you're still the one

I thought I was going to put it all behind
and join the monetary pursuit of the middle-class
but I was back there and felt the wind in my cropped hair
and the memory came flooding back as I held a cold beer in my hand
those days of perfect sunsets
of lying in the sands engaged in great drunken conversations
the perfect cure to life's crippling depression
It dawned on me that it was the only place that made perfect sense to me
My magical beach, would you wait for me?
In my heart I know I need nothing else but a little love, a little smoke and a little pick-me-up
All the talks about personal glory, money gained, money lost, status earned, reputation destroyed, they don't matter to me
I just want to watch the sun sets,
contended in the knowledge that I'm alive and I love and I am loved.

extraordinary person of the day

A month of dry spell. I was terribly uninspired. And was about this close to give up on humanity. I mean come on, mothers giving their children stale bread covered in fungus? I understand if it happens in Africa, but people, look around! Here we have the sea, it has fishes, and technically almost everything grows in our land. I don't know what to blame really. Our country reeks of ignorance and laziness.

But this morning I saw a glimpse of hope. I was in the middle of a traffic jam and there was this bajaj. It was just an ordinary bajaj. But it had an extraordinary driver. The driver was an old man, probably about 60 and he was dressed to the nines. Unlike other bajaj drivers who usually don on dirty torn tshirts and a hundred year old faded pants, this man clearly took his time grooming himself in the morning. He wore a peach colored long-sleeved shirt, buttoned up, with black pants and a matching belt. His hair was cut short and combed nicely. He looked nothing like a bajaj driver. If not for the fact that he drove the vehicle, he could easily pass as an executive.

I found this man remarkable. It showed that he was proud of himself. He made an effort on his appearance, a sure sign of someone appreciative of life and its potentials. I bet that when life hits the hardest, this man will put on his best suit and face the challenge in style. And he would survive. He won't be feeding his children fungi bread. Because he's a dignified man. And I found how dignity is something easily lost around here.

Mr Bajaj Man, you are simply wonderful! Thank you for making my day.

bye bye bubble

I am so not in the creative mood but a very good advice from a professor in my college years suddenly submerge from my subconscious so I decided to share it here. The advice is simple:

- break the bubble -

We all live inside our bubbles. It's our comfort zone. If we insist on safely staying inside the bubble all the time, not only will we become boring motherfuckers, we will also develop narrow mindedness, chronic stupidity and in time we will turn into full-blown judgmental, non-creative, incompetent assholes.

So break the bubble. Do things that you're not used to. See what it's like for other people.

Bookworms, ditch your books and take drugs.
Sluts, celibate.

You get the picture.

For me, I found the exercise liberating. Granted it was risky at times but it helped me survive even the toughest challenge in life. And the good thing was, it helped me to empathize more and eventually I stopped hating people so much. Except for, well, people who take advantage of others and people who judge. Most amazingly, it turned on a switch in my brain which enables me to grasp a better understanding of things.

So it's one of the few things I promise I will keep on doing to my self. I'll keep on breaking the bubble.

unintelligent girlie musing

My best friend is in Prague. Next destination Buenos Aires.
I told her: lucky bitch.
She told me: you're the lucky bitch, you have a lovely man to come home to.

True enough.

So I made another wish.

I want that job AND a lovely man to come home to.

Instead of

Protesting pointlessly in front of the parliament building about the price increase of gasoline
Beating up people whose religious views differ to yours
Bitching about every single thing that does not work in this country

Why don't you

Read books, browse the net, talk to the experts, find God

So you could

Invent alternative for gasoline or at least, invent your own unique way to save on gasoline
See the world in a different perspective
Think of how to make things actually work in this country

Here's what I think

Intellectuals in this country need to complain less and invent more.
At least invent a unique positioning for oneself.
Like that famous little half breed girl who speaks with an accent created an edge for herself. How many 14-year olds could have their stupid remarks turned into a ring tone? She won't need to worry about price increase.

So I beg you fellow countrymen and women,

j u s t s h u t u p

the story of honesty

A long time ago in a land far far away, there lived a little girl named Honesty. She was a plain looking girl with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue, a result of her extraordinary condition, her inability to see colors. Honesty saw everything only in solid black and white. Half of the people in her village, she saw as white. And she was warm towards them. The other half she saw as black, and these were the people she often was hostile to. When she was just a small baby, she would throw things at them. By the time she was able to speak, she extended her form of hostility into words, making mean remarks that often offended people. Once she saw somebody as black, nobody could persuade her otherwise.

Only 20% of the population in her village that Honesty saw as white. Among them were her parents and grandparents. The local priest was black to her. So she refused to go to Sunday service and nobody could make her.

"Honesty, the man is a holy man, he is our priest,"said her mother
"He has a black soul," replied Honesty
"Nobody can see soul,"
"I can."

Her mother made her father carry her to the church on his back, for her mother was concerned that her little girl's soul was possessed. Honesty screamed all the way to the church, kicking and fighting so hard, that her father gave up midway. He let her down and decided that he would not be concerned with anything regarding Honesty's soul anymore.

Until the age of 8, Honesty lived as she wished. Warm to the people she saw at white and hostile to those whom she saw as black. Despite her parents frustrations, it was a satisfying life for her. It all started to change two days after Honesty turned 8.

She woke up in the morning and her face turned white as if she had seen a ghost while all she saw was only her mother. She stayed like that the whole morning and refused to speak to anyone. Her mother dismissed the strange behaviour as another one of the child's antiques. But she continued to remain silent for the whole week. The second week something strange happened to her, as she lost her cognitive, motor and language skill. Her father called the village doctor but the doctor was not in, he had gone to help deliver a baby in the next village. By the time the doctor came almost 24 hours later, Honesty was gone. Her mother refused to have a postmortem examination. She concluded that Honesty had been born with severe mental illness and this was what had killed the child. They buried the child. Only 20% of the village people whom Honesty had seen as white attended the funeral. The rest were secretly glad that the sharp tongue girl had gone.

But the doctor, a respectable gentleman who was quite fond of the sharp girl because of her straightforwardness, was suspicious of the death. As a doctor, he knew that there had been nothing wrong with Honesty physically. She had been a very strong and healthy girl. She had had a special condition but it had done no harm to her physical health. He appealed to Honesty's parents to have a postmortem, but the idea left the mother hysterical. The father was indifferent. He was almost glad that the disturbed child had gone.

One night, unbeknown to anyone, the doctor dug up Honesty's grave and performed a postmortem. He found that the girl had had heavy metal poisoning. He knew that Honesty had been hated by 80% of the village population but it would take a very cruel heart to poison a child, especially when all she had done was shouting mean things.

The doctor thought long and hard about what he should do with his discovery. Finally he decided to put the matter to rest because to bring it into open would bring consequences for him. He had after all dug up Honesty's grave without permission. The good doctor wept for Honesty and prayed that whoever had killed the child would burn in hell in all eternity.

The doctor buried the child and left the cemetery shaking. Not more than ten minutes later, Honesty's mother arrived, tears in her eyes. She kissed the soil on Honesty's grave and said,

"Forgive me my child, but in life there is no such thing as black and white."

A hand touched Honesty's mother shoulder. She looked up and found the village priest smiled warmly towards her. Honesty's mother stood up, only to fell on his arms and they kissed, passionately.

hollow people

driving down the street at 7 AM
cursing the traffic trying to get behind the desk before 9 AM
switching on the computer making coffees trying to stay awake in the meeting that lasts until 11 AM
then it's a one-hour lunch break extended to two, browsing the mall looking at discounts buying silly things nobody needs
then it's back to the office, forwarding chain emails to friends and colleagues, the one about the growth of antichrist
another meeting, repeating smart things other people said just to make a contribution
or when feeling adventurous, challenging obvious things just for the sake of looking sharp
when really if there's an Xray to the brain, what is seen would only be ------------------


I despise them, these hollow people
strip them off their corporate fanciness and you have nothing. not a thing.
give me beach bums with their weeds and their stinky dreadlocks anyday.