Jakarta

Consume consume consume. With 10 new malls, there's not much else to do.

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The smell invites a spark beneath the skin. The smell of the New. In addition, the sight teases the eye, ignites imagination. A perfect salmon pink top that drapes softly round the shoulders, could be perfect with the chocolate brown skirt that falls lightly, and cleanly, beneath the knee. Perfect for afternoon dates, and somewhere in my head a bubble emerges, depicting the scene of me, pretty in pink and chocolate. The eye scans the entire store, picking things up, pairing them. The sexy shoe with daring heels and a teasingly narrow strap that accentuates the bare skin beneath; the elegant clutch bag, its minimalism interrupted with a delightful detail of beads. Countless bubbles appearing and bursting at a dangerously tempting speed.
Tempting. Despite my usual inappetite for fashion.

I'm glad i can't buy everything i want, otherwise life would be boring ;p

Therapy

She’s afraid of darkness and silence. Combined. Afraid to hear things, or see things that aren’t supposed to be there. But if she sleeps with the lights on, she wakes up exhausted. Fear imprisons, heavier than her blanket, tighter than her bra-strings. Sleep a luxury she cannot afford.
She turns on Coltrane. Silence lifts its shroud. She imagines instead herself creating those notes; eyes closed, mind at rest. Fingers moving… moving, soul following, or the other way around she can’t really tell nor care. Believes it so well it’s like a memory that she recalls. Sharp then blur. Sharpens and then blurs again. Fingers tapping her blanket, long after her mind falls asleep.
She wakes up exhausted.
Smiling.

revenge is sweet

“Grey”, he thought, as he pushed through the haphazard array of people and wares at Mangga Dua, the epicenter for cheap shopping. Slam-down prices, they call it. The overwhelming sights and colours were overkill, churned together like a melting pot and leaving a distasteful grayish-ness at the bottom. He saw nothing he wanted. He only came to accompany Marla, who stood beside him now with an unmistakable glint in her eyes. Marla was animated, an excited, ready-to-bargain expression on her face, her lush hair tied defiantly high on her head and swishing merrily as they moved along. Wearily, he followed, squeezing through shop-keepers on either side, shouting and promoting their ware. Marla came to a halt at a tiny stall filled with cosmetics. He absent-mindedly gazed down at the dirty glass counter, rather interested by the subtle blends of colour the cosmetic makers had created. Reminded him of the colour palette he used in his last design for a pamflet order.

“Eyeshadow, how much?” he could hear Marla saying beside him.

“only 30.000”

“So expensive!”, she had an irritated tone to her voice. “Bring it down to 10.000”

“Can’t do”, was the reply, “that one’s an original. It’s really good. Good colour. I always use it myself.”

He looked up to see what the chinese shopkeeper was using. She was smiling, curved scotch tape stuck on to her eyelids to create a folding-eyelid effect when her eyes were open, and above that, her eyebrows were tattoed in a blue-ish hue over her original eyebrows. She wore red plastic earrings, two hoops on each ear. He couldn’t see any eyeshadow.

“25.000 is the best I can do”, she said, her eyebrows curving bluely at him.

Marla’s lip curled down slightly as she shook her head, took his arm, and marched off. A split second later, the shopkeeper had hailed them back and wrapped-up the eyeshadow Marla wanted for 10.000.

In good form today, Marla had told him, gleefully rubbing her hands together a short while after her seventh purchase, all of which he carried now. He now had a slight throbbing headache, and was about to gently suggest how the day was getting late. They were passing a narrow linking corridor, through which he could glimpse another vast space beyond, filled with stores and neon lights.

“Where does that lead?” he asked her, absent-mindedly.

“Oh electronics. Computers, stereos, you know. Boring stuff.” she replied, tugging at his arm towards a fake leather-bags store she had just spotted.

But she couldn’t. He had stood still. Turning around to face him, she opened her mouth to say something when she suddenly stopped. He was staring through the corridor with an odd glint in his eyes, his eyebrows raised ever so slightly.

“I think” he said slowly, a smile forming on the corners of his lips “that I could put your bargaining skills to good use”.

Mom.

fusses, tenderly
anxious
she questions
presses
pushes…
turns.

myriads of
misunderstandings
drawing, magnet-like
she sighs, hurting
stabbing…
knives, at conscience

scrambling
knowing my mind like
her omelletes
still
I sigh, understanding…
denying.

at night, at dawn
she prays
silent murmurs
drip, drop
like precious pearl but…
warmer

hair, hands
caresses
she frets, gestures complicating
ironically simplifying
loving…
Lonely.

Love makes you Fat.

Theories:
1. to love is to feel secure. To feel secure is to feel comfortable.
Physically as well.
2. to love is to make love. To make love is to feel sexy.
No matter how fat.
3. to love is to be content. To love is to be “taken”. To love is to not care about attracting other men.
4. to love is to go on dates. To date is to eat.
5. to love is to flatter, and be flattered in return. To love is to be blinded.
To love is to say, “Oh darling you have the most adorable baby fat”.

...inspired by a friend who gets fat (er) everytime she’s got a guy. Lol :D