Previous writings

"The B-Day in Progress"
December 22, 2007

So I’ve finally lived through today to tell you the story, and I’m grateful to say that no heads were chopped, or worse, no surprises were thrown because I mentioned before that I just wanted the day to go by without any events and I still meant it.

Yesterday was a meaningful day for me in all its meaninglessness. No birthday cakes, no cheesy songs, no water splashing, no gifts-wrapping-parade, and quite frankly, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

To me, it was still quite an emotional day and I didn’t exactly know why. I wasn’t planning on growing any older because I haven’t felt like I was ready to, yet. To be honest, I intended to just sleep through the day so I had the excuse to stay in bed and hide from the world. But the plan was clearly shattered when at 6 am my brother woke me up and led me out of my room, down the stairs, and into his room to congratulate and give me present. Which, I was deeply grateful, despite what I had in mind earlier.

But after that, I realized that at the very least I owed everybody a cheerful face. And why would I want to hide from my own family, anyway? They wouldn’t start throwing petals and arranging party in the backyard if I didn’t want to.

So I took a bath, and got kisses and hugs from everyone in the house and I felt my mood started to lift up. It was even quite endearing when I sat with my dad in our usual morning spots, and he suddenly laughed out loud and exclaimed, “Ah! Is it today?” as if he just
remembered that it was indeed his precious middle daughter’s big two-one birthday.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate all the greetings from my friends because I truly do. But I just wanted nothing for my birthday, and that is the truth. No, I wasn’t depressed or anything. I wasn’t feeling suicidal, if that’s what you’re asking. I just didn’t want anything, seriously. Ah, okay, I honestly wanted the sexy hot red Samsung camera, if you insist.

So after I insisted my friends that ‘no, you don’t have to come over’, and ‘no, don’t tell everyone’, I sat cozily in the couch with a book in my hand and no one in the house and I was happy enough.

Anyway, we have this tradition of eating out in a fancy steak restaurant whenever a family member is celebrating birthday and so, just to end the day with a nice round to it, I agreed and gathered dad and sisters to the place to honor the old ritual. It was a perfect ending to a perfect day that was my birthday. I think this is the most low-key birthday ever.

Ah, okay, so the picture that I painted in your mind isn’t entirely accurate. There were some cheesy songs. But hey, they weren’t that bad. The singer at the restaurant sang a birthday album compilation consisting of ‘Happy Birthday’ in constant repetition and in two languages, ‘Tiup Lilinnya’ (Blow the Candles), and a nice ‘Panjang Umurnya’ (Long-Lasting Age(???)) piece to top it all off. Hey, thanks a lot. (I’m not being sarcastic! I truly appreciated the beauty and exquisite notes of those songs)

I’m always excited in planning surprises for my friends’ birthday, but never my own; which is weird in itself, because I usually like being the center of attention. Ha! But hey, I’m now legal and a hundred percent twenty-one, I have nothing to complain, I have everything I need..for now.

"Childish Memories"
December 30, 2007

Growing up is a funny thing. And let me tell you why.

You remember when we were small at how we all used to write things in our tiny little secretive journals? How we made everyone swear in the name of their most valuables that they would never take a peek into our diaries because oh, what we wrote was so scandalous and juicy? Yep, even when the most exciting thing in our lives that we could write about was our secret crush on the boy next door? No, not the gardener, this isn’t Desperate Housewives, please. Anyway, you know, that sort of thing?

Well, I was one of those people. Even as a child, I was a diary-junkie. I kept journals, in fact, a whole lot of them because I would get bored of writing in the same diary for a long period of time so after like, a month or so of writing almost everyday in the same book, I would get that itch to buy another one and start new in those fresh untouched papers and that’s the vicious cycle, ladies and gentlemen. I know, short attention span, right? Well, okay, so the old diaries (and every one of them all became old eventually) were always put to waste because they weren’t even full yet. Being somewhat of a geek, I’ve always loved stationary and the best shopping spree ever to me was buying sets of new colorful pens and organizers. Hey, there are a lot worse addictions out there, okay! Pens are so less harmful, and at least they’re cheap! My dad wouldn’t have headache this often if my obsession now is only limited to papers and pencils. So, anyway, I had up to ten journals and rereading all those entries again when I’m at least eight years older (much less-dramatic and more realistic, I hope) is amusing and embarrassing at the same time.

In addition to being an ungrateful spoiled little brat (for wasting papers and therefore, contributing towards the early stage of global warming, noooo!), I was also a complete list-freak. I would make a list of everything I could possibly make a list out. And I couldn’t just do that in mind, I had to write them all and perhaps I did that because I just loved to write too much so everything I felt had to be written down, I don’t know. Or maybe I was just simply a freak who has some kind of compulsive disorder. Well, anyway, I re-opened all my journals, and the oldest that I could find was from 1999 and I couldn’t believe how funny I sounded! I listed everything, from all the books I owned (as if I would take another look at it), magazines, cassettes, favorite film characters, television shows, and oh geez, I’m so ashamed, top three guys whom I wanted to marry, the contenders being Joshua Jackson, David Duchonvy and Robin Dunne. *can I dig my hole now?*

I wrote all sorts of ridiculous things, and when I said ‘ridiculous’, you better believe me. But reading all of these reminds me at how naïve and free and innocent I was. Okay, maybe not so innocent since I have been thinking of marrying someone when I was only, what, 12?

I guess in a way I forgot about that. I forgot about the way I used to be, the way I used to think and write, the way I used to feel. I forgot the time when I was so crazy towards The X-Files (okay, David Duchovny in specific), and Joshua Jackson, and Hewitt the tennis player, and Seifer from Final Fantasy, and Brian from the Backstreet Boys; I forgot the time when I was so obsessed with comic books and Sweet Valley novels; I forgot how nauseatingly girly I got when I had crush on the boy next door (seriously, he has the fairest thigh I have ever seen! Oops, not that I have seen a lot. How could I get to take a look at his thigh? Oh chill, it was a coincidence, he just happened to appear in shorts when I happened to drop by to his house, okay, Completely and utterly coincidental. Geez, I was 17.) I had a lot of funny thoughts that I expressed in writings and now, some years later I found them all really amusing, like somehow, I couldn’t believe it was me who wrote all those silly things and felt those silly thoughts.

But funnily enough, now that everything is coming back to me, I could picture myself at that time. I remembered that once, watching the latest episode of Party of Five seemed like a matter of life and death to me. All those comic books used to be so important and even though I couldn’t put a finger as to why I could get so engrossed to them in the first place, I knew that at one time, they were pretty darn vital. I could still feel that despite not being able to relate anymore.

It seemed like a long time ago but then again, maybe not so much. I guess I can still be that dramatic sometimes, it’s just the subject of my obsession is more justifiable now. Is it, really? Well, it’s funny that no matter how older you become, deep inside you’re still the same. I mean, okay, so I was obsessed with comics when I was 14 and I’m not anymore, but do I still like comics? Sure, I still read comics from time to time, the difference is just if there aren’t any, I wouldn’t go looking for it, and I sure wouldn’t spend all my pocket money on them like I used to. And yeah, I might be crazily in love with Joshua Jackson and David Duchovny back in time, but do I still think they are good-looking now? Sure. I wouldn’t say, “Oh my goodness, they scared the beejezus out of me!” but I wouldn’t go around looking for their posters anymore. You know what I mean? Come to think of it, my interests are still the same, it’s just that the comic books are replaced by novels and television series with only bunch of good looking actors are substituted by movies and series with good dialogues and story lines. I would still watch Buffy and think that it’s good, but I wouldn’t think the world is going to fall on me if I miss just one episode. And I still like writing in colorful pens, it’s just I have so many leftovers I don’t feel the overwhelming urge to buy new ones just yet, unlike that time when I was in high school that I just kept buying and buying until my pencil case was the size of pregnant stomach of a cow and everyone in class could just borrow pens from me and I could still have enough to sell and use the money to buy candies to feed the entire third world countries.

It's an interesting realization, that's all. It's funny to remember yourself as a child and all that hyperactive behavior and crazy likes, and look at yourself now to find that despite all the drastic changes from the surface, you're still pretty much the same on the core. You know what they say, "we have this innate set points, nothing much happens to us changes our disposition."

"I'm Tired of Having One Foot Out The Door"
December 18, 2007

Since when have I gotten so scared of plunging into a relationship? It would make sense if I’ve had some awful traumatic experiences in the past, at least they could explain my current state of fear, but I’ve never been bruised, let alone traumatized. But even so, I have to admit that I am scared, with whatever reason there is that I simply can’t materialized.

I’ve never been in love, so I’ve never actually been hurt before. I’ve had some exclusive relationships and countless casual ones which didn’t necessarily involve feelings and commitments, even when I was in supposedly good monogamous relationships. But make no mistake, I’ve never been unfaithful. I tried to put myself out there for the other person to grab and I waited patiently for them to excite me, shake my world and sweep me off my feet, metaphorically speaking. In all relationships I was in, even though I might not get in for the right reason in the first place, but I tried. I might not have enough feelings for them to begin with, but I always hoped that it could change, that eventually feelings could grow somehow. So I stayed there, doing whatever a good girlfriend is supposed to do: talk to him every night, walk home together after school, keep him company during weekends, support and take care of him, listen to all his stories and be there for him when he’s upset. I don’t know if that is even right, but I was willing to be a part of someone else, to be referred to as Tina and (boyfriend) instead of just me, and receive only one invitation to friends’ party as a couple instead of two separate individuals. I was even looking forward to a day when I could really see my then-boyfriend and feel that overwhelming rush of love and joy because he’s mine and nothing else seems to matter. But the day never came, of course, and the feelings-can-grow-philosophy is even more doubtful to me now than ever.

But I don’t know why. Those guys have always been very nice and great. They were caring and affectionate and it seemed like they adored me a lot too; which is supposed to be enough, no? Apparently I was and probably am a jerk for creating illusion as if I cared so much about them as well. Which I, in all honestly, did not.

And I wish I can tell them how sorry I am, because I really thought given enough time, I would finally fall for them and everything would just be great as both of us wanted to. But it was never the case. Because within months, I grew bored and tired of them altogether. I tried to shake the feelings, to assure myself that every couple is bound to experience the same feeling at some point of the relationship, I tried my hardest to justify myself that it would only be a temporary glitch in my part and that soon enough things would go back to normal. So I ignored the boredom and stuck to my end of the bargain. I prolonged the ‘us’ and I was back to being someone else’s girlfriend for some more weeks. Nobody else knew that I was relieved whenever I put down the telephone after talking to him for hours, or that sometimes I made up excuses not to go out on weekends.

But after more time, I soon found out that the boredom wouldn’t just go away and that the longer I waited, the more sick and annoyed I was towards him, his possessiveness, his jealousy and attentiveness and his continuing public display of affection which shouldn’t have bothered me in the first place if we’re talking about a normal girl instead of me.

As far as romance goes, that’s the typical story of my life. I’ve never restrained myself for relationship longer than four months. And I suppose the boredom started to kick in way sooner than that. But the thing that matters to me, and I hope all my past boyfriends know, is that I tried. I really did. I would never be in a relationship altogether if I didn’t. It just hasn’t worked out exactly as I wished.

Ever since my last exclusive relationship when I was 17, I simply haven’t been bothered anymore. I presumed I was young and free so there was no need to be with someone, even.

I was in that state for two years, broadening my view and opening myself as exchange for interesting bits and opposite stories from people, listening and finding out each and every persons’ personalities, their opinions and views, their liking and preferences, their families and cultures, and so many other details. Throughout those times, I made a lot of new friends and whole set of various stories to tell.

I haven’t been particularly thinking about relationships during that period because I was enjoying my freedom too much. But in the midst of some meaningless flings and romantic encounters, two in particular stood out because they were the nearest to an almost relationship. But again, story of my life always repeats itself. It began great, and there was this boredom and tiredness and ongoing irritation. So I let it go.

I don’t see any reason why I should be scared, but I am. I have always been a little terrified of commitment. I realized that many times I made excuses not to be with someone I liked because I kept telling myself that I would miss out on something, that perhaps, a better person would come along, or that I would be this boring person that don’t go out anymore because my boyfriend wouldn’t let me. Now that I think about it, maybe the one thing I’m not ready to lose is my own freedom. I like the feelings that I can go out whenever I like with whomever I want. There is always a part of me that can’t imagine how I would be like with a boyfriend, when I’m not referred as simply Tina, the free soul.

But I wonder how long this will last, because I'm starting to get tired of it. Tired and bored of this altogether, maybe it's the case of too much too early.

Gosh, I've never thought about that before. Writing it out really gives me perspectives.