Starting a New Life Abroad

Aujourd’hui je ne peux pas penser correctement, demain je partirai pour Balikpapan.

Ne peut pas attendre le demain viennent, ne peuvent pas attendre à l’aéroport pour voler, ne peuvent pas attendre pour voir ma maman et papa également ma famille là.

Désolé pour ma mauvaise langue de la France.

Yesterday morning at 10, when I was still in a deep sleep peacefully, my mobile rang and someone was knocking on my front door. This someone laughed his head off as soon as I blurted out, "You’re an hour early! I thought you said you’d come at eleven!" Well, it was 11 o’clock, of course. I forgot to change the clock at midnight last night.

===

I make a killer chicken satay. It’s deliciously juicy. This has been voted unanimously by gods-know-how-many-people since the satay is one of the meals I regularly serve for my guests. The secret recipe includes something to be marinated in something overnight. Plus, a big tube of satay sauce made in The Netherlands.

===

A good massage doesn’t have to be performed by a professional masseur. Keeping in mind that a massage can help to relax plays an important role in achieving optimal results.
Plus some nice-smelling relaxing massage oil.
Plus…

did you do anything interesting over the weekend?

I was off sick yesterday.

I had a terrible headache Thursday evening. I took a panadol around midnight. I was half asleep when I received a text from someone whose best suits did not include counting the time difference between Australia and Indonesia. The text was negligible but I couldn’t get back to sleep. I found myself smoking a cigarette at 4 in the morning in the living room. Then the next thing I knew I was lying on my bed, facing the ceiling, wide awake. I looked at the clock and it was a quarter to nine. My head was pounding even stronger when I called my assistant to let her know that I wouldn’t be coming to the office.

After I hung up, I laid on my bed again. The sunshine went through the blinds in my bedroom so I put a pillow on my face. Soon enough, my breathing was getting steadier. I was slowly pulled into unconsciousness.

Then my fucking mobile rang off.

My assistant quickly apologised when she heard me saying hello groggily. She urgently needed our project’s peer-review file and knew that our boss kept it but he was away (to Australia and New Zealand for a holiday!!!), and she wondered whether I had it or not. I heard myself telling her that I’d look it up in my files and email it as soon as I found it. She said thanks and wished me a good rest.

I put my mobile on the bed. I looked at the clock and was pretty shocked when I realised it had been more than two hours since I rang my assistant to let her know that I was ill.

I guess time is a weird concept when your head is fucked up.

I dragged myself out of the bedroom, switched the laptop on, looked for the bleeding file and emailed it. I found trying to sleep was just too much work so I decided to make some coffee. I switched the electric kettle on and realised that it got broken the night before. I put a kettle on the stove, went to the bathroom and gave myself a good splash of cold water.

The rest of the day I spent in my living room, checking and replying work-related emails, trying not to get OD’d on paracetamol, watching a Korean horror only to realise midway through that I’d already seen it, listening to my ringing mobiles but I didn’t take any calls and instead stuffed the poor gadgets under the pillows in my bedroom.

Fuck. I thought I was off sick?

I went to sit on the carpet in the living room with my back propped by a big green cushion. I gave my forehead a massage, trying to relieve the headache.

Then I heard myself hum.

When clouds go rolling by
They roll away and leave the sky
Where is the land behind the eye
People cannot see

Where can you see
Where do the stars go
Where is the crescent moon
They must be somewhere in the sunny afternoon

It was an old song I used to really love.

I looked it up on Limewire.
I found it in no time and immediately uploaded it to my iPod.
I switched the laptop off, plugged the earphones in.

I turned into an autistic dancer.

Fast-forward to today.

This morning when I woke up with a slightly lighter 100-kilos head, I wanted to skip breakfast again but there was a report that I couldn’t possibly miss to submit. So I went to the net shop for uploading big megabyte, I barely could lift my head up and I was seeing the room double.

Now it’s almost 3 past 30 o’clock in the afternoon.
I’m in work station with no private room.

I’m listening to myself hum.

Cats and rabbits
Would reside in fancy little houses
And be dressed in shoes and hats and trouses
In a world of my own

All the flowers
Would have very extra special powers
They would sit and talk to me for hours
When I’m lonely in a world of my own

I feel like I’m high on something.

It’s the songs I hummed…
It’s the headache I suffer from…

Maybe mixing two panadols and a ponstan with a glass of supradyn was not a good idea.

Have you ever thought of your living your life day after day is like an author’s struggle writing page after page of his book?

A day can fill one full page or more if a lot of things worth writing happen. Another day will come out only as a short paragraph. Something is being written everyday, even if you only spend your day sleeping or chilling out or doing nothing.
Each second, each minute, each hour becomes parts of the book.
Your book.

Perhaps the main difference between a people living his life from an author writing a book is the length of the story and how the story goes. An author has got more power to decide how the book ends, how many pages will be written, how diverse the characters he creates, how lovely or nasty the world is in the story, and whether life is a fantasy or a resemblance of the reality or a mix of both. Whilst a person, or let’s say I -as this is my personal point of view- have got more limited options. I’m not gonna start a debate about fate, the unforeseen future and that kinda stuff here. But let me just say that although imagination in fiction writing could be limited by and within the author’s knowledge, ‘the reality‘ created in fiction is possible to be stretched out to infinity. Whilst I… I’m writing my life within boundaries of those people I know, surroundings I’m familiar with, routines I do and impulsiveness I react on. Or else, what I write will not be real.

What is reality, anyway?

Do you see what I mean?

If I were to see myself and my life as an author and a book…

I would divide my story into chapters and subchapters. A chapter is a bigger, broader and wider category or typology that consists of one or maybe more subchapters. Let me give you an example. If one of my chapters is called Family, it will consist of Subchapter Father, Subchapter Mother, Subchapter Sibling A, and so on. Perhaps a framework of my book will appear to be like this:

Chapter: Family
Subchapter 1: Father
Subchapter 2: Mother
Subchapter 3: Brother
Subchapter 4: Sister
Subchapter 5: Father’s Mother
Subchapter 6: Father’s Father
Etc.

Chapter: Hobbies
Subchapter 1: Travelling
Subchapter 2:

Reading

Subchapter 3: Spelunking *LOL*
Etc.

Well, that’s the idea. I can merge School and University into one chapter if I want to, or combine subchapters Father’s Mother and Father’s Father into one new subchapter: Subchapter Grandparents or Subchapter Extended Family.

You get the gist, don’t you?
I hope you do.

I reckon some chapters and/or subchapters in my life can go on as long as I live. On the other hand, some chapters and/or subchapters are meant to end before I die, whether I voluntarily wish them to or not.

If I were to see myself and my life as an author and a book…

I recently ended a subchapter. For my personal reason, I’m not going to tell you what the subchapter is called and in what chapter it falls under.

I can’t recall the exact time when this subchapter began, but as far as I could remember, it lasted for more or less, 10 years. At the beginning, there wasn’t much to write in this subchapter. Perhaps just a few words, some lines, but nothing more. But as time goes by, this subchapter has become one of my favorites that I enjoyed updating. There had been interesting times when I wrote long pages, and there had been times when I didn’t write at all. However, the intensity and the joy I felt when I wrote for this subchapter were mostly stable, over time. Fluctuations did happen, but steadiness was more prominent. For me, this subchapter was almost like something very natural to be written. Like it’s been always there for me to write. There was nothing superficial about it.

Until an extended version occured.

If you’re a big fan of the Lord of the Rings, like I am, I guess you would understand how fantastic it is to be able to get a hold of the extended editions of the motion pictures on DVDs. Even if you haven’t read the books and don’t fancy the idea of reading those thick-arse books regardless how impressed you were with the movie (I read them all, by the way), the extended editions could somehow put together some of the missing pieces that you didn’t understand the first time you saw the original versions. In extended editions, you see parts that were not shown in the originals. You are able to try different angles to view a particular scene. You know more from watching ‘Behind the Scenes‘. You listen to Peter Jackson describing the process of turning what’s written into the silver screen.

The extended edition of my subchapter happened unexpectedly. It wasn’t in the storyline I had had. Unlike a real book writer, I didn’t have the complete power to avoid the origination of this extension. But even if I did, I remembered that time I had decided to go with the flow of the new storyline.

Let’s be bold, shall we?

As I jotted down the extension… questions and doubts grew in me. I had written subchapters with extensions in the past that I willingly wrote. Some were from the same categorizations as this discontinued subchapter, some were not. But this specific subchapter’s extension was the only one that I wasn’t sure of how to write. I wasn’t even sure whether I should write it at all. Sentence after sentence, paragraph after paragraph, they didn’t go smoothly. My right hand, my writing hand, was shaking. I perspired. I worried. I felt anxious and confused. Dots of ink were scattered here and there. It wasn’t a long extension but I suffered from a few serious writer’s blocks.

When everything in that subchapter told me that the story was coming to an end, I flicked through the written pages, trying to find clues of what I’d missed, of plots went wrong. I tried to imagine alternative storylines and modification on the characters. But when the last page of the subchapter had eventually dropped on my lap, I realized there was nothing I could do.

I felt numb when I wrote the last full stop in the chapter.
I couldn’t foretell the future but this was nothing I had expected when I first started writing the extension.
The death of the subchapter was not what I wished.

If I could learn anything from this experience, perhaps it was the realization that some subchapters were not meant to have extensions.
Perhaps some are meant to be mediocre.
Perhaps some are not meant to be special.

Normally, I don’t do regrets.
If I did, I regretted for things that I didn’t do, but not for things that I did.
I don’t regret the cessation of this little story of mine.
But I do regret my decision to even start the extension.
Yet I do regret how it ended.
If it really had to end, those words and pains should not have been written.
If it really had to discontinue, the fact that the short extension could ruin the whole subchapter was beyond my grasp.

However…
I know that not every story would end with a happy ending.
What’s said is said.
What’s done is done.
What’s written is written.

Pages I had written during the period before the extension happened now lay before me.
Should I throw them away?
Should I burn them?
Should I keep them hidden somewhere?

I think I’ll choose the last option.
I shall throw the pages in among the things that I will put in my time capsule.
Some time in the future, when I will have written so many more new pages, maybe I can try to find those hidden pages.
So I can read them.
To have a laugh.
Or to cry.
Or just to remember.

Every good writer needs feedback and criticism.
Every good writer knows when and how to end a story.
Every good writer has the ability to start a new story.

I’m still learning.
I will always be learning.

Here’s to a new page.
Cheers.

My left ear has been ringing since a few days ago. The left side of my head feels as if it weighs heavier than the other.

I went to xxxxxx for the weekend. I was planning to go on Friday eve after work but the crappy universe that I was in had sort of forced me to postpone it till Saturday. That did me good, actually.

We met up with 5 other people and headed to bar where we got rejected coz some of us were wearing trainers.

We moved on to other place where we couldn’t go in either because of the same lame reason.

What’s with the bars/clubs and this stupid anti-trainers movement?

The next stop was yyyyyyy which fortunately was okay with guests-wearing-trainers but I had a wee problem looking for my ID which was misplaced somewhere in my wallet.

The bouncers didn’t believe that I was over 18!!! Fooooooook! Well, I finally found my ID, showed it to one of the bouncers who checked the card.

He eyed me and said disbelievingly, "Bloody hell!" I usually take those comments about my-face-doesn’t-reflect-my-real-age as a compliment but I was freezing my arse off and very cranky so I forced a smile and said, "Yeah, I know. Ta. Now, can I go in?" The bouncer winked and said, "Sure. Hey, with that look like yours, keep your ID handy. OK, love?" Oh, brother!

yyyyyyyyy with its 8 massive rooms was really packed. My mates and I went inside the dance room and it took forever to get served at the bar. The bartender asked for my age and thank fuck, this time I didn’t have to show my ID. I had a double vodka and red bull for a starter, and moved to the dance floor. I wasn’t really up for clubbing or getting pissed and I was wearing ‘too much fabric’ for the occasion but the DJ was pretty good so I started dancing. My mates and I got a spot not far from the speakers so now you know where the ear-deafening experience happened. It was almost impossible to hear what the person next to me was saying so when someone I knew tried to chat me up, the conversation went like this.

Him: I like your new hair style.
Me: WHAT?
Him: I like your new hair style!
Me: CHEERS!
Him: Did you have it cut when you went to B**?
Me: YEAH!
Him: It looks very nice.
Me: WHAT?
Him: I said, the hair looks nice.
Me: WHAT?
Him: Bloody hell. Are you drunk?
Me: Babe, I wish I could get pissed only after some vodka and redbull and two shots of tequila. I would’ve saved loads of money everytime I go out if that’s the case!
Him: Hahaha… I thought you couldn’t hear me!
Me: WHAT?

I wasn’t deaf then. I was far from being tipsy. I just liked how the guy smelled. I also liked the fact that he had to speak really close to my ear so I could hear him better. Or so he thought. *ROFL*

I got back to my friend’s flat at almost four, went to bed at 5, woke up at 9, fell asleep again until almost 11. Had a big nice lunch and a chat with my friend’s flatmates. Walked to the city centre, hooked up with my friend, had a cappuccino and a weird-looking OK-ish dessert that had tiny red and blue berries at café zzzzzzzzz

Window-shopped inside ppppppp though there wasn’t much too see coz it was past 5 and nothing in here opened later than 5pm on Sunday. Met some more people, walked down, said my goodbyes and I left on the

6pm

.

I was just switching the lights on in my flat when I received a text on my XL mobile from someone in

London

who was on Vodafone

+ Hey, XL is now part of Vodafone. I wonder if you get this message.
Me : Yea, I got it. But didn’t I tell you Telkomsel can receive messages from any

London

networks?
+ I didn’t know that. What about your other number?
Me : Yeah, I think it now can receive texts from Voda also. Before it was only from O2.
+ Cool! Should I text you to other number from now on?
Me : Sure. Why are you still up at this hour? And what’s with this random mobile network topic? U ok?
+ I can’t sleep. I tried counting sheep, stars and ex-lovers. None of them worked.
Me : *LOL* Let me guess. Recalling our last conversation, are you having cold feet about the wedding?
+ I think I am. It’s worse now. What should I do?
Me : You can still back off. *LOL* I’m joking. Talk to your fiancée.
+ She’ll freak out! You know how she is.
Me : Actually, I don’t. Never even met her. I only know that she’s some woman who’s easily got jealous over somebody’s ghost.
+ Please, be serious. You know what I mean.
Me : Talk to her. That’s the only option. To hell with that traditional crap about the groom not to meet the bride before the wedding. You’ve only got less than two weeks to sort yourself out. She’d better be freaking out now rather than on your wedding day. Although if I were her, I’d kill you with my bare hands no matter on which day you decided to drop the bomb.
+ Gee. Thanks for squashing my already tiny self-esteem. To be honest, I’ve never felt so confused like this. But ok, I’ll talk to her. Thanks.
Me : Hey, no problem. Let me know how it goes.
+ And since when you’re a pre-wedding counsellor?
Me : Moi? Oh, the irony! When hell freezes over.
+ *LOL* I love you, man. Thanks. Wish me luck.

Now that I think about the above dialogue, what was that guy thinking? Taking my words for some (pre-)marital issues? You can’t possibly take advice on such serious matter from a person who’s a skint bargain hunter, who feels indifferent towards in general who looks younger than 18 but acts like a 12-year old and thinks like a 40 year-old, who pretends to be deaf to achieve a personal gratification and most of all, who eats weird-looking desserts. That friend of mine must’ve been really desperate.

What do you think?

I think, I’ve changed the way I blog.
Now I cite more excerpt of conversations that happen between me and others.
Or between me and just myself.
In reality or fantasy.
I think it’s fun.
Unfortunately for some people, they take all conversations written in this blog as they are. Thus they fail to see what I see and the reasons I write about them.

Some dialogues are real as they come.
Some conversations are meant to be neglected.
Some don’t even have real meanings.

It’s their lost.
I’ve got nothing to lose.
Not even my privacy or anonymity.

Speaking of a pathologically bored jelly-like mind…
I’ve surely got a lot to write about.
How I managed to end the recap of my weekend with some pointless encrypted bullshit, I had no idea.
I shall blame my ringing left ear for my disorganised writing.
I assume it’s messed up with my balance.

Hi,
I want money.
I don’t need it, just want it.
Will accept all kinds(rupiahs,pennies,hundred dollar bils,pesos,etc)
I have no skills nor desire to acquire any.
I have nothing to barter or sell.
Not willing to help you out around the house or help you move.
I am lazy and don’t want to work, but still enjoy the finer things in life.
If you have any laying around, or want to go get a second job and just send me the check, let me know.
You can send it to my pay pal account as soon as you set one up for me.
Otherwise you can deliver it to my home.
No, I will not come pick it up.
We can set up monthly payments if it is more convenient for me, or you can just give me a lump sum.

PS : If it works , i’LL let u know. That’s a better idea than those online jobs or stuffing envelopes (HEHEHEHE)

I write various of things on my blogs. from day-to-day breakdown of my days to some one-liner. i like randomness. what shitty life I’ve got, Can’t imagine, because my randomness is enjoyable(r u sure???). it can be light, reflective and crappy. i love it.

if I could draw, my comic strips would look like calvin and hobbes. except in my case, it’d be me and my alter ego. Hmm really curious, what would my alter ego be like?

Yeach my life is shitty as my life could be, but im just good at giving false impression heheheh.

My alter ego’s mental and physical appearance….hmmm…. this is intriguing.

PS. I mizz u badly…..jj

Today on the job, I heard myself say,

"J*n, can I take your pants off?"

[This is only funny if you know me]

cant call cant talk cant mak it cant sleep cant pay cant tot *fuck*

i shld rob d bank so i can call you all d time.

believe me tht i lov u so much even i dont contact u.

PS : i will not contact u till i pay the phone bill. fcuk w/ 2 million sumthng