have you ever drunk your soda from a straw? 

I don't drink soda.

What does your last text message say? 

"I wanted to go to Ganjuran but there was no time."

Do you like hot sauce?
Yes.

Last time you took a shower? 

1 hour ago.

Do you need to do laundry? 

Yes, because my clothes are running out. But technically by "doing laundry" I really just mean "waiting for the clothes lady to come by and pick up the dirty clothes."

What is your heritage? 

Chinese Malaysian-Indonesian. But mostly just Indonesian.

Are you someone's best friend? 

I like to think so.

Are you rich? 

I myself am not wealthy; I do not have a lot of money. But I'm very ambitious and motivated and creative and it's sufficient.

What were you doing at 12am last night? 

Having a nice-enough conversation with someone.

Christmas in Jogja is a very interesting experience. I suppose Christmas anywhere in the Southern Hemisphere is interesting for a person raised in the States. It's odd because it should be winter, my head thinks that it's winter, but it's very warm and often sweltering and there is no snow. It's odd seeing faux evergreen trees without any snow on the ground.

—

Anyways Ie Lili came from Jakarta and yesterday we went to the Kraton and to Beringharjo. I think I'll be stopping by Beringharjo again today with Rain, and it'll probably be more enjoyable with her simply because friends are usually more fun than family. 

I have so many boy cousins. This was on the side of the road. We ate dinner there.

My cousin, my uncle, my grandma from my mom's side, and yours truly.

Me, my cousin again, my aunt (that's his mom), and some random dude.

Detailing from a fence inside the Kraton.

First I'll offer my apologies for the I was rather (read: incredibly) grumpy last night after I got in a tiff with someone about how I treat my sopir (driver) too familiarly. It made me a little upset, because that person started saying things like how "they're not on the same level as you" and how I shouldn't be so nice or friendly. I take issue with that because 1. I'm trusting this person with my life so I'd rather be on good terms with them and 2. "levels"? The notion of castes or levels is just so...outdated and useless.

I actually really love Jogja because it's boring. It means that I get to focus on my work and on doing nothing, and I like that. I also like visiting the Kanisius schools. But I suppose my favorite (this is reading like an elementary school essay and I apologize for that) thing to do in Jogja is go to the Catholic church in Ganjuran. 

I'm not Catholic, and if anything I'm nondenominational Christian. I really really hate organized religion. But I like going with my aunt-from-Jogja (Wa Ie, because she's my mother's oldest sibling) when she brings flowers to the Ganjuran. It seems a lot more humble and less contrived and so much more sincere than following along with a sermon that makes me fall asleep. 

What else did we do yesterday? Not much of anything. I slept for hours in the car.

These are just rambles today because I'm tired and I have plans with dear Rain. So I'm not in front of the computer for long. I hope you're having a better weekend than I am, sweethearts.

Part Of Speech Remains Unknown

This post, of course, is necessary. Anyways as you may well know I have a very serious aversion to watching movies or reading books alone. But actually I can watch movies alone, as long as I am left alone for a period of time to digest and think about them. I watched 2 movies today: Birdman and Interstellar. Actually I began watching Interstellar with an ex-boyfriend (he was my boyfriend at the time) but he was distracted and so I never got around to watching it. Until today. By the way I highly recommend both of them. If I get around to making a "LIST OF MOVIES THEODORA BELIEVES EVERY SENSIBLE HUMAN BEING SHOULD WATCH" they will be on those lists.

And here, a poem:

Colo(u)r

Is there a proper barrier between accessible and luminous?
I am wondering about the train again. What about Camus?
We were waiting for him, and for little Murakami to arrive.
Are they here yet? If not, won't you take out your guitar
and sing me something sweet? 

If I die and you want to remember me:
name a shade of rose gold after me, and if not that,
try a proper lavender shade.  Toss it on all the walls and say,
Hey, that looks nice. Life moves quickly,
in all-encompassing shades of cool that sweep us off our feet.
Don't—fall behind, dear. I admit, I miss you.

?????
(part of speech remains unknown)

A gathering orchestrated across an arbitrary number of miles and years. A practice in letting the most profound things remain in the mouth.
The rest of the time it is a softer feeling;
this is practical because it moves one mountain and is never too hard to bear.
A play in which the actors remain x number of miles apart;
all scenes play out in the theoretical space between them.

See also: Is patience a renewable resource?

Scene 1 // It is more beautiful to be thrilling than beautiful.
A softspoken voice that is most keenly felt when eaten by the rain. Park bench.

Scene 2 // Late summer night marked by sweat and cotton candy,
riding the merry-go-round. A fight breaks out over the chariot,
and then the lion, and then the horses. 

Scene 3 // The earth is holding itself. The smell of wet dirt and
worms, rubbery on the sidewalk. A house across the street has filled with water
but strangely, the town is just fine.

Scene 4 // A cafe. There is nothing soft about bare skin.
Too many words and obscure songs which only he has ever heard of.
They exist only because he is there as testament to them.

Scene 5 // During a foray to the library they argue about Camus.
"Would you rejoice more at a god of Death," he asks, "or the death of God?

Scene 6 // On a slip of paper she writes: Must one feel
something to feel something? No other words are exchanged. 

Scene 7 // Boy-man alone, triumphant, ruling on a throne of books
he has read and dissected before a crowd. 

The meeting was always inevitable; it was planned long before
his arrival, and mine. After looking out
the window for enough time the cactus grew tired and fell
in a mess to the wood panels, the
artificial ones that were seventy-five cents a yard.

The least of the things to worry about is to-morrow,
which will be solved quickly enough with all the
other problems and vexations.

Because I cannot speak about you without
including myself in the equation, here is an apology.
Part of me wonders what happens when the camera pans
away from each of these scenes. We live life equally, until
somewhere between the interludes and stained moments the truth
comes out, laid bare before the others. Urban forests, and then the
realization that words aren't enough anymore. The gods have known
that for centuries, waiting all the while.

—

I wrote a lot of poems today and it was a triumph. It was a productive day, I think? There is a whole lot of traffic in Jogja right now (not literally because it is 12 in the morning) because everyone is going on vacation, I think. I will not make this a very long blog post because really I just wanted to post the poem. But I will tell you a little about my day!
I arrived last night in Jogja at around 02:30 am. Then I ate 2 slices of pizza and started reading Frankenstein. Now, I am incapable of putting a book down until I have finished it. Incapable. Naturally this means I finished the book last night. So I think I went to bed at around 4 in the morning. Frankenstein is also a wonderful book, by the way! I woke up this morning at 11 am which is the latest I've woken up in weeks. I am not sure yet what I will be doing in Jogja but hopefully this vacation will be fun. At the very least I will be writing a whole lot of short stories and poetry.

Maybe for my next blog post(s) I will review Birdman and Interstellar. Anyway I hope you are having a lovely day, my deers! I think I will go to sleep now (or very, very soon).

I love you!

Ebi

Monsoon Tiger and Other Stories

Good Monday, everyone, darling. How are you today? After a beautiful book launch on Saturday for Rain (of course I will include some pictures) I was very tired and not keen on posting. But I know that I have at least one deer who is waiting patiently for me to update and so I will update. And there will be something lovely on the 23rd, which is in 2 days. You can expect that. I promise.

Funny story about this is that when I was trying to answer the question my mind totally blanked. The question was about my character and what she was like (I was reading from Beneath the Bougainvilleas) and Laurel is this beautiful, beautiful creature who has fallen in love in an unfortunate way and it is about waiting, and loving within boundaries and crossing those boundaries anyways, and it is also about sisters and mothers and trees.

This is very easily my favorite photo now, and I am more than happy to say I finally have a photo with the ephemeral and ever lovely Rain.

Women are very beautiful, you know. And Tio Pakusadewo. From left to right, Tara, me, Rain, Dinda, Amanda, Fathia, Dian, and Om Tio. They were brilliant readers.

Stolen from the great author's Instagram. Look at that. Look at her beautiful, beautiful name. Eight short stories and they are all packed with beauty and evocative prose that I wanted to drown in, again and again. 

Also I suppose I will give a short (and a totally unbaised) review of the book. It is not available on Amazon but if you are very keen on reading it let me know because I can try to buy it here and send it overseas. 

REVIEW // Rain Chudori's debut book is a stunning read. Full of memorable characters, like the mother in "The Dollhouse" and Laurel from "Beneath the Bouganvilleas", it is a book meant for warm nights and it is a book which will leave your heart trembling. The novel's vision is precise and consistent, packed with tenderly-delivered light: "...I could see the miniscule figures of people through the pod-like windows, leaning their heads, reading newspapers, drinking tea from paper cups, sleeping, almost too luxuriously" (94).  Each story is rooted in the experience of woman, in the process of growing up, an initiation into the arts of losing, loving, and waiting. 

strengths:
01 // Heartbreaking dialogue.
02 // Towering images which linger far after they've been read.
03 // Brilliant characterization.

weaknesses:
01 // Occasionally, story structure becomes repetitive. But it is nuanced and well-crafted, so I am only speaking to some readers who may get bored easily.

—

The 19th was, coincidentally, my youngest brother's birthday. He is 3 now, and over 9,000 miles away, and I miss him very, very much. Happy birthday, Ansel, my dear, and I hope that next year I will be able to hold your chubby hands and hear you laugh again.

Other things I have been up to...let's see. I have been slaving on a short story. I am trying to get into the habit of writing short stories—I have only ever written one before this year, and it was for my submission to the Iowa Young Writers Studio. If you are in high school I highly recommend this program; it is esteemed as one of (if not the greatest) summer writing programs in the United States. They are opening submissions on February 1st, and I know other comparable summer programs are doing the same. And yes, if you are wondering, I was accepted. Unfortunately I was not able to attend because of extenuating circumstances, but if you want to take a look at my application just send me an e-mail and I will be glad to help you.

My dream was to go to IYWS and eventually to Iowa's MFA program and I was devastated that I couldn't attend. Also now I am having doubts about whether I will ever get there or if I will ever be a literary great but—we will see. I will be led, slowly, to my future. (I am trying to have confidence and conviction).

I am more in love with the English language than I have ever been love with a man and I think that is a good thing, a warm thing. Why worry about flesh when you can weep endlessly over the brutal power of words? Although I regret never learning Indonesian, because there is a wealth of Indonesian literature I cannot muddle through because of my inability to understand the language properly. This is why we should all be taught different languages when we are young: so that when we are alone by the fire there will be many friends to comfort us.

I suppose for Christmas there were a number of things I wanted: mainly books but also new pens, and books, and also books, and some coffee, and books, and new notebooks and time alone in cafes with good Internet, and a public library near my house, and books. I do not expect that I will get any of those things and it is rather disappointing. I miss my books. I miss the summers where I walked to the library and borrowed fifteen books and returned them all the next day to eat and eat and eat more words. 

As always, I am sending my love to you.
Ebi

Living In The City With You

a one second slow motion leading to a solidly whorled thumbrpint

a red journal behind bars drinking all the numbers in the world

a waiting for the back seat to be freed up and to sleep up
-

I printed my first cloud on a sheet of tide,
on the shore I wrote a book
on the shore I ate a cloud

the garage full of br ken hardware // it all doesn't work
   just as well as the Congress trying to eat a g  ood country // talk in other circles died
       down while I wanted to feed the cat some feverish winters, so I wear the selfish cape // but you
don't.

-

a veranda where the grass grows, swaying

a radio heart breaking on the airwaves

a derelict apartment full of bad weather

-

in my dream, you see the water is                                      rising until it
        eats the bad birds // my parents in the kitc    hen holding each
other    with feroc ty like bur   gundy curtains and singing the whole elegy of
broken a r conditioners // a still habitat, f       ull of h         eat

It's normal when you're in love, even more a bout of flu, I
think I am falling for the laws that govern you
and with you
with you
and with you

-

an autonomous software that stamps mistakes onto 3D mountains

a dandelion salad and sugar sprinkled through one lifetime

a confessional 'I know him' in the wooden box, 'of him'

-

I'll make a deal with you I won't eat the peaches,
they are so chilly in the fridge.
You kiss me. You kiss me. We
plant flowers and then you kiss me. We
plant flowers and then you go in.

        We looked      // the other   way and said, hey the                      coast looks a little
muddy now do you think it is safe to                       cross? No let's use the brid ge instead.
              The le afy chair is a             good pla e to sit // on thro g    h    the day     if th re is
ho m r  k to    do. Th  ga  rd  n is lined with cr y st ls and other
thi gs, like w lt d   smiles. we had n  o other place to p t them. we had no other way
                                       to help them.
-

a clever child

a leaking faucet

one good and desperate dream

-

a n : you

As We Near The End

I will not sugarcoat anything: today was shit. Not for any singular reason but rather because everything piled up and became difficult to handle and at the end of it I am here, exhausted. I cried today, but only for a minute because mostly I am too self-conscious to do it and I feel silly and selfish. Anyhow here are some things that have been breaking my heart.

1 // German UAS

I will be honest and say that this was difficult and admit that it was my fault. When German class starts at 7 every Tuesday it's not likely a lazybum like me will come to class. I continually overslept and missed that class and since the textbook itself was entirely in German (how am I supposed to learn German with a fully-German textbook? I'm no German schoolkid, I'm a GTL [German Third Language] student) I was essentially lost in an abyss of kartoffeln. Not literally. But I felt that way.

2 // Closure

There was someone that was causing a lot of trouble in my life and sending me very mixed messages.  We will call him Charles. I will be bitter and say that Charles is selfish and irresponsible. I suppose I will also be honest and say that a part of me was in love with Charles, because he made time for me and listened to me and was very good at flirting and he had a good heart and he was very reliable. The thing is there were two sets of extenuating circumstances that made our friendship very difficult to maintain.

 Anyhow I am a very stubborn person and was willing to fight to keep him in my life, despite the trouble he was causing me. He was not willing to do the same for me. It was a very messy situation because we have family ties (that is one of the set of extenuating circumstances) and drama ensued, he disappeared for a week, and I essentially had to beg for him to at least give me closure. Another fact: I am very good at "getting over" things as long as I am given that. He denied me that for a week and I floundered.

I got closure today. Granted, I did not want to hear the words he had for me, but I heard them, and generally I am doing better now. But because a part of me was in love with him and he chose safety over me and because he saw everything that happened as a big problem: my heart, today, is weeping.

The most painful part of this is that I have rationalized his behavior and I understand it. He was honest and I respect that very, very much. I just do not want the story to end this way.

3 // Rewriting Chapter 1

As some of you may know I am working on a novel. Recently I lost my USB drive which means I have to rewrite everything, almost from scratch. Additionally the plotline and the fictional world my story is set in both had to be restructured.

I have a bad habit of editing while I write and I wrote and then edited Chapter 1 again and again and again, yesterday and today. The scenes I wrote were very painful and dramatic and angry and I think this was all very draining and I am now mostly finished with the first chapter of the novel but my heart is sick now.

4 // Forgiveness

This is tightly linked and cannot be extricated from the second item on this list. I firmly believe that had someone not opened their mouth about my burgeoning friendship with Charles the second item on this list would be nonexistent. I know Moz will insist that regardless of whether or not someone interceded I should have stopped talking to Charles long before today but I digress. Let's call this interceder Maria. Anyways I think that Maria played an undeniable role in causing drama for and between Charles and I. Perhaps it was because she did not want me to lose face or she did not want, by being associated to me, to lose face. But she still played a role and with her faulty and hasty assumptions turned what was already a difficult battle into an impossible one.

I know I am supposed to have a big heart but I cannot, right now. To you, Maria, this is what I will say:

You knew nothing about the relationship between Charles and I and only chose to believe that I was bothering him or being a nuisance. You did not spend any moment looking for conclusive evidence and instead told stories to your mother about Charles and I. You were a third person, and we did not include you. I choose to believe that he made time for me in his life because he wanted me there and not because he felt pity for me and next time I hope that you will remain outside of problems that do not directly involve you. Perhaps you are the one who told him to stop talking to me. I resent you for it. You are a busybody. I did not invite you into the problem and neither did he. 

I must forgive both Charles and Maria and it is hurting me to do so but I know I have to let it go quickly. First I must forgive Charles because he is not brave and because he prefers safety to adventure and because he did not choose me, and then I must forgive Maria for either hastening or inducing our demise. I did not want it to end. He spoke to me sweetly, with great care, and I am presently very bitter because maybe if circumstances had been different he and I would not be here across a divide which I must eventually accept and walk away from.

5 // The First Anniversary

I have thought a lot about that this month. About 31 December 2014. About those pills. I can still recite them: how many of each brand. And I don't know how to feel about it. Occasionally I will catch myself thinking about how I am in the negative, as in: on 31 December 2015 I will be -365 days alive.

I am trying to be optimistic but I cannot shake the feeling that I am often not happy. Everyone who hears this will tell me that I am pessimistic and that I need to be grateful for what I have and then that gets me in a loop:

• feel unhappy
• feel guilty for being ungrateful
• regret living

I really loathe it, you know. Being called ungrateful. Being told that I need to be content with what I have. I am selfish and I want more. Am I an evil person because I desire freedom?

* // Epilogue

This week will end soon. On Saturday I am reading for Rain's book launch and I will wear something pretty. When this week ends my winter holidays will begin and I will not have classes again until February 23rd. That is something to rejoice over. I have overdependency on my friends but I am thankful for Rain and for Moz and Madina and Anisa and the others because I will get through this week as I have every other. And I am still relieved because my life is still full of wondrous happiness and destructive pain, and it is a testament that I am still (still!) gloriously alive.

I Don't Wanna Be Your Cigarette

The intentionally blurry view outside of a little window.

I was walking back to the living room earlier this afternoon with a glass cup in my hand and in my daze I ran right into the wall. A shard of the cup (which, now ruined, had become a hasty weapon) dug into the little space between my thumb and pointer finger and it started bleeding. But I was too exhausted to care, so I wrapped a sock around my hand, cleaned up the mess, and retreated into my bedroom to sleep.

Now I am typing this with one fully-functioning right hand, one aching left hand, and one trilling heart. I haven't listened to music for the past two days because I've been so overly emotional, and whenever I listen to music it inevitably exacerbates whatever I am feeling at the moment. I'm not sure about your take on the situation but I am very loath to experience any acute feeling of apprehension, anxiety, or disappointment. (Now that my emotions have settled somewhat I will share some songs with you today).

My emotional hypersensitivity, by the way is also why I almost never watch movies on my own. Often at the end of a very good movie (think Fight Club, or V for Vendetta, or Dead Poets Society) I inexplicably feel like bawling. Cheeky! The world is so very cheeky. But we shan't dwell on that. Instead, let's listen to some songs!

01 / LONER by Kali Uchis: The dream is always the same / like a printed narrative / I know what's going to happen next / but I keep going through the motions.

Darling Rain introduced me to Kali Uchis, a Colombian pop artist who is, by every definition of the word, flawless. The one word to describe this song and this music video is: dreamy. Very vintage, very aesthetic, very neon. I love her dancing, her outfits, her look. Kali Uchis' voice is very easy to identify; you'll see in the coming songs that I am a sucker for female vocalists with unique voices. This is a ballad for all the introverts (yay to us) out there who are apprehensive or afraid of falling in love (again).

02 / THE LESS I KNOW THE BETTER by Tame Impala: Oh my love, can't you see that you're on my mind / Don't suppose we could convince your lover to change his mind.

This music video, which was only released about two weeks ago, is marvelous. Warning: probably not safe for work. "The Less I Know The Better" is from Tame Impala's latest album, Currents. These lyrics are imbibed with the all-too-familiar bitterness of unrequited love and, when paired an absolutely groovy (I'm justified in using that adjective because the music video is also very groovy) bass line, we are sucked into a very compelling trip. I feel like Tame Impala is great music to get high to. Not that I'm recommending it.

03/ AWOO by Lim Kim: The scorching glares of the wolves / they all lose their minds watching me / they must like what they see.

Lim Kim is a new favorite of mine. Her voice is so unique in a world saturated with tinny-sweet Korean voices (not that they're awful, but it gets stale after some time) and she always looks so wonderful in her music videos. The song's introduction and the video's cinematography are surreal.

This song is from her third mini-album and it's about the theory of love as a game, of flirtatious ups and downs (also possibly about something else but I'll leave that for you to figure out, hee). It bursts with vivacity, and its vibrant beats and synths + Lim Kim's cheeky and teasing voice turn this into an absolutely perfect song.

04 / STUCK ON THE PUZZLE by Alex Turner. Fingers dimming the lights / like you're used to being told that you're trouble.

"Stuck On The Puzzle" is from the film Submarine, and Alex Turner is from Arctic Monkeys. This song sounds a little bit like Tame Impalas, so if you like Arctic Monkeys you will probably like Tame Impalas and vice-versa. The music video is horrifically endearing and sweet and I remember gushing to Mozzarella yesterday (or the day before) about how lovely it was ("THAT! THAT'S HOW LIFE SHOULD BE! IT'S SO AWFUL AND ROMANTIC!"). Underneath all my blustery chill I suppose I am still, after all, the hopeless romantic I was eight years ago.

05 / OH NO! by Marina and the Diamonds: I know exactly why I walk and talk like a machine / I'm now becoming my own self-fulfilled prophecy.

Interestingly enough there is also a Bring Me The Horizon song titled "Oh No". Marina's song is obviously in a different genre, and far more lively and colorful. It's the fourth single from her debut album, The Family Jewels, which came out in 2010. While I continue to hold that Electra Heart is Marina's best and most cohesive album, The Family Jewels spawned some amazing singles. This song is about the artificiality of success and the emptiness that often accompanies achievement (it's ironic because we are always taught that reaching our goals will give us happiness). Marina looks like she's having so much fun in this MV and every time I watch it, it reminds me how much I adore her.

06 / FOLLOW YOU by Bring Me The Horizon: So you can drag me through Hell / if it meant I could hold your hand.

This is a fan video by a Youtube account that makes music videos for Bring Me The Horizon songs. I listen to it, and the album it came from (That's The Spirit, 2015), often enough that I've memorized the order of the songs. Lyrically it's in no way profound, and actually rather cheesy (Oli Sykes, how do you do it?) but I listen to it because someone dear to me introduced me to BMTH and because it is my favorite song from the album (I also recommend Throne). It's essentially a song from one person to another person that echoes the timeless sentiment of: I will love you until I die, and ever after.

07 / MODERN NATURE by Sondre Lerche: Oh, what a world this life would be / Forget all your technicolour dreams / Forget modern nature / This is how it's meant to be.

I am an absolute sucker for songs that are limited to vocals + guitar. Sondre is a Norwegian artist and composed most of the soundtrack for the movie Dan In Real Life, which is where this song comes from. Lillian Samdal also sings in this song, and it's really just a sweet song about the joys of falling (or perhaps having fallen) in love. I think this is a very muted and soft way to close this list of songs which is why I have saved it for last. It is like a little cake pop after a lovely dinner. 

—

My final exam (Business Mathematics) today was very difficult and I know I won't get a fantastic grade on it, but I suppose it's alright because out of all my classes, my best grade is in this one. I can afford to do poorly. Well—not really, but you know what I mean, don't you, darling?

I hope that you enjoy at least one of the songs on this list, and that you are having a blessed and calm week full of joy. As we near the close of the year I am a little anxious and worried (for no particular reason). I earnestly hope that 2015 will end with a kind and tender kiss for me and for all of you. Let's all make 2016 a year of joy and beauty.

I am sending all my love to you through a paper aeroplane.

Ebi

Any songs you want to recommend? You can tweet at me or leave a comment here :)

The Era of Heartache

For @falsecatch, who probably sometimes wonders what love feels like, and for every soft heart that has felt the stings and bitter agonies of it firsthand. 

—

How We Meet, How We Begin

You stood maybe-impatiently in the foyer of my house and I could not stop looking at you, discreetly, when we left. We all got into the car and I watched you from the backseat. I gazed at you with the air of a kitten who had discovered yarn. I wanted to touch you. You turned around once or twice and I slammed my gaze to the window. I didn't want to be caught looking at you. I was supposed to be cool, airy, and breezy. But instead I felt small, like a hummingbird turning its neck up to sip at a new flower, like a stammering child who dropped her dandelions in—surprise. 

When we arrived at the house I was momentarily distracted by its beauty, and by the dog. "Nyoo," I squealed. "You're such a pretty girl." We all of us circled the grill like a starved pack of wolves and, to ease boredom, started on the alcohol. After fifteen minutes my face is blooming crimson and you are all giggling about it.

While I listened to the stories I paid attention to you especially. Your voice was molten gold (like listening to the right song on a summer evening). I relished it. I devoured it. I wanted you to stay close to me. We all moved to the table for dinner. I wanted you to sit beside me. You did.

I drank more and more in front of you until my head spins and I stumbled to the living room to lay down. Some part of me felt embarrassed and I was blushing all over but you all dismissed it as the Prost. You went to see puppies and left me behind because I had fallen asleep on the chaise and then you all came back; I was still asleep and everything was pulsing, all the colors were seeping into each other and I was so drunk. Okay, you say, let's go home. 

I fell asleep once more in the backseat, but before I did my head was ringing and I listened again to you. That is how I was lulled to sleep: with your voice (a study in native beauty), booming softly like the distant bell of the lighthouse on the shore. Like leather that has been worn soft over many years. Like the languid sweetness of caramel.

When we got home you held my hand—for a moment, just one—so that I could find my way to the door. I do not think you even thought about it afterwards. I did. Oh, it was a beautiful moment, I said to myself. Within my heart something had sprouted. I did not notice it for several days.

—

Let's Travel Somewhere Interesting

It was easier to ask you to take me to the city. So I asked and you obliged, willingly. In all we spent an hour and twenty minutes in your car. During these minutes you sang along to your violently energetic songs and I laughed at you, ha, ha, what a strange fellow. But your enthusiasm was endearing enough, and I accepted it. Later I would listen to the songs, alone in my room, and then days later we would sing along to them together.

There was a short moment here, too, where I leaned back into the carseat and said, "Makasih, ya," softly, eagerly, tenderly. I hadn't planned for the words to come out. I could feel every bone in my body cracking. Earlier that evening you patted me on the head and I wondered, is this how the wolf-girl becomes domesticated? Is this how I, after all this time, am declawed?

When I said it to you (hey—thank you) you looked sideways at me without a single word and that was when I knew I wanted to kiss you. It was from this point that the seed grew leaves. It wound around my ribs and around my lungs. From this point on I forgot how to breathe.

—

Until Next Time

Several days after our foray into the city you came to my home and brought me my favorite drink. I told you to come inside: in hindsight I should have gotten in your car, to keep our secret a while longer. But you came in and chatted for a little bit with the others. Out of your mouth flew an offhanded suggestive comment. I plucked it out of the air and wrapped it in a little handkerchief and sometimes when I am feeling silly I take it from my pocket and hold it, gently.

Your fingers grazed my belly several times. Because this was before our feelings made their grand showing I twitched nervously on the sofa afterwards, wondering and wondering and wondering about it. What could it mean?, I hissed to myself, fingers lingering at my lips. Before you left I reached out my hand and your hand moved to meet mine; it turned from a casual high-five into a I want to lace my fingers into yours but we can't be seen like this but I please do not let go please let me hold you. I wanted to run after you. I wanted to hold your hand.

—

Go Tell The Lord That Eve Has Sinned

"Kenapa," you asked me softly. Because of your accent, the word (which I hadn't known could be so beautiful) felt like riding in a small boat on a tumultuous ocean. The last letter was drawn out until it snapped back, elastic. Silence.

"Ga ada apa-apa kok," I laughed (I was nervous, so nervous nervous nervous nervous). Over the course of the day we spent together I thought to myself: I'm going to kiss him. And then I'll whisper "I'm sorry" and then he'll drive me back and we will never talk again afterwards. But when the rain started falling and even when night fell like a blanket over the earth I had not kissed you yet. By this time the plant had spread to every inch of me and I could not move in your presence without feeling trapped. 

You leaned back and then you drew closer to me again and I could feel it—your breath on my lips and your gaze heavy on me just before we—kissed. At that moment I could have written a thousand psalms and sent them to the Lord Most High. I felt even dizzier than I had that other night, and all of it felt like oh, is this real, and I was rattled and dazed and wondering if it was a cruel illusion. Unabashed I reached for you and climbed onto your lap, lips still flush against yours. 

In a daze you and I moved to the backseat and we continued to kiss each other and your hands, hungry, settled uneasily on my butt and then snaked up to my lower back, and you pulled me closer to you. With my hands tangled into your hair I gasped again and again and then you eased away, for a moment. Looked at me. Nuzzled your face into the crevice of my shoulder and breathed, a silent apology I understood and accepted. Then you reclaimed my skin by pressing your lips to my neck, and trailing lower, pausing to leave a wine-colored bloom on my breast. The heat of your breath, muted by the songs that continued to play over and over like a doll someone had carelessly left behind, made me feel oddly self-conscious and mindless all at once. I could not stop kissing you, and I justified myself by saying that I only wanted to figure out the science of us, so that I could replicate the experience with someone else and clip you out of my life, so that I could say sorry like I'd planned and it could be over.

Over and over, slamming our lips together and other times softly coming close—I lamented in my heart of hearts that we had so little time together. There were lulls in our embraces where you leaned away from me and pursed your lips just so, and you knew, of course, what you were asking of me. You beckoned me with your smile and your melancholy eyes that held an ocean of regret and guilty adoration. I moved closer to you again and pushed away my hair, which was getting into my eyes and falling onto your face and I stayed like that, with barely a centimeter between your mouth and mine. When you licked your lips I felt your tongue brush against my parted ones.

After our fire had settled we retreated again to the driver's seat and shotgun. I could have been ashamed but I had let go of all pretense and proceeded to pelt you on the cheeks with my little kisses, like a hungry bird girl home again before the snow came in. The taste of the cigarette you'd smoked an hour before snuck into me like a poison, solidifying my secret enjoyment of them. My hands never once come up to your chest to stop you or turn you away, and that is how I understand that you had come to destroy me. 

At the end of the night it was you who held me. At the end I was not sure which one of us said those words first. Now I deserve to be called Juliet and now I can only pray that we will not die when it is done.

—

Tomorrow is my UAS (final exam) for Business Mathematics. After that I'll be 3/8 of the way done with my finals, which last until next Thursday. This Saturday there is a meeting for Rain's book launch and the Saturday after that will be the book launch. I was a bit disheartened earlier in the day and took a nap which was plagued with nightmares, but Mr. Mozzarella was alarmingly discerning and was able to cheer me up. That is actually very impressive to me.

On another note: I hope you realize there are many different ways to fall in love, and that there are many ways to love without ever once falling. Sometimes the love (any sort of love, whether familial or platonic, romantic, otherwise) will not come for many years. Sometimes it blooms early. Regardless, don't ever feel as if you've come up short because you have experienced love one too many times or because you have never experienced it at all.

With all my ,

RIN

Dirty Glasses

I used to think that despite my smallness I took up good space. I said that I'd
write a nice poem (I didn't say the word 'nice' but I meant it, sort of)
about you. Just so you don't get your hopes up I'll give you prior warning:
proper capitalization is a must. In case that takes away from this kind of
poem. In case it's not as artsy.

Mountain crumbled, somehow, your name, I think about
calling you Eurodweeb or about lying face-up on a picnic table on
a park bench on the only Independence Day that matters. Re: HAHA. But I
don't. I never got that chance. The only anomaly on the hill over there looks
like it rather belongs there. Fireworks force me to believe a little bit
more in beauty. The heat'll get to me and the sweat will sluice down my forehead,
soak the wood.

Q: Am I here?
A: Enough for me.

Q: Are we all here?
A: No, a few people are running late. They'll be here in a moment.

Q: Are we really here, like here?
A: Minta di tonjok ya, Moz.

I'm very adamant about cheesy poems. "You're very honest," I imagined him
saying. "Indescribably so." Amidst our broiling laughter there is something akin to
a densely immovable glacier, pockmarked with indignance. Now that I'm on
this side of the world am I allowed to believe I have turned into a sweeter person?
(A pink cashmere sweater hangs loosely from her shoulders, she's turned to the camera
with an immeasurable silence and lips glossy pink like from spreads in expensive magazines).
Oh, Johnny. The world is so cheeky, isn't it? And I don't like to be honest / you're
an idiot.

We put out little feelers. It hasn't been a day. Later the streets will fill with
puddles and the distant echo of thunder and I think about that, enough. I thought of
the image today. There is a boy at the top of the cobblestone street under a lamp
post that flickers erratically. And there is a little radio in his hand it is streaming
jazz music and the music is shattering onto the street, into little glass beads. Somewhere
(not here) there is a god that needs us. He is wearing some snazzy rain boots and
clutching an umbrella.

And the boy is smoking in his rocking chair and his eyes are closed, he is
pretending something. It'll take three decades to fix the stains on the stones.
As I get a little older there's been time to add people to this list in my head:
PEOPLE I AM TRYING VERY HARD TO AVOID. See now these sorts of people when
I see them I'll cross the street and pull the book up over my head and wrap the
blanket around me in one swift and brilliant moment, enough to take a gallon of
breath away. "It is alright," my teacher said, "if you only save one person." He paused.
"It is alright if that one person is yourself."

I have secret rendezvous in my dreams. He and I are always overlooking the
same bay. The ships are also the same. Re: Re: HAHAH. Through the early morning
fog we discuss the trip: he puts a trembling hand on the railing and says he
isn't going. I should have expected. Welcome to THE SUBLIME TIME: in this
version I already own the library, and the picnic table, and I have already
died once or twice.

I thought about my mom today. I wonder if I'll be that perfect at 39. Are
you going to be okay? You okay? You fine? Don't forget to be honest.
I was surprised at those words. I you miss America ex imperfect
alright we'll stumbling be okay sleep. "I gave up on pretending that I could be
anything better than bad." Those ones. As a consolation if it is one, there are
some exceptionally vibrant butterflies over there.

Think about what to pack / who to warn / when to leave / where to go
Think about THE PHOTOGRAPHER EYES, hastily turning the blanket on the
rocking chair in the street into a proper myth. Solitude. The type of old guy
who goes to see soft and color-muted films alone. You bite the apple. You shake your fist and
grumble about Camus, about all the wrong upperclassmen. It's the snack before
the massacre, before the casual attack, like, how many hours did we spend
on the phone? Pushing your voice into the moonlight until it was whisked away. I
decided to draw this map. New nation, lodged deeply into my throat. 2 in the morning,
the rain has not stopped and
neither has
your radio

Things That Come And Go

The most obvious example:

• Occasionally a person will rush into your life with the ferocity of a comet. When you look into their eyes you will be able to see a slick oil fire raging there (wild). Do not be alarmed. It is alright. It is all right.

• Other times a person will step gently, toes first, into your space and grab your hand and pull you into their orbit and force you to dance with them. You will spin around and try not to cry while they whisk you into unbearable beauty.

• Hello. I knew from the beginning that you were only going to stay here a short time. But I opened my home to you, and fed you, and I did my best to keep you happy in this temporary place. Thank you. I hope you will not resent me. 

• A mosquito will come buzzing naughtily into your room. It will land on your forearm and if you are sensitive enough you will feel its tiny needle plunging into your skin. A small donation, really, but still too much.

• You will find yourself on the roof of your 40-year-old creaking house in New Jersey, the one where you got beaten whilst naked. Those memories will sink away after a few years. Maybe someday you will tell them again to a person who you've offered your life to. Maybe you will not. You will watch the fireflies, their soft lights flickering in and out of the hazy summer air.

• On that same night your mother will start the laundry later than usual. You will smell the detergent, vibrant (with fuzzed edges), and the dryer will clank noisily.

• Do you ever get that heightening tension and anxiety when your expectations begin to stack up and you take a step back and you think, damn it, what have I done?

• You're on the telephone talking to your mother. You tell her about something that happened during one of the parties you went to and she listens, pretending to be objective. You can hear something in her voice swaying, like a dinner plate that has not yet fallen to the tile.

• Diseases. Some of them, anyways.

• The light in your room, cascading across various corners throughout the day.

• Earthworms will come out of the soil during the spring rains. Then in the mornings when you walk to school you'll see their wrinkled bodies littering the sidewalk. Because you have a weak heart you will reach school in a blaze of tears and the others will laugh to see you that way.

Sometimes:

I often fall into these overbright and very romantic moods; during these times I fervently desire to dance in the rain or with someone. I have not danced with anyone in my life ever. I have always danced alone, and even then the last time I stepped inside a studio with the intention to dance was over 6 years ago when I was still a lithe and horrifically flexible ten-year-old.

I came into 2015 with absolutely no expectations and that was lovely, if morbid. Technically I was not conscious when I slipped into 2015. Actually I was 2 days late but I digress. This year it would be very nice if someone could hold my hand while the clock moves from 31 December 11:59:59 to 1 January 00:00:00 but I don't think that will happen. This year was rather disappointing in terms of love and laughter. There were too many shifting perspectives and transformations for me to settle comfortably in one position.

I am about as nice as a wet puppy. Messy, overdependent, somewhat adorable. I am moderately talented at telling compelling stories. I have a shitty sense of humor.

The first of eight finals is tomorrow at 08:00 and yet here I am at 12 in the morning, writing. That is very typical of me and I have resigned myself to the fact that I write best when I am supposed to be doing something else. Fortunately, tomorrow's final is for English.

—

"Isn't it lovely?", he asked.

She stood quiet for a moment. "Why, yes—yes, it certainly is."

Come Back Home

I am re-christening this blog one more time in hopes that the New Year will be a good one, although if I want to be precise it will not be New Year for another 28 days. Haughty preface now aside, welcome, one more time, to my blog.

Around this time last year I was at UBH, which is a mental healthcare facility (is that a kind word for 'crazy hospital'?). December 2014 was not a soft month for me—rather, it was full of disappointments and latent fears, bursting constantly into full view. I could not hide from them.

In 28 days it will be the first anniversary of my not-death-day, December 31st 2014, the day when I should have died but did not. It alarms me to think about the time that has elapsed because it does not feel like 365 days has come and gone: in fact, it feels like no time has passed at all. This should alarm you because, in fact, much time has passed and many things have happened. I go by a new name, I live in a new country, I—my point is that many things have changed.

This year I have not been as motivated as I would have liked to be. It did not start off very well, I admit. I was in the hospital until January 13th or so. After I was discharged I thought that things would improve and lighten up and they did, for a while, I know. I even caught a little bit of the Super Bowl on TV. I remember. In March and April things went downhill: Byrie, I am sorry we met, I am sorry my promises were not enough over 10,000 miles of distance. Dearest KS, I will give you an apology, too, for the times I upset you and took his side over yours.

And another apology, this time for Odysseus: I loved you, and I am sorry that what we believed to be forever was just an empty promise masquerading as igneous hope. If it is any consolation you did take good care of me, I am glad to have called you by that name. I am sorry we never got to love each other on bleached sheets in a small European town with plants growing on the windowsill and sunlight streaming in gently. I am sorry that I lied to you about many things. I am sorry about last winter, that I was part of the torrential unhappiness that fell onto you during those days.

I am trying to get all of these loose ends tied up this month so that I can move into 2016 as a different angel; a better one. I will turn 18 next year. I am sure there are many other unforeseen difficulties and triumphs I will face and, who knows? I may be saying these same things in another 365 days. Maybe I have not even faced my greatest enemy. But this year I will try and dedicate myself to properly chronicling my thoughts and the events in my life. See what I am doing? I am cleverly and subtly plotting out my New Year's Resolutions. Except now it is not so subtle because I have warned you of it.

On December 31st 2015 I will delete every blog post before this one and fill up this blog or online journal or whatever this is with all new words and thoughts. I am re-naming this blog 'Come Back Home' because I want my journey to be homebound, to be a process in which I discover the true meaning of 'Rin' and accept the woman I am, growling beasts and all.

If you like, you can come along on this journey with me. I will probably need several hands to hold during the difficult nights. I really only ask this of you: please come join me on December 31st, 2015. Celebrate properly with me, because last year I was not able to.

,Rin