...i'm a man of many wishes, i hope my premonition misses...

.hollow.

Platform 2, Melbourne Central Station, Oct 2010

...For what is life,

but a long, arduous, endless wait?

...But what I really feel

My eyes won't let me hide,

'Cause they always start to cry...

...can't be your savior, i don't have the power...

Currently listening to: Circle the Drain - Katy Perry

.concretejungle.

Spencer Street, Melbourne, July 2010

Let's talk about tolerance.

You know how there's ALWAYS at least one person around you who blindly accepts whatever's relevant to their dismal capacity and hates everything else, right?

Yes, those ballistic, ignorant muthaflippers who think that this world as we know it is now fucked beyond repair and is directly heading down a dark, gloomy path to a certain fiery furnace filled with weeping and gnashing of teeth. Basically these self-haters still believe lawbreakers should be stoned to death and women should always stay home with the kids. Some may even stoop so low they choose to refer to inspirational pop icons like Kylie Minogue or Lady Gaga as vicious minions of the antichrist, if that makes sense.

These people would cling to their convictions like baby koalas to their mothers and reject contradictory claims about their judgment with stubborn verbal swipes so sharp and swift even Bill O'Reilly would be put to shame. If that doesn't work, more often than not they will resort to direct violence, with public beatings and fire-starting as two of their most effective means of destruction. Trying to negotiate with them is roughly equivalent to yelling to a brick wall: you get no coherent answer, your throat gets dry and your voice strained after a while, and the problem at hand stays unresolved. But try giving the wall even the slightest of touch and the entire facade will collapse on you, covering you in ruin. Get it?

What sad, pathetic little creatures, these blokes are. There should be a special resting place dedicated just for them, with colorful balloons and green tea cupcakes and other silly what-have-yous, where they can talk about dirty politics and self-repression all day so they will stop being bitter little bastards and move the hell on. Now that may solve the problem at the very least. But I digress.

And in case you're wondering, I'm fully aware of the fact that I may be exaggerating just a little with my speech. But you get my point.

Anyway.

Let's say you and I both have a certain something we seriously - and I mean SERIOUSLY - love. I love my A, and you love your B. Long story short, for some reason I begin to hate B, and your borderline-obsessive fondness towards that wrinkly, disgusting entity does nothing to help me get over my rapidly blossoming resentment. Soon enough I find myself sulking over the fact that you're being a retarded imbecile for choosing to love B so effin' much, and I'm convinced that having B in your life has ruined you in and out.

What do I do then?

Do I go out of my way and tell you off for being foolish and blind? Do I march into your house with a steak knife and demand to stab your beloved B repeatedly until he/she/it breaks? Do I spread hateful statements about B through every single social platform I have access to just to piss you off? Do I attempt to break down the fence to your house or burn down your entire front lawn just to make my blatantly-offensive actions even more aggressive?

Or, alternatively, do I just choose to stay put and shut up, because your deliberate choice to keep B close to your heart is really none of my business?

Then say at one point you know about this little vendetta and decide to ask me nicely about why B is so unacceptably repulsive to me it turns my insides and makes me sick. Do I directly break into a string of offensive curses without letting you tell your side of the story? Do I cover my ears and chant nursery rhymes at the top of my lungs so I don't have to hear anything you've got to say? Do I, still, choose to be stubborn and act upon my unvalidated feelings? Or, being the wise, mature human being that I am, do I choose to stop, calm down, and listen?

Well, I know this is really hard to digest *rolls eyes* but when it all comes down to these two choices, then I guess the answer's a no-brainer. Obviously. Or is it, really?

There's still a lot of people out there up to this day who still don't get why tolerance is paramount in a global, modern society which continually endorses the acceptance of diversity - in other words, the very society we're living in right here 'n now. These are the people who tirelessly rallies against many aspects of equality and condemns the minority - whatever 'minority' means to them - wherever they go. And for what purpose, other than generating more hate in return for their actions? Hey, I might not be the brightest person in the universe, but seriously, folks, I don't get it.

I mean, really, if every single little problem could be solved by violently protesting against it on the streets and burning down buildings, then we wouldn't even be talking about the mere possibility of achieving world peace, now, would we?

So what if some people prefer something over something else? Everyone is entitled to express their feelings and have their own preferences - that is, and should be, a given, in any situation. We all like different things, don't we? If I like strawberry jam and you don't, does that automatically give you the right to barge into my life, deprive me of my precious jam, and force me to eat something else, like, say, orange marmalade? Aside from the fact that I really don't like marmalade - which may or may not be relevant to this analogy - I don't think that's the right thing to do. Don't you think so too?

Likewise, I should not feel obliged to meddle with any of your preferences. We are all different in our own simple ways; our differences make us who we are, as a collective. This should go uncontested.

Ah, ain't diversity beautiful? *winks*

All I'm saying is, of course we all have certain things with which we agree and don't agree. The question I wanna emphasize here is about whether or not we should go out of our way to confront those who don't share our beliefs. I know for a fact - at least for me personally - that the answer's a big NO. I think we should never - and I mean NEVER - be hostile towards others we share differences with, as long as those people don't attempt in any way to invade our personal space and harm us first. To each his / her own. I have no objections.

All of us should be smart enough by now to realize that nothing good will ever come out of hate. Especially on others who, underneath it all, really are just like us. We often see many parts of ourselves reflected in others' actions, especially the ones we resent. Remember that.

Practice tolerance. Do so with consistency and responsibility, and harmony will come. Just you watch.

I can't speak for all of us here, though.

Like I said, I'm not here to judge. Your call.

And to sum up, a powerful quote, from the Lady of All Things Different herself,

"It's always wrong to hate, but it's never wrong to love."

Ready to drop your two cents? ;)

:')

This just made me cry.

Amazing voices, both of you. Amazing voices. You've come a long way.

And I believe this is just the beginning of an amazing musical journey you will find yourselves embarking on, very soon.

Congratulations. You have made us all proud. :')

P.S: The video's in Bahasa Indonesia, so please bear with me, my non-Indonesian readers.

...so when you see me crashing, and there's nowhere left to fall...

Currently listening to: Lift Me Up - Christina Aguilera

.thatpalepearlyglow.

Sky High, Mt. Dandenong, May 2010

It was raining.

The school was empty, its corridors deserted and quiet. The students had either scurried off to extracurriculars or gone home. A sudden, almost melancholic burst of silence swept across the building as its occupants began to leave, ending yet another busy day.

Your arms were around me as we made our way up the stairs, our shoulders brushing, our heartbeats racing, our hurried footsteps echoing across the hallway. The sound of our cheeky laughs got caught in between drizzles, interlacing in one harmonic rhythm, as the gloomy grey sky thundered and poured.

Your sparkling brown eyes looked directly into mine in a sweet glance, and I blushed.

Amazed. Helpless. Desperately in love.

Are you cold? You asked, ever so gently, your soothing voice melodious and tender, like sweet music to my ears. I could feel the warmth of your breath down the nape of my neck, slow and steady with every little step you took. I shook my head and heaved out a sigh, almost breathless.

...No. I'm alright. You?

My heart skipped a beat when you moved closer, slowly drawing me into a tight embrace. Not when you're around, I'm not. Followed by a snicker.

A whiff of your favorite perfume lingered in the air, serenading my nostrils with that comforting, familiar scent. I could feel the soft material of your dark-colored sweater brushing across my back, sending shivers down my spine. I was hypnotized, lost in a trance.

I looked up, meeting your gaze, and frowned.

Where are we going? I'm getting tired...

You winked, playful as ever. Almost there. Don't worry.

Halfway to the fourth floor, right by the staircase rails, you suddenly stopped. You took my hand and pulled me close, letting me rest my head on your firm, broad shoulder, as in silence we stood and watched the unfolding wrath of the skies; the rustling of the winds, the flashing of its thunder, the drizzling beats of the pouring rain.

Beats rushing into the car and watching all this go down behind rain-splattered windows, doesn't it? You muttered, with the faintest hint of a smile curling up on your lips.

I grinned, starry-eyed. Yeah. It sure does. Though I'm sure your driver must be pissed.

You laughed. Nah. He can wait.

The tip of your fingers traced the outline of my nose, sending shivers down my spine. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed with emotions. This was just surreal, too good to be true.

Amused, you heaved out a sigh.

All this just got better with you here by my side.

I would never have thought it remotely possible that you'd share my immense fascination with the rain. Really, out of - oh, I don't know- the countless little things of interest I could never have dreamed of sharing with you in this world, if the long hours you spent on the soccer field and the endless singing sessions I joyfully attended were any indication. We couldn't have been any more different even if we'd wanted to be. Guarding goalposts and singing melismatic runs didn't exactly go together, did they?

But I guess the universe really does have its ways in bringing two different people together, through unexpected surprises, accidental run-ins, or constant passing glances down the hall, in our case - exchanging awkward 'hi's, the silly shuffling of our feet, our late-night conversations and the skyrocketing phone-bills that entailed...

Funny how beautiful things can come barging in and surprise you, just when you think nothing good's gonna come your way. Maybe that's just how it is. I don't know.

And standing there, in the midst of the pouring rain, with the gentle warmth of your love holding me close, I felt strong, stubbornly invincible.

...Maybe we should head upstairs and see how your hamsters are doing.

Your soft whisper startled me, waking me up from the mystical daze I was in.

I turned, meeting your stare. Why? We just visited them during lunchtime this afternoon.

You chuckled lightly. I think I'm beginning to like them more than I'm allowed to.

Really? I laughed, touched by the childish sincerity in your voice. Weren't you the one who told me you hated furry animals? And don't even get me started on what you said about the Bio Lab being so smelly ever since I started keeping them there.

Well, I did say that...

I closed my eyes, as you drew closer and kissed my forehead ever so gently.

...But you won't believe just what spending a month with the world's most passionate hamster lover can do to your conscience.

You lifted my head, meeting my gaze. I could see that playful twinkle in your eyes; that charming passion, that vibrant glimmer of innocence, the tender traces of sweet, heartfelt honesty that made me fall so dangerously in love with you.

A strike of lightning grumbled in a distance, its luminescent lights flashing across the horizon. You turned, grinned, and reached out a hand to me.

Come on. They're waiting.

A smile escaped my lips, and I nodded.

The skies sat and watched as our steps began to intertwine, blending as one with the rhythmic beats of the rain. Up the stairs, off a right turn, down the hallway, into a door that was shut behind two pairs of brushing shoulders.

Yet another perfect afternoon.

You, and me, and the rain as our orchestra.

...i'll be your best friend and you'll be my valentine...

REAL posts coming soon. Promise.

I'd say I had been busy, but... Well, let's just leave it at that, shall we?

*grins*

In the meantime, this makes me smile, every single freaking time.

(via bloodyhellkeepcalm.tumblr.com)

Don't you just loooooooove Joey Tribbiani? ;)

...she's got a halo 'round her finger, around you...

Currently listening to: Alejandro - Lady Gaga

Behold, beautiful bloggers.

...Ta-da.

*bows and retreats behind the curtain*

This is exactly why I shouldn't be trusted with postcards, magazine cut-outs, spare Blu-Tac, and a pair of scissors on an uneventful, too-cold-to-get-out winter day.

Bright side? At least I was being productive.

A rare occurrence these days, I might add, My daily existence now resembles that of a hermit crab's - minus the pincers and the hideous shells. I basically just sit around doing next to nothing all day, aside from constant daydreaming and the occasional picking of the nose.

Life is good, you say? Nah. Not one bit. Can't complain, though.

But other than all that shebang, you can be rest assured that all is well in YoursTrulyville.

Don't you get worried, all three and a half of you out there.

So. Now. Your thoughts.

Hot, or naught?

On another note, Lady Gaga's "Alejandro" video is a brilliant masterpiece.

And pinstripe scarves turn me on.

Just sayin'.

...but i won't let melancholy play me for a fool...

Currently listening to: Kindly Unspoken - Kate Voegele

.rewind.

Flinders St, Melbourne, May 2010

I want love.

I want peace.

I want unlimited personal freedom.

I want more time to settle things down and calm my emotional storm.

I want new shoes.

I want this season's check-patterned scarves.

I want a new wallet.

I want a fresh, empty wall to vandalize 'cuz I think my current wall art is slowly falling apart.

And while we're on the subject, I think I'm gonna need to get a new pack of Blu-Tac, stat. Preferably of the extra-strength variety this time.

I wanna be free of potentially-catastrophic financial troubles, like the one I'm facing right now.

I wanna be more careful in handling money.

I wanna start earning my own income as soon as possible so my parents will no longer have the authority to terrorize my spending.

I wanna get a job. Like a real job, with real responsibilities, a real office cubicle, real work-related stress, and real backstabbing colleagues, even.

I wanna stop being sarcastic and cynical about my surroundings.

I wanna be able to smile and laugh - sincerely - again.

I wanna believe that destiny isn't here to mess with my life and make me squirm in despair.

I wanna convince myself that there's light at the end of the tunnel, and that I shouldn't worry because everything has already been provided for me; I just need to make an effort to go and get what I want because everything has to be earned, not taken for granted.

I wanna fully understand what the title of this post really means - I gotta stop letting my unstable emotions take the wheel and make decisions for me.

I have to step up and be rational. Because I know that bitterness won't do me any good.

I have to get real. I have to move on. I have to lighten up.

I miss the old me. That dreamy little boy with glittering stars in his eyes. I miss my outrageous, impossible dreams. I miss my hearty laughs and optimistic, almost foolish dispositions. All the crazy nonsensical things my childish imagination used to believe in; superheroes, happy fairytale endings, friendships, rainbow bridges, pots of gold, and floating cotton candy clouds... I miss all of those things.

If only I had the power to turn back the hands of time, so I could rectify the mistakes I did and relive all the good memories of my childhood; I have to show myself, somehow, what it means to let go of my inhibitions and just soar, free as a bird...

Maybe I just want my old self back after all. As stupid and predictable as it may sound.

Although it is much easier said than done.

Funny how life has its ways to pin you down and screw you over.

Just when you thought everything was gonna be okay...

Dang. I really should snap out of it and find a job, before I drive myself up the wall.

...can somebody please just take me away?...

...For the mind is willing but the body is weak.

And my innocence is lost somewhere between the lines.

...dear seventeen...

...I wonder where you've disappeared to.

My history is stained, a pale shade of grey,

filled with might-have-beens and unfinished yesterdays.

My golden days of yore,

of optimism and vigor are long gone,

tarnished by the storms of life's cruel austerities.

You used to be all I ever knew.

My shield, my solace,

my sunshine after the rain,

the mask I wore,

the sword I held,

the shelter I cowered beneath when the going got tough...

It kills me to think I've somehow lost you now.

...Why do I feel you're a lifetime away?

"There is nothing so pitiful as a young cynic because he has gone from knowing nothing to believing nothing."

- Maya Angelou

...steady my breathing, silently screaming...

Currently listening to: Edge of Desire - John Mayer

.highasthesky.

Southbank, Melbourne, December 2009

Here's a question for you:

Would you rather be given the chance to feel extremely happy - blissfully content - at some point in your life, only to have reality slap you straight on the face and knock you down, hard, when that euphoric moment is over;

OR

Would you choose, instead, to have your emotions checked out and experience everything in moderation in order to avoid such eventual misery?

I know this is silly. It's like asking whether one would prefer to madly love apples and madly despise bananas OR just settle for a simple way out and like both indifferently. For we all know that - like everything else that makes up our sense of identity - we can't force someone to prefer something over another because everyone is innately unique. I for one would rather dig up a hole and hide if the remote possibility of shoving that disgusting horridness of an apple down my throat ever presents itself to me. Not in a million years, thank you very much. But that's completely besides the point.

There is some uneasy truth to this dilemma, I believe, like what my good friend Dea conveniently pointed out to a puzzled yours truly during our late-night telephone conversation a few days ago: sometimes we choose to grow cold towards all the things that define our happiness because we're far too afraid of getting hurt, of seeing that menacing layer of gloomy grey clouds looming at the edge of our glittering, sun-kissed horizon.

I think that - being the fragile, self-centered, indecisive human beings that we are - we tend to let our emotions get the best of us.

That is, when we deliberately choose to bare our souls and succumb to our most fundamental worldly desire, which - and don't hold my word for this - is the desire to be limitlessly happy, then there has to be a point somewhere along the journey, a turning point, at which this little guilt trip of ours - our personal, emotional big bang - will somehow snap back and start spiraling down, leading ultimately to sadness, and gloom, and disappointment.

After all, to quote a certain washed-up pop act, all good things come to an end, right?

'Cuz karma's a bitch like that, believe it or not.

Having said that, I also believe that the happier we are - the more we yearn so foolishly to taste the blissful joy of our happiness, the more we will asphyxiate ourselves, and the more painful our eventual fall from grace will be.

Just like the two sides of a coin; one simply can't exist without the other. For an extreme point in itself will not be an extreme point without an opposing, equally extreme point existing on the other side of the spectrum. Joy, and Grief. Delight, and Anguish. Eros, and Thanatos.

So why bother?

Why do we still waste our time trying so imprudently to make our way to the top, if we know that at the end of the day the things we fight for will expire, our steps will be weary, and our desperate attempt will be futile?

Maybe it's because deep down inside we'd like to believe that, at the end of the day, the joy we get is worth the downfall, somehow.

Well, I can tell you right now with confidence, ladies and gentlemen, that it bloody isn't.

I for one have long since decided to lock my thrills and trolls away and stay more or less indifferent. It's terribly exhausting to always wear my heart on my sleeve; I think it's gonna be much more convenient to just roll 'em down and button up.

And before you start patronizing me with your "but what about optimism?" crap, please be aware that I have seen too much - way too much for my own good, I should say - to be convinced otherwise.

I rest my case.

If fairytale dreams don't have happy endings then I'd rather not dream at all.

'Cuz I know if I still do, like a starry-eyed child oblivious to reality, the pain I'll get after figuring that out will hurt like a bitch.

So thanks, but no thanks.

...but there's a little truth in between the words we've spoken...

Currently listening to: Till It Happens to You - Corrine Bailey Rae

.agloomyshadeofgrey.

Jakarta skyline - taken from Grand Indonesia, March 2010

Why do people live with secrets?

Why do we gravely fear that the people we love, the people we care about, will turn away and leave upon seeing the entirety of our existence?

Why are we so concerned about keeping some - if not all - parts of our lives hidden from others around us? Why do we rely so much on these little treasures to keep the scattered fragments of our identities together, to hold them firm?

Why do we, being so helplessly immersed in our own insecurities, often attempt to conceal the sweet bites and sour nips of our imperfections solely for the sake of making peace with our battered, less-than-adequate selves?

Sometimes we're far too preoccupied with our twisted perceptions, all the nitty-gritty, the seemingly-endless fine print lines, that we fail to grasp the numbing reality of our stance. We get lost scrutinizing the details in the fabric, entirely missing the bigger picture all the while. More often than not, we willingly trap ourselves inside our own misled assumptions, believing that begging for the approval of others is our exclusive path to social salvation.

Concealing certain parts of ourselves in the name of pleasing others; this concept is nothing short of foreign to me, being the acute people-pleaser that I am, as regrettable as that may sound.

But it's true. We worry about the safety of our deepest, darkest questions, for we know those little puzzling mysteries, those closet skeletons, are just as crucial to our identity make-up as everything else we have - or are still aspiring to - become. Our secrets make us whole. The secrets we keep tell us about who we really are just as much - if not more - as the parts of ourselves, those claims, those solid truths we disclose to the rest of the world.

Why is it that we, as a collective, value acceptance - and therefore conformity - so highly?

So much that most of us have to resort to camouflaging the most important aspects of our lives and making them secrets, only to gain a hollow, meaningless sliver of affirmation from our surroundings. I mean, what good does that do to us?

I am thoroughly against the idea that we should be embarrassed about all the details of our lives our society might not deem "acceptable" or "appropriate", whatever that means - those vital yet insignificant details like age, gender, family issues, personal troubles, history, preferences, sexual orientation, ethnicities, religious beliefs... The list goes on and on.

I do think that keeping secrets is necessary in maintaining the wholeness of our identities; after all we still need privacy to stay sane, right? What we do behind closed doors should not in any way be subjected to the judgment of others, and I believe this notion has to go uncontested. That is why having secrets is, in a way, healthy.

Our secrets, however, should not become our tickets to social acceptance; we are all good in our own little ways, and nobody should be given the right to take our worth away from us and make us believe otherwise.

Like, we don't have to lie about our sexuality to feel accepted. We don't have to abandon our religion, or change our music taste, or alter our dressing style, in order to fit in. We don't have to keep any part of our lives a secret to make us feel like we belong somewhere. If anything, it should be the exact opposite; we should be accepted for who we are, not for who we aren't. Remember that.

Maybe that's why Agent Vermouth in Detective Conan (I know, I'm a nerd, sue me) once said, "A secret makes a woman, woman". This quote hits a certain spot in me whenever I think about it. Pretty powerful stuff. Although technically it doesn't apply to me since I'm not a woman... Whatever.

I really think life would be far less complicated (albeit less entertaining too, perhaps, in a sick, twisted way) if nobody bothered to keep secrets anymore. I mean, transparency is all fine and good - our lives would certainly be easier without people backing away everytime a sensitive detail about their lives are discussed - but where is the fun in that?

I, for one, have enough skeletons in my closet to worry about, thank you very much.

So I guess I'll just stop here and move on.

...God I do hope I'm making sense here. Somehow.

It's too cold, and I can't even keep my legs warm let alone stay coherent.

Lates.

*shivers*

...and if my words don't come together...

...I think I did.

Sorry for the extreme lack of posts as of late. I've been feeling pretty uninspired. Just ask my bandmates - or everyone else around me for that matter - if you don't believe me.

Will try to get back into the swing of things soon. Promise.

In the mean time, kindly bear with me.

*blows kisses*

And, oh, a very Happy Birthday to a certain fragment of the past. You know who you are.

I have never missed a single April 20 ever since we met, and I'm not about to start now. So here's to a long, healthy, joy-filled life. Have a great one. *raises glass*

Lates, loves.

.retrospect.

...Sometimes I miss you too much I just don't know what to do with myself.

...your voice comes thrashing wildly through my quiet bed...

Currently listening to: All We Ever Do is Say Goodbye - John Mayer

.suburbia.

12 Panorama St, April 2009

I wanna be like Peyton Sawyer.

I wanna be able to draw like she does. I wanna know what she thinks of life, and of the people around her, her perceived mortal enemies. I want her extensive music collection. I want her outrageous, edgy fashion sense. I want her obnoxious attitude. I want her freedom, her world, her personal realm of calm, undisturbed solitude.

I wanna know how it feels like to love something, or someone, with a passion, like her love for art, and music, and her mother, and Brooke, and Lucas. I wanna know how she can somehow manage to be so protective of her own feelings, how she closely guards her heart, choosing to observe others from a safe distance instead of jumping headfirst into her own pool of endless insecurities and letting herself go.

I wanna know how it's like to be convinced to believe, stubbornly, that at the end of the day, everyone in my life will always leave, no matter how hard I try to keep them close. And how it's just plain useless to open my heart and let them in, because just when I'm sure that they're gonna stay by my side forever, they'll always pack their bags and disappear, leaving me behind with a space lesser than what it used to be.

"People always leave", she says. I wanna believe that with all my heart.

Sometimes I wish I could be just a little tougher, a little more obstinate in my ways, so as to be able to grasp, and rightfully appreciate, this beautiful, intricate complexity.

Heaven knows I'm not ready just yet.

I wanna know where the source of her impeccable emotional strength lies. I want her independence. I want her reasons. I want her unchallenged certainty, her sadness, her personal philosophies. I wanna witness her happiness. I wanna share her sorrows. I wanna understand just how difficult it is to stay whole, unbroken, when everything in my life turn their backs on me and walk away.

I wanna know how it's like to be so delicate, so fragile, yet unbreakable at the same time.

I wanna have a Lucas Scott by my side; someone I can fully trust, someone who's always willing to share my burdens and help me believe, unconditionally.

I wanna have a Brooke Davis, too; a best friend who's equally complex, if not more. Someone who curses but never judges, who pushes but never suffocates. Someone close who always has my back no matter what, even in the darkest, most uncertain of times.

I think Peyton Sawyer is one hell of a lucky girl. She may think she's a loner, a hopeless drifter, yet she's surrounded by a bunch of good people, those who think the world of her. She just doesn't know that, and so she never begs for love, for pity, for a tiny trace of thorough, undivided attention. She locks her heart up and keeps the key to that vault in a safe place, buried deep within her many layers of optimism and pseudo-confidence.

How I dearly wish I could do the same with mine, somehow.

She has everything I don't. She knows everything I know nothing of.

She has the kind of unbeatable strength I can't even force myself to muster.

I wanna be like Peyton Sawyer. I wanna possess both the softness of a rabbit and the hardiness of an eagle, just like her.

I wanna guard my heart and keep it intact, unbroken, whole.

So when people leave - and they always do, I'll know how to cheer the fuck up and not linger on.

Help me find my way back, Peyton.

I've learned a lot from you, though you're not even real.

Maybe I'm delusional after all.
Or maybe I've just been watching One Tree Hill a little too much.

Whatever.

*Artwork courtesy of One Tree Hill and The CW. No copyright infringement intended.

"At this moment there are 6,470,818,671 people in the world. Some are running scared. Some are coming home. Some tell lies to make it through the day. Others are just now facing the truth. Some are evil men at war with good and some are good struggling with evil. Six billion people in the world - six billion souls. And sometimes all you need is one."
- Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer, One Tree Hill

...how many times do i have to dream i could be there?...

.goodbye.

SQ218, July 2009

So this is how freedom feels like.

No expectations, no regrets.

Nothing to keep me from going, from letting loose.

I used to convince myself that I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. That conforming to whatever the others believed in was my only key to universal acceptance. I used to turn a blind eye to subjective opinions and stay firm in acknowledging that being perpetually nice was the norm, and that passing pointed judgments about others could be rightfully justified for everyone but me simply because I wasn't good enough to be allowed otherwise.

How foolish I was to believe that my saving grace rested on the warm comforts of my socials. This is far, too far from the truth. My eyes were blinded, my ears tight shut; I was oblivious to the central essence of it all because my soul was lonely and I ever wanted was company.

I have realized that everything was but a giant fucking mistake.

Now the heavy, rusting chains around my feet, made of unending demands and bottled-up rage, can no longer drag me down. My soul has been liberated. And damn, this feels good.

No more Mr. Nice Guy. No more compromising, no more endless dispositions.

It's time for me to soar. It's time for my dreams to bloom, like the pretty flowers of spring.

I have let myself fly, away, higher than the sky.

And once I've crossed over, past that mystical, colorful arc with its glittering pots of gold, I promise will never look back.

So don't miss me.

'Cuz I sure as hell won't waste my time trying to miss you.

...Ah.

So this is how freedom feels like.

...L-O-V-E's just another word i never learned to pronounce...

Currently listening to: Starstrukk - 3OH!3 ft. Katy Perry

.doyouseewhatisee?.

Personal Wall Art, Feb 2010

So much for 21st-century virtual narcissism.

*grins*

For future reference, in case there ever comes a glorious day when yours truly decides to bring out his inner Severus Snape and declare war on all things bright and beautiful - which, depending on yet-to-be-determined circumstances may or may not happen - kindly take note that the following things, when prescribed at precisely the right amount, can take my sorrows away and make me happy as a clam:

* Cold early mornings, just when the fog rolls in sweetly, white and fluffy like cotton candy;

* Stepping on half-frozen grass during balmy winter days, taking in that captivating smell of withered leaves, humid soil, and traces of dew while doing so;

* Fancy wall calendars and/or Post-it notes;

* Unique, flaming, flamboyant stationery items *wink wink*;

* Two words: Penguin Classics;

* Boarding Metro trains that are empty and clean. I find smelly, alcohol-bottle-littered trains downright appalling;

* Spur-of-the-moment midnight trips with the usuals;

* Newspaper comic strips - Calvin & Hobbes and good ol' Dilbert cracks me up every time;

* Rainy days. Rainy nights. Maybe just rain in general, being the chronic hopeless romantic that I am;

* Late night MSN sessions with geographically-dispersed friends;

* Mr. Buble, Ms. Spears, and the massively talented Corr family;

* Mr. Mraz's witty, well-versed song lyrics *nudges Unee*;

* My uber-handsome redcap oranda, Oscar *nudges Edina*;

* Trips to quiet beaches in summer - with a pair of decent sunnies, beach shorts, sandwiches, a frisbee, and a good book;

* Blogwalking - as well as discovering good blogs and making new blog buddies along the way, of course *grins*;

* Midnight trips to Maccas with the neighbors and/or housemates;

* Collecting boarding passes;



* Singapore Airlines flights & their flawless KrisWorld;

* Clean airline seats;

* Hitting all the right notes and making all the right ornaments when singing;

* Making music and letting my creative juices flow liberally with The Nu-Bees;

* Casual conversations with random strangers;

* Pretty sunsets;

* Whipping up intricate recipes and actually making something out of them;

* Good coffee - even better when brewed by good-looking baristas *wink wink*;



* Going out for supper, all bundled up and shivering, on long winter nights;

* Cheesy pop songs from the likes of Ke$ha, Katy Perry, and co.;

* Putting my entire iTunes library on shuffle and actually getting all the good songs back-to-back on one go;

* Stalking people on Facebook - in a thoroughly non-creepy manner, I might add;

* Tweeting - my newfound guilty pleasure, hence the restless thumbs;


And lastly, putting up this worthless piece of crap on my blog just because I can. *winks*
And because my personal light-bulb moments of inspiration have become as painfully rare as the Giant Panda, regrettably.

Trust me, if I could breed my inner thoughts in a captive environment and put them up on pristinely-decorated exhibits at will, I would.
*slaps self*

So I guess that's about it.
I'm still alive and breathing, at least. My world now consists of late nights, lazy afternoons, countless rejections, and an increasingly limited space of existence I can't get out of.

As depressing as it sounds, it somehow feels like I have nothing to live for these days. Other than my music, and the fact that my lungs are still fully capable of breathing in my daily share of oxygen to sustain me, I honestly don't know what else I should be thankful for.

But I think this deserves its own post, so I'll stop.


Hope you're having a lovely week.
*waves*

...since our BIG audition date is, like, tomorrow...

photo courtesy of Jimmy Halim & Mega Halim

...Please kindly cross your fingers and wish us luck.

We promise we won't disappoint. :)

P.S: I'll have a real post soon. Don't kick me.

...i'm only human and that's my saving grace...

Currently listening to: Halo - Bethany Joy Galeotti

.soar.

GA717, MEL-CGK, February 2010

Do you remember the last time you felt free, wild, unrestrained, like a bright-eyed child excited to see the world?

You know, that sudden burst of excitement that sweeps over you without warning, ever so abruptly, stopping you in your tracks, numbing your senses. The profound realization that you're in for one hell of a ride, and that you should expect nothing but surprises and more surprises along the way. You know you're scared as hell, but you're far too eager to keep going that chickening out is completely irrelevant. All you wanna do is get out there and move forward, because you're young and free - your dreams fresh and brave, and all the secrets of world is at your feet, waiting to be discovered, witnessed through a pair of sparkling innocent eyes.

I used to know how that felt like, a long time ago.

During a time when dressing up meant putting on my uniform. When my sole life-defining mission was to get top marks in class. When the idea of having a great time strictly involved food parties at some fast-food joint, other kids singing "Happy Birthday" at the top of their - or should I say our - tiny lungs, and a cake - somehow there was always a cake. When the words "I like you" still meant "Let's be friends!" and not "Let's bunk together and do kinky things we'll probably regret tomorrow morning". And when the only possible cause for my personal end-of-days scenario was a big fat red FAIL scribbled across my report card.

The seemingly-endless race for academic excellence, one level after another, was all I ever knew; I had no idea who I wanted to be in the future, nor did I even care. The remote possibility of having to grow up and leave this jungle of limitless fun was ridiculous to the point of being completely unthinkable. I thought there was absolutely no need for me to grow up if this version of the world could linger forever. Little did I know that this childish notion hadn't even the slightest chance to prevail in real life.

My inner social circle was made up of myself and two other amazing kids. One was a talented albeit mischievous basketball-jock-to-be whom I had been friends with ever since he was born, the other a tomboy, curly-haired, guitar-strumming girl with a smile as bright as the afternoon sun. My weekdays with them consisted of comparing lunch boxes and copying each other's homeworks, my weekends of PlayStation matches, pulling pranks on the jock-to-be's twin brothers, and catching tadpoles at a nearby drainage channel. Then we grew a little older, and our definition of weekend fun grew up along with us; the PlayStation games and tadpole-hunting soon got old, so we turned to street basketball and evening guitar sessions instead.

Nothing else mattered to us back then. Life was good as long as we had each other. Though the sun might go down and yet another week would lurk round the corner, eager to bring us down, we knew we would still be here next week, and the week after, and the week after that, passing our ball and playing our songs and singing our tunes like there was no tomorrow.

Just now I browsed through our collection of old photos, and it was then that I finally realized just how genuinely happy we were, with our cheeky grins, our sweaty foreheads, and our mud-stained T-shirts, all blurring into one.

When you're a kid, you don't know what lies ahead of you. And neither should you, for innocence is precious only because it cannot be preserved. There's no turning back once you start thinking things over and stop being indifferent towards the rest of your life. When you let go of the blissful ignorance of youth, you let that happy kid in you go along with it. And trust me, you're gonna spend your days after that desperately wanting to get it back, but you can't.

Because reality bites you, HARD, until you bleed with regret.

The memory of having that kind of exhilarant, mind-blowing feeling flashes by but doesn't stay with me now. The innocence is long gone, with constant suspicion and endless doubt now taking its place. And I'm left feeling... disconnected.

I had a great childhood, that I can't deny.

These photos serve as a vivid reminder of that.

I just wished those sparkling pair of innocent eyes that once framed my universe could somehow come back and help me see things clearly, once again.

Remind me how it feels like to be young, and wild, and free.

'Cuz right now, I'm finding it hard to remember.

...i'd follow you to the moon in the sky above...

Currently listening to: So Amazing - Stevie Wonder & Beyonce

.thetown.

Bunderan HI, Jalan Thamrin, Jakarta, Feb 2010

I can't even begin to tell you how immensely happy I am everytime I'm comfortably perched, safe and sound, inside the warm confines of my room, with a cup of steaming hot coffee by my side and classic The Corrs tracks playing softly on my iTunes. The rain is pouring heavily right outside my window as we speak, framing everything with its gloomy shade of grey. The bed is warm, the house is quiet, and the streets are empty. Lovely.

This is my idea of a personal heaven.

I remember feeling antsy, if not downright insecure, during my seven-hour flight from dear ol' Melbourne, worried I wouldn't be able to adjust, worried I wouldn't fit right back in once I touched down and got rightfully slapped with a hearty dose of reality. I guess I just had my own set of assumptions that hindered me from letting loose; I wasn't sure if everything would be okay, if for some reason things wouldn't feel the same way, somehow, because they have changed during my absence. My excitement was shrouded by little pangs of senseless doubt.

I think it had more to do with the fact that I wasn't sure if I could even remember that angry, misunderstood, overcompensating drama king of a kid who used to live here before fate - if such a concept even existed - decided to turn things over and send yours truly to fend for himself in the land of kangaroos, foul-tasting breakfast spread, and - regrettably - premature skin cancer. I could barely remember the chaos that used to be my life back then; how I so desperately tried, and screwed up, and failed miserably, and was then forced to repeat the vicious cycle all over again, right under the scrutiny of others around me.

I was a mess. A walking, breathing, screaming mess.

Maybe that was why I grew weary of my own less-than-shiny personal records and chickened out, unwilling to look back, to remember, to reminisce at first.

Now that I think about it, I had no idea what got into me.

Fast forward a couple of days, or fourteen, and now here I am. Comfortably settling in, albeit reluctant to let go, stubbornly, still. I've had my share of good days, and some awfully bad days too. I'd visited many of the memorable places I grew up in. I'd met some of the amazing people I shared my younger years with. It feels odd, almost sentimental, to realize that this cluttered mess of a metropolis holds a significant portion of my most treasured memories; the endless mall-trips, the compulsory talks-over-coffee sessions, the precious moments, and all the long traffic hours spent in between. Admittedly, the whole experience is sobering in its own way.

If there's one thing that I find repulsive about Jakarta, though, it's the fact that, regrettably, freedom is an absolute luxury around here. The paternal is neurotic and perpetually tense, while the maternal is sharp-tongued and excessively nosy, convinced that prodding her nose into other people's personal matters is a fully-justified right. I have become so guarded lately - overly cautious, even - but my all-smiling facade is wearing thin. I have now resorted to finding refuge in caffeine highs and fleeting moments of serotonin-induced emotional relief - namely, friends.

But I guess I really should stop complaining. Like always.

The last five days in particular had been bliss, absolutely divine, with the solid presence of a certain bespectacled hunkydory in a purple top, whose killer smiles and sappy sweetness have painted my days with multiple shades of happiness. I had never been happier, ever. It almost felt like I was living in a dream. And now that the clock has turned and the week is up, I don't know what I'm supposed to do with myself. I'm left with this giant gaping hole of nothingness.

In the pleasure of throwing in a vague, philosophically-inclined statement in between incoherent paragraphs, let me be less than modest here by saying that dreams only feel good because they cease to exist when we wake up.

More often than not - to quote a certain guitar-strumming Mayer bloke - when we dream, waking up is the hardest part, always so. It sure as hell is, especially when the dream we're dreaming is a giant build-up of all the things we're not allowed, or privileged enough, to call our own.

And what other purpose do our dreams serve if not to indulge our tired little souls with inane thoughts of what should and could have been?

I'm awake now. And the thought of knowing that cuts me open like a knife.

...Two full weeks to go.

The days are long. The clock's a-tickin'.

My last glimmer of hope is slowly losing streak.

And I hate that plane for taking you away.

Just when I was just beginning to feel again.

*waves*

...pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere...

Currently listening to: Vanilla Twilight - Owl City

.wheredoallthelonelypeoplego?.

Main Street, Sovereign Hill, Ballarat, Dec 2009

It has been slightly more than three days now since my arrival back in town.

The food is good, the sun's still scorching hot, and the town has received a fair share of rainy days during these past couple of days. I love it when it rains in the morning; there is nothing more serene than having the calming, fragrant scent of rain-washed grass caressing my nostrils ever so gently when I wake up.

The traffic is crazy in this town; motorcycles always get in your way when you drive, that's just how it is up here. I can't go anywhere without some form of personal transportation, and I always have to go through a long-ass argument with Dad whenever I need to use the car. The city council builds new highways and roads every other day, creating even worse traffic disruptions all around town. Everything is dead cheap but my allowance is limited, since both my credit and debit cards are no longer active, and my personal bank account was closed a long time ago. Freedom is a luxury; everything around me is too organized, too bland, too predictable.

Apparently here I'm always either too fat or too skinny.

My skin is always too light, or too dark.

My face is always too round, my cheeks too chubby, my complexion too pimply.

My hair is always too brown, or too short, or just plain ugly.

My clothes never look presentable. My shoes are not sleek and hip. I don't have my perfume collection with me and I feel like I constantly smell like hell since my body always chooses to perspire liberally whenever I'm here. People stare at me when I go out with a tote bag dangling on my right shoulder and my favorite rainbow-colored wristbands strapped around my right hand. I can never wear slip-on shoes along with a pair of check-patterned shorts without Mom telling me how ridiculous I look.

Everything has to be "normal", everything has to look "common", and "safe", and "regular", nothing out of the ordinary.

Everything has to look just like how everything else looks.

Apparently, the society thinks I'm never gonna be able to keep up with the ups and downs of its fast-paced lifestyle. That I will never be good enough to jump in, never worthy enough to be allowed a space inside its superficial, beauty-worshiping bandwagon.

So I don't look like one of those good-looking, big-eyed, olive-skinned, speech-impaired halfies whose only specialty is parading around looking impossibly pristine, one after another, overcrowding my TV screen all day long. I don't go around town attending every single high society gathering there is, aiming to "accidentally" spill my champagne into the shirt and/or dress of any given celebrity in the hopes of guaranteeing a spot in one of those countless morning gossip shows. I'm not the offspring of some rich businessman who spends his day dumbing out, living a glamorous lifestyle straight out of a Gossip Girl episode. I don't have a sports car, I don't live in a three-storey, multi-hectare house. I'm as ordinary as you can possibly get, probably with the addition of a top-quality koi fish or two in tow.

And that is exactly why I don't fit in.

Just because I don't give a rat's ass about my weight, or my disastrous fashion sense, or the well-being of my ever-darkening skin. Just because I don't speak your language nearly as much as you would ideally like me to. Just because I don't make such a big fuss about relationships and marriage. Just because I'm not obsessively fixated on finding a soulmate to the point of being desperate and pathetic like everybody else. Just because I don't care about what's been happening around here when I was gone; all the drama, the backstabbing, the endless bouts of paranoia. Just because I choose to not judge people by how they look, what kind of shoes they wear, what bags they carry, or how many lush cars they own. Just because I don't even make an effort to try to conform to the standards you have set and tick your boxes. Do all these things give you the right to judge me back?

By "you", I don't mean you. Or you. Or you. I just mean people in general. Or not.

Your call.

I guess I'm just gonna have to shut up and deal with it.

I want this holiday to be a happy, enjoyable one. I don't need all this.

How I wish all the good food I've been scoffing down my throat could somehow make up for all the negative energy I've been taking in. But there will eventually be a time when ignorance alone won't be enough. And I'm not sure if I'm ready.

*sighs*

Let's see.

...and why do we miss what we never had?...

Currently listening to: Lost Then Found - Leona Lewis ft. OneRepublic

.majesty.

Panorama St, Clayton, February 2010

Around this time next week, I will be home.

For thirty days, I'm gonna have to trade the comfort of living in a quiet southeastern suburb for a temporary perch in a not-as-quiet inner suburban town at the outskirts of Jakarta; the dry and scorching hot for the humid and rainy; the traffic poles and flickering headlights of Princes Highway for busy, crooked inner-city streets full of beggars and buskers; the steady Broadband connection I have here for a less-than-awesome cable Internet subscription... The list goes on and on.

In less than one week, I will be inhaling the putrid, pollution-ridden Jakarta air. Soon I'll find myself getting caught up in the middle of the city's chaotic, seemingly endless rush-hour traffic jams. I'll stuff myself with so much good food that by the end of the trip, my long-time hatred towards those vile, judgmental weight scales can be further justified. I'll get myself reacquainted with Starbucks Puri's omnipresent comfy couches, rightfully so. I'll be able to get ridiculously-cheap movie tickets on weekdays. I'll gratefully take my time in catching up with old friends. I'll finally be able to shop without having to feel excessively guilty.

Heck, even my dormant seventeen-year-old rebel may or may not choose to resurrect himself and thus drive my twenty-one-year-old psyche back into the foul-smelling realm of thinking that authority figures are lame and life without cars is as troublesome and painfully uninteresting as watching Heidi Montag disfigure herself on camera.

Don't judge me. I was a bitter kid.

*smiles at the thought*

It always feels sad, and somehow sentimental, you know, talking about home.

The thought of going home feels eerily distant, unknowable, foreign. For the whole notion of having a 'home' still escapes my senses after all this time.

What does 'home' actually mean to this tired, wretched soul?

Yes, I have a roof above me, sheltering me from the sun and the rain. I have a bed, a half-decent wall art I continually show off to a nonexistent set of admirers, some shelves stacked with books, a pet fish housed in a far-too-small tank, and probably way too many clothes. This dwelling space has its own address, and my partial "ownership" of this property is temporarily bound by a lawful contract. This is where I sleep, and rest, and eat, and do silly stuff when noone is around.

Is this my home?

Well, yes, and no.

I have been away from my forbearing nest for so long, I'm now starting to view my life as always being in transit, not knowing where I could reside or when I should step up everytime this intriguing journey spins, or takes a turn. The many fragments of my life are sprawled, stretched thin across the globe. It takes far too much effort just to keep them all together, strewn across but not assembled, complete yet never whole. Within all the chaos I have somehow found myself a comfortable shed of hope, yet everything else seems cold and blurred.

It's like stepping into uncharted waters; you never know just when the waves will come and take you in. There must be a place to which you can always run and hide, if only to shield yourself from the engulfing chill the splashes bring with them. A place full of warmth, and love, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies whenever the need for comfort food comes around.

As sad as it is, I don't think I have such a place.

My comfortable bubble of a universe is scarily turning into one giant forest of uncertainty, crippled with fear and senseless paranoia. Gone are my innocent days of youth, when the world was an endless playground of sorts, the sun was but a big round ball of cheerful positivity and every rainbow arch housed a gleaming pot of gold at the edge of the horizon.

Reality is a bitch; it sucks the happiness out of you mercilessly, leaving nothing behind. It wakes you up and shoves its overwhelming presence down your throat, suffocating you.

When life calls, all I wanna do is escape. Hide. Run away from the absurdity of it all and just get back home, where the entire repertoire of my disentangled symphony lies.

Yet it becomes too hard when I can't even figure out which direction I should be heading to.

*sighs*

For now, let me pack up my bags and leave for that giant metropolis I once called my home. Both in a literal and figurative sense. This trip is like a final ode to my blissful days of youth, and the sorrowful prologue to the start of my mundane, adult existence. The final curtain call, one last chance to feel sparkly-eyed like a child, oblivious to the fact that once the game is over, my dreams will get pushed aside and reality will kick in.

After all, to quote a famous saying, I believe that home is truly where the heart is.

And since this solitary longing, this burning fervor in my heart is not yet willing to surrender and rest, I guess I'm just gonna move on, and keep looking.

For now.

"Why do we say things we can’t take back?

Why do we miss what we never had?
Both of us fell to the ground,

The love was so lost, it couldn’t be found..."

...'cause when he's looking she falls apart...

Currently listening to: Dance in the Dark - Lady Gaga

.citysidewalks.

LaTrobe St, Melbourne, May 2008

Photo courtesy of David Chandra

Best friends don't judge.

No. They never do.

They are honest. Blatantly so. And blunt. Even harsh, at times, too.

When others leave, they stay. When others close their ears, they listen. When others defend and reject, they spread their hands and welcome you back.

Best friends support you like strong legs to a table. Best friends hold you firm like a tree to its branches. They catch you when you fall, they don't throw you down. They share your joy, not take it away. They help you release your pain, they won't let it stay.

They may be partial, they may be clueless, they may not even understand what the bloody hell you are going through. Not that you, or anybody else for that matter, should expect them to. That would be asking too much.

But despite all your shortcomings, and bitterness, and countless bouts of absolute negativity, they're still there for you. They linger, against all odds. They still care. And they keep nothing to themselves. Not even the most painful, the most heartless of truths.

They may be wrong. They may be right.

But they should never judge you for who you are, or what you are not, and what you have and have not done in your life.

Best friends don't judge.

Heck. I know I don't.

So, tell me now.

What exactly are you...?