...and you can't fake it hard enough to please everyone, or anyone at all...

Currently listening to: The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most - Dashboard Confessional

.meanbecauseyou'restupid.
Kawah Putih, Lembang, 2008

...You know what?
Good job.

When I was little, you didn't give a damn about how well I could draw, or sing, or write, or fluently recite classical poems kids my age weren't even supposed to be able to read. All you cared about was my freaking academic achievements.
You didn't care how sociable on the surface I was, or how many friends I had. You didn't care how sad, and depressed, and lonely I was as a kid, deep down inside.

When I came home with my end-of-semester report feeling elated because I got full marks for English, you sulked and asked why I almost didn't pass Maths.
When I told you my vocal teacher praised me for nailing that absurdly complicated Ella Fitzgerald song at practice, you pointed out I could've done so much better if I had continued with my boring piano lessons.
When I asked for permission to join the high school choir, you protested, claiming singing would distract me and thus further damage my already messed-up grades.

You never gave me the space I needed.
You say I'm slow. And lazy. And unmotivated. And simply good for nothing.

You got yourself worried sick everytime I came home late from school, even after I reached seventeen. With no reason, because I wasn't even acting out. Not anymore anyway.
You scolded me when I decided to choose Social Sciences over Physics and Chemistry. Then you assured me that I had successfully let go of my one chance to succeed later in life when I made that foolish decision.
From then on, you refuse to acknowledge my academic achievements. Even when I managed to get an almost perfect score for my TOEFL test, you weren't even proud of me.

You bragged about how you were already making money when you were my age, and brought me down for not being able to do the same for myself right now.
You threatened to kick me out of the house when once I had the courage to stand up for myself and question your integrity.
You took my first love away from me at such a young, tender age.
You deprived me of my teenage freedom. And you forced me to grow up far too soon.

You never liked seeing me happy in my element.
You wanted me to embrace your ideal picture of what you thought I needed. Everything wasn't about me being happy; it was all about you wanting me to relive your unfinished ambitions and unachieved goals.

You told me, over and over again, that I would never be as good as you. Ever.

And yeah, come to think of it, I wouldn't want to be as good as you even if I could.
Everything is just so out of control that I don't know what to believe anymore.

Now that I'm graduating soon, you're already starting to worry about what I'm gonna do with my entire future now that it's lurking close right around the corner.

No excuses. No space for me to even worry about myself. Everything is about you, and your thoughts, and your insecurities, and your fucking neverending expectations.

I can't even look at myself in the mirror now because you have stripped me of every last bit of self-confidence that I used to have before all this.
I can't even force myself to believe that I'm at least good for something because you have never convinced me that I actually am.

Hell, I can't even be free to see the people I love, and the one person I care about the most, simply because you have jailed me in my pretty little golden cage. Well-groomed, but trapped. Self-sufficient, but helpless.

And now that everything's said and done, I don't fucking know what to do with myself.
Thanks to you.

"This is for your own good" just doesn't cut it anymore. Alright? And neither does "You'll understand when you're older".
I think I'm old enough to decide what's good for me. Seriously. Back off.

You gotta start learning to accept the fact that this surly, over-demanding son of a bitch is really who I am. Warts and all. Your call.

I'm sick of always trying to be the person I don't wanna be.
I'm sorry. But this isn't what I want.

Please give me some space. To breathe. To break free. To think this over.
And to recover.

Heaven knows this may only be the only chance I got.

...surreal...

.tracesofgoodbye.
SQ962, T2 Changi Airport, June 2009

surreal.

i wake up in a daze, my breaths ragged, my eyes bleary.
my trembling hands lie open, powerless, weak.
with every pulse of my heart that beats in silence, i feel you, i miss you, i so long for you.

my brittle hands, they knew.
last night, in my dream, they were reaching out to you.

i watch, helpless, as the visual fragments of days long gone begin to unfold, engulfing this worn-out soul with the senseless guilt of an unrequited passion.

every move, every smile, every word, every little twinkle of your puppy-dog eyes...
they chase my weary thoughts away, endlessly.
i've got nowhere else to stay, but here. inside the warm confines of my sweet misery.
with you.

and i shudder, as i begin to remember, to recall, to celebrate the trailing steps of your nonexistence.

the way you sing to me the soft lullabies of the stars,
the way your velvet voice entertains my senses,
the way your beautiful brown eyes lock oh-so-gently into mine,
a thousand words communicated in silence,
as your fingers trace the outlines of my lips,
ever so carefully...

so delicate,
the rapturous delight i find within the comforting warmth of your sheer presence...



and so i let myself sway, gently, along the fragile lines of my sorrow. slowly wasting away like an empty vessel void of emotions.

the inane thoughts i have of you are all but a blur, swimming in a puddle of could've-beens, would've-beens, might've-beens...

for everything has an end, each story a final epilogue.
and so it is. our story has reached its afterglow, even far before it has a chance to begin.

what's the use of dreaming about all the things that never were when all i can find is despair and regret?



but i just can't help it.

with no safety net,
i have let myself fall.
deep.

again.





"...imagine there was no tomorrow,
imagine that i couldn't see your face,
there would be no limit to my sorrow,
'cause there's nothing that could fill this space...
i don't wanna put it off for too long,
i didn't say all that I had to say,
i wanna take my time and right the wrong before we get to that place..."

...still when i'm a mess, i still put on a vest...

Currently listening to: Superwoman - Alicia Keys

.nomatterwhattheysay.
Wellington Rd, Clayton, May 2009

...Er, hi.

*pushes cobwebs out of the way*

I have now come to terms with the fact that my supposedly-superb writing skills are now as obsolete as Mischa Barton's nonexistent movie career. And that reviving the spirit of this neglected blog is proving to be a foolish attempt even more terminally futile than trying to pronounce yours truly's long-ass name without having an oral seizure of the spastic variety.

*shrugs*

Well.
I do know that a dismissive lift of the left eyebrow and a bashful, happy-go-lucky grin won't pass as a decent excuse to rightfully explain my extended absence. But I needed that break. I needed to get away for a while. I had to organize my thoughts, and deal with my emotions.
And so I did.

In retrospect, though, I do think that the blog deserved some down time of its own, too. A part of my self-absorbed psyche likes to believe that the world was a better place, on a micro scale, during my absence. One less irrational wave of noises to deal with. One less snobby blogger to bitch about. Definitely wasn't world-peace material, that's for damn sure. But this irrational-noise-making fuckwit was simply having too much on his plate. So I guess in the end the silence was well-earned for. Wasn't it?

So, yeah. For the sake of humility - or lack thereof, I'll just shut up and humbly take the blame, basking in the unspoken guilt that all ye faithful readers - yes, all three of you - have unconsciously put on me when I was away.

To be frank, I did receive some complaints regarding the coma-like state of this blog over the last couple of months. Fragments of comments and questions ranging from trivial one-liners in the middle of casual conversations to borderline hostile paragraphs sent through various 21st-century social platforms. And they were all valid comments, actually.

Come to think of it, it is only natural for us to complain about stuff, right?
I mean, as community beings in charge of our own sense of self, we are rightfully entitled to occasional bursts of negative social commentary.
Or are we not?

Well, I know for a fact that affluent, effortless complaining is one of my precious few - if any - discernable talents.

I complain about my too-short Jakarta getaway. Three fucking weeks!
I complain about already missing Melbourne as soon as my plane touched down.
I complain about the weather.
I complain about traffic.
I complain about the lack of proper coffee in my house. And when I say proper coffee I earnestly don't mean tangy, weak, watery coffee of the instant variety.

I complain about the local TV shows that I get exposed to whenever I turn on the telly.
I complain about bad grammar.
I complain about not being able to afford better seats for Britney Spears's Melbourne concert. *sobs*

I complain about not getting enough sleep.
I complain about having nothing to do.
I complain about not being able to be out and about simply because the sheer presence of the only form of modern transportation that I can get access to here is as scarce as the amount of hair follicles remaining on Donald Trump's head.

I complain about not being able to write large blocks of texts containing witty lines, incoherent words and jumbled-up sentences with ease anymore. And this is precisely what drove me to refrain from blogging in the first place. Right now I feel like my over-the-top literary skills now reach as far as my koi fish's ability to remember their feeding times correctly. I mean, hello-o-o, how many times do I have to remind you guys that bobbing your slimy little heads by the sides of the pond at 3pm isn't gonna do anything to get you food?

Umm. Yeah. See? Incoherent?
*clears throat*

But anyway.

I complain about the miserable state of my skin, and how my face now resembles a large, greasy, cheese-covered meat lover's pizza, for lack of a more descriptive comparison.
I complain about my weight.
I complain about only getting a big fat C for my BHS2711 essay.

I complain about not knowing what to do with my life.
I complain about not knowing what I've made out of my life so far.
And yes, I complain about being such a total jerk for complaining about everything.

Yeah. Being an acute complainer definitely has its perks.
But don't we all complain about stuff we don't like?

Notice how many times I have repeatedly used the word 'complain' during the course of this post. I've used it far too many times and now the word fails to make a point.

And why the hell did I choose to start yapping about complaining in the first place?

*shrugs*
Maybe I'm just uninspired. At least I tried.

But hey. Thanks for all your concern.
The sabbatical did me good. And now I'm fully recharged, ready to churn out more incomprehensible, witty-sounding words for you guys to get crazy about. Or not.

Now y'all can heave out a sigh and be rest assured that this man *points at self* is not dead, yet. And this blog will continue to be the bane of existence of you guys o faithful readers - oh yes, all three of you still - as long as the resident bitch, namely me, lives.

I hereby welcome you back to my realm of unintelligible social discourse.
Make yourselves at home. And have a pleasant stay. *winks*


...'Till next time.

...if everything would stop, i'd listen for your heart...

Currently listening to: My Hands - David Archuleta

.thebestofthebest.
Gloria Jean's Coffees, Borders Chadstone, Melbourne, April 2009
taken by Edina Cecilia Saputra

Oh dear.
Now I'm seriously beginning to wonder exactly why I'm such a sucker for charming good looks and the like.

A little tip, fellas.
Next time you're thinking to charm the bananas outta this little whacked-out bloke - if ever, I might add, on one of those rare jolly good days that are as eminently scarce as the chance of seeing Tyra Banks on TV without her ever-present weave - try arming yourself with a pair of irresistible blue eyes, lopsided smiles, and scruffy blond hair, and you're good to go. That oughta do the job pretty darn well as far as my objective intelligence is concerned

And oh, throw in some exceptional coffee-making skills and occasional hints of dormant acrobatic talent, and just like that, I'll be head-over-heels in love.

I'm just sayin'.
*shrugs*

If that doesn't strip me off of what little bit of respect you guys still had left for this shallow, uncoordinated mess of an innocent soul, I don't know what will.

Anyway.

For those of you who don't know, this year's Daylight Savings Time in Victoria ended this morning, so I got an extra hour of sleep last night! *grins*

Coincidentally, the end of a year's DST usually also means the end of summer!
I seriously can't be any more hyped up than this.

Hell yeah, I'm glad the season's over. And I for one am bloody sure I'm not gonna go all teary-eyed and mellow about it.
No more scorching hot days, no more annoying flies, no more sunnies and shorts, no more applying sticky sunscreen all over my over-tanned skin and feeling like marinaded meat being grilled inside one hell of a giant, ozon-less oven.

And that's my cue to go "YAY!", I suppose?
*raises eyebrow*

Whatever. I'm just relieved Autumn's almost here.

Maybe it's time to rearrange my wardrobe once again.
Hang some. Fold out some. Dry clean some. Wash up some. Shop for some? *laughs*
Goodbye sunnies and shorts, hello trench coats and scarves!

Important countdowns:
One week to go before Easter Break starts.
Five days to Good Friday.
And exactly sixteen days to Jason Mraz's April 21 concert!

I know I shouldn't keep rubbing that in but I just can't help it.
*sighs*

For the time being, I wish you all a pleasant week ahead.
Enjoy the cold while it lasts! God knows I will. =)

...'cause i like being submerged in your contradictions...

Well, hello there, extreme moodswings.
Was just beginning to wonder where the bloody hell you'd been.

*shakes head*

The air is frigid, and the night is cold. My thoughts are scattered all over the place, so are my feelings. I feel like I'm slowly losing my grip. My iTunes totally defies me; Jason Mraz's "A Beautiful Mess" is quietly playing and right now I feel like crying.

Heck.
I have absolutely no freaking idea why this is happening.

No, actually scratch that. I do know exactly why my emotions are all wishy-washy and my head feels like it's gonna explode and pollute the air with colorful streamers and dead butterflies any minute. Classic stuff, really. The conscience's just tired.

Any Freudian fanatic would oh-so-breathlessly conclude that my untamed, psychedelic id is probably just acting out, and with the know-it-all superego on subconscious-realm-level leave, the far-too-overworked ego is, well, too overworked to be able to maintain the balance.
If anything, the old man's got a point. Eerily enough. No wonder Jung decided to stray.

But yeah. Spare me your psyche-in-distress babble and let me ramble on.
*clears throat*

True, this isn't the first time my emotional sanity suddenly decided out of nowhere to spark up some trouble and start going downhill without even the slightest bit of forewarning. Last time it happened I spent nights and nights wide awake, tossing and turning in my bed, my bleary eyes weary and my mind racing with a million thoughts. It was months ago. So why come back now?

Now the idea of pulling a pre-Circus Britney Spears and succumbing headfirst into a downward spiral of emotional turmoil seems almost as tempting as tucking into a hearty bowl of creamy caramel-crusted vanilla ice-cream in the middle of the night. My moodswings are way out of control, and my whole body is aching with all the obvious symptoms of physical unhealthiness; I've been subconsciously bingeing on food and coffee these past couple of days so I'd guess that's where the uneasiness must come from.

Don't judge. Don't ask why.
And please fix that pretentious stare someplace else thank you very much.

They say "when life gives you limes, catch them and make lemonade", or something along those lines. I've never been a dear whenever it comes to cheesy quotes and the like. But what I'm wondering is this: what if you get so sick and tired of catching soaring fruits above your head that after a while you just don't have the power to squeeze the juices out of those cute little yellow sour prodigies let alone serve them in fancy crystal glasses complete with ice-cubes and one of those random cocktail-umbrella-decoration thingmabobs?

Sometimes I get so tired I just wanna switch myself off for a while.
Somebody give me a red-buttoned tail soon, please.
If Doraemon can have one handy why can't I?

*sighs*

I'm assuming that since you guys are still sticking around after all these years, by now you must have grown into repositioning my insensible thoughts and unparalleled random nonsense within your range of tolerance.
A lot of nonsensical things make sense in my head, especially in trying times like this, personally-speaking. So bear with me.

And those little things that reality still has yet to deprive me of; warm, well-earned hugs, entertaining late-night phone calls with loved ones, sweet messages, unexpected surprises, and a warm cup of chamomile tea...? Please don't take them away from me.

Heaven knows what this miserable mess would be without them.


*kneels down and prays*


...Lord, help me.

...sounding hopeful but it's making me cry...

Currently listening to: Mr. Curiosity - Jason Mraz

.patterns.
Pakenham train, Melbourne, March 2009

Move over, Eric.
Looks like yours truly has earned himself a new coffee-ordering alias.

Say hello to Justin, everybody.

*bows*

It all began quite innocently as far as coffee-ordering between classes is concerned.

So there I was, standing by the CoffeeHQ pick-up counter waiting for my regular skinny caramel latte to be served, subconsciously blending in amongst the swarm of other coffee-and-sugar addicts also in line for their morning caffeine kicks. Usual stuff, really; nothing special apart from the fact that the one taking my order earlier was a newbie who had to ask for my name twice. I shrugged that off and waited patiently.

Arriving at the pick-up point, I saw a familiar face: the super-friendly barista who usually takes my order. Apparently she was just about to begin her shift for the day. So we chatted for a while, talking about the weather and such since that's the way Aussies do it down here, and she made a comment about the outrageous size of the Strategic Marketing textbook I was shamelessly carrying around campus like the world's biggest dork or something.

Still nothing new at this point; I realized that I was already ten minutes late by then but I chose not to freak out and kept on with the conversation.
Just then I could faintly hear the name Justin being called out by the in-store barista in-between sentences. Obviously thinking that name wasn't referring to me, I ignored it. But when the called out "regular skinny caramel latte" out lout, his eyes darting towards where I was standing, I came to my senses and rushed for the drink.

All the while I was thinking, "Wha-?"
Did he just call me Justin?

"...Justin?" He immediately asked, winking one playful eye, when he saw me reluctantly taking the cup with the barely-legible scribble "Justin" etched out across one side. "Who are you, and what have you done to the Jesse we all knew and loved?"

I shrugged to his, and of course the friendly barista's, great amusement.
"I know. So much for trying to stay true to myself." I then replied with a laugh.

Seeing as it was probably a good idea that I take off straight away since I was already really, almost unforgivably late, I waved them goodbye after they made sure the poor newbie would get my correct name next time.

Thinking about the incident just makes me smile. Even now.
I mean, mixing up Jesse with Justin? Come on. That's like too far gone, man. Seriously.

*grins at the thought*

Anyway.
It's late, and I should head to bed soon.

The weather's been wacky, and it's already starting to take a toll on my physical well-being. There's only so much consecutive hot-and-cold days a guy's body can endure, and I guess my immune system's running out of batteries.

Let's hope I stay healthy for the time being. Getting sick would definitely suck, big time. It's not like I don't have too much stuff going on around me already.

Oh well.
*sighs*

Have a great weekend, guys.


PS: I got my Jason Mraz ticket! Can't wait for April 21! *jumps around*