"I SWEAR I WILL NEVER BE LIKE YOU!"
That, ladies and gentlemen, was my old mantra. The tantrum-like, anger-based, usually-comes-in-screamings kind of mantra. Every time I had a fight with my mom, or couldn't stand arguing with my dad; the mantra will do its job: to give me the winning feel of the happening war. I will either shout the line out loud or whisper it in verbose mode, silently by the heart. I never liked the adult attitudes they were giving me. All the rules, all the advice, all the harsh criticism. You sure can see how I looked like during teenage years: the geeky bookworm personality combined with a trendy side-job as a young announcer in one of the biggest private radio network in my hometown. An easy-going smart-ass who think she knew everything. I won't listen to my parents. I won't listen to anybody. In fact, I don't think I even listen to myself.
So that's the very beginning of my long-time journey of Not Becoming My Parents. Plan A: Do not follow their life's path...
Do you remember what your teenage crush was? Their name, their face…? My ultimate teenage crush has never been a person. It was, and still, a time-related period. An Era. I grew up with an Uncle who were so much into movie and mostly attracted to the Glamour Hollywood in the 50’s, and I’m pretty sure he was the one who gave me the idea of associating myself with a specific period of time in history. I was so much into book - I think that books are magical and it influenced the way I think. But movies are fascinating to the eye - it helps me develop my feelings about colors, stories, dresses, makeup, and feelings. I got caught by the great 20’s movie stories such as Pandora’s Box, Phantom of The Opera, The Jazz Singer...
Hello, New Year. It’s been a great resting week, the first seven days of January we had. I’ve spend my nights went to the cinema and watched the joyful, tears-dropping “La La Land”, followed by the quiet and somewhat hauntingly beautiful “Arrival”. I’ve meet my friends and shared great meals together. I travel a bit from Jakarta to Jogja and back. I sleep a lot. I savoured the gleaming sunset on a long ride with my boyfriend G. In between the leisure times, I work on my projects - all the on going ones. Today is where the laid back hours will end - one shall limit themselves from having long holiday, because only by working the routine laboriously then we can appreciate the moment of pure relax. So I start this post, and greeting you here. Have you grew familiar with 2017 yet? One of the greatest challenge for someone who kept a handwritten daily journal is those few first weeks of having so many wrong 2016 marks on the paper. Yesterday, instead of writing 15 - 01 - 2017, I wrote 15 - 01 - 2015 (not even a year, but two years worth of wrongness).
It takes time to remember that, yes, the year has officially changed. It takes many days to say 2017, when our mind still got a bit familiar with 2016. We don't feel the New Year straightly after - instead, we slowly learn. The same thing goes with Yearly Resolution (or the thing we know as My List Of Stuff I Will Eventually Forget To Do). What makes our resolution hard is because we think that we only have one shot to do it. The year-long period only. The typical “No more junk food this year” or “I will regularly working out this year” kind of crap, where we will kept only for this first exciting month - or week, in some worse cases - then we’ll grew tired of putting up with the promises, and quit. We’ll forget about those promises for the rest of year and we’ll do the same thing again when the future comes. Some friends of mine decided to never make resolutions ever again. They feel like they had ruined the opportunity to do the things right, and they have failed.
But they might forget, that there's no such thing as an immediate permanence, in this so-called imperfect life of imperfect human beings. If we fail on some wishes, we can always try again. No one is judging (but ourselves). So I think I'd still want to believe that resolutions are okay.
There are days where us, women, would blame hormones for wanting to stay lazy at home and not leaving the bed. For the same Act of Unrealistic Hormones™ reason, we will, at the same time; need to be still feeling pretty somehow. We don't want the not-showering-and-looking-nasty lazy; we want smell-good-feel-smart-looking-hot sort of lazy - where we'd lay on the sofa, tune in a French music playlist and drink coffee (or wine, a bit later in the evening). I admit, such pleasure of wanting this superficiality is liberating - what can be any more fun than girls having their makeup done as they want, to try a look that they love experiencing, while at the same time having such power to say "I'm staying at home today"?
I travel a lot in 2016. Counting the total hours and frequency, I'm a 100% sure that I've never traveled that much in my life before. Three continents and eight countries, followed by endless commute from Jakarta to Yogyakarta and Bali. That's a lot of awkward long flights and such big chunk of gut for someone who has flying-anxiety like me. If I were given the total sum on a first sight, I would've said "No" undoubtedly. Why do I, a true Taurean by heart and soul, would leave my comfort room and seek troubles in the outside world? Why on earth I volunteered to step into the alien ground called "anywhere abroad" and risking the only sanity I have?
It's been more than eight years, last August, when I congratulate myself to another "blog-anniversary" (they used to say it bloggyversary back then). A couple of times I hit myself with a question: Should I stop blogging? Do people read blogs anymore, and preserving the slower way of digesting shared stories the way we did before? Since every information are spread faster than bullets and more platforms offering advanced interactivity, do I need to just give up already on blogging?
Two years - two years since you got caught in someone else's labyrinth and making a home out of it. A troubled home, but you find it familiar. Maybe because you seek refuge in love, while love fails anyone; if not every once in a while. No matter where you go, the needs of familiarity follow... and just like a lone wolf without a pack; you'd imprint yourself to the sorrow. For the constant pain makes you less lonely, even though not less hurt.