Indonesian Reporters Are Dumb

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Indonesian reporters are dumb. Like, I know I can't be all generic about it - but honestly, the past couple of days I've spent watching the tv has just reaffirmed my reasoning to have kept such abhorrence to listening to their reports. It is also why I have usually in the past have kept well away from them, for my own sanity.

Take this evening's newsreport on the recent Mentawai Island earthquake. The reporter was interviewing a victim, whose father remained missing. He said to the girl: "so, your father is missing right?" "yes," the girl replied briskly.

Now, out of a gazillion possibilities things to say, he chose to ask this: "and what are your hopes in relation to that?"

Well what the heck do you expect dude?! Of course she wants her father found!!! Such an idiot.

Coffee Junkie

It is official people! I am a coffee freak.

Cannot survive without drinking at least a cuppa once a day. If I drink one in the morning, I will survive for the ENTIRE day, without feeling de-energized (is that a word?) or lazy or sleepy and everything else that puts the fire out of your spirit.

Today, I braved myself not to drink one. Instead, I opted for English Breakfast Tea (I personally prefer Earl Grey any day, but most unfortunately such I am not in possession of *sigh*), with a pint of sugar.

Then the day came and went....and at around 2.45ish in the afternoon I feel my eyes sagging on me, and my shoulders drooping down.

So I knew I had to get my fix.

I did. And now I am wide awake. Figures.

I'm Still Little Old Awkward Me

No matter what picture people have painted in their mind about me, or what impression they seem to have of me, I just wanted to note today that the truth is, I am still that awkward, self-conscious and socially inept me.

I think I am better now than before, but deep down, I haven't changed. I still have to hand-write everything I want to say on yellow post-its before I can make a phone call just to keep myself from speaking like an idiot.

This is what I wrote yesterday while I was reading a book. It just came to my head, the thought. And it stuck:

"When I'm nervous I get horribly tongue-tied that I ramble off into space, and can warble on incessantly without making any or the least bit of sense. I thought I'd overcome this problem, but honestly, I haven't. I'm still that old weird and awkward me who stumbles when she talks and is perpetually unsure of herself - practically radiating lack of self-confidence from her pores. I cover it all up either by being perky or talking too much that it puts people off."

And, honestly I don't know if I can be graceful or elegant or smooth. If ever.

Keeping Cool

What I am about to write is not a new topic - I think I may have posted at least twice already on the subject. But, I'm in an emotional upheaval right now, I need a place to vent, and I just basically really need to get this out of my system.

And hence this blogpost.

So what have I got to say today? Actually I already did mention the word in the first paragraph there - I have something to say about being 'emotional'.

In my previous posts, I think I mentioned that I really do not care what other people think of me, that they have free license to say whatever the hell they want to say about me, that really, what their mind is concocting about my character slash personality is no business of mine in any way.

If you ask me today whether I still feel that way, the answer is affirmative, yes, I really could not care less about what they or you have to say about me.

But, and here comes the 'bomb' - I'd like to add an extension to that statement, or rather, a clarifying clause to it.

I do not care what other people think of me, except those I call my friends (and by 'friend' I mean close friends or they who are in my inner circle), and those I am supposed to call family because of my birth. For these two categories of 'people', today I find myself in the situation that apparently, yes, I do still care.

I think that primarily, this is because that you would expect those two categories of people would be the ones who's got your back, who keep you up, and who lighten up your spirit instead of crushing them. Into dust. Or worse, nothingness. You can act so separatist from the world, but when it comes to your inner nucleus, it's hard to say that they do not matter. It's hard to disengage and detach yourself from caring. Because they make up who you are. Your life, whether or not you recognize it, revolves around them. And in the case of family, it's worse because you live with them. Well, obviously my last sentence there applies only to those of you who still live with members of your family, like me.

I won't be touching on the friends category today, because my problem at the moment is with the family.

Like my mom for instance. She has this...attitude (for want of a better word, I choose 'attitude'. Originally I wrote 'habit' but I don't think it would be the correct term) of always feeling like she has to put her two-cents in after every single time my father (notice I do not use the word 'dad') says something. A lecture, an angry statement, a scolding, a snappy complaint, whatever - my mom will be there to figuratively and literally, nod her head down and not only that, but give her assent too. I can't recall a time where she would defend me in front of him in front of my face. I can't recall a time where even if she would not defend me, she would at least say something to the contrary. Or better yet, just stay silent and be neutral.

That is one problem I have with her.

My second problem, which corroborates the first one, is how she would say one thing in front of me, then in front of my father - say the complete opposite. It's like she has to appear like she agrees with him on everything.

WHY???

I think I would not have such a problem with it if she maintained her position. You know, be constant. But no. She would appear to be understanding when I confide in her about something, then in front of my father, she too would confront me.

If she had from the start just told me what was really in her head, I would not find this as upsetting as this makes me.

And it just irks me so much, how after she does that, she can act like she didn't do anything wrong.

So I would really like to have the ability to numb oneself down. Like a block of ice. In the Antarctic. Unless there's a more permanent ice than that that you know of, then I'll take that one.

I am most upset, especially because right now, this time, presently, I am in need of her support. I do not need her berating me. I do not need her expressing her negativity. And most especially not, after she had portrayed some sort of positivity. Doing this, just completely shirked the carpet right off my feet. And I feel worse than drowned.

And you know, maybe I am too emotional about this. Maybe because I'm a girl. Great, so now I'm making it a gender thing. Which it isn't. But the point is, it seems like I can't completely detach myself from feeling.

So what, you may ask.

Well it's a shitty problem for me, because once I get like this, I don't feel like doing anything - period. Much less doing anything much. I lose all spirit. I lose motivation. I return to the child evidently still within me, sulking, and wish for nothing else but act so immaturely. My behavior becomes this: "OK, so that's what you think of me? Fine, then I'll be like what you think of me."

And so you can't tell me, after reading that, that I need to wake up. I am up. I've seen the glaring sunshine and rotting dirt - and I've just been dunked in quicksand. Right now, all I feel like doing is zilch.

I suppose I should grow thicker skin and brace myself up for the pain - get myself used to the beating. I know you are not getting that impression from me right now, but honestly speaking, I have. It's not the first time that this has happened. In fact, I've lost count. But I guess, every time it happens, I still somehow cannot erase that little spark of hope inside me that she would change. And I'm getting really tired, of keeping up my expectations.

Mobile blogging - check

As promised in my previous blog post, I am writing to confirm that yes, I can indeed blog from my mobile. Roger out.

Energy Booster - where art thou?

Courage is a quality so necessary for maintaining virtue, that it is always respected, even when it is associated with vice.

- Samuel Johnson

I so need this right now.

A Kid's Perspective

Kids have a way of making you feel silly for missing the finer points in life. My too smart baby sister reminds me often enough of that, as she did again this evening:

"I can't believe I'm twenty-four years old already," I sighed miserably into the mirror.

"I can't believe your butt is big," my sixth-grader sister comments in response.

Life sucks.

Testing, one two three

So I got myself an iPhone after much debate and careful consideration. Apparently there is this application that I can use to update my posts straight from my phone. And that is what I'm testing now. I'll confirm in another post if this works.

My Secrets*

I was randomly browsing through the worldwideweb today, and stumbled upon this brilliant, brilliant essay, written by I think, a student from Yale: Lydia Martin. Her prose is unlike most of what I've ever come across. And right now, I'd kill to be able to write like her. She captures so beautifully what is in my heart.

So because I happen to be a graduate of law, and I don't want no copyrights claim coming at me, please note my disclaimer of what I will be quoting below. It is fully the work of Lydia Martin, including the starred title of this blogpost, and fully, all credits go to her.

Below I quote several parts of her essay that I love the most. I hope it will inspire anyone reading, like it did me. Read this while listening to Ben Jorgensen's 'Only Just a Memory'. Perfection has never felt so close to me.

"My Secrets"

"I walk off the subway. Cars, people, ambitions charge by. City thrashes without hesitation or apology. No stillness. No pause. People do not see where they are.
...

Just one second and the door closes. Eyes and ears shut. I am alone again. City melts, and questions quietly float away....With silence around, I can breathe again.

...
I flip the pages of her essay. She may pretend it is not linear, but there are still lines to be read.
...

I live only in me, and am surprised that others cannot see inside. Face wiped clean. Sweaters oversized. Everyone else tan and skin-tight. ...Our barriers are more real to me than our connections....I do not value your gossip....I refuse to play the game, and so cannot mind that you pick me last.
...
...I beam from everywhere. The happiness is shared, created by two. Smiles can now be spoken. They burst out. Forget stillness. I want to dance.

Knowledge and work and people who think like me. We were not the most popular, the most beautiful, the most likely to win. We lived inside, working to create the people we wanted to be. Against the bidding of others. And we survived.
...
Scents in my nose, swinging emotions in my gut. Lost on your ears.

A story is told as much by silence and by speech.

...
You and I are disparate. Our thoughts disagree....Even facts are false, filtered by the minds and mouths of informants.
...
Like the concentration camps he commands, in many ways he remains absent to himself.

...
I cannot be tied to others' happiness. I coil away to protect both of us. Before taught me to be on my own, and now is letting my enjoy it.
...
Maybe I am a complex web of confusion, in need of a storyteller who can figure me out.
...
But this diminishes reality. ...sewing together fragments, forgetting that the spaces between the pieces are more important than the rest.
...
Griffin, do not sew me together to create a sensible figure, worthy of understanding. You cannot capture me and keep me whole. You cannot make me frown and then tell me to smile. You cannot demand my secrets and then fill in the holes with your own. I am neither linear nor explicable.
...

Like the white spaces in an etching, such silences render form. But unlike an etching in which the whole is grasped at once the silence of a story must be understood over time.

I am a woman on the desert island, deciding to stay in the sand. I am Himmler keeping my secrets inside. I am Griffin begging for them to be heard. I am neither of them and none of you. If you were to tell my story, you would get it wrong. Don't classify my actions, nor interpret my notes. Life is known only from the inside.

No, I cannot share my secrets." - Lydia Martin, English 114: Writing Seminars 1

Seeing Doubles

One of the things I resent most is how some people employ double standards. I use the word 'resent' in lieu of 'hate', not only because it more properly explains how I feel, but also because these days I'm trying to keep my toe out of that line called 'hate'. Hate is only several inches short of love, some people say - and I'll choke myself up before I go there.

But I digress. Going back to doubles then, it astounds me how people can choose to act one way, and decide that others cannot likewise choose to act in that same way. Ever heard of democracy people? Or better yet, freedom of expression?

I am not saying that I have a problem with how one would choose to make a decision. In fact, I really could not care less. I was not asked for my opinion, and even after I was somehow linked to the issue by another, I was still not asked for my opinion. If a decision is subsequently made then, how is it that anyone in their right mind can consciously come to the conclusion that I too, was involved? And/or, I too, should take responsibility? Why am I not allowed to be free of any strings that more than likely would be attached to that decision? In case ya'll are blind and/or stupid and can't understand me: hello, I didn't make the decision!

So hell no, and fuck you.

I in no way ever limited or even expressed in any manner my objection to the decision. I never once questioned that anyone has the authority to make decisions - with or without my involvement. It is always your choice to act, in however manner you deem fit, in whatever way you deem wise. I really don't give a fig.

Oh, and furthermore, by the way, you once made that choice to leave your hands clean of any responsibility! And in fact, even in this case, after you've had your say, you just up and left, but not before leaving us with an order to bloody fix the mess! Pray tell, how are you acting any different?

Excuse me while I comment: if ever there is a pot calling the kettle black, you damn well just personified the action.

I won't bother responding, and I don't care what others may choose to say about me. I've been crushed and stepped on and stabbed in the front and spit on and whatever else worse act you can think of, been there. I don't have a need to justify myself to you. You want to think of me in a certain way, go ahead. You want to impose judgments and label a stamp over my action, do it. I won't deign myself to waste time responding to it - it's not going to do me any good. Because why? Because ultimately, whatever you or anyone chooses to think about me, I have no control over. So make yourselves happy - I'll be having my own tango in my backyard with limed tequila and a heck of a book for company.

P.S. If anyone needs to question their neutrality, it sure as hell isn't me. I'm only one of the few sane ones left who don't want the whole house of cards to fall apart in waste. But hey, it's your party.

It's Not Washing Out

"Why, Flynn? Why can't we move on past this stupid wall between us? I miss you. I miss us. Don't you miss us, Flynn? And you're breaking my heart, when you promised me you wouldn't Flynn! Why!" Lily cried out as she angrily swiped at her tears with her sleeve.

Flynn shut his eyes tight at the sight of her tears, trying to hold back his own that threatened to fall. He felt like splinters were razoring his insides, cutting deep. It was a while before he managed to speak, his throat having gone desert-dry. "Some things just don't wash out, Lily. That includes heartbreak," Flynn said brokenly, "So don't you hold me to that. You failed to keep mine."

***

I think I'm going to call this one "Castles". This was inspired by "So in love" by The Icarus Account - an insanely talented band. Love. Love.

Just Press Delete

It was hard. It was necessary. I debated whether I should do it, and in the end I decided to go for it. To keep it there would only serve to constantly be a ringer for what I don't want to remember. In the end you can only trust so much. In the end you can only hurt so much. Before you crack.

And I have cracked.

So I reacted. And I pressed 'delete'. "Are you sure?" the screen prompted me.

I did not hesitate to press down 'yes'.

Fragile

This heart is fragile and weak and it quavers with

every little break you crack into it with

every doubt and every question

why are you questioning

why are you doubting me.

This heart is flooded full over the brim with

rivers of ache and pain and tears that glitters

if I swallow I will taste bitter and salt

there is no doubt of it

there is no questioning it.

Breathe

so they tell me to do for a while now

but I've been having a hard time to just

breathe

I keep choking and spluttering

every word comes out a staggering stutter

and I

can't even manage one sentence

don't press me for a paragraph

no language would express fully

what this feels like

to me

and I

desperately need to just breathe.

This heart is fragile like antique china

that's been duct-taped all over with the strongest of bands

to keep it all together and not fall

apart,

but it's falling apart

and I'm falling apart

because I'm fragile.