memories

I still remember the day when we traced small streets and talked about anything. We didn’t even want to go home because we got bunch of stories to tell. I can’t remember what it was, but it was fun, for sure. It was the only remedy that I need when I had been hurt by somebody.

I still remember the day when I forced you to go to junk food resto with me just because I said I wanted to drink a cup of terrible coffee. Even, you just bought me a brand new tasty seed that was ready to get brewed in the morning. I didn’t even want burgers or fries because in fact, I just needed a company. You complained a lot that time. But, you did go, anyway.

I still remember the day when we spent in a bookstore. It would be 3 or 5 hours, you didn’t mind if we stay there much longer. We went to different shelves, but it was okay. At the end, we just pleased ourselves by reading books with no money.

I still remember the day when I accompanied you studying in some diners. I didn’t have to get what you were doing besides I would be drowned by words in front of me. As long as I stayed quiet, then it would be fine.

I still remember them all. I still remember the smallest part. I still remember the little thing.

I can’t rewind it now because thing happens only once in this lifetime. Sometimes, or maybe many times, I miss them much. I hate the fact that it was over. I hate the fact that I spend my time to remember.

I know it was long time ago. And now, we don’t even say hello.

that coffee girl

Sometimes when people (including me) post some coffee picture, i wonder whether it’s to prove that we like the coffee or just we go with the trend…

When we drink coffee from some instant coffee, i wonder whether it’s the love for the coffee or not.

I mean… coffee in the sachet is coffee too. It’s not always be brewed.

If people mock other people who drink coffee from instant coffee sachet, then what about the instant coffee from starbucks?

I mean people underestimated other just because they drink some nescafe or goodday and some people think it is not the real coffee because it is a sachet, but what if it’s starbucks? As we know, people nowadays are slaves of this huge coffee company, so I don’t think they will mock anymore…

I don’t know why I drink coffee… sometimes it’s good, sometimes it just makes me wanna puke, sometimes it makes me calm, gives me strength and focus, sometimes it makes my stomach hurts and full with gas. But, I like coffee… I’m not lying.

I do drink anything. I drink good day when i feel black is too heavy. I drink nescafe, starbucks in sachet, Lampung coffee that happened to be in a small paper bag, Aceh coffee in a aluminium foil packaging. I drink black with manual brew when I’m at cafe. I drink cafe latte at Indomaret’s coffee machine. I drink cappuccino at Starbucks. And I drink ready-to-go coffee too when I’m in a rush. I drink them all…

It depends on my mood, well, mostly black. But, still it depends on what my body wants. Just don’t add some sugar. I don’t like sweet. Drinking coffee makes hot chocolate tastes toooo sweet for me. Drinking coffee makes me drink tea without sugar. Drinking coffee makes me ignore the juice in a box because it is just really super sweet I can’t stand.

I don’t know what is the point of this writing, but the thing is coffee is good.

coffee does good.

tumblr_n6m245M0vD1t60ulvo1_500
Pic: Somewhere in Tumblr, I forget.

 

words about fashion

(This is not a fashion blog and I’m not that fashion people. But, I kinda like fashion. And I think I should post this here. )

Claradevi Handriatmadja was born to impressed me, again and again.

I just read an article from her blog about fashion and she defined fashion more than just pieces of clothes. No, darling. It is more than that. It is also about the feeling and the meaning.

Here I give you words from the master herself: (I only quoted what I like)

Imagine this in your head: flow of people on the street with colorful coats, some holding flowers and coffee by the hands; some were freezing, some felt warm inside. They might rush for a family dinner, or just got stood up by a date. They might choose the green emerald pendant to match the mustard coat, a gift they received from a special someone in the past. They might also wear the expensive coat that day, trying to impress their new colleagues. But the clothes, either consciously or not, always represent something deeper than a skin; most of the time its emotion. Dreams. Wishes. Thoughts. Intention. Communication. Fashion is where those emotions meet with garments and movements. The dance that puts it all together. For me, fashion is most exciting when it’s meaningful.

Source: Lucedale: Understanding Fashion

She brings the definition of fashion to high new level.

So, let’s just adore her together and let the new perspective of fashion be heard.

(Pic: Lucedale.co)

my feeling towards writing

After all these years, after all writings that I made, after I posted a lot on my social media, I’m not bored.

I still enjoy writing just like the first time I made a tale about prince and princess when I was in 2nd grade of elementary school.

But, some people are.

Some people are sick of phrases, words that I made.

I don’t know that this is a crime.

I don’t know that this is a mistake.

Even, I do know people are judgmental. But still, I don’t get it.

When I post something I know that I should be ready for some consequences; I should be ready for getting mocked; and I should be ready for some judgments.

But still, I only try to express. I don’t even attempt to impress.

Because what? My dear, it helps me through a lot. When my mouth can’t speak, my words work exactly like what I want. When people can’t understand, that’s when social media being a place that I can lean. The problems may not go away that easy, but like I said, it helps. For me, at least.

I probably talk shits and you don’t find it useful so, I am sorry that this writing – my writings- irritated your eyes. I haven’t reached to the level you’re on now but I will get better. Ignore when it bothers.

You know this more than I do: writing helps you expressing your feelings.

And this is exactly what I am doing.

I am sorry, again, I need to keep going.

temporary (story)

On Thursday evening, she met someone new. She guessed he was gonna be the one who would fill up her day with joy. They talked. They mocked. They laughed. They sparked.

They discussed about how good Catfish and the Bottlemen is. They discussed about how brilliant Cocoon is.

They both loved staying late at Spot. It was a coffee shop. It wasn’t just ordinary cafe with some slow and mellow song; we could make playlist to get played there. They did that. They were just alike.

When morning came, it was always a brand new. No one regretted things.

They were always ready to say hi at hall, to meet at lunch, to have political discussion, to help each other on college task, to stay late at Spot. It was a cycle.

Until, one of them was bored.

He left.

On this hectic semester. When things were hard to get controlled.

She still stayed there; sipping on bitter coffee every night; waiting for him to come back.

She ever heard this thing, “People come and go. We will always meet somebody new.” People won’t stay that long. We’re always moving. We’re chasing things here and there.

Probably, it was right. She was just a come-and-go people in his life. The beginning might lead to a good relationship but the time worked here.

And her time was up.

him (story)

Last night I had a dream about him that was buried in my deepest memory. He knocked 3 times. I found him there right after I opened the door. He was still with the same smirk; the smirk that I always like; the smirk that makes me falling all over again.

“Hey…” He said.

“What are you doing?” I was still on shock. I bet my face didn’t look good.

“Just, long time no see.”

And of course, he was right.

I didn’t know what happened. It was fast. Suddenly, I recognized the street that we were on. I recognized the houses and the trees. We were around my shelter.

The scene that I knew was you let me put my head on your shoulder while we’re walking. I let you slip your arm into my arm and we both intertwined our fingers.

We talked a lot, like old friends. We laughed because of the old jokes. We stared because we were familiar to each other.

That was the problem. He lived in my past while I should chase on my future. He was so familiar because he was always there in my teenager.

I woke up and checked my phone. It was 4.39 in the morning. Probably, I just miss someone that used to be near.

I watched 13 Reasons Why yesterday,

and I think twice about committing suicide. Suicide is a scary thing; I thought if I die, then problems will die along with me. But, no. Hannah Baker left everything that questioned everyone. It became long story. And I don’t like it. The series was really good. I enjoyed it too much. Probably it’s related, huh? Being alone, people don’t care, too many pressures, even about future. Fuck life. I really wanna die but I know it won’t solve any problems. Problems are supposed to get done and are not left behind. I promise I would be strong. Whatever shits happen, then I will just hang there. Putting every piece of puzzles back on its track and yeah, making all good like they used to be. I kinda like um phrases from episode 8 that Hannah said in monologue:

Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.

They find harmonies in their laughter.

Their linked elbows echo in tune.

What if I can’t hum on key?

What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?

I know it sounds desperate, because yeah if it doesn’t then Hannah would still be here.

Again,

probably I just need to make my own song. I will just arrange the notes.

Probably, my melodies are made just for me.

Even they don’t hear, even they don’t listen; my song will still be a song.

Or probably they are not the people who would be with me; probably there will be another they.

I will hum with another they in key.

I will find another they to laugh with me in harmonies.

and you too. 

v0-e.

“I know you.”

But, baby, I don’t wanna be known.
What I present is what I want people see me.
How I manage myself is how I want people see me, that way.
You may guess. You may presume.

Yet I will still cover a little.

I am a moon, after all.

I am showing and hiding at the same time.

tangled up (story)

She woke up this morning with full of regrets. Her alarm didn’t ring because her phone remained dead. Ah, that was because she fell asleep while listening to a playlist. Battery was running out and no one helped.

8.47 am. She was late for morning class-regret number 1- so she just stayed there on her bed. Her mind wandered around. She hadn’t finished the task for class at 10 because of that stupid falling asleep-regret number 2. She wouldn’t like to step on regret number 3, but here she was now, she needed to start over her thesis proposal but she only had  4 hours to go. Right now, she cursed herself for being so stupid.

Decided to get up, she opened up her curtain and started to make a coffee for herself. It was a routine.

Also, a routine view from someone’s window across that girl’s room.

That girl lived in a small dormitory, floor number 6. A boy who lived across the building was patiently waiting for his view to get started.

That boy was watching. He was confused looking at ‘his girl’. Frown on his face was showing. He knew ‘his girl’ wasn’t in a good situation. He sat near the window where he did the observation, one or two sipping his own coffee.

She was staring at her laptop screen. Her eyes was completely blank. Begin to write but then she erased it. Probably, she needed to get showered.

‘hey, are you okay?’ The boy typed. The text was ready.

Deleted. He wasn’t.

 

 

never ending circle (story)

We were gifts from God that be sent thru our parents. Our connection with them would never reach the finish line. As long as we live, we would always be tangled up; connected; and related. So, was She.

The ups and downs in her life would never be ended. Family was one of the issues. She questioned herself, “Do I make this up?”

Her family was on fire. Everyday was full of fight. She was always there, locked up herself in her room; sitting at the corner of the bed, once or twice sweeping the tears with tissue. Screams, yells, the sound of things that been thrown; she could hear.

She just turned 20. Old enough to think yet too young to understand. Even though she was all curious, but she couldn’t just ask.

Her sister was the one who told her that there was something up in the family. She couldn’t believe, so she came back home. She was in a long distance relationship with her family.

She didn’t like home. She didn’t like being home. The home was always empty. She chose to go out, finding out another life. She wanted to cut her ties with a group called family. She wanted a normal interaction with family like an interaction with a bunch of friends she made.

But, it was just a theory. Her heart always ached whenever friends talked about theirs. She hurt because not able to tell anything fun with hers because her family didn’t have any good memories. Her heart was broken right after a call, “Mom and dad are having a fight everyday. I’m sick of it.”

She was home, for now. Home didn’t feel like home, like usual. But, it was “hotter”. The atmosphere was uncomfortable.

Probably, it was the reason. The reason why she didn’t wanna get into a relationship. Relationship would build a never ending circle. Moreover, if it would be a one life time relationship that called marriage. That marriage term, she didn’t like it too. Marriage would be very complicated. It asked much. She might loose what she liked because she should sacrifice. And, there would be child born. It would be complicated even more. Relationship or marriage were terms she hated too much.

That “everything happens for a reason” idiom was right to the bones.