Category Archives: Personal

Blessed my comfort zone with its advanced and sophisticated tools in every single thing we can think of.
Effectiveness, fast service, wireless gadgets, they were only a few items scattering through my mind when I began typing this.

While I had to cope up with the consequences of travelling in a shoestring budget (read: delays), I could steal some little time to check my emails from the airport while avoiding the long queue in the immigration. My mobile phone is immediately on and I wasted no time to push back my scheduled meeting for another half an hour.

From Changi to Holland Village to a meeting in Bugis that was only pushed back for 30 minutes?

I was a complete idiot!

So then you had me in a suit running up to my flat only to put down the luggages, and carrying the press release and whatever available questions I had set earlier while grabbing a plate of spicy chicken rice from the Bangkok airport.
Imagine, a freelance writer doing interview in his suit, leather shoe, tight jeans and striped white shirts of my pride. Imagine, being interviewee in her relaxed outfit of a polo shirt, sandals, and loose jeans. Am I upstaging her? You bet!

But hey, she was charming and chatty, two qualities I always yearn whenever I talk to people I just meet. Not to mention that what she is displaying is something worth looking at,t oo.

My suit journey continues afterwards as I decided to head off to some shopping places, and cladding myself in such clothing really paid off well, as I could notice the shopgirls started treating me differently. Oh well, devious deception, indeed!

Yet, the journey had to stop somewhere as now I’d rather be in my own style rather than desperately imitating GQ-look. Get rid of the suit, kick off the shoes, now I’m very much like me, a familiar myself with sandals, jeans, t-shirts.

And that familiarity was what brought me to my fullest sense, be it giving a counselling to this heartbroken lady, or effortlessly working out my charm when some stranger in a darkened room of a cinema hall paid a special attention to me.

Ah, what a beauty of having your clothes on, and your dignity in place.

And once again,I bid a temporary goodbye to my comfort zone with a wide smile of pride. Hmmm …. 😉

Having spent the past 6 years, a great deal of time in my life, in this comfort zone, has made me seeing this place as my other home. Not first, not second, nor any degree of comparison. A home where I was born is different with a home where I could be at my utmost ease with.

Yet, reaching the comfort zone through a slightly different way is something I have never done on that past 6 years. Thus, my deflowering experience of taking a stride through Batam did make me wondering: there’’s nothing but the hills here! Of course it is still a far cry from the green view conquered by sister Maria with her open arms belting out “the hills are alive with the sound of music””, for the Batam hills indeed cry out for ““these hills are in need of more and more investment”. Actually that sentence works with the previous tune.

And just an hour away, I was taken to a different time zone of the same familiar view. Yes, I’’m talking about impossibly long queues of taking cabs, the police neighborhood station on my flat conspicuously only open from noon to 10 pm (that really explains the country’’s crime attitude), and the warmth of Holland Village despite the cold, windy air of that Wednesday evening.

Van Gogh with his glass of beer never fails to welcome me home.

Add that with the eye-popping makeover of my dreadful room to become something taken directly from IKEA display! Thanks to my precious roommate whose flair in visual design never fails to surprise me, my previous room was given a facelift where I could immediately feel comfortable with. Now, that’’s something, pal!

With such a great beginning, what could fail me?
A new cafe is finally present in library@esplanade with the lack of warmth the former occupant had, but the new additions of 3 cinemas in Cathay Cineleisure is certainly a pleasurable welcome, although I might be taken off from its target market. Nevermind. Where else I could enjoy a discounted cinema admission fee by using my card from OCBC, while indulging myself in a staple of chicken wings and green tea throughout a film?

And what could be better to close this chapter than having a healthy breakfast that not only feed my bulging tummy but also my large head with a small brain inside? Of course things might go to any direction when a breakfast talk began with comparing your future mother-in-law with the clothes hangers she mixed herself up with, but when it comes to Agatha’’s session, things would become more and more hilarious from there.

Oh, have I mentioned how I managed to perk myself up with generous discount from Borders? Alas, these were the mere reasons why spending time in comfort zone is comforting, indeed.

let’s see.

batam hills. wavemaster. holland village. bbq half-chicken. cineleisure. walk the line. syriana. sight and sound. bras basah. looftop. tanned skin. coffee bean. clothes hanger and an annoying mother. scene it. borders. car sick. hostel. naked man. brokeback mountain. chatuchak. mrs. henderson presents. siam paragon. munich. grand egv. press pass. ian. kenny. jameson. film market. good night, and good luck. walk out. heading south. odete. don’t tell. consequences of love. rize. four films in a row. smoothie mania. dj station. claudy. daniel. stoned. river queen. willem dafoe. the most commercially successful film last year. joni. patpong. dasa book. overrated balcony. zefri. mandy. alexis. wayne. match point. wrong massage. kenneth. cocktail. holiday inn. 17-baht airport trip. objectifs. capote. rubbing skin. tone.

in a much shorter exclamation: exhaustingly fun!

what has killed me for the past few days turns out …

that it’s not the diarrhoea which forced me to take 3-day bedrest (and not to mention i am not fully recovered yet at the time of writing),

and that it’s not about the amazingly fast internet connection, only to be in the same par as how turtles walk and enjoy their time (oh, it annoys me all the time! someone should minister the use of internet in this country!),

but what bugs me the most is …

i’m having too much infotainment in me!

gosh, holding your tummy while religiously following the breakup of dea mirella and her hubby certainly will not do any good to your mental health.

now, that’s what i call a complete murder.

what’s so fascinating about taking bus(es) on daily basis, something most of you are familiar with, i’m sure?

especially those of you, living in some sophisticated countries where the comfort of passengers is the highest priority prior to every stage of planning, prior to executing the routes, or even prior to thinking of creating certain routes, let alone a new kind of transportation system!

the bottomline is that once you have to face the reality of having to take buses on regular basis in this chaotic city to cut your expenses, you have to come to terms with putting your life on danger, on regular basis.
ask either these two friends of mine, rio and qnoy who claimed to experience (while imagining at the same time) what it was like waiting for keanu reeves to save them in speed.

well, of course none of the transjakarta bus crews draws similar resemblance to keanu, but it’s not easy to find anyone worth dreaming of among all of them, so let them stick with their imagination.

and come to think of it, that transjakarta buses (commonly known as busway) are the most advanced transportation system the city currently has. of course, the problem with the confusing voice-over is another issue we might deal with in the future, but being on the cleanest and most endearing buses certainly proves to be no match as compared to on any other non-transjakarta buses.

as you are reading these very words of mine, you might not think that the writer actually has to endure a trip of 30 minutes (normal traffic condition) which could last up to 90 minutes (rainy peak hours) from a suburban area already belongs to another province. the trip is taken by a self-acclaimed air-conditioned bus, which by the time you sit on the bus, you doubt if the air-con ever works.

but, having been away from this city for quite an ample of time without at once ever cease doubting if effectiveness ever applies here, i begin to notice that the ride itself works wonder for me.
need any proof?
here goes:

1.you never feel left out of the trend in music.

accusing those amateurish musicians (god forbids!) with their whatever-things-worked-as-instruments may distract you from your sleep, may prevent you from talking on the phone (like you dare to show it off?), but if you pay full attention to them, within three days you’ll memorize every single peterpan’s songs, entirely! and you don’t ever hesitate to strike up a conversation with any clothes sellers in mangga dua or preman in tanah abang or some low-class hustlers in hayam wuruk, you can sing along with them!

2.forget your breakfast.

why bother getting yourself cooked up in a kitchen while you need to brisk off to your office? by the time you hop on the bus, you’ll meet the greetings from people selling snacks, peanuts, dried tofu, and boiled eggs along with any kind of drinks you can ask for. hey, it’s a walking cafeteria, with only 1,000 rupiahs, you won’t feel hungry for the next 2 hours!
hygiene? i’m not sure if it matters here. after all, don’t we all need some supplement injection after chasing the bus from afar?

3.bus is a bank on the road.

where else you can get a change easily? the bus ride only costs 5,500 rupiahs, but you can always hand in a note of 50,000 rupiahs, give an innocent look to the one who collects the fee from you while you say, “sorry, no smaller notes”, then he will take a deep breath, and soon enough you’ll be given a tremendous amount of change.
you are safe for the next trip!

alright, the city will never be as impossibly smooth-ridden as my previous comfort zone, but then, a bus ride is a bus ride after all, where you get to meet different people who may bombard you with their boasts, or put their heads on your shoulder while they doze off, putting the chaotic traffic jams away behind.

and to me, getting picked up is never any easier than this 😉

i guess now it’s time
for me to give up
i feel it’s time

i guess every move taken in this dearly life, it will eventually reveal its own dualism, something to reflect how desperately i’ve been fighting against one supposedly-dismissed thing prior to put my feet upfront: denial.

i guess every turn taken in pedestrian walks under the cloudy skies will get you thinking, why is it that you have to reduce your expectations gradually, leaving almost to nothing but hopeless particles of dust, centering in your skin, leaving pores here and there?

i guess every one who has lived long enough at his comfort zone will understand the meaning of on-hold sacrifice, never been fully released to its fullest extent, still holding on to it whenever possible.

whatever i say,
whatever i did,
i didn’t mean it,
i just want you back for good.

wherever i will go, i may roam.
wherever i will stay, i should venture.
wherever i will take this tiny feet to, i must make my presence felt.
and that’s good.

today marks the first anniversary of having someone called as twinnie in my life.
yet, as you can see in both blogs, there has not been any mushy words, in contrast to what both pages look like exactly a year ago.

has the world taken its toll in greatly different way?

if the answer is ‘yes’, how come there’s still a recognition or acknowledgement of the day’s sacred status on the opening of this entry?

there can’t be no definite or satisfying answer to understand the tread that has been linked between two emotional souls. there should not be any interference from external parties to shake the sytem of trust (particularly) i have been trying to build ever since the declaration was unspoken, yet being executed nicely.

walking through figuring out the roots of your country through the museums, hanging out with friends you can count on for good laugh and jolly times, mulling over worth reading books, those are the qualities that define how majestic an anniversary is.

and thus, i celebrate mine.

In every single phase of a new life, one has to seek what to do to occupy himself within the first few days. Even if it means screwing around, be it then, no harm done, as long as he’s got himself protected, from any kind, and by any kind.

If getting dirty has falsely been accused with the notion of sexual activities (of any kind), then my getting dirty surely will turn you off. By any means, my getting dirty involves me doing what Doris Callebaut did to launch herself as a sex-bomb of 70s, i.e. doing household chores in a very suggestive way. Well, it was many of them, indeed.

Imagine me in a loose white shirt and batik pants courtesy of Ite, brooming and sweeping the floor mercilessly, chasing every single dirt and dust away, and soaking with foams and bubbles of soap washing my clothes.

This is not the end though. Tomorrow, and the days afterwards, the kitchen and dining room will be the places I crave my lust over everything neat, and tidy.

Now, whoever says I don’t possess any habits of becoming every single one of Desperate Housewives?

The first 24-hour of my (new) life begins with, literally, spring cleaning.

Collected dust was getting thicker than the last time I came here, and that was merely less than a month ago. There I was, once again being a king of neatness, tidiness, cleanliness, who already planned out what and how to organize the house in order, and this left me occupied at least for the next few days.

Whew.

And tonight, I chose to occupy myself with John Irving’s The 158-Pound Marriage which took me until its 90-something page to spot Irving’s usual quirkiness, surely provides as a major relief in otherwise sexually-charged literary work.
In a perfect world, the novel should be read with the companion of energetic Joshua Bell’s strings in The Red Violin soundtrack to provoke the erotic passion in myself to absorb the story.
Yet, as tonight marks the eve of Idul Adha, a Muslim festive holiday in accordance to the annual pilgrimage in Mecca, I managed to finish the book with the companion of takbir and tahmid.

I follow the two by heart, I read through the words on the novel by turning on my mind.

Believe me, the chanting gives an inexplicable effect to my reading, unlike any genre of music I’ve relied myself on to.

Talk about spring cleaning, make that cleansing though, of animal-instinct behavior.

as represented by the song below, and very well said, indeed!

everyone tells me to know my place
but that ain’t the way i play
so why am i daring to show my face
well, i’ve got something to say …

move over sun, and give me some skies
i’ve got me some wings i’m eager to try
i may be unknown
but wait till i’ve flown

you’re gonna hear from me

make me some room, you people out there
on top of the world,
i’ll meet you, i swear
i’m staking my claim, remember my name

you’re gonna hear from me

fortune smiled, on the road before me
and i’m a fortune’s child
now listen, world
you can’t ignore me

toss me the moon, ’cause i’ve gotta shine
i’m climbing a cloud, and call it mine
you’ll pardon my haste, i’ve no time to waste
that’s how it’s gonna be, you’ll see

’cause you’re gonna hear from me

i’ve got a song that longs to be played
raise up my flag, begin my parade
my comet’s on fire, i’ve got to go higher
watch the world over, start coming up, clover!
that’s how it’s gonna be, you’ll see …

yes!

you’re gonna hear from me!

– and that ends singapore’s rare 24-hour continuous rain. no parties to celebrate, no jovial greetings to send one away. for i’ll be back. –

(image courtesy of this)

moon river,
wider than a mile,
i’m crossing you in style,
someday …

oh dream maker,
you heart breaker,
wherever you’re going,
i’m going your way.

two drifters,
off to see the world,
there’s such a lot of world
to see

we’re after
the same
rainbow’s end

waiting ’round the bend,
my huckleberry friend,
moon river
and me.

— packed my things tightly, hopped on to the awaiting boat, started to row, but … i haven’t thought about the exact destination. i can only think of seeing me alone in a big sea, without knowing where to land myself on. whoever thinks the rower is out of his mind, they will not understand. —

(photo courtesy of this website)

At the dawn of the day, you can find me there.

Staring blankly at the Singapore river.

Humming the tunes from Sarah Vaughan to Billie Holiday in her ‘Lady in Satin’.

Penning a letter or two.

To you.



Or maybe, not.

Just to inhale a fresh piece of air.



How I wish to know if feelings can be measured by definite tangible measurement, be it number of minutes, days, weeks, months, years …

How I wish to understand how one experiences floating thoughts rushing to cause a jam inside one’s mind …

How I wish to reel on the memory to relive the glory old days,

Only to find that the past has to remain as is.

“I heard the rumour, it was in …?”

“Iya”



(Just as stiff as you can be.)



“And that significant other now must be …?”

“You two met last time”

“Hahahaha! When?”

“Not long after you”



(Pull it off! Pull it in!)



“Oh! OK … Well, eeerrrmmm, oh ya?”

“Tapi kayanya … ”

“Hey, please don’t”

“Ngga koq”

“That’s better.”



(Why do you have to?)



“I’m happy now, I hope he is”

“You deserve it after all”



(Stick to promises.)



“Are you happy, to see me happy?”

“Hahaha, how am I supposed to answer that?”

“I don’t know, I guess …”

“Up to this moment, I am, I’ve been, and I will.”

Cold as it can be.

Unpolished, unfinished, impolite.

I’m at the utmost ease with myself.



I feel nothing.





— Sade, from her Your Love is King to By Your Side, she breathes the songs to fill in the air full of romance —