In the end, I find myself to wonder is it really me,
or is it them?
Some said I need to get out more.
One even said I gotta try to have an affair.
Again.
For the xxxth time.
With someone who’s not my type but has a jealous psychotic friend who’s
potentially fun to take the piss out of.
The advice concluded that I need more than just a twist of lemon.
A couple of good mates have been bollocking me about travelling to the
unknown.
Like Iceland or North Korea Or maybe Butan.
Honestly, I’m sort of contemplating the idea.
I felt rather jealous when a couple I adore sent me an email from Beijing and Istanbul.
How about getting laid more?, I teased them.
They said, no, no.
You’re doing fine in that department.
How on earth they knew, I don’t want to know.
I didn’t even know that I’d been doing fine.
Go to Bandung, some voices whispered.
We’ve missed you.
I’ve longed to see you too, I whispered back.
But is jumping on the plane and heading south the best thing I could do?
It’s been 9 months since my last visit.
Yet baby, if truth be told, I’m not in a hurry to stop by again.
The last time, I was absent for 1.5 years.
This time, I may make it till 3.
Ha ha!
As if my parents won’t say anything about it.
Knowing them, they might hire a bunch of professional missing-childadult
finders to force me to fly back within 2 years (or maybe less) so they can see
my ungrateful face.
I digress.
Read a different kind of book.
Like Indonesian chick lits.
Watch a never-been-watched movie from an unfamiliar genre.
Like movies about cricket.
The sports, that is.
Listen to a brand new type of music.
Like the songs played by those British-bands-whose-names-start-with-The.
The Automatic. The Ordinary Boys. The Bluetones. The Zutons. The Datsuns. The
Fratellis.
Anything else?, I lazily enquired.
Sorry for the mundane suggestions, they said, but it may help.
Coz who knows, right?
And I just growled.
Dye your hair green, like you’ve always wanted!
I’ll do it once I’ve located a bloody good hairdresser that doesn’t cost me a
bloody fortune just to bleach my hair.
Pierce your tongue, like you…
Read my answer above. Find me a reasonably priced and hygenic piercing parlour
in this country and I might just do it.
Have a tattoo…
Ditto.
Sigh.
You’re so stubborn.
I know.
And you all love me.
———
Readers, don’t get me wrong.
This is not a cry for help.
Or a desperate public announcement that my life is boring.
Or a supressed need for excitement.
To be absolutely fair, I can’t complain about my life.
Nothing extreme is happening, which pretty much suits my current style.
Lately, I’m just into adopting laidback approaches to spend my time and days.
And that’s what has made my significant others concerned.
Why?
I have no idea.
Maybe they see something I don’t.
Maybe they feel something I don’t.
Maybe I’ve got "Bored To Death" stapled on my forehead that I
can’t even see but others can.
Maybe I’ve unconsciously texted them messages saying that, "Are you
watching TV, mate? Kerajaan Sahur is on!"
Maybe I speak Bulgarian in my sleep.
Whatever.
There are thousands of maybe for reasons-that-make-my-sweethearts-concerned but
I’m not in my investigating mood.
I don’t see why they should get all worked up.
So what if I live in a small town where there’s not much to see or many options
to do? It’s not that bad though sometimes it can be annoying coz I used
to always live in big cities.
But I believe I have told them that I’m a self-confessed materialist.
At this stage of my foolish life, I’m going to wherever the so-called career
and money call me.
So what if there’s no prospective w**e-to-be in sight?
I’m not bothered.
So why should they?
If I was that desperate, I would’ve signed up for kontak jodoh in daily kompas.
FYI, I’ve got an incurable British-Japanese fetish.
But a cute Japanese baseball player would also do.
Oh, dear. Oh, dear.
At this point, I shall reserve to the notion that my loved ones are just
showing me that they care. That they want me to be happy.
I know this for fact and I’m thankful for that.
But puhleaaaaaaaaase, will they ever quit nagging?!?!
Bloody hell, some are starting to sound like my nosy aunties!
(Bless them, my aunties.
They live far far away and don’t know how to contact me.)
Caring is appreciated.
Asking about can be apprehended.
But nagging is just out of order.
I’m not an AFI or Indonesian Idols contestant, aren’t I?
Whose actions get to be judged every weekend.
Whose improvement in behaviour depends on some public votes and how much
booze I’ve got in stock.
Aren’t I?
Heaven and hell forbid.
Well…
I don’t always enjoy telling people what to do with their lives, though it’s
one of the fun parts of the job (tee hee!).
But I gotta say something here.
I must state my own judgment now.
I love them all.
But I think they’re the ones who definitely should get out more.
There must be a lot of more interesting things to do than just whinging about my
life, surely?
PS. So erm… where was I?
I was busy popping in and out, getting laid, travelling, having an affair,
attempting to exterminate a group of stupid people, dyeing my hair bright
orange, killing some bugs, self-poisoining, writing erotica, and some other
amusing stuff that might kill you in envy if you end up knowing.
Oh, how conceited.
PPS. The list is sort of made-up. Though to some extent, I really
did some of the stuff above.
PPPS. The bottomline is…
I’m here now.
