Go, Dionne Warwick!

Dionne Warwick's song You'll Never Get To Heaven If You Break My Heart always leaves me laughing my guts out. I wish that line would really work in real life!

Collaborate to Evaporate

Help!!! I smelled his cologne lingering on the blouse I wanted to wear to work today. I could smell that arousing scent of Dior's Higher when I slid the blouse from my head, down to my face, neck, both arms and then finally my entire torso. For a while I was dumbfounded. I don't know why his smell still lingered there, though I did wear that blouse the last time I was with him. I don't even remember we cuddled that much when I was wearing the blouse. No, I don't think so. Even if we did cuddle, we both were in our birthday suits. Was it only my nostrils played a trick on me?

Oh my, how I still miss him! Nothing has ever made me feel good and content so far, even though I just had one-of-the-kind weekend completed with a long, superb Sunday brunch with free flow of champagne at a fancy place (it's the only Italian resto joint I know serving sushi and sashimi!) with an old, cherished friend.

Today I sprayed the parfume he gave me. The Chinese believe that it's forbidden to give your lover a parfume, for your love will evaporate - like the nature of parfume itself. While pressing the sprayer, I silently vow my feelings for him to evaporate. Please, air, collaborate with me this time!

The Day I Wanted To Dye My Hair Red

The second my eyes laid on Clementine in Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind, I instantly told the friend I was with that I wanted to dye my hair exactly the same red color as hers. Such impulsive am I ... I know!

But I really fell in love at first sight with her hair so red! That striking red head that's even redder than the menstrual blood stuck in my pads every month, the lips of Shakespeare's mistress in My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like The Sun sonnet, or the traffic light which lousy bikers and car drivers tend to break when there is no police around. With that kind of hair color, I would undoubtedly be a standout in the crowd, for I can be spotted from a far, long before my being is in the actual place. And people would look at me in disgust like I'm some kind of alien. A freak. A youth gone wild. A female version of Ronny McDonald figure at McDonald's outlets. A clown at children's birthday parties. A cheap whore hustling in the street willing to do a blowjob for Rp 50,000. Maybe. (I always feel I have this little whore inside me yearning to come out, by the way!)

Are we still that very much judged by appearance? If someone has red hair, for example, is it acceptable to judge that she leads such a chaotic life? Figuratively and literally speaking, that can be. But you can't see someone's hair color and jump into crystal-ball-prophecy conclucion!

I remember going to a client for an article interview with this normal hair, though I dyed it a little brownish. (I call it normal, for it still looks like what people in general have in mind of what hair is supposed to like) Dressed in neat outfit highlighted with daylight make-up I was, that person I just met for the first time looked besieged when I stepped into his office, that he had to make sure if I came representing my company as scheduled. When I handed him my name card, he was convinced, but then asked in confusion: "So you're really a writer? I'm sorry but you don't look like one! Can you really write? What is your education background? What is your name initial in the newspaper?"

OK. So what a writer should look like? I wanted to ask him that question but my lips were sealed. And I've faced those same questions many times for the last 5 years whenever I had to handle new clients. Maybe what they have in mind of a female writer is someone dressed shabbily with boyish style of outfit without make up or combed hair - like Charlize Theron playing a lesbian in Monster? And I don't know why it's mostly guys asking me those stupid questions! I bet they've never seen Miss Carrie Bradshaw in Sex And The City!

So with or without normal hair, I think I would still be asked if I could really write by some clients I bump into. Then why bother to have normal hair? It's better to change hair color every 3 months (or less) like Clementine does. Right. (But still I want to start with that cute, red one!) I don't care if it doesn't match my skin color, my face, my clothes, my job, or my whatever. I don't even care if with that hair color people would think all I can do is show some pink!

Next time I'm being asked if I can write, I would tell him: "No baby, I can't write! But I can suck your cock dry real good that you would come back to me for more!"

Oh Little Fucked-Up Town of Jakarta

Objectively, if someone was asked if they liked Jakarta, I don't think they would ever nod. It's a general knowledge that Jakarta is one inhuman city the world has ever known existing. Even in the past.

Jakarta's former name Batavia was a little harbor town built by the Dutch to support VOC's businesses and soon it became the biggest trading center in Asia. Not bad for a 600-hectare little town stretched from what it is now Pasar Ikan till BNI Bank building (across Kota Train Station)! Since it had always been very busy, Batavia in no time developed into a fucked-up city. It's dirty because people constantly threw their waste to the river. Even back in the 17th century, the Ciliwung River had already been highly polluted that caused many outbreaks and killed people dwelling in the city. It's so stinky that everyday starting 9 AM people had to shut their every window.

And actually the word "Betawi" was derived from "Bau Tai" (smell of shit) because the people living in the city used to collect their feces in buckets and were only allowed to dispose them to the river every 10 PM so that it would be swept away right away by the ocean's tide. So you can also imagine how stinky their houses were for keeping buckets of feces in the house. But the buckets' contents were also useful during the war with Mataram Kingdom coming from the sea all the way from what it is now Jogja. The Dutch fought them by throwing shits at the attacking enemies. It worked because in no time the Mataram soldiers retreated to their ships and went back home.

I joined a night museum venture last weekend. Have you ever imagined in your wildest dream walking down an empty museum (which is already hair raising during the day) at night only with flashlights on? It was so much fun and very enlightening, though it was creepy and I had to bear myself hearing for more than millions times the word 'Belanda' which I've been trying to drop out of my head.

Seduction Is Not Poison

The art of seduction is not about pleasing men. On the other hand, it's a matter of pleasing yourself. Why? Because it takes confidence to seduce men. And confidence can only be gained if somebody feels really good about themselves.

Believe me. You'll feel really really good when you're seducing men! So good that soon you'll forget a boyfriend having just ditched you for somebody else not even in your league, or said he wasn't ready to be with you (meaning: didn't want to be with you), or abused you verbally (and physically) to cover up his own lack of certain things, or made you feel not good enough for him just because you were born in different race group or ethnic group, caste group, or religious group from him.

And why seduction is good for post-breakup women? Because it will help them regain their confidence back, to feel good about themselves again.

So ladies, drink that medicine! Forget your crushed self-esteem, go out there and seduce men! The good news is, you don't have to wear those 10-cm stilettos, or bare-shouldered-low-necked dress to be sexy, or speak irresistably sensual British accent ala Liz Hurley to be able to seduce. You can even wear those tennis shoes and still feel sexy if you set your mind that you really are. It's all in the head! Just keep in mind that you're extremely precious that you can get any men you want.

The key is eye contact. Look at them right into their core soul, find out what they want to hear and act accordingly. And remember, confidence! Forget that asshole man you were with who tried to get you down so many times before. Whatever you do - when you talk, drink, or simply chew peanuts, at all time maintain your eye contact! Oh and one more thing, a nice, sincere smile can always take you anywhere!

I know it doesn't look that easy. But once you give it a try, even if you fail, you'll still feel good because you have walked out of your boundaries! What most important is you did it. If that man doesn't find you attractive enough for him, so what? He's the one who's complete idiot for passing you on!

History Repeats Itself

There are times in life I unconsciously repeat the pattern of certain things. Let's take breaking up with every guy I spent New Year's eve with, as an example. (Did I just say "break up" again? Oh well ... never mind!)

Anyway, I just don't know why I always ended up in romantic-ala-honeymooners'-nest sort of places right after I broke up. (There, I said it again... broke up, broke up, broke up!) And I always ended up finding my sanctuary of my so-called-ruined 'great expectations' in Jogja.

After ending an episode with P, in order to cheer me up, a concerned best friend took me to Jogja for a vacation. And guess where we stayed? Dusun Jogja Village Inn, whose most of the rooms' occupants were couples on their honeymoon! We saw a lot of couples kissing at their private balconies, in the pool, by the pool on pool's loungers, at restaurant's tables... everywhere! Well, OK, they're so much in love, but get a grip, people!!! There are also people around who are out of love or not with their partners!

We also stayed one night at Queen of the South in Parangtritis. It's a gorgeous beach resort stands proudly on top of a cliff. Again, honeymooners go there and express their still-hot-sugary love for each other everywhere around the resort.

I remember waking up very early that morning. My friend was still asleep, but I couldn't go back to sleep, though I tried so hard. So out of the cottage off I went, with a walkman containing Andrea Bocelli casette. When I stepped outside, it was a bleak, windy morning with a rain shower. I went to the porch where I could see raging ocean at my feet. It was just so fantastic!

Everything was just shattering my bleeding heart even more. As if not having enough hurt already, I let Mr Bocelli sing Con Te Partiro with his soul shaking voice. Oh my, I felt like jumping from the high porch straight to the open arms of the raging waves below! I cried and cried and cried till the rain finally stopped and the sun peeped between the clouds. The waiters preparing breakfast at a restaurant nearby might think I was crazy, or desperate, or both.

Then recently, just a day after I decided to walk out of J's life, I also went to Jogja. Only a matter of hours after landing my arse back to the city, a friend of mine took me to Losari Coffee Plantation. It's a boutique resort situated on a beautiful, lush working coffee plantation nestled in the highland of Magelang.

We went there so as just to have a decent coffee and snack at the restaurant. Like I knew what's exactly gonna happen, I felt like seeing J everywhere there. How could I not? Every table was occupied by people talking Dutch, mostly couples. (No wonder, the land was first owned by a Dutch family!) And some of the caucasian guys were holding the hands of local girls' while waiting for their food. (The service there is bad! It took almost an hour just to have my ginger tea served!)

Great! After the next break up, I think I wanna go to Kampung Sampireun. Should've gone with P 2 years ago in October, but he chose to give up the plan ... oh no, just me! He chose to give up on me, not the plan.

Ode To An Old Stock

Enough of mourning over my recent breakup story. It's pathetic, yes! But I know, he knows, my friends know, my family knows, this blog knows that it's better this way. OK, so I rest my case.

It's time for me to dress to the nines and seduce guys again. But only to seduce. Just to know that I still have my charms. (Here I am in my over - confident - bitch self again!) I'm no longer interested in meaningless sex. (I've had enough of that in the past and it all left me nothing but feeling emptier than before!) Nothing attached this time. I just need a break and have fun. And flirting is my favorite way to do it. Light kisses on both cheeks to end a nice evening would be enough for me.

Just when I made up my mind on that, suddenly through a friend someone from the past came to my cellphone screen again. It began when a close friend of mine texted me last night, asking about buying electronic gadgets in Singapore, or at least if I knew someone who could help her. So I gave her a cellphone number of someone living there almost all his life. Though I haven't seen him for ages, I still keep his number.

That someone's path crossed mine almost 5 years ago. I instantly attracted to him the first time I exchanged words with him. Maybe its' because he's such a good flirt. (Just exactly what I need right now!) He used to say something like: "Tell me straight to my face, are you still goin' solo or you have partner?" or "I'll come up with new idea of surprise tomorrow, you'd better get yourself ready with more electric jolts!!!" (How can I not be attracted to such person?!)

I only had one dinner date with him, which I screwed it up out of my idiocy and lack of social grace at that time. We met at some romantic, al-fresco restaurant on a Friday night. I went there straight from work with loads of documents I had to bring home to finish over the weekend. I didn't drive that night, so I carried all those papers with me to see him. I was 20 minutes late after conquering Friday night's traffic. (Nice, first impression, wasn't it?)

He gave me a little gift. A silver necklace, which I had to pretend to like it, for I never like jewelries. (But at least it was silver, not gold!) We had a nice conversation over dinner. But then I made a stupid mistake. After meal I felt like drinking. So I ordered cocktails. One round and then another, and then another. And since I kept ordering drinks, he also did the same out of politeness, I think. (A gentleman shouldn't let his woman companion drink alone, should he?) I didn't know how much I drank, but it was a lot! Perhaps a lot more than any other women he had gone out with.

But that wasn't my point. I should've held my horses, for it was a first date and he would be the one who paid the bill (not that I mind paying, but that's how the social construction is in this patriarchy society... the man pays on first dates, or his ego will be crushed!) I didn't see how much the bill was, but it must have been very expensive!

Not only that. When leaving the place, I got so many things to carry that I forgot about his little gift. That silver necklace I couldnt' appreciate. I just left the little box on the table. And since he let me walk before him, I bet and am sure he saw that little box containing a silver necklace on the table. But he didn't say anything to remind me of it. Maybe he thought I didn't want it, so I just simply left it there. Well, it won't take a genius for people to tell if I have dislikes toward certain things, for my face and gestures tell it out loud. So yes, I think he knew I didn't like his gift.

After that dinner, he never called or emailed or texted me anymore. I didn't try to contact him myself because I was still embarrassed. So I think I only deserved it. But last night, at 11:28, he texted me (through my friend) that he was gonna be in town on February 14 (that misery-driven-suicide day!) and asked if I wanted to meet him for a wine and dine (I wonder if sixty nine is also in his agenda!).

Why he texted me through my friend because he already lost my number. (Yeah right, he meant, he lost it purposely or simply speaking, he deleted it! What could I expect, anyway?) And I still keep his because he's such a nice guy. Or maybe I still feel guilty over robbing him with my shameless, endless drinks and leaving his gift on the restaurant's table.

Whatever. I'm gonna have myself a date on February 14! Finally. (Do I sound like Bridget Jones? I hope not, because I hate her!!!) By the way, he just texted me saying: "I regret the last time we met, we didn't really explore each other so much. And I wish this time we could."

Explore. Easy, boy, this time we play with my rules!

Unsent

Last night, I had this very strong urge and temptation to text him. I guess I was just lonely and missed him terribly. No wonder, yesterday was our a week breakup commemoration! I guess that's why that crazy urge emerged.

I wrote: "Wish I was a cold bitch* you said I was. Miss you! (triggerred by a Bintang ad I just saw on a roadside billboard**) Damn, wish someone had told me how hard it is to switch feelings off when the power is still on!"

But I haven't sent it. It's only automatically stored in the draft folder of the messaging feature. And I know I shouldn't even think of sending it. Have some dignity!, that's what I told myself.


* He said I was a cold bitch because I didn't cry at movies. (It was Father of The Bride on HBO) On my defence, I told him it wasn't just the right movie to make me cry. Give me Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, Kramer vs Kramer, or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, then yes, I'd be drenched in tears in no time.

* *Not entirely true. Because other than Bintang ad, there have been a lot ot triggers, like grey haired guys, 1992 Mercedes Benz I saw in the streets, noodle soup, tuna sashimi, Lacoste polo shirts, Malboro red, Thamrin area and beyond, etc. What killing me the most was when I had to write about Lombok for my bi-weekly travel column two days ago. Not only I had to force my mind to go back to those specific days, but I also had to pick one of our holiday pictures for the article... the one without him and me posing as lovers in it, of course!

A Bizzare Date

It's not even a date. I call it THAT just to make myself feel better. How can I not feel better that only a week after a break up I can manage to go back to the dating game? That never happened before. No. Not me. Not my style.

It was such a spontaneous date. (Again, bear my calling it a date. OK?) After lunch I asked my writer colleague if he's interested in going to a book discussion with me at a book store. It's a discussion on Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code having a speaker from one of the top notch philosophy schools in the republic. He immediately agreed to go, although he only read the first few chapters of the book a long time ago, that he said he didn't really remember the story anymore. Didn't matter. I didn't even bother to ponder why he wanted to go with me. What mattered was I had a company to go.

As always, we had pleasant conversations about many things here and there: on the way to the book store, when looking for a space to park the car, when walking up the stairs leading to the book store, during the discussion, after the discussion, when queeing at the cashier (he bought 3 photography manuals (he's a great combo of writer cum photographer, by the way!) and I was so happy paying Rp 220,000 for Jenna Jameson's thick autobiography How To Make Love Like A Porn Star: A Cautionary Tale in a hard cover), when walking down the stairs leading to the parking lot, on the way to grab dinner, when waiting for our food, when chewing the food greedily, when closing the meal with a cigarette, when walking back to where the car was parked, and en route so familiar, for it's the road leading me home.

Getting closer to my house, I told him lately I came to think more of suicide. I don't know why I told him that. Perhaps simply to make another conversation. I told him I thought it's cool to be in total control of when and how one wants to end one's life.

"I am my own angel of death!" I quickly composed my own quote and recited it for him in a dramatic way.

Taking sleeping pills has been my favorite way of ending life, but that night I told him that getting hit by an express train would be the best. The best because in split seconds your flesh and brain will scatter around the track. Instant. Painless. What a perfect way to die, isn't it?Responding to that, he said: "Then you should see Peppermint Candy!"

It's a Korean movie showed at the last Jakarta International Film Festival (JiFfest) about a guy who feels his life is a big failure that he commits suicide by getting himself hit by a train. According to him, it has a very unique story telling, as well as cinematography. Very original, if I may conclude what he was trying to tell me.

The car was already in front of my house. But he still kept on talking about the movie which he crowned one of the best movies ever. As an epilogue of that nice evening, before I stepped out of the car and told him I was so gonna search the DVD and watch it, he said: "But if you watch it, I'm afraid you're really gonna commit suicide. And I don't want that to ever happen!"

Suddenly I felt something warm running up both my cold cheeks. The last time I got the same warmth was when that caucasian ex-lover of mine told me he was crazy about me. It was in Bali. The local time was around 2 AM. We were having drinks at the al-fresco club lounge overlooking a swan lake. I swear at that time in Bali my cheeks felt warm for about 2 minutes or so.

Oh what is this crap??!!!

Mother-Daughter Reunite

When driving mother to work this morning, out of the blue she told me about her 3 young, single, female colleagues having problems with their boyfriends.

The one who is having a German boyfriend just recently went to Germany to take care of documents required to get married there. But when she was there, she found out that her boyfriend has had another girlfriend. Ouch! And that has been going on before he even met her. (My reaction? I smirked, I mocked, I sneered, all at once!) And that's not it. He still asked her to move in to Germany with him, learn German, and get a job there. (My reaction? I cursed dirty words that mother had to watch-your-language me.)

Then she went on with the second story. This time about a girl having a Singaporean boyfriend who actually has been with a domestic partner for like... 10 whole years. And there were weekends he told her having to go to Singapore for a business trip! (Yea, right, business trip on weekends are just so convincing and a very clever excuse!) Actually she (mother's colleague) and he are in the middle of preparing a wedding. When knowing about the 10 - year - so - called life partner, she wanted to move forward the date. She wanted to tie him down in marriage more quickly than the agreed date. (My reaction? I called her stupid! This time mother didn't ssssh me because she had heard me using the vocabulary (including the thesaurus of the word) pretty often.)

The last story was about a fat girl who never thinks she's attractive enough to get a man. So when she finally got herself a boyfriend, she did whatever it took to make him stay. But again, it turned out he has another girlfriend. Maybe it happened because she's being way too jealous and protective that he couldn't stand it. She knew about the other girlfriend because recently she broke into his email account. And lately she couldn't concentrate on her work because all she did was sat in front of her computer and cried from reading her boyfriend's emails in his inbox. (My reaction? Nothing. I just lost for words this time.)

I've never been really close to mother before because I don't tell her things. I tried, though, but she always took it differently. Besides I don't think she can cope with my immoral and flamboyant life line.

After she told me all those stories, all I wanted to do was run to her comforting arms, cry, and tell her my own story. Maybe I have to start breaking all my defenses, being vulnerable, and taking off my tough-girl mask in front of her for once. For a change. I never cried in her arms in my entire adult life. Not when boyfriends ditched me, hurt me, abused me, or when relationships simply couldn't work because of any given situations.

And by the way, I still don't have the heart to tell my parents that I had called it quits with the first man in 6 years I've ever brought home and introduced to them. I don't want them to voluntarily feel sad over my once-again-sad ending. It's enough I alone succumb to it. But I guess I'll break the news to them tonight. Maybe they'll just be happy, anyway, because they don't have to think of the possibility of my leaving them to join him in his cold country full of cold people! And I don't have to learn his tongue-curling-throat-straining language! I hate that language!!!

And why mother told me her colleagues' stories, maybe she sensed my rather quiet behaviour and always arriving home late for the past two weeks. No matter what, I stayed in her womb for 9 months, so there is always this connection between her and me. Mother's instincts are indeed truer than any prophecies.

I feel like calling her at work now. I still feel like wanting to surrender to her warm arms. I lost a lover's arms but I guess I'm never gonna lose a mother's.

The One

A recent past affair wrote this on a goodbye note*: "Really thought you were the one for me..." Reading it, my mind couldn't help but voyage backward.

Some time in late August 2004, I told him on chat there were times I just wanted to pack my suitcase and go somewhere quiet where clocks didn't work. There, I would be writing a book in an open air study facing a sea or a lake or anything with water so wide in front of my eyes, as well as drinking wine and smoking cigar in between completing the book.

And he replied: "I hear you" (which I imagined if we were talking face to face, he would have said it attentively with his eyes so brown looking straight into my iris so black), before he continued: "And I will be there in the evening."

I was pretty much intoxicated. Someone is including me in his future plan!, I said to myself, gasping. I felt some imaginary breeze suddenly caressing my face. Minutes later, he sent me a picture through email having "Is this lake big enough for you?" as the subject. It turned out to be a picture of a house by the sea owned by his friend, which he had showed me earlier and kept telling me a few times that he also wanted the same house.

All that conversation must have taken place long before all those unexplainable fears and changing feelings of his. Before he confessed, burst the words out that he wasn't ready for commitment and not sure if he's the marrying kind, for he could never picture himself stuck with one woman for the rest of his life. I only wished he would've slapped my face with the truth earlier, not at that first hour we arrived on paradise island - the occasion we had been waiting for long to get away ... together again at last. We? Well, maybe it was just me who looked forward to it!

His confession has wiped away his dream of owning a house by the sea (with a lotus pond at the front yard) and mine of writing a book in one of the rooms inside. He, of course, would still possibly buy that house by the sea. Only I'm not gonna be there in one of the rooms finishing my book. I'm not even gonna be there around him to drink my wine or smoke my cigar in Hemingway's manner. His words had to make me bid a farewell to arms. His arms. Those strong arms I once felt safe in.

And yes, I could really picture myself being with him in that house by the sea with a lotus pond at the front yard. Happy together in our borrowed heaven. Let alone forever.

Hey, isn't The One the name of the resto I went to dine on New Year's Eve with him? Could he mean 'the one' on goodbye note as 'The One' the resto? If he did, the sentence won't make any sense ... but who knows! Anything is possible. And I shouldn't have been too big-headed interpreting what he meant by 'the one' with another meaning it could have!

* a goodbye note is a sort of thank you note sent when someone has finally decided to be adult then have a clean break up.

My Next-Spring-Heart Scenario

I've always wanted to write a screenplay for a movie. And since my imagination is fond of working overtime, I've been making up a scenario of self finally meeting someone new. Someone who’ll inject poison of Cupid’s deadly arrow once again into my story full of bitter endings after sweet beginnings.

Just to amuse myself. Just to woo my achy breaky heart.

OK, so I've to create the leading man for my story board. I don't want someone too good looking this time, like all the men I managed to label ‘the past’. As one of my best friends said: "Find someone who can make you laugh. That quality is far more important in a long run!", so this guy has to posses good, sensible sense of humor. Sarcastic-sometimes-goofy jokes are fine by me, as long as no jokes about him sleeping with others in front of my face again and again.

Right. So he's not gonna be too breathtakingly gorgeous, but owning a breathtaking smile is a must. That effortless, sincere smile which I’ll consider a little gift I could be getting every single day. And I like glasses on men. So with glasses he is. To frame his beautiful whatever color eyes. The eyes whose glistening pools are such an alluring life force whenever I gaze at them.

He makes me feel at all time comfy-home-at-last kind of feeling, even though during fights, arguments, and those days of bad sex. He finds Stanley Kubrick (at least Kill Bill) brilliant, foreign movies (with subtitles) challenging, walking hand in hand far more intimate than having sex, staying in bed all day as much fun as going on a roller coaster ride, going to Starbucks for a morning chat at 3 AM more romantic than dining a deux at William Kafe Artistik after having to reserve a week in prior, and sending flowers with lousy, corny self-made handwritten poems out of not even real occasions (eg. Vegetable Haters' Day, Stawberry Condom Lovers' Day, Dogs' Ear Biters' Day (I do bite my dogs' ears:D), Victoria's Secret Worshippers' Day, etc) amusing and worth doing.

This time, he takes good care of my fragile heart very carefully. And I'm gonna be able to tell it by his goodwill of replying each and every text I send. He'll always text me back - though not always immediately - even if I only say: 'can't sleep!' or something stupid like: 'I don't think fish sleep'.

Until then, I guess I'll just sit around and wait for that first ray of spring lights up my fractured heart once again. Big 'amen' to that!

A Suddenly-Turned-Porn Phobic

I regularly watch porn movies. At least once within a week. But there are also times I watch them almost every night before I go to sleep. Call me a pervert, but that's just how I cope with my end of waking hours.

No, I don't masturbate like you might think, I just put it on the DVD player to get me sleep. And usually after the first act, I would feel very sleepy and let the movie on till the morning comes, if I don't wake up in the middle of the night to someone's close-to-cum scream! (Yes, I turn the volume on because I like listening to the sound of people humping for (fake) pleasures!)

But funny, ever since I broke up with my caucasian lover, I can't watch porns anymore. Especially if the stars are caucasian males. Damn, everything just reminds me of him! Every move, every position, every facial expression... even the shape of the manhoods!

Maybe I should start forcing myself to like porns from different parts of the globe?

Ripping Off A Band Aid

It hurts, indeed! But sometimes it needs to be done before the wound gets even worse. Before the bleeding wound takes eternity to get dried.

While doing it, hold on to somebody's trusting hands, think of the next best things to be when the wound finally heals, think of that harbor you're finally gonna manage to stop with all the wounds leaving marks on your skin after suviving from the cruel, ever changing seas. Yes, think of a happy ending!

My band aid has been ripped off now. My wound is bleeding, open and exposed. But funny, while licking it, I'm not really sure anymore if that's what should've been done. I guess that's what always happens after each band aid has just been ripped off, isn't that?

No, just hold on to somebody's trusting hands, think of the next best things to be when the wound heals, think of that harbor I'm finally gonna manage to stop with all the wounds leaving marks on my skin after suviving from the cruel, ever changing seas. Yes, think of a happy ending!

And ... don't bother to bring extra band aids next time! That's the consequence if somebody bruises easily, somebody like me!

How Poor Art Thou, Oh, Prometheus!

Prometheus was a titan (giant) in Greek Mythology. He stole fire from Hesphaistos (god of fire, who was also the son of Zeus- the ruling God of the Gods in the Olympus) and gave it to mortals (humans).

Zeus, of course, got furious and decided to punish Prometheus. Hephaistos chained him on Zeus' order to a rock at the end of the world. A giant eagle went to him every day and feast on his heart. As Prometheus was a titan, his heart would regenerate each night so the torture would countinue each following day. That went on for years.

So my friend, if your heart is broken, it will heal sooner or later. But when it's finally healed, you will get it broken all over again... and then healed and broken again. It will go on and on and on till you breathe the last breath of your life.

Yes, we, mortals are THAT strong like our friend who stole fire for us, Prometheus!

V's Day Syndrome

When February comes, the epidemic of V's Day Syndrome massively spreads. Not only locally, regionally, but even globally. What is this V's Day Syndrome? It's a pseudo public holiday created by greeting card companies, chocolate companies, florists, food service industry, beauty parlors and gift shops. Just like HIV, anyone (singles having nobody, as well as those already in a relationship) can get infected.

The sympthom, which is the obvious feeling like crap that makes people ranging from find a sanctuary in alcohol haven to commit suicide, get even worse when the date gets nearer and nearer to the February 14th. (I myself wonder why V's Day doesn't fall on the 13th (bad luck number), so that it will even more perfectly complete the depressing effects it has on people!)

Those industries I mentioned earlier always deny the fact that V's Day is especially dedicated to lovers. "No, no, no, V's Day is very universal, for love is very universal! It's not only for lovers, but it is a special day when you have a chance to express your love to your loved ones, be it your friends or family!"

What a bullshit! I'm pretty sure nobody feels good receiving a card from own mother, no matter how much that person loves her! In fact, I bet that person would feel pathetic! Besides, if that's the case (expressing love to loved ones), it can be done everyday of the year, can't it?

No way, I strongly believe V's Day is all about romance and somehow people are forced to feel terrible toward themselves if they don't have a lover, or worse, if their own lovers don't do or give something special to them. Hey, it's nothing to do with romance then! It's pure capitalism!

I spent last year's V's Day with my girls. It was the 11 (or 12?) of us, who more than half of them were brokenhearted. We checked in to a hotel (using the voucher meant for someone never made it back), all dressed in red and went to have simple dinner at a roadside tent then fancy drinks at a five star hotel. Nobody got drunk that night. In fact, we had very marvelous catching up conversations till the dawn was about to break. However, in the morning, I woke up to some girls discussing about suicide methods.

See?! Even though we had each other and just had one of the most fabulous nights in our lives, V's Day still made us think of committing suicide.

Do we really need to have romance that much? Do we really allow V's Day to make us feel like crap among so many other good things we have?

Someone Said Heavy Words When I Was Heavily Drunk

It was the first early morning in the new year. But it wasn't the break of the dawn just yet.Yes, exactly like what Franky says in one of his hits: Wee Small Hours of Morning.

I was heavily drunk that night. After the counting down and throwing the confetti rituals at some eatery high up in the sky, I already had too much to drink. I was with someone at that time. His arms were around me the whole time. After the mundane counting down to New Year ritual, he then took my hand and we went down to a dark, packed room full of mostly teenagers. Half drunk teenagers, to be exact. I remembered kissing him a lot there between Long Island Iced Teas and very loud trance music.

When the party was over, my world was completely spinning. I vaguely remembered he held me and brought me safe and sound home. Not just that, he also undressed me, tucked me into a warm blanket and whispered to my ear softly "I love you" as gently stroking my messy hair badly smelled of nicotine.

That someone had never said the same three words the whole time I was sober. And he had only said them that one time.

He said the heavy words when I was heavily drunk.

Bad Taste In The Mouth, Warm Feeling In The Heart

There were things I wish I could eradicate from my memory. Like all Norah Jones songs from her first album, for example. As much as I hated them, listening to them all over again after some time, gave me a warm feeling that at least once upon a time I felt all the romance in the world.

Though I had thrown away the CD (no, I gave it to my friend actually!), my heart couldn't lie that once at 11:11 AM local time, high on a hill in a place I never knew existing on a world's map, someone and I kissed to one of Norah Jones'. Far have I traveled now in my life journey, I admit I can't really hate Norah Jones songs and no songs of hers ever got any better than those in Don't Know Why album. I could only sigh then smile whenever I hear the songs again.

People sometimes left bad taste in my mouth but marks they have left in my heart, on the other hand, are undeniably alsoworth treasuring. Not all memories with them are bad, no matter how fucked up they are. There are something good too that I still want to keep. Yes, my morose heart deserves to have those good memories!

Like though now I'm having problems with my recent affair, I could never forget the joy I felt when the first time my eyes met his. Those beautiful brown eyes just went straight to the bottom of my soul. Then that smile is still capable of making me breathless. No matter what, I can't deny the fact that once he brought spring to my winter heart. And I simply don't want to lose that memory!

I'm only glad that there are actually no memory erasing services as in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind movie. Fictions sometimes best remain as ... fictions!