Monday, 30 April 2012

reveling in the glorious feeling of drowning

In words. Not water.

Drowning in water is horrific and I hope to never experience it. Unless there is a promise of immediate rescue. By a super buff, abs adorned man-shaped person. A good looking, super buff, abs adorned man-shaped person. 

Hang on.

Not super buff. Just.. Well defined.

What was I talking about? Oh. Drowning. Yes.

I've recently been tasked by my wonderful ex-boss-lady of two jobs ago to write two articles in English, one a review of a cafe, and the other a review slash traveling journal type thing. I was at once excited and somewhat pissing myself with fear as it's been a while since I've used English formally. It's usually used to faff around on this 'ere blog, or to insult people in a round-about way so as to not seriously offend the person I'm insulting. (Making fun of people is a perfectly reasonable excuse to use English, I'll have you know!).. So yes. Out of practice. Pissing myself. Yes.

700 words in, and what I'm feeling right now can only be described as unreasonably happy. I worked in a magazine for two years, in which writing was basically my main job. Sure, I've felt bouts of excitement at writing at that time.. But writing in Indonesian is so f*cking hard. Like seriously. Hard. I don't know enough words! And the words that I do know are not always appropriate to be used in the context that I want it to be used.

And Indonesian is HARD.

And I also think it's not pretty.

Which I realize, is a terrible thing for an Indonesian to say. But fact of the matter is I don't think it's pretty. I know there are numerous authors who can wax lyrical to the point of writing a whole book, just playing around with the words and structure, using it to describe the most mundane things but making it sound FRIGGING WHOA. But it's not for me. I was never in love with it. I think it's an awesome language, sure. And speaking it makes it easier to learn other languages..... Some research once pointed out that Indonesian makes you twist your tongues in so many way that speaking other languages should (theoretically) be easier for Indonesians.

But I was never in love with it.

In my head, it sounds functional and brisk, and any attempts at saying things elaborately with Indonesian just sounds hilarious and always makes me collapse in a fit of giggles. Especially in movies where they're trying to make characters sound depressed. Or romantic. Hilarious.

And I am a terrible person. I know.

Which makes writing in it somewhat of a chore. I liked writing my articles, but I could have worded it so much better in English, and it would have brought tears to your eyes. Yes, I'm still happily playing at being ridiculous.

I know I'm just a lowly second user of English, and it's not my native tongue. And I still need to learn and learn and learn. But by GOD! I love it!

So now I am writing in English and it's so much fun and I can't stop. Hence this overly long, rant-y, extremely pointless post.

Eeeee! Imagine a little kid licking bowl that once housed cookie dough. Or a dog chasing his own tail. That kind of stupidly happy.

Sunday, 29 April 2012

Exeter, Devon. 1998.

I remember being absolutely in love with this song when it first came out. I remember my best friend hating it so much we had a mini argument as her dad drove us to my house.

1998 was so much fun.

I was living in a tiny city called Exeter. I say city, but it's probably smaller than South Jakarta. Hell.. I know it was smaller. A sleepy, student city. Pretty and peaceful to a 13 year old who knows nothing of pubs and clubs and largely ignored concerts. Sizable library though. And the most breath taking cathedral ever. Even as a clueless kid I'd get shivers whenever I went in.

Quick trips down memory lanes are never enough when it comes to Exeter.. But in 1998 it's filled with beach trips down to Sidmouth, "working" at my friend's cafe, pranking people on the phone.. Silly crushes on sillier boys and generally overachieving in school (hey.. I was once a straight A student! And regularly featured on stage either acting and/or with the Samba Club. Yeysh. I wanna hit myself.) Apple tree swings in Saf's garden, cutesy code words with my besties, and my first interests in shopping sparked by the ever so classy Katie and London-girl Safia.

Also the year I was forced to read Harry Potter. (I remember there were threats about not being fed unless I read at least the first few pages.....)

1998 wast he last year that I enjoyed school. Academically anyway. Well.. Until university.

Being 13 was super fun. My baby cousin is turning 12 this year. And I'm kinda sad. She used to step on my face and drool all over my shirts. I wonder what sort of troubles she's getting into these days? She's a bit old to be honest, it comes with the territory of being the baby of a close-knit family where the oldest cousin is 32-turning-33 I guess. We often forget just how much of a baby she still is. All things considered.. I hope she enjoys her pre-puberty days as much as I did.

Tuesday, 24 April 2012


"You have ridiculous short term goals. And a ridiculously short definition of 'short term'.. Ridiculous!"

"Define ridiculous."

"Saying 'I want to write for a living.' and not being able to say anything else about what you actually want to do is ridiculous."

"S'not! Anyway. I've always landed on my feet before."

"Yeah. Well. You got lucky."

"26 years and counting!"

"Your luck won't last forever."


"What is?"

"Your assumption that my luck won't last forever. Ridiculous."


"You sound incredulous."


Conversations with myself never end well. When will I learn that I always talk back? Especially when I know how much of a pushover I really am.

Talk about ridiculous..

Tuesday, 17 April 2012

say it beetch!

I like using words to say nothing in particular. Because sometimes I really do have nothing to say but babbling seems like the more attractive option. Silence is not always comfortable and warm and beautiful. Sometimes it weighs down on you, so much so that you want to hit people.. But I've been told that physical violence is not a socially acceptable way to react to people being quiet. For the most part, I bow down and obey this particular convention.

But I like to think that I can use words to properly articulate feelings and thoughts when appropriate. Which is why games piss me off.

I'm a little too direct and a little too blunt, a little too clueless to pick up on subtle nuances and hints, and I almost always wear my heart on my sleeves. Which is of course a pretty way to say 'my stupid face gives every stupid thought I have stupidly away. Like a stupid face does.'.. My past experiences (at the sage old age of 26. Yes. I'm making fun of myself.) have pushed me to understand that games are necessary evils when it comes to social interactions. I've learned to tolerate it to a certain degree.

Excessive avoidance of words still piss me off though.

Take a hint.

Monday, 9 April 2012

insanity looks good on you.

Says the pot to the kettle.

Oh wait. No. The pot said the kettle was black, proofing once and for all that kitchen-ware can be just as racist as people. Bad kitchen-ware! Though if I spent my life getting my butt burned, I'd be cranky enough that I'd begin spewing racist, homophobic, sexist comments too.

Fortunately, I'm human.

Where was I..?

Oh yes. I think my family is a pretty good looking bunch. That's not me being vain. Okay, it is a little. But I'm a shallow person, and I like pretty things and good looking people - and I'm pleased with the way my family looks. Spending a long weekend away with them may have further damaged my fraying sanity (remind me to write about the elaborate "jokes" we play on each other.) but it made me come to one conclusion..

Insanity suits my family.

All hectic and arms and legs flailing every which way, evil cackles and booming laughter, and the occasional brat running away from (yet another) fuming brat. Ninja Gramps photobombing the grandkids, cackling as he slowly hobbles past, cane in hand. Grandma being unintentionally hilarious. No adults present. Ever. Because no one in my family can be described as 'mature' in the normal sense of the word.

The Clan is awesome.

Unfortunately after editing the pic to show just how much I love The Clan.. the faces became hidden. NO MATTER! Take my words at face value - we're a good lookin' bunch.