my perfect love, murakami style

"I'm looking for selfishness. Perfect selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you're doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don't want it anymore and throw it out the window. That's what I'm looking for."

Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami

ennui

the best way to describe it is like being trapped at home during bad economic condition, watching reruns of shows about self-made problems, erupting from bad judgments, imaginary ailments, anxiety attacks and the likes.

and somehow, fate decides that the TV cannot be switched off.

so the characters are happily floating on screen, cocooned in their ignorance, celebrating daily stupidity until something rather predictable hit them in the face and boom, their worlds explode and they are left decapitated, wailing in pain and disbelief.

what can you expect from a nation suffering from severe inability to connect two things together, to look at matters and draw logical conclusions rather than being sucked in moronic euphoria.

apologize for being desperately gloomy. it's the beginning of the rainy season and with it comes the accompanying depression.

somebody should kill the TV now.

how to not be frozen

ah, shallow people, bitter people, chewing into your soul like termites. a phone call, an email, a message through a friend, the dreaded can you please take care of my life, it's turning your heart cold.

you were raised good. you have values. you take care of things. you manage. little by little. you do what you need to do. give what you need to give. take what you have earned. you live an honest, if not much, life. you get on okay. until they show.

and it's becoming a lot harder not to be frozen. imagery of solitary living. nothing expected of you. nothing, only you and nothingness. and it's becoming a lot harder not to like being frozen.

ah, weepy people. the way they march into life unthinking, then caught unprepared, it's maddening. and then there's you, minding your own little business, you are suddenly exposed to their nakedness. and it's making your blood boils. and the rage brings you shame. you are ashamed. of being mad. of being reluctant to reach out.

ah, the accusation. of being selfish. while to you, selfish is subjecting others to business that clearly is not of their interest. selfish is wandering through life unaware of consequences. selfish is expecting others to pick up the pieces.

but above all else, you know how hatred could bring you to the darkest place. so you grit your teeth. and you order that double drinks. the warmth that goes through your throat eventually reaches your heart and unfreezes it, peels off the icy hatred layer by layer.

and you are grateful that you're a drunk.

lucky to forget

Rewind a few years back, to the days when I used to wake up with a blank, I am lucky to forget.
A prayer to my ear now, a lovely good night kiss, God how lucky I am to forget.
It might still be on the back of your mind, whether I give up on too much, but let me tell you now, it wasn't all that much to give up on because it wasn't much at all. It was birth then the gap then you then it will always be you. And everything else, let me tell you once again, I am so truly lucky to forget.

on turning mid thirties

My belated birthday resolutions:

I have decided to be more childlike
I will not hesitate to laugh
I will love fiercely and passionately
I will smile a lot more and a lot more sincere
I will not be angry as much
I will go to see new places
I will open up myself more
I will try forgive or at least forget
I will party like there's no tomorrow
and last but not least
I will never, ever feel old even when I get to be 100

Thanks hubby dear for the best 3-day birthday bash ever: bali-sunset-kudeta- martini-bacio-champagne-good friends-good laugh-warung melati-rossovivo-doublesix-and the greatest drunken conversation ever!

happy belated birthday to me... bottoms up!

Somebody told me

her friend told her
that her boyfriend's wife
is cheating with her friend's boyfriend
so she told her boyfriend
who also knew the friend
whose boyfriend is cheating with his wife
so she, her friend and her boyfriend
spend the evenings talking about her boyfriend's wife and her friend's boyfriend
while being really, really careful
for their husbands not to find out that she has a boyfriend and her friend has a boyfriend
and that her boyfriend's wife is cheating her friend's boyfriend

.............................................................................................................

dedicated to a girl friend who lives her life the way I used to live before I live this life.

Shangri-La

The urban people, handicapped from detachment and loneliness, long for a place of eternal peace. So they travel far and wide, to the highest mountain just a notch below the clouds, looking for that perfect spot, a place where one could just sit outside on that day when the sun comes out, smoking and talking, pacifying the eternally restless soul.

The mountain people, handicapped from ignorance and poverty, long for a place of progress. When they dream at night, they dream of speaking other languages, of surviving illnesses, of having the luxury to choose their paths. They dream of that perfect day, the day when the sun comes out, when one could set out on a long journey to betterment.

Could it be that place is not what we need to search for?