He glanced at his watch, while squinting a bit towards the window to see the raindrops falling downwards the surface of the pane. For a moment, he thought of running towards the door, putting on the slippers of unknown origin and, and, and just dance in the rain? He shook his head, let out a sigh and duly dropped his body on the couch.

The laptop was playing Yuna's Lullabies on loop since the earliest of morning, much to the annoyance of his housemates. The oily plastics and rolling straws served as a remainder of a rare early breakfast, which he took no notice of. He didn't know exactly what was he really waiting for, or whether it was just his tardy nature in working. Other than the iTunes playing on his laptop, her Facebook page was also on a tab of his Chrome. He barely clicked much on that particular tab, but somehow he couldn't just close it for good. He felt restless, he kept glancing at the watch that wasn't his, he counted on the number of the raindrops as if such an activity was so riveting that it demanded his full attention. He used to sing along to Yuna's Lullabies, but then it had been repeated for so long that it had become mere noise to him.

He clicked on the tab of her Facebook page, though upon clicking it he immediately turned his head again towards the window. His mind raced, working out a conclusion to the simple questions he asked himself that he knew the answers to. He diligently repeated this process for some time, at times got distracted to counting the number of raindrops and sometimes 9gag, until he decided to close the tabs and to close the laptop. He stood up, facing straight towards the window that had been his object of divided attention before.

"You know, I really hate the rain."

He once said that to her during one of their late night conversations, which she rebuked by saying that it is not good to say such a thing, as rain provides us the same as air or sun would. He never knew what was her own opinion of rain, other than the rebuttal, as he didn't feel the curiosity was strong enough for him to ask her. But that day, it seemed to be of vital significance. He felt a desperate need to know it. After three years, after all that had happened, somehow it became important. And it is not just that particular question that he he wants to know, but so many other things about her. There's so much he wanted to ask her, and there's also so much he wanted to hear from her.

But he knew the words won't come. Neither from him, nor her. With such revelation, which wasn't such a revelation at the same time, he felt a sudden heavy feeling overcoming his body and his heart. As he stood there, he felt like the lights inside him just flew out of his body, leaving only darkness inside him. He choked a little, struggling to breathe so much that he can hear his own faint heartbeats. His head felt like exploding, and he can't help to gasp out a noise, an exasperated noise of some sort. Then he laughed. He laughed, harder and harder, and tears came strolling out of his eyes, like some sort of dam water being suddenly released. He laughed, he cried, he yelled, and as the rain seemed to only get heavier and louder, so did this sudden outburst of emotions of his.

When he calmed down a little, he raised his hands, and examined the scars on his left hand. He smiled, a smile laden with fresh warm tears all over his face that felt all natural to him at that point. The heaviness that he experienced a while ago vanished, and it was as if the cool air around him started to fill his body to replace the heaviness. Silence gripped his senses, and for a while, it felt like home to him. It felt like the world to him, that space between him and the eternity beyond.

Slowly he dragged his feet to the door, opened it, and put on the slippers that he had realized that once belonged to a dear friend that he had forgotten to return back. Slowly he got to the point of between the earth that was being showered by the heavy rain, and the earth that was covered by the house that he had been living for about two or three years. He took a step towards the rain, and piercing cold jet-speed rain droplets spearheaded his skin with no mercy. However, the body got used to it after a few seconds, and suddenly the coldness was all familiar and affectionate to him.

Closing his eyes, he put his head towards the sky, and stretched his hands as outwardly as he could, his body in such a position as if he was a sunflower baring itself open wide to receive the sunlight from above. He turned his body, slow at first, then faster, and faster, and faster.

He smiled. The world don't matter anymore. The harsh reality was no more. The pain reduced to a mere primal feeling, as insignificant as hunger or sleepiness. Nothing.


Eli the Barrow Boy - The Decemberists

Eli, the barrow boy
Of the old town
Sells coal and marigolds
And he cries out
All down the day

Below the tamaracks
He is crying:
Corn cobs and candle wax for the buying
All down the day

Would I could afford to buy my love a fine robe
Made of gold and silk Arabian thread
She is dead and gone and lying in a pine grove
And I must push my barrow all the day
And I must push my barrow all the day

Eli, the barrow boy
When they found him
Dressed all in corduroy
He had drowned in
The river down the way

They laid his body down in a church yard
But still when the moon is out
With his push cart
He calls down the day

Would I could afford to buy my love a fine gown
Made of gold and silk Arabian thread
But, I am dead and gone and lying in a church ground
And still I push my barrow all the day
Still I push my barrow all the day


There are things that a smile doesn't justify. There are things that are beyond words, sometimes hiding between music notes or the lines in a book. A heavy dragging of the feet may not simply indicates tardiness, nor does it reflect the effect of the overwhelming heat nowadays, cold in comparison still with the warmth of the heart. There are things that people don't understand, and you can't just explain either.

There are a lots of things that I want to say to a certain people that mean so much in my life. But under the circumstances, I find myself at lost at the choice of the right vocab, and also the way I can present them best. The reasons to this are whether I did something wrong along the way, or the cosmic occurrence find it convenience to put me in such an inconvenience of a situation. It never helps that I'm a painfully shy person, still, and also that my line of logic goes like that I should bear all the guilt and despair inside myself, and keep it there. I don't know, sometimes I'd pondered whether it is just simply because I'm a coward, or some instinctual ego repudiating myself from doing the right thing.

As much as I'm contemplating my real worth in this life and the true core of my personality, I'm still questioning myself over whether I am still madly in love with her or not. Rephrasing that, it is more of the question of do I really love her, or is it another complex electric currents' process occurring inside my head, the subject of, I don't know, stemming from my loneliness, or something. Is it just lust? The way I compensate for losing the love I feel from my parents and sibling as I slowly disintegrate from the family nucleus and into the world? 

It used to be one year, then two years. Now I will say that it has been three years, three freaking years that I still think of her every night and see as my possible life partner, as cheesy as that sound. Still I let myself the luxury of a faint hope that someday things will be right again, and I will be able to say to her how I really feel for her. A faint hope that not only she would accept me once again, but also love me as much as I love her. Everytime I see her smile, it would extremely be either my hating myself so much for still loving her or hating myself so much for screwing things up in the past. 

Now let me stop this before it lingers on. I can write about this time and again, as I always did, it seem, or I can tell people that I feel comfortable with telling this time and again till they get bored, but the fact will never change. There are just things that you can't change in this world. There are things that you can't simply have.

There are a lot things that I want to say to her, and things I want to hear from her. For now, life goes on. The universe ever expand, and the simple existence of me continues on in its modest, yet hopeful being.

This one is for Span Kempis. I'm writing again, yeah

I don't know what to write anymore after so long I've left this place here. I've been really keen on writing time and again, but to no avail did I achieve in finding the right mood to do it. Up to the point that I wonder that maybe I used to have no difficulty, well maybe not as much as this, to write as easily as I did back then was because writing seemed to be something of a necessity. It just flowed that way because it felt so right, as if each stringing words are like the tears flowing down cheek that I've been holding on for some time.

It kinda took me some while to realize that all of it is maybe due to the fact that I'm a changed man now. Not until one day that I was randomly buzzed out about the late release of Naruto manga or something that I somehow decided to skim through the old statuses I posted on Facebook, thanks to Timeline for enabling this (another hard realization there). I was surprised to hear myself saying "What a wuss!", before I finally saw that I'm an extremely different person now. Of course we realize and say that we are changed person and tomorrow we learn something new and change etcetera etcetera, but here I see that it's not just something like new habits or new sayings that I've adopted over the change, but it's like, I'm a totally different person entirely, a different core, a different soul.

Some are positive changes, some are negative, naturally. But it feel really weird somehow. I used to hate my old self so much for all the missed chances in life because I was so painfully shy and wouldn't open my mouth just because I was so goddamn afraid. But he, that old me, was a really nice specimen human being, and no I'm not flattering myself here. He was such a lonely person growing up that he appreciates every friends that he has and hold them with such love for fear of losing them, so much that even if they were to hurt him bad he would easily forgive them just for the sake of it. He, the old me, didn't have any bad habits like I have now, like the cuts on my hand or the frequent late night outs or shishas. He won't ignore people, he won't take people for granted. He held such high respect towards woman because he was raised with three loving sisters and mom, that in his mind he could never thought of a woman being wrong in anything, in argument or in a relationship, it will always be the man's fault.

That old me might say that he is 'bitter' or something, but he was never something like that. I am bitter. I am the big ball of negativity that presides the line between faith and godless stand. I no longer see things in positive perspectives, I easily judge everything as doomed. And goddammit, I don't know what I'm supposed to be, or what I really want to see each time I'm facing the mirror. The good and the bad, it is always the war that I have to face within myself. I can never be perfect in the way perfect would be perfect in my mind. And upon coming to this realization, I feel like either giving up entirely, or moving on better prepared this time around.

Nostalgia, a noun, is a sentimental yearning for a happy place or time. And of course, being a normal being I have this very same notion in my life. The old me, he once posted "Tonight, I will tell her everything." That, I believe, was the turning point of my life. Everything started to change there. If anybody ever bother to ask me that should I ever be able to choose a period of my life, and live it eternally in a perpetual eternity, then I would say the half a year period before the night he posted that status.

Because in truth, that one thing never changes. This feeling for her never changes no matter who I've become, no matter how deep I've fallen.


When I browsed through the list of my phone number directories, I realized that I don't have anyone else anymore to text and say that I'm not okay, that I just want to end it all. And when I come here to finally write again, I frowned upon another realization, which is that I can no longer write. I just don't know how to.

Do people still visit this place even still? This blog which used to be so significant in my life. Do you guys remember the time when she and I had conversations all night long in here for almost everyday of my asasi life? Do you guys remember all the rantings about me falling in love with her and afterward the notion of grief and despair emanating from every part of my writing due to the cold rejection from her? The words seem so easy to come by back then. The things that I love about her, the things that I hate about her, how strong and motivated I became in light of her existence, and how that very same existence is the very same bane that got me being a slave to my own emotion. Would you still believe it that even if I doesn't write or show anything that reflects me still are attached to her, that every freaking night I'm still thinking about her? Or that I knowingly put myself in the same class with her for the last four semester, hurting myself everytime that I'm around her presence?

Why the hell am I doing this right now. I got a bunch of workload that needed to be done by this upcoming week, especially a term paper that needs to be submitted by tomorrow that I still hasn't start on anything just yet. I've been crying and laughing like mad and screaming and what else was there, it was like a jumble of all fucked-up feeling, f.u.b.a.r. Playing Deeper Conversation on repeat, then Paramore's All I Wanted when I feel a change of mood in spite of the same messed up whatever-it-is-I-was-trying-to-get-from-repeating-this-song. Hey, now I am no longer making sense, am I?

If you read this, really really read this, when you see me next please give me a hug or at least a decent hello and a smile, it will do wonders for me. Well, if you care enough about me, but if not, the it is also not necessary. We are entitled to what we believe in this world and also its consequences. Hey, again, I'm no longer making sense, aite? But really, I need this. 

I love you.

In a Nutshell

"You are on a lifelong quest for inner happiness and are driven by your personal values and passionately committed to making sure your beliefs and actions are congruent. You are flexible and tolerant of others unless a value is threatened. You seek to understand people and to help them fulfill their potential. You are empathetic and deeply care for those who you are close to, but it takes others a long time to get to know you. You are creative and curious and quick to see possibilities so you are a catalyst for implementing ideas and thinking outside of the box. You are deeply sensitive so when your feelings get hurt you are likely to keep it to yourself sometimes leading to resentment, rather than confronting people to talk about your feelings."

This is why I love psychology. Every line reflects what I see in myself, and it sure helped in me getting a grip on who I really am and embracing it. So this is me in a nutshell, no better way for me to describe


A Trash

A trash is the worst of them all. A trash doesn't deserve a father's love and guidance, for a trash would always be a trash. A trash doesn't deserve a friend's companionship and trust, for a trash would only mess things up and betray the duties put upon his shoulder. A trash would continue to live a trash's way of live, never in the short period of the trash's life to ever learn from his past mistakes, repeating a cycle of trite uselessness and despair

A trash doesn't deserve a second chance. A trash's only worth is to be ridiculed for his own worthlessness, and nothing else