seorang perempuan di jakarta

Perempuan itu menghangatkan sebuah apple pie di microwave untuk kudapan malam bagi suaminya. Bagaimana aku bisa tahu? Karena aku mengikutinya, perempuan itu dan suaminya. Tentu tanpa mereka tahu.

Waktu menunjukkan pukul 00.43

Tapi perempuan itu dan suaminya memang biasa tidur larut. Itu pengakuan perempuan itu sendiri. Tentunya pengakuan itu tak ditujukan untukku. Tapi aku bisa tahu.

Kadang perempuan itu menikmati sendiri kudapannya di kala larut.
Kadang suaminya memang tak ada di sisinya. Bagi lelaki, pekerjaan adalah pernikahan pertama. Itu kata suaminya dan perempuan itu menerima.

Perempuan itu adalah perempuan pencinta. Kata-katanya begitu manis dan ia nyaris tak pernah bertanya. Kubayangkan ia terlahir dalam bungkusan udara yang berbeda. Sebuah bola tipis mengelilingi tubuhnya, melindunginya dari sakit dunia nyata.

Rumahnya, surganya
Tawa bocah mungilnya yang selalu ingin ikut terjaga di malam hari bersamanya
Kata-kata manis suaminya kala terlambat satu dua jam atau bahkan tiga
Perjalanan ke luar kota setiap awal bulan, makan siang bersama ayah ibunya setiap akhir pekan
Perbincangan ringan bersama sahabat-sahabatnya
yang sama sepertinya, melewati hidup tanpa tanya

Perempuan berhati putih, betapa hatiku sedih untuknya. Dan sejurus kemudian marah itu datang merenggut sedihku.

Perempuan bodoh, bukalah matamu.

Cari di mana suamimu dan kenali siapa ia sebenarnya. Jiwanya hilang sejak ia dilahirkan dan ia belum berhenti mencari. Ketahuilah, perempuan pencinta. Cinta tidak seharusnya hadir tanpa tanya.

Karena perempuan seperti dirinya ada, lelaki seperti suaminya pun akan tetap ada.
Perempuan yang menerima, yang tersenyum walau tak bahagia, yang menyambut penuh cinta meski suaminya pulang larut, terlalu larut untuk tak terjadi apa-apa dalam pencarian hilang jiwanya.

Dalam marahku, kuludahi wajahnya
Perempuan tak berdosa namun tak berguna
Perempuan kuat dalam lemahnya
Perempuan lemah dalam kuatnya
Perempuan dengan cintanya yang sia-sia

diam

ada yang hilang
saat tak lagi berkumandang
di telingaku
suaramu

kau diam
kala kuputuskan untuk tak diam
kau diam
agar kutelan kembali suaraku
dan ku diam

ku kembali jadi aku
seperti aku di benakmu
penjaga suasana hati
bukan milikku
namun milikmu

ku diam
dan kuputuskan tuk selalu diam
karena diammu membunuhku
karena mati aku melihatmu
diam

a narcissist's love story

the woman sits alone in the corner nursing a cup of milky coffee
she sips her coffee slowly savoring the precious moment of her solitude
it seems ironic that she had spent a magnanimous amount of her breathing time looking for someone to share her life with
while in reality she only finds peace when she has only her own thoughts as company
thirty nine years and thirty five men
though it actually was more than thirty five she simply stopped counting at thirty five
she is the eternal soul searcher
never treachery never deception never a grand scheme
she simply fell out of love every time
it was just the way he buttered his bread
the way he used the wrong fork
the way he misunderstood her words
the way he did not appreciate her time
the way he expected her to accommodate him
the way he wanted her to see things from his eyes
the way he felt too comfortable being in a twosome that he simply dropped his guard and slipped into himself
each and every one of them
and the life she had walked willingly into some years earlier began to feel like a trap
only she was too frightened to admit that she needed no one
she still is
and history repeats itself
it becomes a vicious cycle she is unable to break
today as she sits nursing her milky coffee that grows increasingly cold
she thinks about death and her life in reverse
about the uselessness of love and its consequences
or whether love really exists or is it just a deception
a justification for the need to reproduce
a survival instinct to prevent humanity from extinction
or simply because human beings were not created self sufficient
and the thought of dying alone frightens everyone
although everyone will meet death alone even if hundreds of other people are in the room when death descent
and she feels utterly cheated
it was not them
it was not her
it was the complexity of dissolving into a blended being
or perhaps it was her inability to accept it graciously
but one can only bend so many rules
she is cursed they may say
but she chooses to believe she is
enlightened

reverie

Let's just pretend that it's New Year's Eve and we're on a mission to get drunk, because that's just the thing that we always do otherwise you wouldn't want me around, how poignant.

It would be even better if we are somewhere we can wear winter clothes on, those gorgeous long black winter coats, with patterned scarf on our necks as we go from one hip party to the next, saying hi to the beautiful people we meet, air kiss gleefully while holding martini glasses on our right hands, how swank.

Somewhere before midnight we go to the rooftop. It's not snowing but it's icy cold and the wind makes my skin prickles and you put your arms around my shoulder trying to keep me warm and even though I can stand the cold I pretend to shiver because I like having your arms around my shoulders that way, how sad.

We hear the countdown from somewhere below us and as the clock turns 12 you plant a kiss on my lips and I would close my eyes and savor your kiss like it was the best thing in the world, how grim.

And sometimes after that we head downstairs and mingle with people who find us mighty interesting and I charm them with my wit and you look at me and wish you could have me forever, intoxicated or not, how swell.

At some point everyone gets really wasted and no coherent conversation could be made and you take my hand and we don on our fabulous coats and walk on the deserted street, listening to the muffled sound of parties from the buildings around us, the sound that is the testament of good life, how divine.

And it's back to my place and you sit on my couch with your feet up. You peer at the blinds, trying to catch the first sun ray of the new year when I come holding two mugs of steaming hot cocoa. You look up with a playful smile on your childlike eyes and take your mug and sip it with delight and I sit in front of you, thinking of excuses to make you prolong your stay, how somber.

Epilogue

Even in the world of make-believe where I can have all the happy endings in the world, I am unable to write one. Star-crossed lovers we would always be, sadly, in every reality.

How bizarre.

impromptu

"hey Estrela"
I turned and found her standing behind me, all smiles.
I towered over her, like I tower just about everyone, because of my unusual height. I am Estrela, the supermodel, the star, just as my name suggests. But with her, I liked the fact that she had to look up to be able to talk to me. It made me feel superior.

"oh hi"
I forced a smile. I am a talented model after all, I can slip in and out characters easily. She wouldn't be able to detect any trace of hostility in me.

"fancy meeting you here"
What an asshole. Of course we were bound to meet somewhere. Although the city is big, there are not enough playgrounds. People frequent the same venues. It's like we have orbits that we cannot stray from. And that was why I knew her anyway. Because he brought her to my orbit.

"yeah well small city"
I couldn't help to be lame. Small talks are not my strong point. I threw drinks at bitches. I threw tantrums during photo shoots. I made grown men cry. I am the queen of trash talk. The only reason I could get any modeling assignments at all is because on camera, I am so fucking gorgeous. And she on the other hand is not. Which is why him being with her was a slap on my face.

"you know..."she hesitated,"I am not with him anymore"

Are you not now? Well that didn't take him long.

"yeah well you"ll find other men"

"oh yeah yeah I have already, he's a great guy"

"well congratulations"

She smiled. I raked my brain for excuses to get the hell away from her. But she beat me to it.

"there's something bothering me though, I hope you don't mind answering this, were you... were you... you know... with him?"

It did not came as a surprise. Yet I was lost for words.

"did he say that?"

"he never mentioned your name, it's just that he often described a character who I think is a lot like you"

I felt my blood boiling. With what? Rage? Humiliation? What could he possibly say about me? That I was crazy in love with him and nearly took my own life when he left? Her knowing all of that was even more humiliating than the act itself. She was... who was she? A nobody! The nobody he chose over me.

"and the fact that it took him months after we went out before he finally took me to meet his friends, to meet you, it made me wonder... because he only introduced me to his circle after you... well you know, got married... and the fact that amongst all his friends you were the only one who never... well you seemed like you didn't want to be in the same room with me"

"that's a sloppy conclusion"

She grabbed my hand apologetically.

"I know I know, I'm sorry. It couldn't possibly be you, I mean you are far out of his league"

That made me even sadder.

"sorry, Estrela, please forgive me. I'm just dying to know who that girl was. You must know, you're his friend. Can you tell me, please?"

"what for? you said you're no longer with him!"

"true but he got some kind of power over me, you know, I realize he' s a jerk and all that but I couldn't help falling in love with him... and he told me these stories about this girl... and I felt her, you know... I mean I am now with a great man, the best man who treats me good yet it was different with him, a passion like that... something you can't fake! And yet he left!"

I felt my anger rising little by little. Her words were cutting into my flesh and images were playing in my mind. Of passionate nights she shared with him. Did she scream his name the way I used to? Did she leave scars just the way I did? Did she giggle with delight trying to find excuses for him to tell his wife about the scars like I did?

Those were my stolen moments, my beautiful stolen moments and I did not want to share them with anyone. Especially with a nobody like her.

I looked her coldly in the eyes and put my hand on one of her shoulders.

"listen, knowing who she was won't change anything. Just forget about him, he will never leave his wife, all the other women were just his sick entertainment"

I saw she fought back tears.

"you won't understand, you're this gorgeous super model who can have any man you want. But I am just a girl who fell in love with him and I didn't even mind the fact that he was married but he left me anyway and I felt that if I could know the girl he was talking about, the girl he was with before me, maybe she would understand and helped me through this"

And what made her think that the girl had survived?

But she, of all people, did not need to know anything about my life.

I muttered a lame excuse to get away from there. She didn't listen, she was too caught up in her own emotion.

I walked away, with another layer of hatred added into my already darkened heart.

a block

Another fan mail adding to the hundreds unread.
She usually takes criticism well but in this state of mind she decided it is best not to let any kind of negativity seeps in.

Although, out of pure sadomasochism she did read a couple of them.

"You used to be so sharp."
"Empty words. What happened to you?"
"You lost it!"

They meant well but they didn't know that those were the time when she would be awakened by his midnight calls. And her chest would have that jolt.

And he would be there on her bed.

Those were the time when they ditched the crowd to find a corner to kiss. Intoxicated by each other even without drugs.

He drove her crazy.

And despite the constant churn in her stomach, she felt incredibly alive. And tortured. But alive. Yet tortured.

They felt her, her former audience.The sickest members of the so-called sophisticated society. They, who yearn for that churn yet are too afraid to jump off that boat, they lived their lives through hers. They want that kiss behind that thick, dark curtain. They want that spiralling down to the centre of the earth, that brush of death, that lingering pins and needles, that fiery passion that sent her to heaven and hell and back.

They wish she had not come back from hell.

Because survival is less entertaining than tragedy.

"You could've been the next Sylvia Plath, but you blew it,"

Did she?

Maybe she blew it for them. She blew their fantasies. She aborted the saga way too soon.

But they were a small price to pay. Nothing, in fact.

Because even if she will not leave any legacy in this world, she is loving every minute of her new ordinary, uncreative and uneventful life.

And Sylvia Plath, despite her talent, despite everything, did die unnecessarily too soon.

unplugged

A cycle completed, ended
It did not answer, it merely fulfilled a prophecy
A path that led to other path
The stage has been cleared
The lights dismantled
Darkness ensued,
Supposedly
Except it did not
Because some were born to last
Even if it was to last only in the unseen life
The inaccessible existence
It lasts
Even when all the cords have been
Unplugged

angel to an angel, devil to a devil.

Round like a spinning wheel, with no beginning nor ending.For her nothing matters, as she only reflects back, for she is of no energy.
Hollow, some say. A being with no substance. An imperfection.

Ignorant minds are always dangerously wrong.

Common people, their minds are polluted with the pursuit of trivial glories. The pursuit of self-centered happiness disguised as the path to righteousness.They mate, they breed, they spend every single minute of their lives to create, to consume, to find ways to consume, they take their steps, from one milestone to another, thinking it would lead to progress, somewhere.

Little do they know, along the way they muddy the water.Caught in their own personal melodramas, they struggle to get to the finish line. All while fully aware that the finish line is death. Human beings are tragically ironic.

And they say she is crazy for choosing to be detached.

They have no idea that that's what keeping her intact, in a world that continues to break in pieces.

She is of no entity.

Project darkness to her and she'll be dark.

Project the opposite and she will shine.

When the end of the world comes she would simply vanish into nothingness. She has nothing to prove because she knows that nothing would matter once her reality ceases to exist.

And her reality is the only thing that matters to her.

Not an anomaly, she is perfection.

Because she is whole in her nothingness.

silent ride

There were times when my mind left unguarded and it strayed to a certain memory of certain nights of blaring sound and blinding lights. To a guilt-free you. You had blood in your hands from the many hopes you had squeezed to nothingness and you pranced around like a free man, for you were free. And I never learned to set myself free.

Some lyrics hit the roof for me, certain beats stirred a deeply buried cocktail of emotions. I was never free to begin with. But I coped and I healed and I grabbed life by the balls and boy did I have a ball. I was happy, except for one wish, a sweet little victory I wish I could witness with my own eyes, in this life, not in the next or the one after.

In the silent ride I did not look at you nor you at me. I wanted to, so bad, but I was too afraid to look at the guilt-free you. To a free you that I despised so much. If I could summon all dark spirits in the sky I would and send it in a fireball to you. And I would watch you burn as you had seen me burn.

And that would be the day that I would be free.

monkey beast

the fear in your eyes
as you plead you worthless life
you fool, should've known I wouldn't have cared
in my world, I rule

you say,
have mercy on me
don't play God on me

I say,
I don't
No intention to play God
No intention to be God
I just dislike you

you say,
forgive my wrongdoings
we all make mistakes

I say,
It's true, but I never do you wrong
what right do you have to do me wrong

you say,
I can't help it
after all we are only human

I say,
ah, you know what
that's where you made a mistake
cause I'm no human
not even close

and in my world,
I r u l e

requiem for the unrequited

hello child what do you know
you said you've been to hell but you were not even close
if that was hell child, what do you call the places I'd been
beyond purgatory sweetpea,
beyond anything your small cherry mind could ever imagine

pink bubbly cuddly you were chosen to be
you said you'd seen death but honey,
you have never been burned alive
death is ultimate I know but pain is eternal
so don't compare, don't you even go there

glorious child how sweet for you to try to understand
but a mind like mine works in ways you will never ever comprehend
no matter how you struggle, or try to get smarter
deciphering dreams from a broken soul would never get any easier

so could you please do me a little favor
I need you to never engage me in any conversation
ah don't get me wrong sweet child it's not jealousy I feel
like cheese and chalk, some things are just never meant to be

a plethora of old time creativity

borrowed love

take one day at a time
take moment after moment
take life as it comes
it's time to heal a heart that's broken

take away my dreams and wishes, everything
until they come to a complete nothing
simply nothing
take time for reflecting
it's time to heal a heart that's broken

life goes up and down in high and sorrow
the only hope to hold is tomorrow
it's time
it's time to heal a heart that's broken
it's time to return the love that I borrowed

my devil's army

love that loves me too much
love that leaves love that lies
love that betrays
love that is no longer there
forever that is cut short
everlasting that does not last
unspoken intention, twisted logic and justification
the true meaning behind the eyes
spoken words sugarcoated with black and white lies
it's a face I love
it's a face I do not know that holds my love
a face with every name
a face with no name
a face I may not even recognize
it's every sad song
it's every hate song
it's every drug that does not work
it's every person who hardens my soul


a lot like love

welcome to place
where dream is bordering on empty
a labyrinth of false hope
a tunnel of blinding happiness
be there when it breaks
feel the rush
the awareness of being reborn into oblivion
it's a lot like living
the anticipation, the purest joy
the heartbreak that follows
pushing into a dark place
spiraling on sadness
until there is nothing but empty
it's a lot like love actually

coming down

long island blended
with ecstasy, happy hour extended
and you stood by me
to heaven and hell and back our journey suspended
as closing time arriving
oh the comedown of the morning

and you left me
with a profound sadness that hurts beyond repair

come back to me my music of the night
let me live in delusional ecstasy
and hold on to your delusional love
let me dream, let me float
in a make-believe heaven
until the day I burn in hell

overdosed

pins and needles
not the kind of pain that hurts
but when linger,
utter discomfort

I dream in colors
glorifying in psychedelia
the trueness of beauty
but what does beauty mean?
as the only way to soak up its energy
is to let myself bleed
tortured by the thorns

but it will be worth it
because when I lose my sight on such beauty
I would lose my mind
so let me bleed

my beautiful secret

if only I could tell the world
how life in color really feels
a feast to the eye, sweet to the taste
as if we live in endless summer
texture of laughters
contrast with strokes of tenderness
revealing the most beautiful color
the most beautiful form
of moments words fail to explain
as you reach out to me
waking up all my senses
I long for you as if possessed
and the night celebrates with the stars
a twinkle in your eye, playful like a child
and you have me, all of me, insanely
we belong to the night of dreams
and fiery passion
and you fill me, every part of me
immensely, completely

the wheel

Growing up, Hamster was told to never jump out from the wheel before he accumulates enough merits. His mother had made a list of merits that he should acquire before he could be considered mature enough and is allowed to venture off his designated wheel. Hamster accepted this as his fate, he was not aware that options were available for him.

Day by day Hamster was wheeling around, dutifully ticking off what’s on his list. He did everything as told, never questioned, never challenged and was relatively at ease with himself.

His mother said,” The key to happiness is to resign to your path and do your tasks. It may feel tedious but it is necessary. Only after you have accumulated everything, you will find true happiness as your reward.”

So Hamster wheeled around. At times boredom did come upon him and doubt did creep in but he had a lot of faith on his mother’s words therefore he shut his mind from too much thinking and wheeled.

After several years into his adulthood, Hamster had ticked off three quarter of his list. His mother nodded approvingly at his progress. Soon, Hamster would be granted his life. He could jump out off the wheel and start to live. Hamster, however, had mixed feelings about the future off the wheel. Years of mechanically ticking off a list had created some kind of a comfort zone for him. He was excited but scared, mostly scared.

And one day he saw Female, a natural beauty who was the exact opposite of him. She was careless and carefree and she did not give a damn about the list.

“I threw mine away years ago,” said Female, ”Why would anyone bother about a list when nobody knows for sure what would happen the next second?”

“Yes but by staying in the wheel to fulfill the list gives your life purpose,”

“I thought the purpose is to be happy, how could anyone be happy just walking in circles day after day?”

“It’s only temporary. I’m accumulating merits. Then I’ll be free to get off the wheel and be happy. That would be my reward.”

“Why not just jump off it and be free and happy now?”

“How could I be happy before I accumulate all the merits? What am I going to live on?”

“You don’t live by merits, you live by faith.”

“That’s very irresponsible!”

Female smiled and walked away. Hamster felt a very strong urge to follow her then and there but he fought it. Her lifestyle was way too scary for him to follow. Hamster had a very timid personality and he cringed at the very thought of not doing what he was supposed to do.

But after she left, Hamster suddenly felt empty. He had never felt like this before. He began to question his life and lost his sense of purpose. He still wheeled dutifully, but his motive in doing so was becoming more and more muddied with confusion.

Hamster mustered all his strength to refocus on his task at hand. But the lure of young love was too great for him to ignore. Female was all he could think about. He longed to abandon the wheel and chase Female and whisk her away and live happily ever after without a care in the world. But what about the merits? Surely the consequences would catch up with him sooner or later and Hamster was not one who could face consequences.

So Hamster persevered. He wheeled on with a heavy heart and an uncertain mind. His thoughts wandered. He lost his focus and one day he slipped and fell hard from the wheel. He snapped his neck from the fall and died instantly. His mother cried for seven days. On the eighth day she buried him and wrote on his tombstone: a dutiful son, died on his way to build a happy life.

the urban weekend

One
Bar

It’s an alcohol-fueled, ecstasy-induced euphoria. The blinding light, the blaring sound, the
air is breathing hedonism. Drown your sorrow in Jack Daniels on the rocks – wait, make it a double.

From the darkness a figure approaches. Nothing special, just a regular guy, the type who might sell you a Hyundai on weekdays, standing grinning stupidly in a car exhibition, carrying stacks of useless brochures. Tonight, though, he’s someone.

I like your nose, comes the opening line. Or it could’ve been something else but just as cheesy and lame. Yeah whatever. I just want to kiss you in the mouth.

When you’re drunk, you act on instinct. Everything is primal. You degrade yourself to the level of monkeys, or dogs, or whichever is the lower. You see a person as a conquest. Can I score tonight?

Is it possible that we are always empty that we need to be constantly filled? Whenever we are almost full, we would punch a hole somewhere so it will spill out, and we need to be refilled. Just like my glass over at the bar. Could you buy me more drinks please? I’ll be sweet to you later.

And it is hard to fill an empty soul. Everything evaporates. Just like this human being beside me
tonight. He would fill me for probably about ten minutes the longest then he would leave a hole even bigger, even deeper.

Some pray, some pay shrinks, some worship fortune teller, some read classics, some devour trashy magazines, some watch episode after episode of StarTrek, some ask Google, some scan stinky bars, just to find meaning. To find the ultimate answer of the ever-annoying question: why are we here?

And the answer is: who cares? The night is young, the drink is strong and this Hyundai guy beside me seems like he’s up to no good. My kind of guy exactly.

Two
Bed

Rings of smoke, puffing cigarette post-coital. So sophisticated, so Hollywood. Too bad he’s unbelievably ugly with the lights on. But he was good, really good. That’s the good thing about ugly guys, they try harder.

Where are you going? To the shower, where else? You must be mad if you think I want to lie here smelling your scent all night.

Cold water cut through my skin. Shitty rented room with no hot shower. I wonder how much this guy makes in a month. I must’ve been really wasted to end up with him. But he was good. I must give him some credits.

Okay, where’s my car key? Stop! Where are you going? Out, of course. I thought you might want to stay a bit longer. To do what? I don’t know, chat? Are we best friends now? Do we talk about life now? I don’t even know your name. I told you my name. Well I forgot, ok, it doesn’t matter. I’m out of here, thanks it was great, good bye.

Fucking bitch!

Fucking typical. If he’s the one who casually walks out after sex he’s just being a guy. Sow the seed and leave.

Now, you couldn’t forget me no matter how hard you try, could you? You can’t refer to me as this night’s conquest, you cannot brag to your stupid buddies. You were my conquest. I was the one fucking you. Wham bam thank you macho man!

Three
Breakfast

A fat mug of steaming black coffee. A little sugar. Stir it well. Inhale the aroma of fresh beans. Traces of hangover slowly fade. What bliss. I wonder if this is finally heaven.

See, I’m simple. I’m the kind of girl who takes pleasure in little details. The first sip of coffee, the first bite of buttery toast, I live for the moment.

Right. Some decisions to make. And for someone who has breakfast at 4 PM on Sundays, it’s not an easy job. Focus now, self. The day will be over in precisely eight hours and it will be fucking Monday before you know it.

While I sincerely don’t want to fall into stereotypes here, I have to admit that I do genuinely hate Mondays, just like every other bastard in this planet. I am convinced that it was the Nazis that invented Mondays. I’m sure that God created only six days in a week, so man could work for the three days and get wasted on the other three. It’s a balance, yin and yang.

Right, focus.

As much as I hate to admit it, I really need to find a job. Been living off my credit cards for the past month and I’m on my way of maxing out the platinum card that my dad gave me, the very card I swore, on my golden days, never going to use, because it was an insult to my independence.

Yeah, well, talk is cheap. Booze are not. And not to mention those fancy drugs. And those fancy leather shoes that I just had to buy because I was depressed and depression did that to people.

The reality is, I’m in so much debt I think I have to live up to 250 to pay it all off.

But finding a job, where?

Tried the corporate life for six bleeding years. Made good money. Made good career. Made good network. Seriously, ask around, people in the industry know me.I’m that famous. But I know it, just like you know it, that it’s just a lot of crap. So I bought my first brand new car, in cash, at the age of 28 and quit. I had no ambition to be somebody, I just wanted to be myself.

And I found myself really, really broke and just as disoriented, if not more.

I chose to blame the freaking philosophers. At least money has meanings. It means getting seriously drunk every weekend and the world would be sweet all over again.

Hurry, hurry, the clock is ticking. Fucking deadline’s breathing down my neck.
When people are under pressure, they don’t rationalize, they just follow their guts.

So I decided to take that job they offered me in hell.

Big Burly and The Little Fairy

There was a little boy by the name of Burly. All his life he was told to always be tough and surly. He spoke with volume and grew his hair curly. He was a real strong boy, nothing of him could be called girly.

Burly took himself a little too seriously. He was aware of his strength and he used his power unwisely. He trashed those unfortunate enough to cross his path with words and actions so unkindly. He was well set to conquer and he was sure to win, undoubtedly.

One day he heard of a fairy so small and lovely. People talked about her and their eyes shone lovingly. Burly was bright with red hot jealousy. He hunted the fairy and tried to kill her viciously.

Tried as he may, Burly was never able to lay his hand on the fairy. He used all his strength but she flew away freely. Burly was defeated and took it rather sourly. One thing he didn't quite realize was that all fairies flew because they took themselves lightly.

(to all fairies out there, we gotta keep on flying :) )

destiny's calling

On a TV show last night two guys went camping. One of the them unthinkingly touched a bear cub, angered the mother bear who instantly ripped apart the other guy, the guy who knew better. I was always that other guy, the one who had to fight for life ruined by somebody else's mistake.

What a funny game, destiny. I was nursing my wound when he walked by.

"What happened?"he asked.
"I hurt myself,"I replied.

He looked at me, unconvinced. "It seemed like you were hurt by somebody,"

"Some bodies, actually."

Yes, it made me die a little inside each time. Yet how could I escape what had been written for me. I was merely a marginal character in this grand literature. Some people were meant to conquer, some people were meant to be like me, blessed with the know-how yet surrounded by tragic beings, those haunted by personal demons, unable to escape, so they destroyed something, broke something, angered something and that something, by some twist of fate, grabbed at me, damaged me, the unfortunate passer by.

I persevered. When my wound was healed, another being would find me and the scenario repeated itself. Over and over again.

Maybe it was because I never truly longed for anything, I knew better than expecting to see paradise. Maybe because what I truly wanted was to live in complete stillness, devoid of strong emotions, merely passing through, seeing without looking, right to the end. Maybe because wanting to live in still water was an egoistic choice of living and deemed to be more sinful than anything else.

"Are you tired?"he asked.
"Yes, very."

He told me I could have the life that I wanted. But with a price. I knew that nothing comes free in this world. So I braced myself and asked how much.

"It depends how much you value your honesty," he smiled a little when he said this. "Give it up and I will give you endless supplies of masks. Different mask for you to put on when you see different beings. Feed their ego. Let them see you the way they want to see you. Let them believe what they want to believe. They will be contented, they behave, they will leave you alone, and everything will be in order, nothing breaks, nothing hurts you anymore."

I pondered upon his proposal. I couldn't say that I wasn't tempted. Naturally I saw that there is a flaw, but I also knew that I could never have it all. Win some, lose some. Free from unnecessary hurt, lose myself in nameless empty characters. Be true to myself, hurting till the day I die.

In the end I declined. Not without a lurch in my stomach, because I did realize that I might have just turned down my only exit. But I knew, my heart was stronger than anybody else's and every cell in my body healed faster than anybody else's. So there I was, welcoming unnecessary pains of the future. Because it was just the way I was built and I knew better than to escape destiny.

hello butterfly

Smack in the middle of dreary routines and meaningless actions, it hit you. So fluid and sudden you didn't even realize it at first, you were just caught in the music and you sang along, danced a little to the tune, and before you could say hello, it hit you full-force, swept you off your feet.

The tornado of feeling, the sudden surge of sensation, so new yet familiar, took you to the past but only briefly, because your new found sanity guarded you oh so protectively.

But that glimpse was more than enough. More, and it could be harmful. Just one little gesture that justified those tossing and turning on depressing sleepless nights, an itch so disturbing no amount of vodka could cure.

And in a split second it happened. No bells ringing, no alarm of any kind. It was just there, an opportunity for you to grab, without prologues or further explanations. All you needed to do was absorb, with childlike openness and soak the moment.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the best kind of high.

w is for what the f?

Wondering not so discreetly, why incredibly stupid people actually are running this so-called advanced capitalist society. I'm not asking for compassionate people, or even nice. I'm merely asking for competent people doing what they are supposed to be doing, so I could be spared 5 hour long meeting with utterly confused people, who hide their incompetence by unstoppable chatters, yapping and yapping as if their mouths suffered from severe case of diarrhea.

People, really, get over yourself!

an inflammable disposition

she bubbled in childish excitement, over things, silly things, they didn't matter
spontaneous actions, words, she didn't think them over, she was just in this light pink mood, as sweet as cotton candy

she didn't mean anything

but something, something other than her was bothering him, eating him up, igniting him
and he burst into flame, so red, so hot, the anger burned quickly, tongue of fire was licking her from down to the top of her head

hear her, she crackles she burns, she burns...

you see, she was built like that, inflammable, combustible

you see, there is no technology to revive the residue of fire

they just turn to ashes, black

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