domestic goddess

Of all the things I could do at home, I learnt cooking. Discreetly, so that people won’t actually notice. I’d sort of creep up behind my mom’s shoulder to see how much garlic she put in. On my way to the living room, I’d say “hi mom”, and cast a casual glance at her chopping board to see in which direction she cuts up the pumpkin. I’ve actually discovered that the amount of ingredients you put in has to be an odd number. 5 shallots, 9 garlic, and so on. But I’m not ready to succumb to superstition just yet. So a guest stopped by the other day, my aunt, for tea. Mom, out of the blue, suddenly asked me to cook up some Chinese green noodles for the guest. Shit, I thought. She either found me out and wants to put me to the test, or is just being plain mischievous. Poker-faced, I set about with the utensils like I’ve cooked Chinese noodles all my life. Boiled first, drained, then fried with a bit of garlic and soy sauce. Chicken slices for flair. Piece of cake. As the garlic started to emanate its amazing aroma from the bottom of the frying pan, I remembered I was reading something in my laptop which was far too interesting to be interrupted. I just had to check out that last sentence, just to make sure. Having satisfied my curiosity, I came back to the kitchen, where the garlic had turned brown, and its formerly heavenly, confidence-building aroma now had a slightly burnt tinge to it. The smell of failure. Still poker-faced, I threw out the burnt garlic, leaving the few remaining pieces of still-white ones, and delegated the task to mom, who was happy to take over. It turned out pretty okay, judging by the aunt’s polite ooh’s and aah’s. In retrospect, maybe I should’ve put in three cloves of garlic, instead of two.

Life in the metropolitan is tough. Was wondering if I should get that book, ‘a modern girl’s guide to life’. Have no idea what it contains, but the title suggests there might be something I’d be interested in. Not that I’m completely clueless in living a ‘modern life’, whatever that means, it’s that there are too many guides and references. Which to choose from, which to look upon as a standard? I wonder whether this is what’s usually referred to as being perfectionist. Because in order to compete, with all these professional people I encounter more and more frequently, you need to be a neat piece of package. I am personally of the opinion you have to be near-perfect. Why not? You don’t want to just go half way, you’d wanna go for the kill. Right? It’s fun really, keeps you grounded and striving for improvements. Keeps you dreaming of better things to come.
But I was playing piano today and it occurred to me that I’d never be a really good pianist. Simply because it’s not a priority. Sad isn’t it. I’m reminded of a quote by Bill Cosby: “I don’t know the key to success, but I know the key to failure is to try to please everybody”.

Apart from all that, tomorrow’s Saturday. Saturday’s are always worth looking forward to :)

Catharsis

it’s a breezy morning Sunday
lilies in the vases
fragrantly divine

t’was a comfy evening Saturday
smoothies and slow-dances
pleasantly sublime

t’was a heavenly with you day
stars, making wishes
beautifully profound...

The hoteru is tiny and cozy. They gave us yukatas to wear and wash towels with haiku on the packaging.

It`s a still life water color.
Of a now late afternoon.
As the sun shines through the curtained lace.
And shadows wash the room.

In the mornings we`d eat hot steamy udon and at night we`d drink sake in a carton box from the 7-11.
Kampaii.. !

Glimpses of Wow.

New York sunset ...


San Fransisco hill top ...


Tokyo dusk lights...

Subhanallah :)

sitting outside a sandwich deli on an odd pavement in DC where it's hotspot, frozen fingers doing its best to type quickly. Made it to the top 24 teams !! but lost against venezuela, beating us to the octo's. no matter... made it this far... and spring is coming ! will update from New York ;)

-sakura-

Now in Tokyo, transiting at Narita airport, where we're being delayed. Waited in the plane for two hours, then were told to get off because of technical problems and to wait another 3 hours. Gave us free soba to compensate, which i tried to enjoy to the fullest extent. Cold Cold and Fat now... too many snack in too short a time.
Engaged myself in conversation with a woman named Jo, so de ja vu somehow. American, almost bhuddist, voluntary fund-raiser for tsunami victims, does extreme horseback-riding in forests, has a priest for an uncle, and she actually told me the logical reason behind celibacy. Its apparently a very economical reason, nothing to do with religion. How fun!
Told me about a spiritual moment when she was in Paris, face to face with a real Van Gogh. In short, the best thing to come across in a foreign airport.
Will update from United States! ;)

a shoulder and a heartbeat

“Eh, Ibu Tiza.. !”, my mom would say as I trudge in through the door round midnight and kick off my pointy black high-heeled shoes, exhausted. Dad would tease me in the mornings as I sit beside him in the car, neat and legal savvy in my ironed blouse and skirt, he’d say the only thing I lack is the monthly paycheck! They’re amused with my stories, worried about my kuliah, and pissed with my weekend practices. “You’re trying to solve the world’s problems by yourself!” Dad had said once when I was in a last minute rush and did not ask his help. Checked me a bit, that one did. But what it all boils down to is this constant fluctuation, consistent yet not dull, scheduled yet unpredictable. Harsh, but supportive. Fascinating, and comforting; discovering that discovery of life…
And at the end of the day, I would get to kick off my heels and savour the contentment. And, if I’m lucky, I would get a perfect shoulder and a heartbeat to rest my exhaustion on, sneakingly, briefly. Come to think of it, it wasn’t so much to rest my exhaustion than it was to… express my contentment.
*smile*

The nice fat lady bade them a good holiday in Paris. The City of Lights.
And sure enough they found themselves on a Wednesday in Paris, in a little bohemian boulangerie.
The waiters spoke French, the menu was French, the music playing in the background was French, the very posters on the wall were French. But this did not intimidate them, did not make them uncomfortable. Because they were wise, or tactful, enough to know how to generate their own realm of comfort, by following a simple rule: When in France, do as the French do!
So they thought of twirling, of spreading their arms wide and spinning themselves to dizzying heights, releasing inhibitions with reckless abandon. But twirling is only allowed in Turkey.
They thought of doing a samba, where she could sway her summer skirt and they’d watch the sunset as it bleeds into the sea, turning the beach into an orange coloured spectrum, to match the colour of the walls in the little Parisian parlour where they sat. Or the colour of a parrot’s chest. But sambas are only allowed in Brazil.
No, the French do something else.
The French (bless their wine-filled souls) ... they fall in Love.

And so it was on that sweet little Wednesday, three days after Bob Marley’s birthday, two days after the Brazillian samba festival, and on the day of the New Year of Fortune, that they fell in Love. It was in Paris, in the city of Lights, that incidentally they felt exceptionally Bright.
It was the night that they became We... and they felt... Complete.

It resembles a blast.
That shoots you up bursting beyond the sky and through the stars.

Best Oralist !! WASHINGTON !! And he who has just ended his I and begun being You... It’s too perfect. I’ve never had so much fun in my life. And the preceding hard work, sleepless nights, and mental exhaustion, serves to enhance the end result, making it very, very...sWeeet.
And the best thing is that it doesn’t end there like most victories do. It’s just begun. A myriad of doors are open now, a million things to expect, a million things unexpected.
But, I could always start with Central Park, ducks, and cherry blossoms... =)


“what does the trophy say?”
“it says… I’m a very good oralist! I wonder how they figured that out…”
*laughs* “it must be the pout…”
“It must’ve been the pout. And the lucky charm.”
“It had nothing to do with luck. And you already have the charm.”



Jessup 2005

Did I mention my new year’s resolution?
To pay more attention to detail.
Whatever that means. In the widest, in every aspect of the word. From the general to the specific. From the crucial to the trivial. It sounds ambiguous and is ambiguous really, well at least when I decided upon the resolution I hadn’t got a clear grasp of what I intended to do, I just sort of thought it would be a good resolution for this year. For some reason. I just wanted, vaguely, to know details. I thought it would give me an upper hand. Surprisingly, the significance of it is forming by itself, in the first few days after the year’s start.
The people I meet, who have that extra added appeal because they can observe things that other people miss. The work that I do, which requires details to be scrutinized and makes no room for mistakes. A quote that I come across, told in the ungodly hours of truthfulness, that goes “what is an intellectual? An intellectual is a person who knows the details.”

No doubt, if I keep unconsciously being aware of this vague determination, signs and concrete examples of it will start filtering through, educating me, inspiring me, and ultimately shaping me. Theoretically. Well, empirically also. Unconsciously being aware? That’s such a paradox…
Anyway.
It’s the hardest thing. Or maybe I’m just exhausted. Physically, mentally.
Exhausted.

The problem is that there’s none
Life is imperfect say some
People are imperfect say all
Yet my prejudice must fall
Think about the possibilities !
Rushing through life like a breeze
Think about the impossible dreams
Suddenly possible, it seems

I’m thrilled to the bone
Smiling over the phone
Feeling constantly enthralled
Mind, soul, senses, and all
The slightest gesture could please
As we playfully tease...

Leaving an afterglow of hope
Dangling on a teasing rope
That time will not withhold
as thoughts reveal, emotions unfold
That time would seemingly freeze
leaving us in a puddle of dreams, up to our knees

A rare perfection, rather like home
A cozy, tempting comfort zone
Where details however trivial
Turn into pleasure, pure and inspirational
And answers to millions of queries
Shall be resolved with whatever life carries
Exciting, unpredictable scenes
Where I end and every thought begins

with you.

coffee, cranes and cookies

...and if the night, and the atmosphere, and the conversation could be described i would call it... effervescent ;)
In a comfortable, cozy sort of way.

On rainy days like these the mind wanders, turning pale-like and translucent. Thin, filmy and shimmering like a mysterious, see-through shroud. Is it obvious when my eyes stare out the window, seemingly oblivious to the world? Is it obvious when I smile, for it is an honest smile marred with a tinge of aching hope, unsure yet whether it has occasion to smile so honestly, so betrayingly. So in between an undecided smile and unseeing eyes, the details become vivid and beautiful. The way the air is suffused with rain and excitement, like little pellets of anticipation dominating every particle I breathe. It’s like a secret sense, forming yet another layer deep inside, hidden and unknown to others and driving you mad with hesitant pleasure…

Amused to report that this blog is the proud winner of a hardrock fm quiz! Vitri was listening to the station, they were checking out people's blogs for best blogs and she urged me to send them my address, which i did. Then i completely forgot the whole thing. Two weeks later, got an sms and well, apparently we won! (we = the blog and i)
So i got two tickets to the movies, premier of wicker park, pretty good movie for a freebie :) Well done !

The euphoria has dwindled down and left me with the shapeless residue you find at the bottom of the cup.
The shades have shifted from confusion to dejection, and finally indifference. I never was one to stay in stagnant conditions. But the next time it comes, I’ll be so easy. So very easy I’ll wonder if it’s cheap. But being true to yourself is rare… and immaterially expensive. Life will flow and curve gently around bends… and I will yieldingly follow… flowing and gushing and rushing and sparkling and, letting it awaken me or kill me. Just for this special occasion, allow me to be irrational. Allow me to harbour impossible dreams. Allow me to go against the grain. Allow me to fall in love, if that’s what it is.
Mediocrity is a crime, don’t you think ?

dinner (main course), talk, and a coupla drinks...
so it was, and so it turned out to be one of those rare conversations you don't really want to end, sipping wine and talking of shoes and ships and sealing wax, and cabbages and kings, err.. unliterally speaking.
He had a lovely smile.

exhale

*stretch*
oh, this is such a luxurious feeling, waking up, feeling fresh, and thinking, "now what do i do?" Absolutely sublime ! i've decided to watch a dvd, about five of them are piling up untouched since... last semester or something. I'm waiting for the results, meanwhile planning to make the most of this void space in time before judgement day.
And preparing myself for the worst.

so now i write. i have nothing more to lose.
Nothing more to fight for, nothing more to keep me in constant suspense and agitation.
did i do my best, did i try my best? I think i did.
Was i the best? i doubt it. I can't figure anything out, i can't measure my chances. There's nothing to do but wait.
And if i don't make it, I'll be ready. ---> i made it !! :) Jessup team 2005 !


jazznite

by the way... ini foto waktu manggung perdana di Zoom... hehe
It was one of those kamikaze things you need to do every now and then :D

like a reel my mind flashes back
dropping memories into my pool of thought
with an icy cold splash awakening
with a bottomless sound echoing
but i close my eyes and cling to you
and the world shrinks, wrapping itself tightly around us
shredding its cold debris, dispersing like dust
warming, breathing, and releasing...
you didn't let me lose you
you didn't let me feel the pain...
is this fair ?

a torpor came over me and i was left in the dark
i might have slept, who knows?
through the open window the cold dawn
shrouded my pain with a blanket of rain

hope, you died too soon
longing, so soon you arrived
when one leaves, the other's not far behind
to cry?.... if i have no tears
heart, why don't you stop?