The Picky Me

Here's my typical restaurant fuss:

I: I'd like to have a waffle. Make it half-cooked. Do not put the syrup on top of the waffle, but serve it separately in a small cup instead. I'd like to pour it by myself. And do you normally garnish the waffle?

Waiter: No, ma'am.

I: Good. Cause I don't like garnish on my waffle. Unless you have strawberries, put them on the side. Not on top of it. And by the way, do you perfectly understand my idea of half-cooked waffles?

Waiter: (looks confused)

I: Well, I like thick waffles, so pour the mixture richly into the waffle iron. Richly. What I meant by richly is about this thick (raises a forefinger finger and a thumb of my right hand to form a 5 cm gap between them) It's enough to bake the waffle for 3 to 4 minutes. That if you use a normal size of waffle iron. If you use a larger one, bake it for at least 5 minutes. But if you use a small size of waffle iron, 2 minutes are more than enough.

Waiter: (he might silently curse 'BITCH'!!!)

I like waffles so much that I think I have every right to be fussy when it comes to have a good waffle. Maybe that's why too I've been stamped and labeled 'too picky'. And yes, I'm guilty as charged. I'm even pickier to have another I-miss-the-day-we-met-and-all-that-followed-after kind of laments.

Jogja, My Sanctuary

Here I come back again to the old city of Jogja - the silent witness of both my grief and joy. The city where I left each and every fracture of my anatomy part called the heart.

Every street corner, every landmark, every particle of dust from motorbikes, every taxi ride, every unit of becak, every drop of water in fish ponds decorated with shy lotuses on the surface, every step of the way around those beautiful hotel establishments, every stall along Malioboro, every sound of Javanese language, every motif of batik cloth, every color of flowers, every bite of gastronomic indulgence, every fake smile I throw, every silent tear I try oh so hard to keep from falling.

I haven't been cured, Jogja. Not even a bit since my last visit in January. Here I go again, throwing my shattered self into your welcoming arms. I missed you and I'd just like to see you again and reminisce what it's like to laugh and have a friend telling me: "Your face is glowing with happiness."

You and I know, Jogja, that she was wrong, for now my face is still glowing with tears.

Nothing's Free Of Charge

Everything comes with a price. Even there's no such thing as free lunch.

On my last day in Surabaya - Sunday that was, before returning to the wretched city where I dwell, I decided to take a little dip in the pool. And if there's a bit sun in my sky, working on my lost tan would be an advantage as well.

But then again, things rarely happen the way you want them to be. At 9 AM went I out of the room in my flowery, white bikini along with the matching sarong. (Surabaya and bikinis don't mix - the place is simply not Bali, for the love of God!) First to have breakfast then to do whatever I wanted to do at the pool. I chose a table overlooking the pool. As I rest my oversized buttom, there were kids with their parents having fun in the sun around the lagoon shaped pool. I could only sigh, for I didn't know what else to do upon seeing a real life version of happily ever after before my very eyes.

Then my coffee came. It was superb, for it was hot and strong just the way I liked it. As my eyes roamed outside the window, I saw a man encouraging a baby girl to swim further toward his way, a woman making a braid out of her little girl's hair, and two young boys running around the pool. Not to mention another woman helping her toddler son putting on a bathing suit, while a man who I assumed to be her husband blowing a miniscule lifejacket for his boy to wear. My heart sunk to my stomach along with the coffee I sipped.

"Do I ever want to be in the scene?" I asked myself.

NO. At least a friend told me she's gonna try with all her might to keep that from happening.

I don't even know if I can stop thinking about the prices I have to pay from merely holding someone's hand. Let alone from the unspoken "I love you too".

I didn't finish my coffee that morning. The chest pain I've been familiar with for quite a bit now came all over again without prior notice. I then left the breakfast table and rushed to my dark room where the world seemed to make a lot more sense to me there.

Christmas Carols in April

Each time I have a human conversation with you or simply read your text messages, it feels like listening to Christmas carols in April. (Like those I happened to listen when having breakfast at a hotel's coffee shop) Christmas is always nice. It becomes even nicer with the eternal songs to spice up the occasion. But listening to them in the bright daylight's sunshine of April is so out of place. The songs do still remind me of some highlights of my childhood memories revolving around Christmas time. Indeed they do. But when listening to them other than in rainy December, it feels like the first time realizing Santa Claus wasn’t real, love was supposed to be hurt, or happiness didn't exist.

So please, do not make me feel like listening to Christmas carols in December if you know you’d only make me feel like listening to Christmas carols in April by each conversation and text message. Might as well not give me any Christmas carols at all.

I beg thy mercy.

One-Day Date

Sitting alone in a hotel room on Sunday morning, I watched a TV show called “One-Day Date”. It’s a one-day date between a fan and a celebrity. It’s a blah blah show, of course. An absurd show which I had no choice of watching since I didn’t have better things to do. Well, I could’ve gone to explore this capital of East Java I’ve been stranded for straight 10 days, but I was too lazy to get up from bed.

Back to the show. This girl fan and some so-called famous star of some so-called famous advertisement met and they got to spend one whole day together doing things lovers do: going places (by bus, which was also my idea of having a cool date!), holding hands (my thing also!), getting a haircut together (kinda cute to have someone to do with together!), asking each other’s comments on sunglasses they wanted to buy (everybody needs somebody when it comes to buying sunglasses, indeed!), and having dinner at a fancy restaurant housed on a penthouse of a high rise building (that's my favorite place to have a first date!).

Though it’s a stupid show, but it got me thinking that if only every couple knew they would only be together for such a short period of time - instead of thinking every relationship should last forever - then maybe there would be no heartaches in this world, which is great, isn’t it?

At the end of the show, they ought to give each other gifts. The girl gave the boy she adored the CD he had been looking for, while the boy only gave her a small, heart-shaped pillow with ‘I love you forever’ written on it.

Hah. How typical. Girls apparently always give a little to much, don't they? Like they give boys their hearts and would only receive heartaches in return. Why oh why?

The stupidest part of the show was when he said to the adoring girl fan that the writing on the small pillow described what he felt for her. Yea right, that’s what one would feel within a course of one shallow day. Well I’m sorry, what I saw on TV was very much different with what Celine and Jesse had when they spend a day in Vienna in the movie Before Sunrise.