Saturday Is the Loneliest Day of the Week

The only good thing about weekend is that I don’t have to work. That’s it. If I don’t have to work, then I don’t have to get up at 6 (or earlier) to avoid the crazy traffic. If I don’t have to get stuck in rush hour traffic, usually I’ll have a better mood all day long. If I have a better mood then I’ll forget my suicidal thoughts. But that’s it. That’s all goodness a weekend has.

But the whole picture of it lately is a torture.

Starting when I wake up from sleep and roll over on my colder side of the bed, he’s not there snoring or passing his hell of early morning gas. Not even a bulge of his morning erection pushing through our shared blanket. When I walk to the bathroom to pee, no sleepy voice asking where I am going or what the time that particular moment is, sometimes using his mother tongue. (He’s still very much under beta waves influence that he forgot he was talking to someone having no idea what he was talking about!)

Then when I come down to the kitchen and fix myself a coffee, it’s gonna be me, myself, and I drinking it alone without having to see him tear off a sachet of brown sugar. Nobody calls me ‘sugar bitch’ anymore when I keep adding sugar in my stubbornly bitter, strong, black coffee.

When I go to the living room to check out the world outside through the living room’s window, I see his shadow sitting on one of the couches talking to father and eating noodle soup. I still feel like seeing him demonstrating to mother how devoted pilgrims pray at a miracle place in Fatima, Portugal.

Then a text alert sound from my cell phone distracts my silent memory. It’s one of my friends asking me to go out. I quickly reply a yes, for I still don’t have anything marked on my weekend agenda. After sending out the text, my fingers usually can’t resist the temptation of not scrolling down to see some of the texts he ever sent. Even seeing his name still written there never fails to make my heart jump up to my throat. Let alone reading his: “I guess I’m sleepless when thinking about you. XXX”

Then I try to read the morning paper. It’s less fun because I don’t have him to fight over who’s to read the English newspaper first. For that reason, I don’t even have any interest in touching the English and Bahasa newspapers lying on a coffee table. And besides, nobody reads me the business section from the English newspaper anymore, as in return, I then would read him the latest political news from Bahasa newspaper. Since I walked out of his life, my mornings are without discussions on the best ways to reduce traffic jams in Jakarta or arguments about normal delivery over caesarian operation.

Bored with the newspaper, when I turn on the TV, it’s also less fun because now I have the remote control for myself. Nobody insists on watching CNN when I want to see E! Channel.

When I drag my lazy ass to get some refreshing shower before meeting my friend, there’s no longer him in front of the basin sink with a face covered with shaving cream while letting the tap on. Now I don’t have to yell at him from the shower: “Preserve the water, Hon! Water is scarce. If you want our grandchildren to still have the luxury of drinking clean, plain water, close the goddamn tap!”. And of course, there’s no longer a voice replying with half closed lips (to avoid from swallowing the shaving cream): “I need to keep the goddamn tap on to shave properly! You're a woman, what do you know about shaving?”

After shower, when I’m confused if I have to wear a red, silk top or a white, cotton top, he’s not around for me to ask his opinion.

When I’m finally all set to go out in a green, cotton-polyester top, starting the engine of the car and the radio automatically on, there's Mick Jagger of the Rolling Stones singing Paint It Black. He worships the Rolling Stones like the Hindu worship Shiva or Carrie Bradshaw worships Manolo Blahnik.

Driving down the typical busy streets on Saturday afternoon, I don't know why each minute I see 1992 Mercedes Benz. When I see it in a particular blue color, my heart skips a beat.

A few traffic lights and jams later, I arrive at the place I should meet my friend. Since almost all Jakartans are in that particular place, he or she suddenly calls telling me that the restaurant we should have lunch at is full, so he or she has found a table at a Japanese restaurant on so and so floor. When I come to that restaurant, my hungry friend is already eating a tuna sashimi for a starter. My heart twiches knowing it's one of his all time favorite food. Nobody I can argue with anymore over which among tuna and salmon is more expensive during eating those thin, orange slices. And after meal I still can’t stop the contagious European habit of having a cup of coffee to wash out the food taste lingering in my mouth.

Then the dusk finally comes down, another friend calls to meet up at another place to have a drink. Not only I gasp for air when seeing him/her already waiting for me with a bottle of Bintang, but also when I enter the lounge, the background music being played is Santana’s Corazon Espinado – his favorite requested song whenever we went to places with live music. And when I take a glance to a bunch of gentlemen at the next table, I let out a big sigh because those guys are smoking red Marlboro cigarettes. The strong smell of the smoke is so familiar that it goes right to my head and straight to the folds of my memory.

A few cocktails and good conversations later, I go home. When I switch on the TV, as if not enough of torturing me all day, there’s an InterContinental Bali Resort advertisement on Star World. My hands are trembling but too helpless to change the channel. When seeing the beautiful resort’s sunset bar, the beach, the swimming pool, the club room, the garden, I simply lose breath. Once upon a time, we had the time of our lives at the very same place I see before my eyes on TV screen.

That's why every weekend I cross my fingers hoping it would soon be Monday.

Red, Puffy Eyes Are Back

I don't expect to turn back the time
To when we cuddled it felt like
Being wrapped in a bubble
As if the rest of the world disappeared
I just humbly hope
If anyone could give me a slightest clue
How long's a tear take to dry
For mine keeps rolling down, down, down
down, down, down, down
down, down, down
down, down
down

I'm A PhD

If men were my learning lessons, then perhaps I would've already held a PhD by now. Imagine how cool it is, a PhD! Imagine how many people on this Earth actually having that degree? Not many, I believe. I could arrogantly put it behind my name as if it's a status symbol certifying I'm bigger than other people's life. And at the same time it makes my own name I always hate suddenly sound better.

Why is it we're always forced to take lessons from whatever life experiences we have? Can't we just confirm an experience or two as a meaningless malfunction? Like I still don't see any lesson I should learn till now from someone saying something about reducing the geographical distance between us only to find the next day he's the one who drew the emotional distance ever further. What fucking is that? A practical joke? Thank you very much. No need to entertain me, cause I prefer to laugh at some slapstick actions in cheap comedy movies like those with Rob Schneider or Adam Sandler in it!

Sick Feeling After Watching "Closer"

The minute I switched off my DVD player after the end credit of Closer, I got the same exact feeling when I stepped out of a cinema after watching Manchurian Candidate. It was the familiar I-hate-the-world-it-makes-me-sick kind of feeling! The movie indeed made me sick of relationships, though I never consider myself as a relationship person! Fuck, I'm not going in there again!, that's what I said to myself, as taking out the disc of the player.

In short, Closer is the story of two couples and the hurtful actions they take and the emotional rollercoaster they go through in the name of love. It shows stages of most relationships: the encounter, the love, the deception, and finally the separation. Love looks cheap in this movie, like how easy it is for Dan (Jude Law) to say the so-called sacred 3 little words as if it's just a game of self-justification for him. (Perhaps it's no epiphany that most people's motives in any relationship are selfish!) "Lying is the currency of the world" True. That's why cheating on each other is pretty much justified, if one wants to be a part of world trade.

The only good thing happens in this movie is Blower's Daughter soothingly sung by Damien Rice in the beginning and the end of it!

To wrap up, I don't recommend Closer for those who don't want to feel any worse about relationships, or the world at a greater point.

What A Little Romance Can Do

At a book store yesterday, I bumped into someone from work who has been branded as vicious. She's everything what a typical sexually frustrated spinster most people tend to label: rude, bad-tempered, sharp-tongued, envious, bitter - you name all the known witches or bitches' traits, they're all in her. This super fat woman in her mid 40's (not sure, I just guessed it from her grey hair) behaves the way she does (I think) because all of her life she never feels attractive, because people might have always mocked her body size. (I wish I could've told her that real women have real curves!) To her, the world and the people dwelling in it are always too cruel, so she needs to build her own protection that it will avoid her from getting hurt. If that thing has been going on for long, then no wonder one can turn into a hardened, fucked-up, used-up, and cold soul.

She's kind of cute actually. (If only she realizes it!) She has fair skin other darker skinned girls could only dream of while using all those whitening products and a pair of clear brownish eyes I could only envy.

I smiled at her when I happened to stand next to her at Fiction shelves. She just looked at me coldly without smiling back. I sighed and walked away, but I smiled to myself when I saw her holding 2 Harlequins - cheesy romance novels in her hands.

Then yes, there's still some tenderness in her!

Guardian Angels Do Exist

I think they do. At least to me. Here's why.

Last night I went shopping for a white bag at Galeria's Taman Anggrek. (My mood is no longer pink lately, but has turned to white, so I have to stock up my wardrobe with more white stuff!) When I laid eyes on a big, white bag - just exactly what I wanted - as if conducted by the unknown power of shoppers' universe, my hand automatically searched for its price tag. But damn it! It wasn't there! Things just have a way of never being found when you're really looking for them, right? So I asked a plain-Jane shop assistant standing with shop-assistant's-typical-blank stare between bag shelves, if she could tell me how much the object of my affection was. She tried to find to the same model in different color, but to no avail. I urged her if she could check out for the price someplace else, for I wanted the bag really bad. She suggested me to go for the same model in different color which I strongly said "no". Furious of not getting any solution, I went to look around for another white bag. When I came back to the first place that I was, she called out to me. I followed her where she then opened a cupboard nearby, pulled out a pile of what looked like receipts, and she told me the bag cost Rp 400.000 but it's 50% off. I asked where she knew it, while previously she seemed so hopeless of not knowing how or where to ever find out the bag's price. She said it's all written on the pink carboned sheets she waved at me. Since I was in euphoric state of a new relationship with my white bag, I quickly said "yes" to her for the bag. When she disappeared to God-knows where to make me an invoice, some voice within told me to go to the same shelf where I first got my beloved white bag. I did what I was told. My eyes spotted a price tag of the bag from the same brand but in smaller size. It was written only Rp 165.000. OK, so the bag I had chosen was like 30% bigger than the one having Rp 165.000 price tag, then it would only be logical if the price was also 30% more expensive. Then I tried to find again an exact same model in different color in that shelf, and voila, I found one in black with a price tag on it. It's written Rp 250.000. Fuck! That asshole shop assistant tried to fool me! Being suspicious, I went to find her to ask if she really gave me the right price by showing her the twin black bag. She said the white bag was indeed more expensive than the black one. She expected me to believe that bullshit? Of course. But then I, in my bitch mode, told her that even if it's more expensive, it couldn't be that far different, especially if they had the same code: 7224 (for the black and the white), so the price couldn't be different. I forced her to show me the paper indicating the bag was really worth Rp 400.000. She looked intimidatingly uneasy then told me if I wanted to go for the same price with the black one, she could do something for me. With boiling blood rushing to my head, I snapped at her: "I don't fucking care about the price and I would pay as it is, as long as there is a proof of the exact price! But if you're playing with a customer like this, I'm the one who can do something for you, which is reporting your evil game to the store manager!" Then she quickly tore the price tag off the black bag and put it on my white bag. Screw her, but I could get away with my heart's desire white bag with only Rp 125.000 after being discounted 50%.

On the way back from that malevolent mall, I was stopped by a policeman, for I took the wrong lane. It was a lane to turn right, while I wanted to go straight. (I wasn't familiar with the road that I did that stupid mistake) Anyways, when a police signed me to pull over with his light sabre, again that little voice told me to stay calm. To be frank, I could never be calm when it comes to being stopped by police! They get me panicky big time! When I rolled down my car's window, he saluted me with his fake smile then told me what I did wrong. I quickly admitted my mistake then said my apology while handing him the license and car's document he asked. When he saw the company I work for on the document, without much further ado he then gave back everything I had handed him. (People working in my company telling themselves are journalists being hurry to cover some news to get away from police - and it always works miracles, I don't know why!) He said: "I watch you a lot on TV. Just go now!" Hurray!!! And it lasted less than 5 minutes before he let me get away with the biggest grin on my face. I didn't even give a damn who he was mistaken me for when he said he saw me a lot on TV.

It wasn't a bad day yesterday. And I guess I do have guardian angels watching over me on both shoulders. It can also be my dead dog, Sweepie. I read in a book a long time ago that dogs, when they die, they will still look after their previous masters.

Coffee And Me

The only company I could really get up close and personal with from now on will be my coffee. And if it's just made right: the right amount of milk and sugar and (sometimes) cinnamon powder, I'll find comfort with either, some, or all of these:
1. a little drop of rain
2. a warm blanket
3. a good movie
4. a good book
5. a notebook
6. good music
7. happy memories
8. my dog sleeping on my lap
9. my broken heart
10. my left-over dreams

and most of all, half-cooked kue cubit!!!

Dear P (Another Unsent Item)

Hi, P! It's me again. I wanted to tell you that although it wasn't in my weekend plan, I finally went to our little secret place again last weekend - that open-air patio between flowery trees where we used to sit on its staircase and just talk the night away. I didn't remember there was a small pond in the middle of the patio. Do you? I don't know if it's just my lousy memory or I was always too busy enjoying your company that I only had eyes for you.

Do you remember the last time we were there, it was a full moon night decorated with a few stars above and gentle breezes around? If God had wanted to end my life, I would've chosen that particular occasion. I was so loved and happy and safe and warm and comfortable and content, that I didn't mind dying and going to hell that way.

Those twin orange buildings have been turned into a shopping mall, by the way. But it's good, though, they didn't take away our little secret place. And I was also glad when I saw a bunch of teenagers carrying on our little habit at that place. I seemed like feeling your presence when I looked at them simply sitting around and talking the night away at that little patio of ours.

On the way back from a karaoke last night, I also passed your apartment - our little love nest. Ever since I could manage to take that street where you used to live again, whenever I'm in front of that pink painted building, I always drive slowly just to have a quick look at A1/C8 on the 6th floor. It's been occupied by another tenant because the lights were on when I saw it from outside. I hope whoever staying there now, they would find happiness like we did.

I don't know how many more tenants after you left that 2-greenish-bedroom apartment, but I bet neither of them has ever switched all the lights off, taken a sofa out to the balcony, fixed 2 glasses of whatever fruit juice mixed with whatever vodka could be found at some hypermarket nearby. Yes, I bet neither of them has ever sat on a sofa and drunk heavenly Screw Drivers and gazed at the starless, polluted night sky, and yet felt like seeing the Orange Colored Sky. But we mostly gazed at that giant digital clock at the top of a nearby building, didn't we? Do you remember how we both cursed at the clock for ticking too quickly? (Clocks did always tick much too quickly whenever we're together and I always died a little everytime we said goodbye!)

All too soon
We had to part
The moment you had touched my heart
And with you went my dream
All too soon

All too sweet
Was our affair
And you put all the sweetness there
What a shame that it’s gone
All too soon

I knew the strange delights
That only you in love could bring
And as I reached the heights
The bottom fell from everything

You should know as well as I
Our love deserves another try
For we whispered goodbye
All too soon
Too soon

There, the First Lady of Song on my CD player is singing that beautiful piece with her voice so beautiful that it's giving me chills! Yes, I wish the sky would've fallen down on me when we sat there at the patio, then maybe I didn't have to listen to your goodbye. I hate that word, don't you know that?

A Random Act Of Kindness

Trying to cheer me up, a gay friend of mine gave me a number of his new contact from his gay circle. Five minutes earlier, he was enthusiastically describing what this guy looks like: a Costa Rican - which I imagine would look like a Ricky Martin, possesses such a libido-throbbing body, and probably a good dancer (hmm ... a good dancer makes a good partner in bed!) When he told me his name was Enrique, I could feel my mouth drooling in saliva.

He: Here, write down his number. Hopefully he's a bi.
I: Are you nuts? This guy is gay!
He: We don't know yet if that's a fixed bargain. There's always a possibility that he's also a bi.
I: What would I do with his number?
He: Try to call him. Talk to him. Charm him.
I: He's a gay for God's sake!
He: Just write his number down and call him if you've changed your mind.

How sweet that he wanted to help me find a man! But it's funny. It's weird. I didn't see it coming. I felt like the world's biggest, shameful failure for getting a gay contact. I feel like laughing now. Wait, let me just do it. Hahahahahahaha! Oh my!!!

Lullaby of Birdland

Even in shitty times, life can throw a little portion of joy at some deprived souls as myself. Pardon my selfpity which lately I've found as a leisure pursuit.

I went out last night with a gay friend whose presence I always treasure, for he never fails to give me natural highs. So there we were sitting at a corner table; me eating a bowl of boiling French soup (creamy chicken & mushroom soup top-wrapped with soft pastry bread) and my regular borrowed heaven of hot mocca latte, and him eating French soup too (lured by seeing me eating it greedily) and something tasting like lime squash.

I unconsciously picked a cafe ala Francais for our little rendevouz. (I don't know with this French thingy, somehow I could feel the cosmic power drawing me even stronger lately)

Anyways, when hearing this cheerful tune of Lullaby of Birdland being played, after only a few words sung by the legendary Ms. Fitzgerald, I instantly shrieked: "I love this song!!!", which he replied: "Me too!!!" Then as if the world belonged to just the two of us, we ended up singing along to the song. No, it was actually just him singing with his adorable baritone voice, while I was just humming it, cause I didn't know the lyrics.

However, here are the lyrics, in case you feel like singing like my friend and I did last night:

Lullaby of Birdland
(sung beautifully, lightheartedly and playfully by Ella Fitzgerald)

Lullaby of birdland, that's what
I always hear when you sigh
Never in my wordland
Could there be words to reveal
In a phrase how I feel

Have you ever heard two turtle doves
Bill and coo when they love
That's the kind of magic
Music we gain from our lips
When we kiss

And there's a weepy ol' willow
He really knows how to cry
That's how i cry in my pillow
If you should tell me
Farewell and goodbye

Lullaby of Birdland whisper low
kiss me sweet and we'll go
Fliyin' high in Birdland
High in the sky up above
All because we're in love

I wish! Hell yes, her voice singing that song reminded me of what little happiness really felt! I can have a lot of good songs like that and forget about my morose days. That song indeed took my very soul to France - the promised land I yet voyage. And as if intending to perk my rainy night up, the song was repeated by whichever generous soul in charge for the background music for at least 7 times. My soul abundantly thanked him/her.

And above all, I love having moments with people who matter to me. That little investment will live on long after I'm gone from this world.

Grotesque Rage

Now I really understand why I named this blog Grotesquerage. It’s more than because the word ‘grotesque’ captured me after it's constantly being said by Riri Riza – Indonesia’s promising, young director - at last year’s JiFfest when he was judging entries for short film competition.

Somehow I have such repressed anger - when it comes to men, in particular. Such as now. My hands are still trembling from anger I just burst it out open at some stupid male chauvinist pig in the form of a metromini driver.

As every Jakartan knows that getting into a race with other metrominis is the drivers’ little amusement between their depressing working hours. Understanding that, about 100 m before my stop, I already told the driver to stop by knocking on the roof. But he just kept on driving the fucking metromini that I had to keep on knocking... harder and more frantically. I didn’t have that much patience as any other getting off passengers before me who went through the exact same thing like I did. Thank you, no! But then again I was very cranky, which always happens whenever I‘m hungry. (Well, I skipped lunch today because I was too busy to even grab something to eat)

As I kept on knocking, he kept on driving madly. The more I knocked, the more he drove. Out of uncontrolled temper, I hit him lighty on the shoulder with the laptop I've been carrying. He, of course, got more furious then yelled the dirtiest words ever invented at me. The more he yelled at me, the more I yelled back at him with the same dirtiest words I could think of. Fuck! I threatened him to report his fucking ass to the police, knowing there was a police station nearby. But damn, he wasn’t afraid and still kept on driving. I even showed him my middle finger. One last attempt, I gathered all my energy then screamed at the top of my lungs to make him stop the goddamn vehicle. He didn't listen. He even told me to jump out the fucking moving orange thing instead. Supposed there was a folded knife in my bag, I was sure I was gonna stab him right there in front of everybody. I didn’t fucking care if I had to spend 10 years in jail for killing that bastard. For the love of God, then yes, he finally stopped. But it was already 500 meters from my stop.

Looking back, that guy could’ve jumped out of his driver’s seat and attacked me when I hit him with my laptop. But miraculously I wasn’t in the least afraid of him. I didn’t know I got that much guts, for normally I would switch into my Gandhi's Ahimsa mode, as it's useless to fight off some asshole like him.

Man, some hilarious occurrence it was! Now I’m writing this from some noodle place. As eating my wonton noodle, my fingers started to ache from too much knocking the roof of metromini too hard.

Academy of The Right-Things-To-Say Arts

I've been thinking of opening a school for men. The curriculum's main aim is to make them know to say the right things, in particular when it comes to talking with women. Here are a few examples of wrong lines men usually throw at women when talking. And let's have a look why these lines are said to be wrong that they should've left unspoken:

1. "One of the good things of marrying you is I can finally fuck you without condoms!"
Although it much is true, saying it shows how you only see a woman as merely a cunt attached to her body. Thus, it shows how shallow you are as a so-called human being bestowed with brains and conscience.

2. "You know the Chanel perfume I gave you is very very expensive."
At any time, it's just unacceptable to mention anything about the price of the gift you have given to someone - be it expensive, or not. Just hand it away and say: "I hope you like it" without any further hints of how precious it is.

3. "I'm not ready for a commitment because I don't think I can picture myself with only 1 woman for the rest of my life. But don't get me wrong, I still feel for you!"
If you're not ready, then just shut the fuck up. Keep it best for yourself. That's your own problem, anyway, not hers. Saying "I still feel for you" definetely doesn't soothe her or make her feel any better. "Part-time love just brings me down", says George Michael when he was still with Wham! singing Freedom ... and it's true for most women.

4. "It's sickening to see my business partner having to call up his faraway wife everyday and tell her "I love you, honey, so much"!"
Again, if you're sick of it, keep it for yourself. Besides what's sickening for you doesn't mean it's sickening for others.

5. "I think I have to find somebody to finish these remaining condoms with. Just for sex! You don't mind, do you?"
If you wanna have sex with others, just do it. You don't have to brag to your woman that you did or you will, for it's not only you who's capable of sleeping with others, she can too. And if she really does, do you not mind or is your ego not damaged?

6. "Don't you think it's fun to meet every 3 months for 2 weeks? We go places and have great sex in those beautiful places?"
It's indeed fun if only 2 months earlier you hadn't said you wanted to get serious with her.

So, anyone interested in being an investor or a partner in running my school? I project in less than one year we can already reach Break Even Point, as there are a lot of men out there who don't know how to say the right things, that they unconsciously ruin good things might ever happen to their lives. Such a shame, isn't it? Let's help them, then!

Regrets For Not Watching "About A Boy" A Long Time Ago

I watched About A Boy last night to get me sleep. It tells about Will (Hugh Grant), a 38-year-old Londoner who loves dating all variety of women for uncomplicated sex and is fixed about not getting too attached to them, for he believes in the antithesis of "no man's an island" - all men are indeed islands.

All through the movie, I seemed like seeing J's life being put on my TV monitor. Damn! I should've watched that movie a long time ago, so when I met him, I wouldn't have fallen into any of his bullshit. (I wasn't in the least interest in watching the movie when it's first released because I never liked Hugh Grant and his stupid British accent. I normally adore British accent, but coming from him, it doesn't sound cute at all to my ears! But OK, I guess from now on, I shouldn't build any resentment toward any movie stars, so that it won't keep me from watching their movies)

J, if you read this, here's a piece of advice: date single moms. They are the best choice you can get for easy liaisons: they're appreciative, and yet commitment free. Sex will also be good with them, for they have been lonely and abandoned their sexual needs. Not to mention, when you're tired of them, breaking up will be easy. In fact, they'll the one who break up with you first out of guilt of neglecting their child(ren).

Anyway, I'm not a good a storyteller, just go watch About A Boy. It's your whole life in it! (and mine also as one of the extras!)

Good Things On Capitalist Victimized Day

This year's V's Day fell on Monday. Some people in the office (even my colleague with 8 years of marriage) left much earlier so they could take their loved ones out for a romantic evening, whatever that was. For my stingy company, of course, it was an act of energy saving which has been long expected from the workers, for there were less people chatting on the net, or leaving the computer on till late, or talking on the phone very long as usual. And since they had to leave early, they made the use of their working time very efficiently. No taking 3-hour lunch to go pirated DVD hunting in Glodok whatsoever.

When driving my colleague home from attending a V's party at some hotel, it was 10 PM and the traffic was a bit clearer than it was 3 hours before. Having been driving in Jakarta for my entire adult life, I've come to know pretty well the Jakartan drivers' attitudes. But last night - I don't believe this myself! - nobody seemed to be in a rush as to cut out lanes, get constantly ahead of everybody, or get impatient at slow drivers. In fact, everybody was slow driver last night! There were only very few cars taking the fastest lanes. People were having the tendency to have a joy ride. (Even on Sunday or at midnight hours of any given days, I was still given lights or honks whenever I tried to have a joy ride!)

I was almost sure the guys in those slow cars burst I-love-you-would- you-be-my-girlfriend line to their female companions. Or at least they tried to gather the guts to spill the line out. It wouldn't have been so hard, though, because all radio stations were playing love songs at that moment, that it very much helped them build such romantic mood, so the girls they were with couldn't say anything else other than 'yes'. Even for lovers in those slow cars, I bet they didn't feel like going home and calling it a day too quickly on that very special occasion created by capitalism.

That's why they all had a joy ride like I did. I wasn't even in love but it's kind of therapeutic to sing along to the love songs being played on the radio at the top of my lungs.

When I was in bed, a friend of mine texted me saying that he was amazed to find his favorite road-side soto place was so empty at 11 PM, which on any other days at that hour it was always full. Much to his surprise, all the soto items were still complete, as if nobody came to that place but him. Couples usually eating there that night might have preferred going to fancier places.

Oh how I love V's Day!

I Don't Hate V's Day

I changed my mind. I've decided not to really hate V's Day anymore. Though in the morning yesterday I mocked each and every incoming text congratulating me Happy V's Day blah blah blah ... crap!

Yesterday, which happened to be a V's Day, was actually not a bad day for me, despite my miserable love life and just having stood up by some guy promising me a romantic dinner. However, what I got yesterday was even better than if I had had a love life or really gone to that dinner with him. I got a red rose alright, I got heart-shaped chocolates alright, I drank countless glasses of nice champagne at a fancy place alright, I was surrounded by charming guys and had nice conversations alright (this time they're straight, thank you!), I got V's card alright, I got compilation love songs CD alright, I got V's gift alright.

But most of all, I got beautiful friendship from beautiful people having beautiful souls.

The last text I received before I went to bed with a little kick from champagne was:
"I want you to know that there are people who really love and care for you. Anyway, I receive a glimpse of heaven by loving you!"

It was from one of my best friends. For the first time in a very long time, I went to sleep smiling.

Fortune Cookie Divination

At a grand opening dinner of a Chinese restaurant in a hotel located in the heart of Jakarta, a piece of paper in my fortune cookie says: "You will win success in whatever calling you adopt"

I've been having a very strong calling to learn French lately. I’m gonna sign up next week at the nearest Centre Culturel Francais for 4-hour class every Saturday starting March. Hopefully I can manage to survive the first 5-month course and succeed in working on my French 'rrrrrrrrr' without having to embarrass myself! Well, even if I will - and I think I will - I don't care! It's not my mother tongue, anyway!

At a greater point, I really do hope something good finally has in store for me somewhere down the road by learning French. Backpacking to France? C'est si bon! Learning how to make wines in one of the châteaus in Bordeaux or one of the villages in Bourgogne? La vie en rose!

Decent Lads, Where Art Thou

Waking up with another big, already-yellow pimple on my chin, when I turned off the buzzing alarm on my cellphone, I saw 1 new message. I pressed - and * buttons to keypad activate it. It was from the guy I should go to dinner with tonight.

"Chik, I'm truly sorry. I planned to call you later when I arrive in Jakarta. I have to cancel dinner tonite, I have to attend dinner hosted by a big client. Later I call you again."
Date: 14/02/2005, Time: 6:00:56 AM (Singapore time, 5:00:56 AM Jakarta time)

I don't care if he cancelled the dinner date. Really! But for the love of God of Good Manners, he could've had the courtesy to tell me at least 24 hours in prior, instead of throwing me I-planned-to-call-you-later-when-I-arrive-in-Jakarta line! By the time he would really call when he's landed at the airport, for example, I don't think he would remember calling me because he'd have so many other more important thoughts in mind than just an unimportant dinner date with someone unimportant. Correct me if I'm wrong.

So I think he would really call me long after he has landed in Jakarta. While it would really happen, I would've been in my dating mode for the whole long day - dressed to the nines, which would initially cost me 2 extra hours just to choose the right outfit to wear, which, yes, I would have to change for more or less 40 times before deciding the right one and make my room a lot worse than the sinking Titanic afterward. Then I would have to find the right shades of makeup matched with the outfit. Not to mention all this bullshit would be wrapped in high heeled shoes, which I would have to wear the whole day. (Carrying 2 pairs of shoes to work?! I don't fucking think so!) And I would also have to call up my boss to make an excuse to show up late at work, for I actually would stop by at a salon to get my hair done on the way to the office. What such a waste of time for such a frog?!

He could've at least right away replied my text sent at 8:51 PM (Jakarta time, 9:51 PM Singapore time) asking: 'Are we still on for a dinner tomorrow on the pseudo public holiday invented by greeting cards industry?'

I'm so not gonna answer his dinner invitation ever again. I've just been wondering - again and again - decent lads, where art thou???!!!

Sunday Morning Rain Is Falling

Adam Levine of Maroon 5 sings:
Sunday morning rain is falling
Steal some covers, share some skin

Real life's degree of accuracy at the moment:
1. Sunday morning: true, it is Sunday morning (well, actually it's already afternoon, but the whole Sunday's daylight is morning to me)
2. Rain is falling: true (it's been raining cats and dogs since Thursday night)
3. Steal some covers: possibly true (I can just hop into my messy bed and cover myself with my 2 blankets)
4. Share some skin: false, without any possibility to be true.

Finally, Most Accurate Reason To Get Married Found

When watching Shall We Dance, I finally came across this most precise explanation why people ever desire to get married (fuck love!), through a dialogue delivered by Mrs. Clark (Susan Sarandon) and a private detective she hires to spy on her husband.

Mrs. Clark : All these promises that we make and we break, why is it do you think that people get married?
Detective : Passion?
Mrs. Clark : No.
Detective: (speechless)
Mrs. Clark : Because we need a witness to our lives. There are a billion people on the planet. I mean, what does anyone’s life really mean? But in a marriage, you’re promising to care about everything – the good things, the terrible things, the mundane things, all of it. All the time, everyday. You’re saying (to your spouse): “Your life will not go unnoticed, because I will notice it. Your life will not go unwitnessed, because I will be your witness.”

I myself find it enormously, fantastically, awfully matter-of-fact!

Ghastly Dreams

Having cried myself to sleep of watching Happy Together and had horrible dreams, I woke up this morning with a dreadful mood. And now I’m left with the familiar I-can’t-face-the-world feeling. Even Paul Heaton and Jacqueline Abbot’s voices of The Beautiful South singing Masculine Eclipse on my stereo can’t soothe my petrified soul this time.

I dreamed about the sonofabitch colleague stealing my reimbursement report. In my dream, it’s really her who took it. When I confronted her, I got so mad that I ended up barking at her, calling her names and smacking her face.

Hatred is strenuous. Anger is energy draining.

I also saw the majestic Iquazu Falls in Argentina in my dream. That’s one of the settings of Happy Together where the gay couple has always dreamed of going, but in the end only one of them manages to go after the breakup. In real life, at the exact same location in another time and space, J was there too.

Even though I was on beta waves, I could feel myself trembling.

It’s true that everything surrenders to the law of gravity. Including hearts. That insignificant part of anatomy is meant to fall from grace of cloud nine to the floor, sometimes even to the mud of pigs’ farm!

Cold, Cold Heart

I might have done something awfully, dreadfully, incredibly terrible in my past lives that now it has come the time for my Karma. So from now on, I've decided to give up my right to be happy when it comes to romance. With all the experiences I've had, it's just plain to see that the universe has been trying to tell me that I don't deserve uplifting and lasting romance in this life time. Because it's payback time.

And I don't think such happiness exists either. Even if it does, I don't want it anymore. I'm worn out emotionally and physicially now. All I want is to have a tearless story. I don't care if it's less interesting or too drop-dead boring or nothing to write home about. As long as no more heartaches. No more chest pains. No more heart twitches stimulated by seeing or smelling or reminiscing certain things. It's just ridiculous!

I've chosen to have a cold, cold heart. It would grow so cold that even the hottest sun or fire would be no way to melt it. I can live with that.

So be it. I'll wait, but make it fucking quick, please! I can't stand the pain anymore!

Being Mr E. Edward Grey

Here's to answer the questions asked by Lee Halloway (Maggie Gyllenhaal) to her boss, Mr E. Edward Grey (James Spader) in the movie Secretary* when they first make love and she - for the first time in her life - feels beautiful:

1. What's your mom like?
She has a good heart actually, but we don't really get along. It's because whenever she forbids her children from doing things, she doesn't reason enough because she doesn't know how to reason. It's because she just accepts everything without asking. And to her, the world is all black and white, no grey color. Most of the lines she speaks, she copies them from my father over and over again that it's almost believable they're her own.

2. What's her name?
Magdalena Sutami

3. What did it say under your picture in the senior book?
Most of my classmates said I was ignorant and rebellious.

4. Who was your first love?
My classmate in the elementary named Adrian. He was so drop-dead gorgeous and one of the top students in my class. Every girl was after him, I guess!

5. When was the first time you got your heart broken?
At the age of 11, when I saw Adrian spending most of his short breaks with a cute girl from the class next-door named Farah. Back then, of course I didn't know what broken heart was, but surely the first cut was the deepest!

* This movie won a special jury prize at the Sundance Film Festival for originality in 2002, by the way! It's another must-see, definetely!

Short-Term Life Plans Of Mine

I bumped into an old friend last week. During the catching up conversation, he asked me about my life plans. He was surprised when I told him I had none, for I'm never well-planned kind of person. Before parting that afternoon, he told me to write down all I ever want to do in life. I don't know why I finally even listened to him to put my life plans in writing. But here they are:

1. Take French lessons (I do love French movies and watching them without English subtitle would be cool. Let alone finally get to sleep with a Francois, a Jean-Pierre, or a Jaques as a bonus. And I do love French girls too. What's with them that they always look irresistibly adorable on screen even without makeup on?!)

2. Start working on my book by at least writing the outline. Do some research too. Or at least write more short stories and rewrite or edit my old ones to be compiled into a book.

3. Do contact anyone needing a freelance copywriter for more income - get the money and get myself a holiday. I have lots of places to go!

4. Explore interesting places in my city and beyond on weekends for my bi-weekly travel column and CHARGE the company for it.

5. Hang out more with my happy-single-ass-kicking juniors from college and gay friends. Straight people at my age are either married or in serious relationships. They can be toxic.

6. Get a decent pair of high-heeled shoes to go dancing with them (people at no. 5) at the hottest clubs in town.

7. Eat more fibers on daily basis.

8. Go to bookstores more often. Check out the latest hot books and look around if there are approachable guys with a nice smile and would answer decently when I ask: "Do you think this book is good and worthy enough to buy?"

9. Talk more with mother. Her colleagues adore her, why can't I?

10. Make peace with the past. At least no more checking out Amsterdam's time on my cellphone. Erase the goddamn city from the cellphone's memory ... and also from mine! Remember, I didn't even feel loved the whole time I was with him, so why the tears?

11. Have enough balls to erase all the pictures with him in it. This is one of the parts of ending relationship I hate the most! Lesson for next time: don't take too many pictures together, or don't take pictures together at all! So when things don't work, I won't have any pictures to delete.

Norahjonessing

Word : Norahjonessing
Function : noun
Etimology : Norah Jones, a mellow-voiced American jazz singer winning 8 Grammies
Definition : a longing to be in love, or at least in a romantic mood

It's been raining downpour outside since last night. I don't actually really know why the rain always triggers the yearning to have a little romance ... to norahjones. But it's indeed always good to have someone to enjoy the sound of the falling rain with.

The rain and norahjonessing absolutely mix well together. That explains why my heart just goes into spasm when it's raining and I automatically start norahjonessing. So this is what being lonely is all about? I wonder if he feels the same way across the ocean.

I don't think so. I bet he's already been fucking a lot. What can I expect? "Amsterdam is a sex city!", that's what my best friend once told me when I told her about him. Should've really listened to her at that time! It's a good advice taken for granted, for sure!

Damn you, Norah Jones! Damn you, rain! Damn you, J! I really miss norahjonessing with you!

To Go Or Not To Go, That's The Question

My closest friends had been arranging a holiday together with their boyfriends. They wanted me to come along with them because they said they wanted to cheer my brokenheart up. (Yeah right, by making me feel like a loser!)

So there would be 3 couples. If I decided to come along, it would be 7 of us - with me as the only one without love in the air. I had refused it actually, but they insisted on cancelling the trip if I didn't go. They had even changed the route for me, just to make me wanna go. Previously it was Bandung, then it was changed into Bogor. Previously it's planned to stay over in Bogor, but then it's decided we would go back to Jakarta at the end of the day ... because of me. Some kind of bitch I was, I know!

They would hate me if I didn't go, but if I did, I would hate myself. Was it stupid to feel the way I imagined I would feel? But then I called up another 2 single-with-nobody friends to join us. Even though the 9 of us had to squeeze ourselves in a Kijang on a one-day trip to Bogor, but it was much more fun. And I felt less like a loser.

You're Not Pretty

I've been keeping an eye on a new guy from the 4th floor, who I met for the first time on a bus months ago and we have only been on hi-hello-how-are-you-fine-thank-you stage whenever we bump into each other in the elevator or wherever around the office building. His shy smile captured me right away. And he wears glasses, by the way! (grins widely)

While having an early evening meal last night with my colleague, who told me earlier that guy was his junior back in school days, he and I had this conversation:

I : So what do you know about him? (in schoolgirl mode)
He : You're too old for him!
I : Why?
He : He's only like (silently counts) ... 23!
I : So?
He : But besides you have no chance. He's already had a girlfriend.
I : How do you know?
He : I've seen him bringing her to the office.
I : But he might have broken up with her by now. You never know! And you don't even know him that well, do you?
He : I don't think he would ever let her go. She's damn pretty! You know this girl in Dewa's music video ... blah ... blah... blah... (he then describes how pretty his girlfriend is, that she looks like a famous model starring in one of the top notch rock bands in the country)
I : OK. She's that pretty alright. So?
He : You're not even close pretty compared to her. So even if he has broken up with her, I don't think he would ever look at you!
I : I have more than just looks! (in super confident mode)
He : Yea right, guys won't consider looks when they first lay eyes on girls! (in sarcatic mode)
I : Excuse me, but I've been dating gorgeous guys before with my not-so-pretty looks! (raises voice one octave higher)

For fuck's sake! I'm so over THAT phase - THAT I'm-not-pretty phase! THAT biggest growing-up pain in every girl's life!

I Could Be Your Whatever

J,
I could be your warmth of desire
I could be your prayer of hope
I could be your gift of everyday
I could be your tide of heaven
I could be your black-eyed angel
I could be the storm before the calm
I could be your secret pleasure
I could be your well-wishing well
I could be your breath of life
I could be your house-by-the-sea dream
I could be your worry partner
I could be your socialite
I could be your alter ego
I could be your force of light
I could be your temple garden
I could be your trance music
I could be your tender-hearted child
I could be your paradise island
I could be your sand on the beach
I could be your sun to get you tan
I could be your thunder in the clouds
I could be your compressed air tank when you dive
I could be your warm blanket in winter days
I could be your beer, red wine, or Cuba Libre
I could be your wasabi in shoyu sauce
I could be your Blackberry
I could be your Hate Ironing Day
I could be your CNN to kill the time
I could be your FeDex Priority
I could be your dark enclosure
I could be your romantic soul
I could be your courtesan
I could be your shrink
I could be your flatmate
I could be your bestfriend
I could be your small beginning
I could be your soothing universe
I could be your ordinary
I could be the one

But the stars we once gazed upon together told me not to. So I surrendered to their gentle persuasion.

* Modified from Donna Lewis' song I Could Be The One

Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered

Just heard a piece of shocking news last night. The guy I had a major crush on back in college(and actually still did before hearing the news) is a GAY. No, it's not that I have something against homosexuality. No! But why, oh why, Lord, this one?! And why I just found out about it last night?! Why??!!!

(Of course! I should've known it when he told me about the Queer Film Festival, in which he became a member of the board committee! How stupid of me!)

A Conversation At A Bachelor Party

This conversation was taken place at a small pub during a special friend's bachelor party two nights ago.

Keke : So how's love life?
I : (laughs uncontrollably ) As always, sucks!
Keke : (laughs too) You never change. Everytime I ask you about THAT department, you still give me the same answer as nine years ago!
I : That's me ... never lucky in love! (smiles bitterly)
Keke : So you just broke up again? When?
I : Yes, 2 weeks ago
Keke : This time with someone in the same country code, or ...
I : Different country code, of course!
Keke : (sighs) No wonder! How old is he?
I : Thirtyfuckingseven
Keke : (laughs) Then it's a good thing that you broke up! In 3 years he'll be sexually disabled ... err, I mean impotent!
I : (laughs too) I think you're right! Even now he couldn't live up to my standards!

I did feel better after the conversation. Thanks, Ke!

The Mother In Me

My colleague emailed me the pictures of her 4-month-old infant wearing the baby dress P & I bought in Mumbai years ago. At that time P took me to a big complex of Mangga-Dua-like market in the down town selling mostly clothes. As P loved to spoil his nieces and nephews (I always adore this quality in him!), he wanted to buy them lots of clothes and asked me to pick the nice ones for them. While sorting out, I found some very cute I couldn't resist buying myself.

"I want some for my future kid too!" I told P as showing him a cute baby boy's top.

"Sure. Pick some for a boy and some for a girl," he replied, but looked puzzled, though.

Back to my colleague's baby. When first looking at the pictures, I didn't know whether to smile or cry, but then I ended up doing both - though I don't have any idea which one I did first!

Her baby was indeed really adorable in that pink dress with a strawberry picture on the chest.

She's the baby I never gave birth to. Maybe I'm never even gonna have the luxury of bragging to others about my own flesh and blood's every move. (You know those new parents my-baby-is-amazingly-cute-when-she-sleeps-or-my-baby-puts-her-favorite-stuffed-animal-to-her-mouth- and-would-only-let-it-go-when-I-swing-around-Mr-Sponge-Bob kinds of remarks!)

When I broke up with P, I gave all the baby clothes we bought to my colleague. (She was preparing her wedding at that time, so I think she would need them soon more than I did)

I still remember the last thing I said to him on the last day of being his so-called future wife: "You'll make a good father!" (I had seen him put his restless baby nephew to a peaceful sleep by holding him close to his chest ... and that was just so heartmelting!)

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

(Taking a deep breath... 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1)

Fuck! It's not even 8 o'clock in the morning but I already feel like cursing the word 'fuck' for another tens of thousands times as throwing anything within my reach!

I hate backstabbers!!! I hate people pretending nice and friendly in front me of but then doing unthinkably nasty deeds behind my back! It's happened for the second time. I said and did nothing when the first time something like this happened. But now, I would really have to do something! I hate it because I think I know who's capable of doing something dirty like this. And I hate it because whatever hatred that person has toward me since the first time I stepped my foot in the company, has nothing to do with me. Fuck you psychotic, envious bitch!!!

Someone stole my reimbursement report again. I don't understand why on Earth someone would ever do it. Those papers have no use to that person, but definitely they are to me, because that's the amount of money I lent the company for the past 2 months. And since I lost all the receipts I had carefully glued on papers one by one yesterday, now I just can't have my money back. And that amount is worthy enough to buy 2 pairs of designer shoes. Fuck!

I've just looked again all over for those papers, but they're nowhere to be found. I still remember yesterday afternoon I put the papers on my desk - on the left side next to my monitor on the top of piles of my other documents - before I went with my photographer colleague to shoot some museum pictures for my Travel column. After that I did forget about the papers but really didn't think someone would ever steal them from me! Of all the papers on my desk are still there at the place where I left them, but the reinbursement report is missing! And I don't think the office boy cleaning my office would've ever taken it away. He wouldn't have dared to move anything from anyone's desk. Those papers I've been looking for are, again, no use to anybody but me!!! Fuck!

The Right To Shoe: A Tribute To Shoe Theory

Back in the good, old days of leasuring at the university's cafetaria after classes or during skipped classes, I remember a friend told me her shoe theory to describe the long and winding journey of finding The One.

She said: "Finding The One is like shopping for shoes. If you like the cute model, but once you wear them, they're not really comfortable. But if they're really comfortable to wear, they don't look as cute to your feet. And when you've finally found something you really really like - they're cute and comfortable - damn, the shop just doesn't have your size! And that's why shopping for shoes takes a long time and most of the time just can't be done within a day. The same thing happens when it comes to men. When you're with a cute guy, they're so self-conscious of being cute that they're usually arrogant. They think they can get any women they want that they don't really care about your feelings. That personality trait, of course, makes you uncomfortable being around him. But if you're with that nerdy guy you like to talk to because of his wit and good sense of humor, he's just not good enough to be shown off to your embassy gala dinners because he doesn't know how to groom. And when you've finally found a perfect guy - a cute one you feel comfortable with - he's already taken!"

Everybody sitting at that very table under a shade cheered at her little speech in agreement. Till now, whenever I shop for shoes, I always remember that shoe theory. It is indeed exactly like what she said! Every word and meaning of it, both when it comes to shoes ... and men!

I found a really comfy pair of shoes yesterday. Of course they don't look as sexy and inviting to my feet, compared to those with killer heels. (Why on Earth we, women, can't have both ... a pair of comfortable shoes which still can manage to make us look like a femme fatale?!)

And by the way, my shoe theorist friend has ended up happily married to a not-so-cute-but- comfy pair of shoes ... oopppss, man now.

Bosom Got Aching

Hendry Lamiri, the country's renowned violinist, was on stage at Mandiri Bank's agreement signing with Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. When he played Love Story on his green violin, it was so earth-shatteringly beautiful that smoke got in my eyes, though I wasn't smoking at the moment.

My bosom got more aching by the stupefying note he was playing dexterously. It was literally aching as if I had a cardiac pain. Or remember those stories of people being sat on by a gendruwo (an ugly, giant underworld creature in Javanese urban myth)? It was sort of like that. The soreness up my chest was partly because I was trying so hard to hold myself from dropping any liquid from my blue-eye-shadowed eyes in front of Mandiri Bank people.

But to no avail. And I swear they saw that salty water coming out of the window of my soul when I had to wipe it. How unprofessional of me! I was, of course, ashamed of my old stupid self!

My mood then suddenly turned from bad to worse, but it's a good thing that the event took place at my favorite shopping mall because afterward I cheered myself up with a pair of new shoes. Yes, impulsive purchase always helps in times of wretchedness!