an attempt to catch the strange and peculiar

CHILDHOOD DREAMS REVISITED

2012-01-29T00:20:00.000+07:00

The solemn dark earth was a shrine of orbs. Shining, glowing orbs, as grand as the sun, perched on top of installations thousands of meters high. These were the Gods, the entity They coveted, the being They fought over. When they fell, countless white debris showered Their heads, Their mouths murmuring prayers.

My head turned, and I found myself awake in the dark. Alone, frightened, and disturbed.

FRIEND

2012-01-07T00:05:00.000+07:00

Having the chance to take a deep breath for a moment seems like a privilege. But if what you hear the very next thing after that breath is news that breaks your heart more than you want to, more than it should, you seem to forget the things you were so very intent of thinking the days before.

You were the one person I saw myself spending the day with, throwing things into the air.

It’s heartbreaking to see the image shattered.

SHI-T

2011-10-16T21:56:00.000+07:00

The little artifact, left mistakenly, became a company for a pathetic hope. The different parts, each time taken, become a reminder of a sole entity - and I am forced to reiterate a saying said at a time (perhaps, but hopefully not) long forgone.

But the little thing, with time, became more and more like me, and seemingly less of the other.

What does that say?

PERSONAL CARGO

2011-09-25T22:47:00.000+07:00

Upon our heads are the invisible bowls, boxes, buckets. Kept hidden, unseen, the veil continually changing in colour. The burden, or the challenge, to always stand upright. The battle, or the abandonment, to perpetually appeal to somebody's eyes. To withhold the unnecessary, the relay the absolute truth.

To suppress the selfish compulsion, to learn to be content.

CLICK!

2011-08-21T22:15:00.000+07:00

When questions arise, defeat them. Or else, let them be. Maybe one day you'll hear a click! in your head, and, suddenly, you'll know what to do, where to go, and who to be.

TO LIVE AND TO DIE

2011-08-21T18:15:00.004+07:00

As I recall, in the words of that certain peculiar fellow, there is something astonishingly romantic indeed about dying a believer.

I was a believer, may still be a believer, and may or may not remain a believer.

In any event, bless the believers, and those who do not believe. On the other hand, curse the headless, and save the heartless, please, for I might be the latter, and a hopeless romantic.

REVELATION

2011-08-21T17:30:00.000+07:00

There must be at least one moment in a year, a month, a day, when you feel as if the world revolves around you. In another moment in the year, the month, the day, you'd feel tiny, insignificant, vulnerable, and bare.

When either thought overpowers, close your eyes, and drown yourself in nothingness.

NATURAL ANALOGIES

2011-07-31T20:53:00.000+07:00

When what was once your absolute surrealism becomes more and more realistic by the moment, what kinds of thoughts haunt you? It’s like a sudden shower pouring over your head when you were outside staring at a city’s skyline on a cold day.

Would you walk away and take shelter, or would you take a deep breath and keep walking?

CAST OFF

2011-07-29T21:30:00.000+07:00

Some things are often made, but never conveyed.

All the letters in my drawer is proof. All the words in my notebook is proof. All the thoughts I have in mind is proof.

RESONANCE IN THE DARK

2011-07-28T23:37:00.000+07:00

I remember when I woke up, thinking that I really heard a scream, a piercing scream, that startled me out of my bed.

The echo of the sound is exactly like the echo of you.

LIGHTS, REFLECTED

2011-07-28T22:34:00.006+07:00

Reminiscing is made easy when a reminder from the past, the very recent past, keeps you blinking with eyes alert; when images, taken from another’s eyes, appear before your very eyes; when you wake up, not wanting to wake up, and see your own dream vivid in your head.

Then you start to doubt yourself, because you thought you’ve learnt.

But is it such a sin, wanting not to let go, wanting to grasp what you thought you have, wanting to relive everything you really had?

If only people could live in many realities. Then all my questions would be solved, my curiosity quenched.

THE CONFOUNDER

2011-07-21T05:16:00.002+07:00

I never knew I could accept an objection to my reasoning. But maybe I needed that; maybe I needed to be proven wrong, for once.

Your wit astounded me, and left me standing aghast.

/

2011-07-18T21:11:00.001+07:00

If you are the postman, then I am the messenger.
If you are the magician, then I am the audience.
If you are the prodigy, then I am the adjudicator.

If you are the story-teller, then I am the deceiver.

A STUNNING SPELL

2011-07-18T01:36:00.002+07:00

I never could resist an atmospheric charm.

On days, the black starless sky can be as alluring, and as convivial, as a great grey one. If I were large enough to hug it close to my chest, I would. But for that time being, with feet glued to the ground, I felt content silently falling under its spell, and being stunned.

It felt like getting lost within one’s self.

LEMONADE

2011-07-15T00:02:00.000+07:00

It's a plague, being bitter. I, however, have come to terms with my bitterness.

And it's liberating.

AND THEN WE COLLIDE

2011-07-14T00:01:00.000+07:00

Coming to a halt proves to be more difficult than expected. Though the scenery had changed, the talking, the pondering, and the wonderment of it all remains. The facts, laid out eloquently, did nothing to answer the question:

Who’s to blame for a both-to-blame collision?

BRIDGE

2011-07-13T04:45:00.001+07:00

It’s the old formula in writing a song. Put one in, and you’re golden.

But in a different context, seen from a different pair of eyes, absorbed by a different mind – it’s an entirely different matter, one I should probably neglect for the better.

I did walk to the edge, but thank god I didn’t tumble over.

PICTURESQUE

2011-07-12T23:39:00.000+07:00

The wind stops abruptly, then sadness engulfs.

I’ve always envied the people who could stand still behind a lens.
To capture moments into pictures, so long as we’re not entrapped in its seamless surface.

Picture taken in Sydney (July 2010).

NANA

2011-06-25T22:31:00.001+07:00

I fed a plant a dose of cigarette ashes. I named the plant Nana.

If Nana could talk, I’m pretty sure she’d have qualms about it. But she cannot, and for that I am grateful. Despite what I may be held accountable for, I hope she will be healthy, and alive, and most importantly, sane.

I hope I’ll still be sane, too, at the end of the day.

DER UNTERGANG

2011-06-22T23:59:00.000+07:00

Let me tell you about blunders.

It started with my loss, tears, and cries, and was coloured by my naivety. Then came the appointment, the relations, and the revelations, and all the feelings that ensued.

For your information, I am intent on making it end with your downfall.

"WOLF!"

2011-06-22T23:33:00.000+07:00

Just like the story, the girl yelled “wolf!” and all eyes fell on her. When the audience knew that the wolf was not actually there, they hurried back to their works, grumbling as they scurry along.

Not satisfied, being the narcissist she is, she yelled again. “WOLF!” she said. The kind audience, being the human that they are, once again turned their heads and broke their necks coming to her aid. And no, the wolf was not there. The audience must feel like gullible sheep by now.

The third time she yelled wolf, the audience… Well, you know how the damn story goes: the girl gets her head bitten off (I think, and I hope). What is left to figure out is how you stand in the story.

Unfortunately, I think I play the role of the audience here. The gullible, naive audience.

THE MESSENGER

2011-06-19T17:30:00.000+07:00

A Tribute to Jakartan Postmen:

Tidakkah kau merana saat angka tak lagi berguna, dan lampu merah kehilangan artinya?

AFFAIR

2011-06-17T00:53:00.001+07:00

All art is at once surface and symbol.
Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.
It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.
- Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

An affair with Dorian Gray’s picture reflects my disgust, my curiosity, my intrigue towards an act of spiralling into a kismet beyond the point of reason. The affair, having taken place besides a lonely bedside lamp, made loneliness a treasure I would not trade for little.

GENERAL AVERAGE

2011-04-16T21:13:00.001+07:00

I understand if you're wary.

The ship had run aground - but it had been salvaged. Now it's sailing, finer than ever, and I understand if you're wary. But when it's back redelivered and ready to sail again (like it has, time and time again), this time carrying something you do not have (and you will never have), we wouldn't want you on board.

I'll discharge you in the middle of voyage if I have to, for the sake of the rest of my cargo.

THE UGLY GREY SKY

2011-03-15T19:38:00.001+07:00

Eyang, Om, dan Sepupu.

Why does it rain every time, the times that you go? It’s the only time I detest this city’s beautiful grey sky. I wouldn’t mind being locked up in that sterile room for longer, breathing in the medicine odour. Laughing at the Rubik’s Cube, watching movies on the hallway floor, smoking outside the hospital doors – it wasn’t bad at all. But instead of staying, you left. And the rain would always soak my shirt, time and time again.

I miss you, guys. I knew I would, but not this much.

OUIJA BOARD

2011-03-13T15:30:00.002+07:00

Explainable does not mean justifiable. Especially when the evidences cannot be read, and the witnesses are dead.

Sorry. Too much of the sun and not enough of the moon have made me beyond irritable. And I'm beyond the point of hunting you down.

Go ahead and prowl the woods. It's what you do best, isn't it?

THE NOT-SO-SECRET SECRET

2011-02-21T22:56:00.000+07:00

Findings are interesting things.

Whether they’re entirely new by nature, or whether they’re hidden treasures from the past. Whether they’re ones that make you wish for an invisible cloak, or whether they elate your poor, poor heart.

Whether they’re discoveries, sightings, or realisations, you’ll appreciate them all the same at the end. Now I sound like an old lady, but…

They’re really precious things, they are.

KITCHEN HEAT

2011-02-21T22:32:00.003+07:00

An obsession is the perfect distraction - take out your measuring cups, count your stirrings, and time your moment of waiting. If only I had a guidebook for what I have to deal with you, I think I'd be pretty good at it. But the things is, there's never going to be one.

So please don't mind my confusion. I'll bake you the perfect cake in the meantime.

Bear with me.

WINE IN A PLASTIC CUP

2011-02-04T02:00:00.000+07:00

Hong Kong, 17 January - 3 February, 2011.

The Train
If an everyday commute is just like this, I would play it on repeat, again and again. Beyond the glass is the uneven terrain, glowing in the blue mist of winter. Behind my back, the sea stretches endlessly, seemingly calm in the bone-chilling wind.

The Apartment
The tip of my nose is almost touching the window, and beyond the balcony are the terminals. Airline terminals. And the runways. Airplane runways. And the countless planes, zooming into the sky, somehow silent from such a close distance.

The Airport
Squinting into the blinding afternoon sun, I wonder if they’re home yet. The next thing I know - a train wreck. A muddle of thoughts, memories, visions. Ones I intend to keep, and to live for, for the feeling hasn’t changed.

I’m still in love.

THAT TALL OFFICE BUILDING

2011-01-11T01:45:00.000+07:00

When you’re locked in your own head, I’m free to roam the green, green grass. Or wherever I want to be. Constraint is what you live for, for you do not know any other way, or chose to ignore.

When you’re locked in your own head, I’ll look through your window, and laugh.

THOSE CONDESCENDING EYES

2011-01-11T01:43:00.001+07:00

If crying is a sign of weakness, than I am undoubtedly weak, and so are the people of the world. When your tears are frozen, and your eyes hurt, and your hands tremble, and your head ache, unbearably, you’ll wish you could sob, weep, cry. Just like me.

Just like the rest of the world.

SUCH A COLD BITCH

2011-01-11T01:40:00.001+07:00

The world is cold, but I can be colder.

But I’m not proud of that, unlike you. You strive knowing that you’re distant, you’re condescending, you’re cold. I do not. I live better, and happier, outside the igloo that was once my home.

I hope your ego will devour you whole, someday.

CAPTAINS OF THE WORLD

2011-01-11T01:38:00.000+07:00

I am reminded how you don’t need those straight A’s, that impeccable speech, or that flawless logic to feel, to appreciate, to find yourself in the world.

I wish these reminders come more often.

CLOSURE

2010-12-31T02:06:00.001+07:00

Lying still, face down on the cold floor, did not seem like a waste of time. I could see under the bed, and obscuring my view, strands of hair covering my eyes. I could imagine reaching out with fingers stretched, grabbing hold of that wretched roll of film, pulling on it, throwing it in the air, and ultimately – burning it down. I want to revel in its smoke, half-crazed, over the edge, and I never want to stop. But your gait caught my eye, so I lie back down and cry.

I wouldn’t say I had a good one, but I knew I had one to be grateful for nonetheless. Because for once, I had the closure I’ve always wanted, but too afraid to face.

For this once, I wasn’t scared looking under the bed.

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

2010-12-30T21:18:00.005+07:00

For the person who made a drawing on the first page of my orange notebook more than a year ago:

That image will always startle me. Always.
And I'll never tell you why.

POOL OF PONDERINGS

2010-12-12T20:24:00.002+07:00

Those things, those intangible things, are seemingly easy to shatter, are they not? The colourless strands, intertwined, woven in the air. The string tied to your little finger, leading God knows where. Your favourite colours, beautifully dispersed over the highway, passed by merely for the sake of it.

But we wouldn’t really know, now would we, until we finally realise that our hand is dripping with blood from the cut on our fingers, or the fragments of glass lay around our naked feet.

PARADE

2010-11-21T03:00:00.001+07:00

Sometimes I forget that we're supposed to be in love.

But to be honest, I rarely do.

Picture taken by Aldila Mesra, near the Yarra River, Melbourne (July, 2010)

SEEING WITH HANDS FOLD

2010-11-12T18:32:00.002+07:00

I am the bystander, a witness to your world. All the while they glide and guffaw, I am gambling with what I do not have.

The surrounding is the same grey, bleak space. So why don't we get soaked in its unending mist?

STORY WITH A COMA

2010-10-26T20:03:00.002+07:00

The little storms splashing my face, and your erratic silence made me wonder,

do you want closure after all?

WATER AND TILES

2010-10-22T17:22:00.002+07:00

I've been thinking. I'm dead drunk. I think I know, now. I'm writing it all down. I think I won't forget, maybe. So I stare at it, hard. I thought I've had it in my head, though hazy. So I glare at you, hard.

You don't glare back.

The sound of dripping water should have drowned me. Instead, I'm drained.

THE TRIP, AND EVERYTHING ELSE

2010-10-09T17:52:00.004+07:00

To answer your questions, those nonsensical people say these nonsensical words: "Listen to your heart."

Well, I have trouble locating my own (metaphorical) heart, let alone to take a listen. I guess, once in a while, you're bound to catch a glimpse. Well, truth is, it doesn't happen so very often. In fact, it doesn't happen most of the time. But maybe, someday, for once, the heart will prevail.

If my head doesn't scream first, I suppose.

TONIGHT, TONIGHT

2010-10-09T16:26:00.003+07:00

Darling, let me tell you how you broke my heart.

Tonight (lights on, minds off) he raised his arm, drawing his love closer to his face. He made the kiss (the spectator's cheers no more than moving mouths with no sound), but passion was absent indeed.

Meanwhile, you can smell the alcohol from a distance.
Only for tonight.

DISTRAUGHT THOUGHT

2010-09-25T16:41:00.000+07:00

It's perfectly fine being alone, but being lonely is an entirely different matter.

Right?

THE DEMON'S WORDS

2010-08-28T19:46:00.002+07:00

"And what are words? Black marks on white paper. How much harm could there be in something so simple?"

(The words of Jakabok Botch, Mister B. Gone - Clive Barker)

WAITING IS FINE FOR ME

2010-08-19T20:03:00.004+07:00

We watched the burning sunrise loom, and we stared and listened - transfixed, spellbound - waiting for another moment we know will come. The ashtray, the guitar, the fireworks, and us, etched the other person's mind.

Have a great journey!

QUIET REVELRY

2010-07-28T15:31:00.003+07:00

You can only claim for what you've lost.

So let's fall out of it, and let's fall back in. And that will be the only way to know whether it would be the sun, or the words, that will blind us both.

THE RULE

2010-06-23T22:34:00.002+07:00

The sunrise was a mirror image of a sunset.

Does that mean I don't need you?

THE LEISURE OF BEING CONTAINED

2010-05-08T19:22:00.002+07:00

Who knew running can make you feel numb? And when you can no longer feel, you long to be able to stop. But when you can see the line between the sky and the land, how can you resist the impulsion?

So I guess I'll just keep running. And keep it to my end of the field.

ON THE RUN

2010-05-01T19:36:00.001+07:00

I lay on a bed of metaphors, the enigma of our thoughts.

THEIR ACQUIESCENCE

2010-04-08T16:16:00.000+07:00

Surely you can forgive me for the sombre atmosphere I've cast upon your sky?

Stay in my arms, only if you dare.

THE SKY AND THE HAY

2010-04-04T00:30:00.000+07:00

You don’t believe in perfectly straight lines, and being perfect in general. You don’t deny the boxes and columns of how I perceive, and perceive it through with just the right hint of abstraction. Every bit of natter is an ensemble of colours, spinning indefinitely for my eyes to see.

You’re my cellophane flower.

SPECTACLE OF SADNESS

2010-03-31T18:41:00.010+07:00

It shattered my heart, witnessing such chaos of emotions, displayed for the prying eyes to see. They're standing in the small, dark room, anticipating. Not for the singer to sing, or the athlete to play, but to face humiliation, confusion, and more prying eyes. What sentiment is it supposed to trigger, seeing a man hold his child, and stare at his lover, from behind iron bars with such sad eyes, and a sad heart? All he can do is nod, and await for the sentence to be conveyed. He sees the lock, but the key's unfound.

And I am one to be ashamed.

UNAVOIDABLE HINDRANCES

2010-03-29T17:22:00.005+07:00

After the tears, embraces, and the whole lot of cigarettes, the mist of restlessness remains. I'm stumbling through the grey smoke, dancing blind, only guided by the voice singing near my ears, and in my head. I'm longing to feel, but obstructions are inevitable.

The place felt different when I'm surrounded by other people, and not you.

INTELLIGENCE REPORT

2010-03-25T01:32:00.001+07:00

There's a million little things to be done, written, drawn. Pages to be numbered, skeletons to reassemble, ideas to be bundled. Those tired eyes simply can't stop to stare, though, even when its point of view has become muddled.

The cup of coffee on the desk then grows cold.

MEMORANDUM

2010-03-18T20:04:00.002+07:00

Whose jurisdiction do you belong to?

BEING AWAY

2010-03-17T18:35:00.002+07:00

Do you think it's nice, for a cat to play with some mice?

When I dream of being across the ocean, or on the other side of your mind, everything falls into a chaotic quietness. What they possess, we may envy, but we will never be completely away from home, even if we leave. So now, with flailing arms submerged in icy water, I covet for what I cannot have.

INTANGIBLE DREAM

2010-03-14T10:51:00.005+07:00

What makes a coping mechanism work properly? When pieces of thoughts can't be contained, and shrapnels of emotions aren't being relayed, what are we supposed to do? I thought there would always be time to analyse. Am I wrong?

I wish you were here.

FOREIGN TERRAIN

2010-03-01T01:50:00.003+07:00

The moon looked like smudged chalk on faded blackboard. Safely seated, albeit the starless sight, we surrender to sadness.

The yellow tinge flooding the narrow view, the drops of rain leaving scattered dotted marks, the mouse running across the land, the unnerving smell of grass and ground, the steps where hopes and thoughts disperse... They're all to blame for titillation needing to be endured. The sun pouts, and my voice withers.

Amidst the foreign terrain, we seek within ourselves.

THANK YOU

2010-02-28T00:38:00.004+07:00

What's there to conceal, when you can't find your breath - or even keep still?

I'm struggling to grasp, but I think I would fail. My head would hit the concrete, and all I'd see are the vivid pages behind the black sheet.

Hey, you. Yes, you. Thank you.

HOLDING HANDS

2010-02-26T12:30:00.001+07:00

All the justifications whispered out loud to console one's self are deemed insufficient when wariness sinks in. Where did the time go? And one wonders when it will return - to daunt, to deter. Its persistence is such that one closes one's eyes, and keeps one's knees close to one's chest.

Hold my hand, for it anchors you home.

IN AWE

2010-02-25T00:26:00.001+07:00

My fondness at your attempts to articulate the world as you see around you mortifies my frosty heart. And though it falters and fears, it's still the only poison I choose to take, and seek for.

DETENTION POINT

2010-02-20T01:43:00.002+07:00

Would you confine an entity you consider your own? In a golden birdcage, perhaps. Or in a wooden box you call home. Because, after all, in face of the unkind nature of being, we strive for what we believe.

Imagine when it sets free.

SCRAPS OF A CONVERSATION

2010-02-16T21:44:00.001+07:00

We're eager to relay the images in our minds. The cigarette burns and the ashes are gold.

Whatever remains becomes a source of consolation.

SUBSTANTIATION

2010-02-13T18:23:00.003+07:00

It may be the effort behind each breath, it may be the white cardigan. It may be the rain, it may be the mirror in which you see yourself. It may be the vast sky above your head, it may be the cup of chocolate in my hand. It may be the murmurs of the people of the city, it may be the wooden frame of a window. It may be the city itself, and the feel of me around you.

You (and I) admit, we seek comfort from the letters formed into words. They're evidence, are they not?

BESIDE THE WINDOWSILL

2010-02-03T21:06:00.000+07:00

There's a cup of coffee in each of our hands. The dark, bleak sky we adore so much is still in our heads. We witness, with our eyes, the small pieces of conversations, thrown back and forth. We're taking all the time we need to find comfort inside the forming whirlwind.

Please keep talking. I don't mind your daylighting.

A DRAWING

2010-02-01T14:20:00.000+07:00

I want to catch a glimpse of your mind.

OCCURRENCES. IDLENESS. RESTLESSNESS.

2010-01-30T15:00:00.000+07:00

You deliberately put a coma before the miniscule, little dot. Is it too much to expect closure?
Click, then the beeping sound.

Beep.

The blinding curtain of raindrops in front of your eyes, the daunting rush of water surrounding your ears - then a sharp intake of breath. What was usually a deep shade of amber was a clear shade of yellow. How freedom is defined was being sung, and teardrops fell.

No one was there to wipe them away.

Beep.

When thinking was too much, we move on to glance. When glancing was too much, we move on to stare. When staring was too much, we shut it down altogether, cross our fingers, and wait for the speakers to emit a tiny sound: beep.

Ah, dear science, how you impede my life.

BEHIND THE WHEEL

2010-01-29T01:15:00.001+07:00

"You know, one loves the sunset, when one is so sad..."
- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

How many sunsets does it take to make one feel content? Bursts of orange, a spectacle of pink. To appreciate the stunningly beautiful, to dwell in the breathtaking. How many counts does it take until you find your way home?

Exasperated. Excited. Overwhelmed. Oh, the anticipation.

DOWN WITH PERFECTION

2010-01-25T23:38:00.000+07:00

Perfection should be the least of the world's concern.

In our attempt to ease the feeling of inferiority, we aim to be perfect. Of course, the applicability of my statement is in question, and exceptions do apply (for those of us who are blessed with such confidence and self-acceptance).

When you bow down, pick up the scattered pieces of papers, stand up, hug the newly-collected pile of crisp, white paper to your chest, and look around the room, does the fact that you're only half-way done bother you?

To be perfect, to be a robot.

PLASTICS IN MOTION

2010-01-14T01:56:00.000+07:00

The bottle of emotions that has been plugged has now been reopened. Spilling out are the delirious laughter, and the jettisonings (and the bizarre vocabulary we involuntarily employ).

Dear plastics, looking forward to spending some time with you.

IN RETROSPECTIVE

2010-01-12T22:29:00.000+07:00

11 July, 2009.

"This is the end of a great adventure. Thank you, guys."
(Looking outside the window panes, the yellow lights guiding us from below.)

Picture taken by Titis Lintang Andari, near the Gallery of Modern Arts, Brisbane (July 2009).

A (HOPEFULLY) NOT TOO LATE END OF YEAR REFLECTION

2010-01-12T14:27:00.000+07:00

Can we be comfortable in silence?

As a dear friend once wrote, we have an odd relationship with words. As a writer say, words are the source of misunderstandings. Sitting in silence under a streetlamp (with the only noises being the scratches of our pens) made me wonder: where did all the wasted words go?

Into nothingness, I suppose.

(Melancholy was the perfect emotion for the end of the year.)