I Could Not Stop For Death

The ferry I was on to and from Lampung didn't go under the calm water's surface. The gigantic trucks along the winding Sumatera roads didn't hit my car. The car's braking system didn't seem to ever fail to abruptly stop at every sharp turns or whenever it needed to. The poisonous King Cobra I saw at a snake show didn't sink its sharp teeth in any part of my anatomy and release its venom. The elephant I took a ride on didn't stomp on me. The abundant durians I ate like there was no tomorrow didn't give me artery block causing a sudden heart attack. Bought from some dusty roadside stall, the expired chocolate bar I ate didn't food poison me.

I'm still alive. I don't know whether I have to be thankful or infuriated.

I think my soul is still gonna dwell inside my body for quite some time before I finally have enough nerves to run myself toward a fast moving train. Being alive is fine by me, as long as there are lethal songs to darken the darkest hours. As long as there are more chances to sit on an upper deck of a ferry as watching the magnificent illusion of the sun going down caused by the world spinning round. (I'm always looking for the sun, aren't I?) As long as there are capitalist commodities to self-destruct, ie. cheese cakes' orgasmic sensations. All I have to do is abandon all hopes in everything. Including ever finding comfortable, new shoes that work visual wonders to my not-so-sexy feet. Let alone having a new spring in this black abyss. There's nothing much new under the sun, anyway.

But I'm jaded. Don't you angels of death think I'm better off being breathless?

Unwritten

So this is it. The thing every songwriter, poet and playwright has always written. This chest pain I can't seem to nurse. They say this chest pain sells. Maroon 5 did it. Hemingway did it. Lemony Snicket did it. But till now I can't even write enough profit-making words to be compiled in a thing described in a dictionary as 'book'.

I can't. I'm barren. I'm that boundless dry dessert of Sahara. I'm that 7 years of famine ever happened in Egypt. I'm that infertile womb of 80-year-old Sarah.

And so you know I met someone irresistible recently. He seems to have all the ability to give me another chest pain ... easily. So I told him I'm a lesbian, for I'd rather pass my chance to sell a book.

I'm gonna die tomorrow, anyway.

Cross My Heart And Hope To Die

Another long weekend is coming up. Off to Lampung I'm going tomorrow. Now that my eyes have witnessed Laura Fygi on stage, I think I've fulfilled all my purpose in this life time. Thus, I cross my heart and hope the ferry I'll be on tomorrow will sink. Everyone but me will survive.

Good Friday is a good day to die, they say.

Salt in My Tears

... From time to time
Do you guess what's really on my mind?
Guess that "How you keeping now?"
Means "Where are you sleeping now?"
But of course it's not polite
To ask you where you spent last night
And if I did you might reply
That I have no right
And anyway I'm fine
Glad that you're no longer mine
If I should tell a lie
I'll cross my heart and hope to die...

(upon listening to a mixed CD contained 20 so-called-being-hopeful songs compassionately recorded by a friend who tends my cardiac problems)

Sperm For Sale

A fortune reading done by a pencil hung with a piece of hair says I will have 2 girls. A friend introducing me to an exceptional method of kin forecast told me it's been successfully tried and tested with precise results. I don't believe in many things anymore, but at least it made me feel good. Cause it gave me wishful thinking that I'm not gonna die alone without any heirs to inherit my stored wealth in the forms of extensive collections of books, DVDs, CDs, bags, shoes, clothes, cards and letters ever sent by nears and dears during my first 15 years of life. If they ever want to be a songwriter or a poet, those cards and letters written with intense estrogen driven emotions would be good resources of inspiration.

I got myself read for 3 times and each time it told me 2 girls. Anyways, I've always wanted boys. But girls are fine by me. In fact, it's far better because speaking of heirs, they would love to have all my clothing and accesories items mostly bought during emotional chaos. Having girls, I can tell them everything my parents never did during those tough, growing up years as a girl. That way, when reality bites them really hard, especially at times when love is wilder than the wind, my girls won't have to ponder: "Why couldn't mother have prepared me for this?" I will tell them the truth, all truth, nothing but the truth about the delusional sides of fairy tales, miracles, and Santa Claus. Maybe if they can accept that life is gonna be hard since very early age, they would be more appreciative of every little good thing happens to them.

I want my girls right away. I think I should start venturing the streets asking if there's any fine gentlemen want to have 2 girls with me. Well, one is still okay, though. I can find another man to have my second girl with. As long as his personal and family medical history is clean, so are tests certifying him free from genetic and infectious diseases. No, no, don't get me wrong. I won't ask the man to bear all the responsibilities of having babies together. No. It's simply leaving his normally wasted 20 millions/ml sperm and he can walk on by.

We can have a quick sex in some pub's toilet or a sleazy love hotel. The willing man can also masturbate then freeze their semen at 200 degrees below zero in liquid nitrogen. The choice is freely his. If he chooses the latter, I'll gladly provide the erotic materials upon any sexual preferences and fetishes desired to get the seeds ecstatically discharged.

Sperm donor urgently needed. Those with excellent gene pools are encouraged to apply.

Greatest Cities In The World

Barcelona is crowned the greatest city in the world according to Discovery Travel and Living Channel among 19 other cities. Countdownwise, here are those cities picked:
20. Tokyo 19. New Delhi 18. Prague 17. Copenhagen 16. Santiago 15. Mexico City 14. Lisbon 13. Cape Town 12. Berlin 11. Amsterdam 10. Istanbul 9. Stockholm 8. New Orleans 7. Dublin 6. Sydney 5. Rio 4. Paris 3. Rome 2. NYC 1. Barcelona

In my conclusion, these are what make the cities deserve the crown:

1. great cultures
Though I don't really understand why New Delhi is picked, for it's one of the dirtiest and most densely populated cities in the world, but come to think of females dressed in colorful saris or young men making chai at roadside stalls, then yes, those are unique sights, indeed. And it's undebatable that the true uniqueness of New Orleans - the center of Mardi Gras celebration in the US - lies in its one of the kind mix combo of French (Cajun), Creole, and African cultures. The majority of the population are Roman Catholic but they still believe in vampires and the mambo jumbo of vodoo.

2. great architectures, be it historical or modern
Istanbul is a great place where mosques' minarets harmoniously stand hand in hand with modern buildings. Or look at Rome - everywhere you go, each place simply has history.

3. great walking places
being able to walk freely and fearlessly is a practice of a human right. Cities that can provide its people with decent places to walk around, then yea, are just great.

4. great public places to wind up any time of the day
beaches in Sidney, Cape Town, and Rio where people go to relax at the end of the day are just so humane. Located in the middle of the busiest city in the world, Central Park of NYC, which is the biggest park in the world, is a perfect sanctuary for its people to keep their sanity. And those places are available for everyone - from the poorest to the richest - for free.

Jakarta is none of the above, of course. And it's plain to see because:

Well okay, it’s a melting pot of many cultures alright. Like the native Jakartans are actually a mixture of Chinese, Portuguese, Malay, and Arabic cultures which have slowly faded with time. Only few people are willing enough to go against the odds as having the awareness to preserve the culture. Historical buildings in Jakarta aren’t well preserved either. People preferred to destroy the old Chinese-Dutch-Portuguese houses in the old city to build modern shopping malls that now have turned to be nothing but shabby markets causing the worst traffic jams in the area. And the modern buildings are nothing to write home about too. So simply speaking, Jakarta has sort of lost its identity - it's neither cultured nor modern. Great walking places? If there are any, the pedestrian sides are usually used by street vendors or bikers to avoid getting stuck in crazy traffic jams, that each time people walking on the cobbled pavements have to choose between their lives or the bikers’ urge to have a faster way. Jakarta does have a beach at the northern part of the city, but people have to pay a quite amount of money to enter the site. The entrance fee gets even higher on weekends. Public parks? There are few, indeed, but they're located in very polluted and noisy areas that people prefer to wind up at air-conditioned shopping malls.

Bluer Than Blue

Watching Before Sunset all over again is like experiencing first-hand what Roberta Flack exactly means when she sings Killing Me Softly: "Singing my life with his words... / Telling my whole life with his words ... / I felt he found my letters and read each one out loud. I prayed that he would finish, but he just kept right on ..."

(Celine to Jessie on a boat trip along the Seine heading to Quai Henri Quatre):

People just have an affair, or even entire relationships, they break up and they forget. They move on like they would have changed brand of cereals. I feel I was never able to forget anyone I’ve been with because each person had their own specific qualities. You can never replace anyone. What is lost is lost. Each relationship, when it ends, really damages me. I never fully recover. That’s why I’m very careful with getting involved because it hurts too much. Even getting laid. Because I will miss of the person the most mundane things like I’m obsessed with little things. I think it’s the same with people. I see in them little details, so specific to each of them that move me and that I miss and will always miss. You can never replace anyone because everyone is made of such beautiful, specific details. Like I remember the way your beard has a bit of red in it and how the sun was making it glow that morning right before you left. I remembered that and I missed it.

Celine to Jessie in a chauffeured Mercedes on the way dropping Celine home:

I was thinking for me it’s better I don’t romanticize things as much anymore. I was suffering so much all the time. I still have lots of dreams, but they’re not in regard to my love life. It doesn’t make me sad, it’s just the way it is.

Jessie:

Is that why you’re in a relationship with somebody who’s never around?

Celine:

Yes, obviously I can’t deal with the day-to-day life of a relationship. Yeah, we have this exciting time together and he leaves and I miss him, but at least I’m not dying inside.
….

Celine:

It’s not so easy for me to be a romantic. You start off that way and after you’ve been screwed over a few times, you forget about your delusional ideas and you take what comes into your life. I’ve just had too many blah relationships. They weren’t mean, they cared for me but there were no real connection or excitement. At least, not from my side.

Still in the car, Celine on reading Jessie’s book which is apparently about their one night together in Vienna 9 years ago:

It reminded me how genuinely romantic I was, how I had so much hope in things and now it’s like I don’t believe in anything that relates to love. I don’t feel things for people anymore. In a way, I put all my romanticism into that one night and I was never able to feel all this again. It makes me cold like love was never for me.
…

Celine:

You know what? Reality and love are almost contradictory for me.
….

Celine:

But what does it mean, the right man, the love of your life? The concept is absurd. We can only be complete with another person. It’s evil right? I guess I’ve been heartbroken too many times and then I recovered.

Jessie:

You can’t live trying to avoid pain.

Surreal Etymology

I should know that everything under the heaven would boil down to something like this - doesn't have to be precisely like this, but there are countless situations like this before:

Clementine: This is it, Joel. It's gonna be gone soon.
Joel: I know.
Clementine: What do we do?
Joel: Enjoy it. Say GOODBYE.

Within a day, imagine how many times the word 'goodbye' is being uttered by the world's population. Ranging from saying goodbye to whoever in the house when you leave for work in the morning; sick people too weak to go out and get food to pizza guys when delivering their orders; death sentenced prisoners to whoever watching them slowly die behind one-way-glassed rooms before the executors press the buttons to let suffocating gas enter the small chambers; lovers to each other when they finally have enough of hurting one another; crying kids to their dead dogs; old women to the dresses they wore for a first date with their dead husbands because the maids accidentally shred them during ironing; to unfaithful wives to their foreign lovers when seeing them off at airports.

Although 'goodbye' is said in many different human languages, but still the meaning is all the same. While it's not necessary - but like beers best drunk with good friends, there are usually tears accompanying the word before, during, or long after it's being said. It's like the word itself driving the tears to come out of the eyes then roll down the cheeks. Magical, isn't it? It's even more powerful than voodoo, I think.

According to Merriam-Webster Dictionary, the etymology of the word 'goodbye' is the alteration of 'God be with you'. Oh! So after saying or hearing the word, one is expected to count on God to ease whatever pain as the effect of the certain word being chanted like an ancient, sacred prayer? But what about those who don't believe in God? Should they be destined to hear or say the word more and more until at a certain point they finally believe in His existence?

Don't Blame It On The Rain

I learned this morning that as much as you can have the privilege to blame all the wrong things happened to you on the rain, or any other natural phenomena, or simply on others, but actually the blame is still more on yourself.

Out of routines, I stopped at a 24/7 Oh La La Cafe on my way to work. I thought I wanted to have a good day today, so I needed a good beginning. And a good beginning could mean a nice cup of caramel latte along with a chocolate croissant. Knowing it's something I didn't normally do was enough to get me feel uplifted. Let alone sipping the aromatic coffee with luscious caramel and milk in front of computer while checking my incoming emails.

I should've not let my hopes too high like so many other times before. While I was at the counter, my hope was shattered when the waitress told me they didn't have any more chocolate croissants left. So I had to be content with a beef and cheese pastry, which of course, was too heavy for my morning meal plan, for I'm gonna have a heavy lunch later today at another restaurant opening.

After 15-minute waiting for my orders, I already couldn't wait to reach the office as fast as possible that I didn't give a damn about the coffee cup's lid. The straw hole was wide open that eventhough the cup was tightly closed, still it leaked. The open air also caused the hot coffee lose its heat. If Joey of Friends has an absolute law of never sharing food, then mine is less hot coffee to start a day!

I just realized all that when already in a bus and saw the light brown coffee liquid all over the transparent plastic bag I had been carrying. It wetted my pastry bag as well, that yes, my breakfast was soaked. Had I known it when I was still at the coffee shop, I would have been bitchy about the open wide straw hole that ruined my good day's beginning!

But it was my fault. So I rest my case.

Green With Envy

Seeing Sylvia Llewelyn-Davis (charmingly acted out by Kate Winslet) - a widowed mother with 4 young boys in Finding Neverland, I could only stare at the screen green with envy. It's so heartmelting the way she handles the boys, especially each time she calls them 'darling' with that adorable British accent.

I've always wanted to be exactly like her having 4 cute boys. (Even one of hers is named Michael - my baby boy's name!) Damn! I don't care if I don't have a partner to raise them. I've never wanted a husband, anyway! Well, I thought I wanted to have one, but then I realized that he would be nothing but burden instead of help. Besides, I've always been good with kids, but never with men - though kids would eventually grow into men. After all, when the kids have turned into men, they would be someone else's problems, ie. their lovers or wives, not mine anymore. But who knows I might be long gone by the time they're really men.

But it seems I have to let go of having 4 boys dream. In fact, I've let it go for good now. Above and beyond, I just can't let my very flesh and blood live in this corrupt world. But if I'm ever gonna make it till 30 and feel like handling the responsibility of being a parent, I might just adopt some unfortunate boy from an orphanage. I'll still name him Michael and love him like he's my own. I'll educate him so well that when he grows up, girls would surely kiss the ground he's walking on!

Smells Like Teen Spirit

I once read in an Oka Rusmini novel that the sweat of lower class men's is arousing. That very statement, of course, puzzled me.

It's not that higher class men don't smell. There are, in fact, some who do - though they have all the privilege to afford expensive deos. Let alone purchasing expensive perfumes at duty free shops of international airports all over the world. It seems they're just too stupid to brush up as well as put universal knowledge on body hygiene into practice. But by far, none of sweat - innocently concentrated in the under arm areas - of those I bumped into in public places: from those clad in Armani in a fancy restaurant to those clad in worn, torn, dirty T-shirt holding a bowl and asking people for money I've ever found arousing. No. Never!

This morning I was just trying to concentrate on finishing a long pending article, while 2 mechanic guys who were apparently bestowed with not so good smell fixing my next cubicle colleague's computer. Gosh, their body odor was hideous that earlier I had to go somewhere where the odor particles weren't scattered around the air I breathed!

Bless the souls of those who invented deo and those who kept improving it! As well as bless the souls of those who know what body hygiene is all about!

Note: No wonder Nirvana wrote a hit song Smells Like Teen Spirit. Affirmed by a friend's sex story I've been told recently, teens do smell. Again, it has nothing to do with social hierarchy. It's the crazy hormones just got started active. And maybe limited allowance to buy deo, if not being clueless about body hygiene.

All At Once

All at once I realized why it's so difficult to let go of a past love affair. It's just difficult to picture someone - though I've put into a box labelled 'the past' - move on with his life without me in it.

I'm going to be replaced. And that's not really easy to cope with. As much as I'm gonna have another lips to kiss or another smile to brighten my days, still it hurts a little knowing he'll kiss another lips or be captured by another smile other than mine.

All at once I'm left with just memories. And sometimes even good memories hurt.

Baby Blues

Last week I went to see a colleague whose wife just delivered a baby boy at a hospital. As always, ever since I had the courage to hold a few-day old fragile infants in my sloppy hands, I tried to do the same.

The baby finally woke up. Yay! Then I got my chance to hold him. But as soon as my hands brought the little thing closer to my chest, funny, I didn't feel happily thrilled like before when I had a cute, little version of humankind with me. Instead, I felt terribly sorry for the baby for being born into this gloomy world.

"Hey kid, your days of sleeping peacefully are numbered!" I silently warned him.

Not having the heart to imagine such miserable life having in store for him, I returned the baby into the mother's arm as I told him in a telepathy way: "I'm sorry kid, I can't hold you and watch you grow in this world full of hearts being broken and people being used. Meet me when you're much much older and bitter and perhaps turned into a commitment phobic, then yea, maybe at that time I can finally have the guts to hold you close to me!"

Ode To Raindrops Falling On My Head

When you're in grief and the universe is mourning with you - through the cloudy sky so grey, the heavy rain decorated with lightning so blazing up the horizon, the raging wind bending the trees so wild and choreographing the grasses a ballet repertoire so chaotic - then chances are, yes, all of a sudden you'll feel a bit better.

Misery loves company. And no words in my vocabulary could ever be enough to thank the universe for mourning with my heartache this morning.

Good Morning Heartache
written by Irene Higginbotham / Ervin Drake / Dan Fisher

Good morning heartache
You old gloomy sight
Good morning heartache
Thought we said goodbye last night
I tossed and turned until it seems you have gone
But here you are with the dawn
Wish I forget you, but you’re here to stay
It seems I met you
When my love went away
Now everyday I stop I’m saying to you:
"Good morning heartache, what’s new?"
Stop haunting me now
Can’t shake you no how
Just leave me alone
I’ve got those Monday blues
Straight to Sunday blues
Good morning heartache
Here we go again
Good morning heartache
You’re the one
Who knows me well
Might as well get used to you hanging around
Good morning heartache
Sit down

And make yourself at home! Care for a cup of coffee to warm up your coldness?

The First Time

One of my dreams came true last weekend. Finally, I got to see Laura Fygi - The living Goddess of jazz on stage singing, dancing, talking, and joking the whole hour away in her sexy voice. Claiming to be numb that I was, paradoxically I did shed a tear when she was singing The First Time. Before starting the song she said to the audience in an overcrowded room: "I want you all to close your eyes and remember once again your first time. For all your first time, this song is for you!"

Killer Heels

Heels kill! Not only for the person wearing the shoes equipped with Earth-poking spears, but also for any living creatures around the person concerned. And does anyone know the fact that the majority of sexy stilettos and high heels have very smooth and slippery soles? Go ahead wear those killer shoes to work on a public transport if you love the thrill of danger. Danger of falling flat on your butt or getting stiffness in lower legs, ankles and feet that can easily cripple them (temporarily or even, permanently).

I took the bus to work this morning. And since no driver in this whole wide nation has a proper license (including myself), it explains why they can't even hit the brake properly under a normal circumstance, that each time they have to cause the passengers got all shook up, ranging from mild to 5 on a richter scale.

There was a woman in a neat business attire and a stiletto about to get off the bus. The driver stepped wildly on the brake that she had to trip and almost fall on her arse because her evil-invented shoes didn't support her body well. When she tried to hold on to any handle within her reach, her heel crushed my exposed toe. I screamed and cursed so hard over my smashed toe that other passengers could only give me simpathetic looks.

I plan to sue stiletto manufacturers, especially the world's renowed stiletto designer, The One And Only Manolo Blahnik. My injured toe needs justice it so deserves. Do design something without heels and less than US$ 450 a pair, will you Mr Blahnik, then I'll forgive that woman's deed - though her shoes aren't your label. (I don't think she can't afford your shoes) No humankind can ever afford to buy your shoes. No one can, other than the filthy rich or world class celebrities.

Stilettos give a much sexier walk? I don't think so. My bleeding and swollen toe doesn't think so. And surely neither does she - that woman stepped on my toe. Afterall ... stiletto to work? Oh woman, come on!!!

Do Coffee

He said: "I think we should do coffee some time." I thought: "It's safer to talk here on this magical cyber wire where we don't have to look into each other's eyes."

He's the kind of person I could easily... No, no coffee!!!

Hell! Why not? Just a cup of coffee over A Clockwork Orange and Nigella Lawson chats then leave. Leave and never look back. Leave then strengthen the fort around my heart. Leave as recall the excruciating pain of allowing someone to cross further my path.