I just finished reading this book Fight Club, have you ever heard about it?

I closed the book and put it down, staring blankly ahead. The hell did I just read?

I smiled because it was a good piece of read. I haven't had my mind boggled like that since the last time I saw the movie adaptation, a long time ago, young and dumb and didn't know better. Now I could see why that was a movie of many's favorite. A cult. I could see the charm back then, but after reading the book, I understand.

On the other hand, I felt a twinge of sadness, because it's over. Honestly I didn't want it to finish reading that quickly, but it was 200-ish pages of excitement and familiarity, action and confusion. What am I saying.

You know the feeling when you've finished a good book and now you're sad to be back to your boring reality? Well.. it's my state now. I know deep inside that a good book shouldn't be a mere escape from my reality, and it's supposed to change my life for the better. But that's just wishful thinking.

I haven't been exactly an avid reader, the most I could do was with comics and light comedy novels, and that's why I was excited to be actually reading a book to the point of finishing it in just a few days. Speaking of which, have I told you about Action Philosophers? Well, it's comic, but I recommend it nonetheless.

I've been trying to read more, because of how bad my attention span gets nowadays, especially now that I don't have classes anymore. I couldn't get through a 15-minutes YouTube video without getting distracted, mainly by my phone. I couldn't get my brain to correspond to my general muscle memory, like when I'm doing things but my mind is wandering elsewhere (or nowhere, it's just dormant).

I've always wanted to be a writer, even now. Doesn't matter what I write, I just typed away. And what better ways to start being a good writer than reading a lot?

Cats Cats Cats

Tonight my rants will be taking a short break and instead I'm going to talk about something important.

Cats.

You heard me right. Cats. Typically furry, carnivorous mammals we constantly bump into in our everyday life. And I'm not complaining. I'm an obvious cat person. I see a cat on the street, I approach it. Brief boop on the nose, a little pet if they're of the friendly kind, and small bits of cat food if I happen to have it on me. Brief encounters with this creature can put me in a good mood, especially the friendly ones.

I have had the experience of owning (owning might not be the precise word) cats in the past. Most of them are dead or missing right now (talk about being a good cat-parent). See, what I mean by owning would be something like seeing them around my house a couple of times, give them food until they're comfortable being with us and decide to take over our front porch. Just... casually... pooping all around the yard. They're basically stray cats that we took into our hands. We don't have a local shelter where we can go and adopt pre-maintened cats, so it's all up to us how to take care of them.

This kind of taking-care-of-stray-cat cycle has been around for quite a long time in my family. We live in a suburban house complex, and there are a lot of stray cats hanging around. We couldn't just feed every single ferals, and considering how territorial cats are, once one or two commonly united cats decided to take over our yard as their kingdom, others just naturally avoid the area. Once we also took a group of abandoned kittens from mom's office to home to be taken care of. They grew up well, but then they decided to wander off elsewhere, one by one. Ungrateful bastards.

smol villa

Oldest cat we have had we named Villa. Male cat, white fur with orange coat around his face and tail. He was born in our house around 2011, with one (or two) sibling(s) four years ago, he's still living with us now although his siblings had moved out. He was named such because during his kittenhood (is that a word) he was really playful, and liked chasing this orange decoration around like a football. Mom's really fond of football, and she suggested that name.

Villa's story is kind of sad, because he was such a friendly and playful kitten, with eyes lit up at round objects rolling around and paws to play with others, but one day he just got... hurt. His front left leg got messed up pretty badly, and he became hostile quickly we couldn't even take him to the vet. He then went incognito for quite a while, but went back with noticeable physical change and attitude. He used to like being pet, now he doesn't even let anyone touch him. He doesn't play with our cats anymore, only around for feeding time, with most of his time outside fighting other strays. He was now the territory master, so at least it's an accomplishment. I'm still feeling guilty we didn't get to take him to the vet, though.

large villa

Anyway, after a few years of having domestic shorthairs (read: mutt) come and go, this rare (is it though?) beauty suddenly appeared out of nowhere, hanging around our neighborhood, meowing. Our maid found her and we feed her. We had no idea where or whose house she could be from, because she doesn't look like our usual mutt. She looked like something out of a pet shop, with relatively long coat of fur, and she was very friendly. She immediately made herself at home at our house. After a brief discussion with brother, we named her Joan.

ma bby

To our surprise, she was toilet-trained. Most of our cats initially dropped their bombs around the yard and then we cover them with sands and kerosene to get rid of the smell. Some managed to take it on the litterbox, but we had to train them first. Joan on the other hand went straight to the back toilet where our washing took place, and managed to pee near the water drain. We only found out after we noticed her walking out of the toilet. She became mom's favorite in an instant.

ma bbyy

Things took a positive turn for Joan. She was the first cat mom was willing to neuter, and didn't mind regularly take to vet (because we know she wouldn't run away like others did). She wasn't a playful one, though, mostly just chilling around. Of all the cats we had, I think it's safe to say that she had the most territorial coverage around the house. She even managed to enter the toilet (which most cats never dared to) and my room (and mom would scold because my brother had fur allergies). She likes chilling in the living room, where she would be immediately greeted by eager petting by my brother and me, or foot petting by mom as if she was a walking furry doormat. A huge improvement, considering mom barely touched most of our cats.

To this day, Joan is still alive and well. I don't see her that much because I've been temporarily moving out to another city to finish my college...

...where I made another cat my pet. Meet Ibeng. (read: e-bank)

meet my newest companion

Ibeng came at a good time, which was during my (hopefully) final college semester where I barely had anything to do other than working on my thesis. Got no class left, so I spend most of time at kosan, writing away, cleaning my room, even took the time to wash a few of my own clothes.. and feeding cats.

But T, how are you keeping a cat at kosan? I'm so glad you asked, my friend. You see, right now I live in a second floor, and the front of my room is an open balcony. Beyond the open balcony is not your average view, but rather, the roofing of the building. The roof was like an intersection for stray cats, and sometimes they stop by to salvage bits of leftover food/trash from the trashbin.

roofing

crime scene

One uneventful night I just had the idea of putting my leftover food on a disposable container and put it on the roof near my balcony. I did this a couple of times and now I have this little shit begging for food every single day. So I just had to put cat food on my list of expenses because how could you say no to that face?

"food plz"

Basically I just feed him outside my room, he hung out for a bit to groom himself and took a nap on my doormat. His visit could be daily, sometimes he doesn't visit for a few days straight. He keeps me company during late nights of typing (or browsing around randomly), leaves, and then goes back in the morning meowing loudly and waking me up for his cereal (cat food). It's nice because he doesn't hang around for too long or get too clingy, and he would leave if he needs to go to the toilet.

nappy nap

It occurs to me to give him a bath because he's very dirty I can't even pet him (usually I use tissue should the temptation become too strong), but his eyes went wide to the sight of water. I once tried washing him with wet cloth; I got scratches and he didn't visit for a week. Oh well.

It wasn't always peaceful, though. Sometimes other stray cats try to eat the food I put outside, and when Ibeng was around, he would taunt them away. Sometimes the stray cat fights other stray cats around the roof, and Ibeng would just watch from afar because I think he thinks he's safe now he got a human companion that would chase the fight away should it become too annoying.

they're fighting, mind you

Of course Ibeng wasn't the only friendly cat in the city where I am right now. They are everywhere. There are cats in my campus, around my kosan neighborhood, on the street where I walk. Wherever it was, I am particularly grateful of the cats that let me pet them and make my days, become remedy of my exhaustion, or just amuse me with their antics.

Moral of the story? I just really like cats.

Reflection.

I have been reading a decent amount of creepypasta, short horror stories, and urban legends. It's funny how I've always been drawn to suspense and mystery narratives, yet I can be so easily scared it's almost paradoxical. Creepy stories often make use of everyday objects: your bed, which under is infested with boogeyman or an entrance to the otherworld; your phone, which the dead friend's girlfriend or recently deceased relative contact you with; and of course, the mirror.

Who hasn't heard of the "bloody mary" urban legend, where if you chant "bloody mary" three times in front of your dark bathroom mirror, the bloodied disfigured woman would come and get you? What about the ritual of using mirror to catch a glimpse of the literal hell, where you put a big mirror to sit in front of past midnight with required tools and few drops of your blood? Or if you're quite imaginative, relating to the stories where your reflection in the mirror is actually a distant entity that would jump out and trap you in the mirror while it takes over your life given the chance?

What about the worst of them all: looking in front of a mirror and seeing something, someone, you can't recognize anymore?

When you do the past midnight-mirror ritual, you need to lit a candle. You do that, and I can bet you the candle is brighter than my eyes. They say eyes are the window to your soul, so what does it mean to see a window that doesn't even reflect you back? You're looking at emptiness. Just a vast space of transparency, not liquid, not solid. It's that inside of a cube you drew indifferently for your geometry or solid state physics homework.

Or maybe it's not emptiness. Maybe it's the numbness of failing to recognize an object.

Imagine living in your head for so long that when you take a look at yourself in the mirror, you think to yourself, "that's not me". Not because you've changed drastically, but because you have no idea of "you" in the first place. Could went from A to Z, from 10 to 21, or turning 22 last month, the reflection still doesn't make sense.

Is it because I failed to know myself? Is it because I lost track of the concept of change that the transition feels surreal?

I know how futile and selfish this kind of observation sounds like. I know it's useless to try and formulate myself. I know there are moments that I reflect and wish I could just say "yeah this is me right now and if it doesn't make sense when I look at myself later it's because things have changed and I'm a different person in this circumstance" and just go about my life. I know I shouldn't be boxing myself in terms, labeling myself psychologically or be scared of being myself.

I'm really amazed how I've made it this far, though. After all, it takes years and years of nurturing myself with sleep deprivation, lack of physical exercises, caffeine chugging, meaningless communication, and vacant consumerism to get to where I am today. I haven't slept last night, and I just finished my first cup of coffee this morning after binge-watching supposedly informative YouTube videos.

There's really no point in writing this. Did you think the beginning of this post would take you to a refreshing tale of horror? No, this is just my usual ranting. I watched The Sixth Sense yesterday and I found out that what I'm ordinarily writing is called "free association writing". If you're looking for horror stories you can check the r/shortscarystories or r/nosleep subreddit. Also, I recommend the Russian Sleep Experiment.

In conclusion, I would like you all to be grateful if you're able to look at yourself in the mirror and not having existential crisis or being obsessed of finding what's wrong with you. Smile at your reflection today, and maybe tomorrow will smile back at you. Take care of yourself and don't make the same mistake I have done.

Cheers,

T.

Isolation.

There are some personal aspects that I prefer to keep to myself, and this is how I cope. Sometimes I smile. Sometimes I don't smile when I really want to. Self-control, I told myself. Whatever it was I had in mind, it was restrained, forgotten, void forever.

Sometimes I nod. I had no idea what they said, but I nodded. I never knew what good I was other than listening, so I nodded. There are so many of them, in a lot of shapes and forms. I found out that I did not even need to listen, I just had to nod, and nod I did, and have been ever since.

Eye contact is a big red light. I keep my sight low and narrow, careful by nature. It drains me and somehow there's a certain danger I could detect. I hated those sunbeam-like entities, charming and loud. I was a shadow, and they hurt my eyes.

She said I plug my ears too much it contorts my reality. Honey, if only you could hear what I heard you would wish you never had them. Noises, not sounds. Screeching, too close, and tangling knots in my brain. I want to scream, but nothing comes out. A little squeak, lost in the crowd.

"Dark in here," I whispered. It looms over and replied, "It keeps me alive."

"Cold, too."

"I like cold." It said, smiling.

And we're friends ever since. I never told anyone. It never wants to go away anyway.

In a sense, yes, I am isolated. I am in a box, yet you never knew. I am locked inside, deaf and dumb.

"You have the key. Unlock yourself out." You would say.

I would, but knowing what's out there, I'd rather starve myself inside. It keeps me company.

Insomniac.

Aku tak bisa tidur, pikirku galau. iPod-ku masih melantunkan lagu pelan dari daftar putar "Sleep" Spotify, volume sedang, dan seharusnya dapat membuatku tertidur. Tetapi aku masih mendengarnya. Suara gemerisik. Dari atas atap. Dari lantai bawah. Dari tali jemuran di luar.

Kamar bisa menjadi tiba-tiba dingin. Aku tinggal di lantai dua yang jendelanya dapat dibuka dan langsung diterpa angin. Jam 2 sampai jam 6 adalah jam-jam kritis untuk jari-jari kakiku. Dan telingaku. Aku mendengar suara angin dan atap seperti kejatuhan sesuatu. Telapak kakiku dingin dan mati rasa.

Ada sensasi yang tidak bisa dijelaskan ketika kamu terlalu sering bangun malam. Dini hari bisa menjadi sangat familiar, sepi dan nyaman untuk berkonsentrasi. Di satu sisi, itu terlalu sepi dan menjadi sangat asing. Aku selalu menjadi sangat sensitif pada suara, pada temperatur, pada bau. Terkadang aku harus berpegangan pada sesuatu untuk meyakinkan diriku sendiri bahwa aku benar sedang bangun. Aku benar-benar mencium sesuatu, merasakan dinginnya angin, atau mendengar bunyi gemerisik yang nyata.

Aku akan mendengar suara seperti orang berbicara, atau berbisik, di lantai bawah, dan aku akan turun. Aku membawa gelas sekaligus untuk mengambil minum, sambil melingkupkan diriku pada selimut yang hangat. Aku mendapati suara nyanyian dari satu kamar di lantai bawah, dan merasa lega karena aku tahu aku tidak gila, dan aku benar mendengar sesuatu.

Aku tidak keberatan dengan chat tengah malam atau dini hari, karena keberadaan seseorang membantuku berpegangan pada kenyataan bahwa aku terbangun, aku mampu bercakap-cakap dan merangkai kalimat secara koheren. Kau tidak bisa yakin akan hal itu ketika bermimpi.

Kau tahu meja kecil yang biasa dibawa anak-anak saat lomba mewarnai? Aku memiliki satu, yang kugantung agar rapi di gantungan tempel di samping meja belajarku, hanya lima senti dari permukaan lantai. Jam 2 pagi, ia terjatuh dan menyadarkanku dari keadaan setengah tidur. Aku tertawa kering dan merasa bodoh. Tiga jam kemudian aku tertidur lelap.

Selalu saja begini. Aku sudah siap tertidur, daftar putar musik menenangkan di iPod pun sudah disetel, walaupun aku masih sulit tertidur dan sudah sejam aku menanti dewi tidur mendatangiku. Aku mendengar suara tempat sampah di depan terjatuh. Terjatuh mungkin bukan kata yang tepat. Dijatuhkan lebih tepat. Bukannya dewi tidur yang datang, malah makhluk kelaparan. Aku mengeluarkan wadah kecil berisi makanan kucing yang tersisa dan menaruhnya di dekat tempat sampah. Kucing liar itu langsung melompat dari tempat sampah dan terdiam di atas pinggiran jemuran menatapku. Aku kembali masuk ke kamar. Aku tertidur lima jam kemudian, setelah menonton beberapa episode anime, menggenjreng gitar dan bernyanyi sumbang.

Aku tak bisa tidur, keluhku pada teman-temanku. Tapi aku pernah berada dalam keadaan seperti ini, beberapa bulan lalu, beberapa tahun lalu. Aku pikir aku pernah menceritakan hal ini di dalam blog. Beberapa minggu penuh ketidakjelasan waktu tidur, dan entah bagaimana lingkaran setan itu berakhir, terlupakan begitu saja. Aku tak pernah ingat kapan siklus kebobrokan jadwal tidur ini dimulai, dan kapan ia tiba-tiba berakhir. Yang jelas saat ini aku sedang berada di dalamnya.

Aku tahu kenapa aku tidak bisa tidur. Aku tahu aku tidak bisa tidur karena aku terlalu banyak memikirkan hal yang tidak dapat kukendalikan, terlalu banyak memikirkan hal yang dapat kukendalikan namun tidak kulakukan, terlalu banyak berpikir, itu yang jelas. Aku tidak bisa menghentikan pikiran-pikiran akan hal-hal buruk yang telah terjadi padaku, pikiran-pikiran seandainya aku melakukan hal yang berbeda dulu, pikiran-pikiran di mana aku dapat menjadi pribadi yang lebih baik dibanding sekarang seandainya dulu aku melakukan hal yang berbeda.

The redundancy of overthinking.

Aku tahu kenapa aku tidak bisa tidur. Aku tidak bisa tidur karena romantisasi insomnia. Aku suka memberitahu kalian kalau aku tidak bisa tidur malam. Aku nocturnal. Aku spesial, aku tidak fungsional, aku aneh. Aku mendengarkan daftar putar lo-fi hiphop dengan ambience midnight karena terdengar keren. Aku membayangkan diriku seperti protagonis dalam cerita Haruki Murakami, menjelajah dinginnya malam dengan jaket dan syal, mendengarkan musik dari iPodnya, mendatangi kafe 24 jam untuk membaca buku dan menyeruput cappuccino panas sembari menghindari kenyataan hidup dan berteman dengan krisis eksistensial.

Aku akan terbangun esok hari pukul 2 siang, menuang diriku semangkuk corn flakes dan segelas teh stroberi, kemudian bertanya-tanya apakah malam tanpa tidur ini akan terulang lagi esok hari. Tanpa tempat untuk dituju, tanpa hal untuk dilakukan, mempertanyakan hal-hal yang tidak penting sangatlah mudah. The privilege of being idle.

Apa kisahmu malam ini, kawan?

You'll Float Too.

I'm floating.

The sky is clear blue. Birds are chirping, thick white clouds hanging around, and I'm still floating. I can't recall the last time I put my feet on the grounds below. View is pleasant up here, and traffic is non-existent. Just like my life.

I've had friends down below, although I'm alone up here. Friends are the only thing that keep me down there. I'll float forever if I don't have them.

Pita was nice. She gave me food and let me stay in her house for a week, but when she got a boyfriend I was kicked out immediately. Her boyfriend didn't want a stranger like me taking advantage of her kind nature. I floated away and wrote Pita a goodbye letter.

Jack was a big fan of music. We met in front of a records store. As we became friends he let me hang out at his place and listen to his collection. Sometimes he invited me to listen to his band playing. He didn't let me stay too long, though. After a few weeks I floated away. I drew a fanart of his favorite album and sent it to him before I left.

Mira was different. She was quiet. So I stayed quiet too. She fidgeted. I stared. I didn't know what was wrong with me, or her. She liked going to a neighborhood cafe and stayed there for hours. She would bring books, or sometimes her laptop. Typing, typing away when she was not reading. She liked that coffee with cinnamon in it... she called it cappuccino, I think?
She bought me a cup of tea. We didn't spoke much, but it felt like home. For some reason, though, one day she just disappeared from the cafe. From the neighborhood. I heard things like she was being taken away by her family to marry some guy. What's a forced marriage? I didn't know what to do, so I floated. I still wonder how cappuccino tastes and what a forced marriage is.

Jon was famous, but not that famous. I found him in a minimarket, and he bought me a sportsdrink. He was an endorser, whatever that meant, so it was practically free for him. After he bought me that drink, a few people crowded around him asking for selfies, whatever that meant. One of them asked me to take their pictures. After they were done, Jon left. I drank the whole bottle and floated away. The man in side the minimarket yelled at me for littering, whatever that meant.

I'm still floating. The sky is turning darker. Sunlight isn't as hot as it was a few moments ago. I look down, searching for shelter. Below is just a neighborhood; all occupied house. I decide to flow downwards, and end up in front of a small store. The thunder starts.

Nick's his name. He's also stuck in the rain. He doesn't talk much, just like Mira. He plays with his phone, and fiddles with his helmet. I stare. I look at the sky.

Oh how I wish to float right now.

Morning Coffee and Flash Updates

Sedang mood berbahasa Indonesia hari ini, so imma give flash drabbles-like updates on my life in bahasa Indonesia.

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Hair-Dryer

Aku akhirnya membeli hair dryer, tidak hari ini sih, tapi akhir pekan lalu. Lalu merasa cewek banget. Seumur-umur 22 tahun hidupku sepertinya aku tak pernah terpikir untuk menggunakan perangkat pengering rambut ini, selain setelah potong rambut, yang mana yaa sudah termasuk di ongkos potong dan bawaan dari tempat pangkasnya. Masa pulang-pulang rambut masih basah.

Pasalnya dari jaman Suju belum nge-boom di Indonesia sampai BTS naik daun worldwide, rambutku selalu model pendek ala-ala boyband Korea, jadi kalau mau keramas dan mengeringkan rambut gampang. Pakai sampo seupil macem krim malam pun tak masalah (oke ini terlalu dramatis, mungkin tak sesedikit itu), mengeringkan tinggal di-bwet bwet bwet sepuluh menit pakai handuk eng-ing-eng siaplah ku menyambangi Timezone terdekat (lho? bukannya kuliah?).

Sekarang berbeda. Aku mulai memanjangkan rambut. Enggak ada maksud apapun, spontan saja, tidak bahkan terbesit pikiran "ah, pengen manjangin rambut", hanya saja tidak mengalokasikan otak untuk memikirkan model potong rambut. Mungkin efek iklim Bandung yang ademm, sehingga tidak merasa kegerahan meskipun terjadi perpanjangan rambut yang biasanya di Balikpapan walaupun infinitesmal langsung terasa. Mungkin juga efek tidak kuliah dan tidak banyak kegiatan (ketauan penganggurannya deh), jadi tidak merasa terbebani kalau harus meluangkan waktu lebih banyak untuk mencuci rambut dan mengeringkannya.

Jadinya kalau habis mandi plus keramas, 5 jam bisa habis deh cuma buat alasan 'mengeringkan rambut', padahal sambil leyeh-leyeh main tetris dan browsing YouTube ga jelas (kapan belajarnya woi?). Dengan rambut yang (relatif) panjang, lebih rawan gatal, sehingga harus lebih sering dicuci, dan walhasil, lebih banyak waktu yang dialokasikan untuk... mengeringkan rambut *soundtrack Korobeiniki terdengar dari kejauhan*. Jadi, kalau tiba-tiba ingin keramas, rencana keluar kosan batal sudah. Mandi jam 10 (bukan kebo, kalo lebih pagi dingin tauk..), keringnya baru jam 5 sore, akhirnya batal keluar untuk beli makan siang atau ke lab kampus dengan alasan rambut masih basah. Yeuuu...

Sekarang aku ingin mengubah itu! Dengan hair dryer Panasonic EH-ND11 berkekuatan 400 watt ini akan kukompres 5 jam yang sia-sia itu ke dalam 10 menit yang berarti, dan 4 jam 50 menit sisanya untuk melakukan hal yang lebih produktif! Seperti... seperti... apa, ya? Hmmm....

*tiduran lagi main Tetris*

Setidaknya rambutku sudah kering dan wangi.

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Tetris

Masih berkaitan dengan tulisan sebelumnya. Aku demam Tetris. Orang aneh, memang, Tetris mainan dari jaman jebot malah demamnya sekarang. Aku sampai pusing-pusing gara-gara terlalu banyak bermain. Ada kali mahasiswa tingkat akhir sakitnya bukan karena skripsi, tapi karena kebanyakan main Tetris *kompres mata*. Dan ini baru-baru saja. Mungkin tidak lama lagi aku akan bosan, tapi aku tak tahu kapan akan bosannya... wong merem aja bayangannya masih itu kotak-kotak Tetromino berjatuhan dan melebur saat komplit sebaris. Aaagghh.

Aku tidak menyebut diriku gamer, tapi memang dasar millenial yang hobinya berselancar di internet dan browsing tak tentu arah, aku nyasar di segmen review video games YouTube. Pertamanya sih adikku mengenalkanku dengan lelucon ala ala meme yang ternyata berasal dari saluran YouTube yang bernama JonTron. Video-videonya sangat menarik dan menghibur bagiku yang bahkan sebelumnya tak tahu apa itu Banjo-Kazooie, atau kalau ternyata Mario Games itu banyak macamnya dan tidak hanya untuk satu console saja.

Jadilah dari video JonTron aku menemukan kalau ternyata banyak juga channel yang membuat webshow mereka sendiri yang mengulas video games, dari yang bernuansa komedik sampai serius, dari yang menampilkan setengah-setengah hingga Let's Play-ers yang menampilkan mereka bermain dari awal sampai akhir game.

Hingga aku menemukan channel yang dinamai brutalmoose. Ian, yang punya channel, kebanyakan mengulas video game yang tergolong 'retro' (bahasa kerennya jadul yak), tapi baru-baru ini dia memulai serial baru yang mengulas TV show dan film jadul, dan mengulas snack jadul jaman dia kecil. Maksudnya yang masih dijual sampai sekarang yaa, bukan cemilan dari taun 1990an dia simpen buat di-review *huuu garing ah*

Kenapa jadi merembet ke sini ya... Intinyaa dia membuat satu video yang judulnya "Top 5 Time-Consuming Games" dan menampilkan salah satunya adalaahh... yaaa... Tetris (dia taruh di #2 btw). Habis menonton itu aku langsung tergerak untuk main Tetris sambil berpikir-pikir aplikasi game Tetris masih ada nggak di GooglePlay. Ada sih banyak di GPlay, tapi yang bikin aku kepincut adalah versi yang EA buat untuk dimainkan di iOS. Tadinya aku khawatir akan banyak ads di dalam aplikasinya, tapi ternyata enggak tuh! *biasanya wifi-nya dimatikan soalnya hihi*

Lalu mekanisme kendali yang awalnya bikin aku agak wagu karena model tetromino-nya di-slide dan bukan dikendalikan pakai button seperti versi jadul di gameboy, malah bikin seru karena memang layarnya kan touchscreen dan tidak ada tombol fisik lagi, sehingga lebih akurat. Aku mainkan versi Android yang pakai button jadul di layar malah tetromino-nya kemana-mana karena aku salah pencet tombol dan engga terasa. Kesimpulannya adalah, emang Ian ga salah menyebut Tetris termasuk game yang time-consuming. Duh mas, setidaknya bikin warning terhadap kesehatan sekalian dong (siapa yang salah hah)... *masih kompres mata*

Kalau penasaran sama BrutalMoose Channel

Tetris yang Bikin Demam

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-Akan dilanjutkan nanti karena sekarang kopi susunya sudah habis-

It's Probably Nothing

Philosophy is a lot like buying a hamburger, lay out the buns, the patty, the lettuce, and the tomato on the table and explaining each of them separately, when all you need was just eating it. Nevertheless, that doesn't stop some people from dissecting the heck out of the hamburger. Our thirst for knowledge, that is to say, is just nothing more than wanting to know what is being handed to us. Probably the burger has onions, which you could like or not like, but the burger as a whole tastes pretty good to you. Enlightenment. Probably you prefer barbeque sauce over tomato sauce, so you try ordering something else. Subjectivity. Probably the patty is too small, and you feel the need to complain to the manager about it, if the manager is there at all. Of course, in a burger stand, if you're unsatisfied with the burger you have someone to complain to, and service would be provided.

So say the hamburger is life, and you're the customer. Pretty neat analogy, huh? It sounds pretty stupid because if you order hamburger you should have known what's in it: buns, patty, lettuce, sauce, tomato, etc, and depending on the hamburger. But questions can be asked: what kind of buns are those? what's the patty made of? is the lettuce fresh? what kind of sauce did they put in? what makes them think this combination would make a good hamburger? and so on.

I firmly believe that our wonder alone is enough to make each and every one of us a philosopher. Just like knowing about the wave-particle dualism and electron energy makes us quantum physicist. Wondering whether there's life outside the earth? Philosophy. Wondering why we exist? Philosophy. Wondering about the good and bad? Philosophy. Wondering where all the social norms come from? Philosophy. Wondering what the stars are made of? Philoso- wait, no, I think that actually makes you an aspiring astronomer.

Philosophy is always a fascinating subject to me. People asking questions and seeing where they would end. It's a fun exercise of the mind, redundant as it may seem. I find myself asking a lot of seemingly-trivial questions about life, existential, that stuff, only to discover that a lot of men (and women) from hundred of years ago have been wondering about those themselves, and written what they think about it. So my questions aren't really original. Do you think there's anything original thought by people? Or is it always repeating? If it is, where do you think the originality starts? Hmm I wonder.

A Trip to The Past

If you've been on the internet for quite some time, and you're an avid follower of the music side of YouTube, well, you've probably seen comments like...

"Today's music sucks!"

"Music was so much better back then!"

"God, please bring Kurt Cobain back and take Justin Bieber instead."

"Justin Bieber: God puts me on Earth to make music and for people to enjoy it.
(The artists' video): No I didn't."

forgot the rest, but you get my point.

Does music today really as sucky as they said? Or do people just have sentiments for what they found enjoyable in the past because they were better people in the past? I don't know, but sometimes I do wonder why today's music doesn't really... click to my soul? I mean, I do admit that I have huge sentiments for music I listen in the past. Listening back to those, I could recall the moments I spent with that song, no matter how absurd that would be.

For example, during my time along elementary to junior high, I obsessed completely over The Corrs, and I listen to their songs whenever I get the chance. Back then, listening to music wasn't that big of a deal, you know. We didn't have Spotify and not really relying on internet a lot. If I wanted to listen to music, I had to buy the disc / tape and put them in the stereo, so when there was no stereo, I didn't listen to music. Another way would be to... *ahem* download the songs, y know what I mean. That means I need the effort to search for the songs, wait for them to download which would take quite a while if you want the whole album, and then transfer it from my computer to my phone so I can listen to it during recess.

My first exposure to The Corrs would probably be the cassette tape. My mom had one, and I listened to it quite a lot. Their songs are very light and warm, like hot citrus tea... and I was completely obsessed. I didn't have my own laptop and internet access back then, and the only time I could access internet was when mom took me to her office. There, I searched for The Corrs lyrics and I.... printed..... them. *cringe* Look, I was young and obsessed, okay? I probably didn't know what YouTube was, and I spent most of my free time memorizing those lyrics. It probably was why my English was above average.


Back then, there was no Steam, no firesure way to know what game was booming, what was good, and all I could manage to buy were some weird pirated game CDs available in department store. So I had to make-do with what's there. The pirated game CDs always contain more than 5 games in it, totally like compilation, and that's when you know it's pirated. I played this game called Exile 2, an RPG game in which I had totally no idea what to do so I just winged it. I didn't even have a concept of what RPG game was. And during that, I listened to some Corrs, of course. The Corrs songs that I took time to search and download... also, remember WINAMP? Yeah, that was it.

It's an absurd concept, because I was listening to warm-hearting lyrics about wanting to runaway with your stupid lover.... while I recruited a monster in my team and escaping the lava.

All silliness aside, I still remember the moment vividly. Very vivid. Which was weird, because it's such a trivial thing to remember. I didn't even consider it out of normal back then.

My theory is that the memories are there because I took effort to make them, to make the memory. Today everything is accessible soooo easily that when you get something instantly, you can also easily dismiss them instantly. If I wanted to listen to music, I needed to search, download, wait, transfer, and then and only then I could get them. Now, when I want to listen to music, I just needed to go to Youtube and search for them.

They're nice things, but it doesn't really write the whole 'music experience' for me. Remember back then phone companies like Sony Ericsson (yes, with Ericsson) and Nokia made several phone models which specifications were focused around music? Take the Sony Ericsson Walkman series, or Nokia XpressMusic. I had a few of those, and I was really into Sony Ericsson's Walkman series. Or remember the Walkman, where you put music CDs in and listen to them through headphones? That thing is totally retro, man. Because having Walkman requires you to collect the CDs, it just showed
how much of an avid music listener you are. God, I miss the 00s.

had this beauty when I was in junior high

my friend had one of this and it was the bomb

I wouldn't say things like I was born in the wrong generation, because frankly things are great right now, and I'm grateful that I get to experience the transition from old-modem-sound on pentium computer to seamless streaming through wireless connection. But, it would be great to actually experience something as a whole again like I did back then, because right now every little thing seems to be meaningless.

See, I could talk hours and write paragraphs about silly things from my past like music, but if you ask me to narrate about my last 3 years in college, I couldn't remember the last time I was that... happy, or enthusiastic at all. *hello darkness my old friend plays*

They said the past always has a way to catch up to you, and this time, it does. It does, my friend, and I'm glad I had them.

End-

Just a small rant, as usual. Let's talk about fear. I have an absolutely abstract, yet specific type of fear.

Time. It's time.

By now I have realized how much of a walking contradiction I am. My fear could be induced by my obsession, or the other way around. But they're both still here; in my mind. I'm both obsessed and afraid of time. Running out of time.

Everytime I wake up around the middle of the night, the first thing I do is making sure the clock still ticks. I obsess over clock ticks in that silent time of the day. I would notice how at some point the ticking sound grows louder, and it goes back to normal. At some point I would hear two sets of clock ticking; from another room, from the next room, or from the dining room outside.

I fear for that moment when the clock stops ticking; time stops while I stand still, doing things like nothing happened.
I fear for that moment when time stops, I'm the only one moving, and I have no idea why or how. It's weird, because in the back of my mind I know it would not really happen, but I'm still scared.

I would have a small heart attack if the clock stops or runs out of battery, because it's the closest I could get to that nightmare I always fear coming true.

Midnight trips to toilet are always unpleasant, because for those brief silent moment, where everyone is sleeping, you can't actually tell that time is still moving. You can't really tell whether people are actually sleeping or just... stop living. That's why, probably strangely enough, I find comfort when I encounter small bugs like ants or mosquitoes moving. They give me sense of security that time still ticks; that life goes on for them, and also for me.

It's probably also why I find comfort in being the lone figure in the crowd. I would prefer silence on my own, but I also want to make sure that time still ticks, and life still goes on for everyone else. Spending silence on my own just feels so... maddening. I feel like I'm going crazy.

But I also long for the moment when time stops for me; for my life. I'm counting my end days. I probably wish this all stops very soon.

Tick Tock

It's Monday again. *groaning sound in the distance*

You know how people today communicate via mobile phone; we barely text or call anymore. Instead, we choose the option of instant messaging, or chat, so to speak. It's a lot cheaper, has a nice interface we can customize, and also saves you from the burden of memorizing phone numbers. The only texts I get nowadays are advertisements, promotions, and spam. So naturally, if I want to contact people, it should be through one of these messaging apps.

And the first chat that I received today, in the morning, consists of something like, "Aren't you tired?"

That was intended to response to my chat telling her that I couldn't sleep well last night. As usual. I can barely get good night sleep nowadays. I would be on the bed since 11 PM, but I toss and turn and drift off only to be awakened by this sudden jerk of muscles, which would last until 5 AM or so...

But the chat that I received, the question, feels like something a lot wholesome.

Aren't you tired?

Why are you asking the obvious. Of course I'm tired of not being able to sleep like a normal human being. Of course I'm tired of wasting 6 hours of my life trying to refresh myself, just to wake up even more tired than before. Of course I'm tired not being able to get up early, make myself a stack of pancake for breakfast, do daily workouts or be productive in the morning for once. Of course I'm tired of this totally chaotic rhythm of life I'm living, in which I could only dream of being productive, or dream of having a dream. Of course I'm tired looking at the mirror and find someone who looks like they've been doing meth and sleeping for nineteen hours on a Thursday afternoon.

The thing is, I don't even like sleep... If I could, I would prefer not to sleep for the rest of my life, because I'm aware of how much time I've been wasting in my life. But probably wasting time is already in my nature, because once I try hitting the hay early (yes, 11 PM is early), I would spend the rest of the night trying to sleep and end up wasting 6 hours, and then sleep away for 5 hours or so. So... 11 hours in total. What a waste, right.

And people wonder why I keep pulling an all-nighter. At least when I sleep at 5 AM, I wouldn't worry about wasting additional 6 hours.

I'm getting myself a coffee.

How Do I Apply To Be A Ninja?

Serious question, guys. I highly think that I have the talent to be invisible, just need to work a bit (sure) on my physical skills.

Pseudo-yes

Pseudo-yes is... a term I coined to describe what I feel I've been experiencing throughout my life so far. I would define it as something like this:

I'm that guy in the class who would say "no" when you asked me if I had studied for the semester test, even when you had seen me opening the textbook during yesterday's recess hour. Chances are you're probably thinking I'm a fat liar who just wanted to bring everyone's expectation down and keep their diligence at bay. No. That's not the case.

There's a point where I open the textbook, look at the words and graphs, but understanding them is another different case. My body could be the one doing the 'studying', but my mind is wandering somewhere else. I was probably thinking about that one website I frequently visited which just had totally new interface, and mentally commented about it, more than I actually read the damn book, and suddenly the bell rang so I had to close the book to prepare for the next class. 

I open the book, but I don't read it, per se, in which case you couldn't say that I extracted a single good, useful information from that book. This is the case where I answer "pseudo-yes, I had studied biology for semester test". Am I prepared? Hell no.

It's also the same case where I had to prepare a book chapter to be presented in class (which is tonight, I suppose lol). I had prepared to do it since last week, mind you, but I couldn't even bring myself to read the damn book. I'm opening the book right now, and try to extract things by putting some of the main points that I have learned to the presentation file. This is a presentation file, but it's just... let's say, a draft. Would I use this as the outline for the real presentation? Probably not.

When people see me doing it, they'll probably think "oh, she's already started with the presentation." but have I actually started doing the presentation I would present? Again, probably not. When my group ask me whether I have started doing it or not, I could say that I have started doing something related to the presentation, but I couldn't say that I have started doing the presentation. Am I making any sense here? Please bear with me. So when they asked me, I could only say "no" when all I wanna do was answer with a "pseudo-yes", because that would socially make little-to-none sense.

Also the case when I started 'dating'.. two times, during elementary and high-school. When I was in elementary school, I didn't even know what dating someone means, what the consequences are, or what you're supposed to do in that situation. I just heard stuffs from my friends, like A is dating B, C is dating D, and so on, so I thought it was like something you could casually do, just kids stuff (oh totally)

There was a time when a boy, my classmate 'confessed' his feelings to me via text message. It was a time when downloading an episode of One Piece took overnight, kids were bragging about their new Nokia phones, and Yahoo! was still thriving. It was a time when I still had no romantic sense whatsoever that I didn't think his confession, not to mention via text message, was plain dumb. Long story short, we were girlfriend and boyfriend, but we only talk through texts, because he would be moving to another island in the term of two days (or a week? I forgot). There was practically nothing in that relationship, we even lost contact really soon and moved on with our lives without any sense that there was something in between. But our friends still thought, and they had it in their minds, that we were once dating. True, we were technically a couple, but I don't think we acted like one. So did we date? That's another question I would reply with a "pseudo-yes".

What about high-school? Well, it was slightly a different case, because I totally grew up and finally grasped a bit of this concept called 'dating'. This time he 'confessed' in real person in front of our friends during a house party or something, and I thought 'okay, I kinda like this guy' so bam we were a couple. Technically. Because after that night all that changed between us was only the frequency of texts and subtweets, and a lingering feeling of happiness that only lasted a week or so. I don't think we ever actually hung out together, just two of us, like a real couple. Needless to say, it didn't last very long. 

So, were we actually dating? Hmm... I don't think so? But we became couple? Even one of my high-school friend used the term "your ex" to refer to him when he forgot his name. This high-school friend didn't know him or me well, but he did know that we were once a 'couple'. So our identity could never be separate from each other. Whoa, that is deep and scary. This is another 'pseudo-yes' for the two thousand dollar question of whether we were dating or not.

I hope none of you guys thought this post was made to subtly 'curhat' about my previous relationships. It's actually just a terminology that crossed my mind when I was trying to do my presentation for pseudo-tomorrow. It's like when it's both tomorrow and not tomorrow.... nevermind.

You guys probably have experienced something so 'pseudo-yes' and didn't know how to describe it... now you have the word for it!

You're welcome. (just kidding I would probably cringe when I read this in the future)

When You Sleep, You Get Weird

Serious question: what does it mean you dream about one place so often?

Last night I had a dream, located in my old dorm, the very first place I stayed in when I started my college year. In that dream, a girl, an old acquaintance from elementary school, fainted. So I carried her on my back and went to that place to ask for help.

In the dream, the place had a spiral staircase from the front yard to enter the building, as opposed to a normal staircase in real life. It also had a huge, secured front gate, while in real life it doesn't have a gate at all. And in the dream, the rooms were small and dimly lit, with small single beds, while in real life the dorm has pretty spacey rooms, with bright lamps. But technically, they're still the same building. I don't know how to put it, but I was certain the location in my dream was my old dorm, even though some features are different.

It's not the first time I dreamt about that place, though. Already a long time ago, I dreamt that I was stargazing from the roof of that building, and also playing with some neighbor friends. The actual dorm has three floors, plus basement. The first floor is where my room was, the second floor also consists of dorm rooms, while the third floor is where you hang your laundry and stuff. In this floor, there's no doors, no rooms, just two sets of washing machines and ropes for drying clothes. By the washing machines, there's a couple of windows where you can see the outside. It's not outside, though, because when you open it, you're greeted with views of the building's roofs. When I did my laundry there, I sometimes wonder if I could climb out and chill there, on the roofs. But I never did that. The roofs were too steep and you can't really position yourself to 'chill' there.

But I guess my subconscious got the best of me, because I dreamt that I did fucking parkour on the roof with some friends, at night, and it was silent. Even when I jumped and landed here and there, my steps aren't audible. The roofs in the dream were totally different from the actual building roof, but I'm certain it's the dorm building.

Do you see what I mean when you dream about something, and it associates to a real thing you know in real life, and you're certain how they're the same thing even though you can't really know for sure how it associates or if it even true?

Sometimes in my dreams I would hang out with a few people. In the dream, I would be totally sure that they're, say, Chloe or Kai even though the situation doesn't support the argument. In the dream, I was catching fish with them. It doesn't make sense. Why would I be catching fish with Chloe or Kai? I only knew Chloe for a brief moment when we were in a group project, and we never talked otherwise. Kai, on the other hand, didn't even like hanging out with me. So why would the dream associate catching fish with those two people? Are those even Chloe and Kai? Was I wrong? But it seems right.

Dreams are weird.

One time, I dreamt that Franz Ferdinand (the band, look it up) were playing in my hometown during an eve. I didn't know whether it was Christmas, New Years, or something else, but the whole town were in festivity mode where everyone went to the street and just had fun. I don't like crowds, and I don't even go out during NYE or anything like that. I'm normally a house person, and I prefer to stay home especially when it's super crowded outside. Imagine how confused I was to dream that I was there in the middle of festive crowd in the town center, and Franz fucking Ferdinand was playing a gig! In the dream I got called onstage with a few more people and we sang and danced together, and when it was finished they invited us backstage. Awesome.

I woke up with a great mood, kind of sad it ended, but mainly beaming with delight. Strangely, that day I didn't feel like listening to Franz Ferdinand anymore. So I reduced my FF daily song intake.

Dreams are weird.

Subjection

When I was younger, I always thought that I would live my life to be a story that is great to tell, to my children, my grandchildren, my friends, or just anyone in general. The funny thing is, I didn't realize that the stories that I would imagine myself telling are supposedly consisting only parts of my life I would be living. Easily put, when you ask an old friend whom you haven't met in two years what they have been doing, you don't expect them to tell you everything they do, every single second of their past two years.

Same goes with life stories, I guess. When someone asks me what I have been doing today, technically I've done a lot of things: I overslept, I cleaned my room, I watched a new jacksepticeye gameplay on YouTube, I cooked sardines and made tea... and also run out of it. But if you've been actually talking to people, you'd know that the only acceptable answer is... "nothing". Nothing actually happened to me today. Nothing of importance of you, of course. I would think. 

Same case with my life story. When someone asks me what I have been doing with my life, technically, again, I have done a lot of things, of course. I developed new habits, I read a few more books, I made new friends and lost a few, I wrote blog posts, I got fat, etc etc. But would I tell them that? Of course not. They wouldn't care about all the aspects that could happen in your life. When someone actually asks you, "what have you been doing with your life?" chances are they expect something spectacular to you, like probably becoming a millionaire, made a major breakthrough in quantum mechanics, sniped thirty enemies by the front line in a war or traveled the world.

Same with me. I probably couldn't care less about whether you slept over thirteen hours last night, or how your fingers got bruised when cleaning the bathroom. Nobody cares about such little things. They're probably asking out of politeness or sheer curiosity of the moment. Even when I heard stuff about your seniors going abroad to study or work, I would probably just be... mildly impressed. 

I mean, it probably didn't occur to me how hard they've been trying for that, or how easily they could get the opportunity. I don't get the whole story. It's just "oh, cool" and then I'm off continuing whatever it is I was doing. Probably, just probably, if someone actually tells me the whole story from when they started the registration, worked their asses off to get the required grades, to put up with the annoying people along the way, I would probably be more impressed... or possibly inspired.

And this thought just hit me: if I couldn't care about people's great accomplishment, what makes me think that my future children would be interested in the story of my life, consisting mainly of mundane things?

From this point of view, I'm trying to convey to myself a few premises: a) I should stop caring about how my life story would turn out, b) I should try harder to live a better life in order to get that life story I always imagine, c) I should probably kill myself so I won't worry about anything anymore. Option (c) seemed implausible, because what the hell yo. Option (a) looks very taunting, especially how easy it is to disregard everything right now, but I feel like it doesn't help to improve myself. Option (b) is harder, but I feel like have I even try?

If I only want stories, I got a lot more in my head. They're all fiction, or fantasy induced by my inability to realize things from ideas. I read Haruki Murakami's books, and his work consists mostly of... surreal stuff. Anyway, nothing of those inspiring kind of stuff. He wrote even the most boring of things done by the protagonist, like cooking spaghetti while listening to The Thieving Magpie, but still manage to assemble a good story nonetheless. Fiction, of course, but my point is: good writers don't have to write about a protagonist bungee jumping off a plane to become a millionaire, that's a reality show stuff.

The more I think about it, I just realized how deep in the option (a) I am. The fact that I'm living a life so mundane proves how I don't care about my life story. I have stopped caring about how my life story would turn out. It doesn't stop me from thinking about it, though. Right now I'm in a state where the option (b) appeals to me, without disregarding (a).

Frankly, this whole passage seems meaningless. I mean, I already knew what I'm doing and what I'm supposed to be doing. My problem right now is how I'm gonna do it.

How am I going to write my life story from now on? How do I, you know, move on with my life? What would be my legacy?

In the end, this rambling goes on to another rambling. One question leads to another. I guess that's just life, huh?

Subliminal, Vol 3

There are times when things that you couldn't comprehend before, suddenly sink in on you.

There are times when things that don't make sense, suddenly becomes absolute logical.

There are times when your brain decides to think, what it doesn't do as well before.

I always think I'm dead inside. Most of the time. It's the state where my brain decides to take a long, long break, in which case my whole activity and movement is body-controlled. Like, maneuvers so simple and basic that my body can even memorize it. Autopilot, so to speak. It's the walk to the bathroom, the walk to the campus, the lecture note-takings, the finger swipes of food ordering, even the casual conversations.

It's all just connecting the dots. The dot of the bedroom to the dot of the bathroom, the dot of the house to the dot of the campus. The dot of A topic to the dot of the answer to A topic. You get the gist.

This thought came into me when I was inspecting my phone gallery. I saw pictures that I took. I looked at a picture of my brother and holy shit, he grew so fast. Looking at the picture, it just occured to me how much time had passed. He's no longer the little baby brother I always pictured myself playing with, or going to school with. Probably due to the fact that I'm now living away from him, so that I don't get to experience his gradual, infinitesmal growth, like we all do with ourselves.

It was like a moment of clarity. Reminiscent. Introspection. Thinking of writing this, so I can even reminisce this moment of reminiscent even more.

Thinking has been an alien thing to me lately. I don't feel like doing anything, I don't feel like thinking of anything. I'm just a hollow shell, autopiloted by memories of the past. Maybe I'm just afraid of living in the present, because I can't accept things that had happened to me, or reality of the current situation, or how I've turned out to be.

I don't know. Thinking is hard.

Q

Quick update: The three weeks of vacation finally ends, and I'm currently already in Bandung, far far away from my hometown I dearly loved, but that's okay because thanks to the latest technology development it can all be traveled in only a few hours. I can't really sleep last night and it's already 5.31 in the morning, so I guess I'd just man this one up and get myself some real coffee before going to class at 1 pm.

I always have this kind of notion that... I'm not really here, so to speak. I feel like a different person here and there; in Bandung vs in my hometown. I guess I'm just naturally weak in mentality and easily influenced. I don't know if this is a good thing or not, but in Bandung I feel like a liberated individual who can do anything, and has the will to do a lot of things... except studying. Back there at home I'm nothing but an academically overachiever. That one is also an overstatement, because it didn't even feel like trying. Hometown had become just about the perfect utopia for me, the bubble I dip myself into where everything is the way I desire to. It's a beautiful city, truly is, but I can't feel motivated in any way to do anything other than eating and spending time with family. The problem is, I already left a big part of my soul there, one which I can't seem to get back. I've always been drawn to home, in the truest sense.

What am I saying. I had a lot of ideas to write today when I was on the airplane, but now I forget all about it. I think I'll just make this post about my actual life right now. I'm safe and sound here, in my current Bandung residence, the one I mentioned in my previous fiction Contraband (shameless self promotion) where privacy is "minimum to none", but don't worry, I'm staying here legitimately, paying rent and all.

See you when I see you guys.

-T

Contraband

I always think that cooking for one is a terrible investment. It requires you to prepare less amount of food than when you cook for a lot other people, but with the same amount of dirty dish pile to clean. It also takes almost equal time between cooking for one and, say, four people, but you get only the amount of one people portion.

Think of it this way. If I want to cook boiled egg only for my consumption, I would be required to fill the pot with a particular amount of water, put the one egg into it, and boil it for about 8 minutes (I do prefer hard-boiled eggs). If I have more people wanting hard-boiled egg, say, three more, I would be required to fill the pot with water of the same amount as I have to when I cook for myself, put the four raw eggs in, and boil for the same 8 minutes. In other words, the effort, the ingredients, and the time is the same, but you get more boiled eggs.

Sure, it could be different in other cases, like the comparison when you make pancakes for yourself vs for the whole family. You need more eggs, flour, etc, and time, but in the end, you'll be left with equally dirty dishes than when you make pancakes for yourself. At least you feed more stomach, and you don't feel really alone.

But I digress. This kind of thinking is what keeps me from actually doing things. I still lay on my bed, tossing and turning, scrolling my phone on some social media application where you can see people posting their wonderful life moments and makes your grass paler in comparison.

My stomach finally rumbles. I finally decide to order some takeouts instead of cooking for one. And bless this century, I can order stuffs only by tapping on my touch-screen phone, without having to talk to anyone and mess my order up. As I'm torn deciding the menu I should order for dinner, I think about how amazing it is that nobody literally mentions the word "touch-screen phone" as every phone right now is touch-screen...

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As an introvert, choosing this place to stay seems to be against my nature. Privacy is minimum to none, the landlady just doesn't want to miss anything from anyone renting from her, and I can hear almost anything from the kitchen just literally three steps away from my room. Anyone living here can know about my story, of where I am from and what metal music I like to blast in my room. That's a minus for secretive person like me. At the very least, though, it's two-way, so I know a few things about everyone living here.

For example, the girl that lives upstairs by the staircase has a particular taste in classical music, and majors in industrial engineering management. She's from Jakarta and her family owns a heavy industrial machinery business back home. The girl living next to her room is an active member of student exchange community who likes to drink infused lemon water regularly every morning. Her family is way far in northern Sumatra, so only her father visits her once in a while.

That's why when I sit in the dining room, eating cheese chicken rice box and drinking coconut soda from plastic cup, the landlady just appears from the TV room and asks me what I'm eating and how much it all costs. Without forgetting to comment how costly the whole meal is, she treads away to continue whatever it is she's doing. Just a normal Saturday night.

I like the fact that I never feel truly alone when I'm living here. I'm not exactly an outgoing person by nature, but there's a secure feeling when you know that you're surrounded by real, actual people and it does seem like time is flowing naturally around you. Even when I'm just lying around in my room, not meeting a single soul outside.

I still can hear the landlady conversing with the maid, when she tells her not to put fragrant in residents' clothes because it costs her too much. I still can hear the footsteps going up, shaking the rickety wooden staircase and its loud steel beams. I can also hear the flush of the toilet, or the splashing of cooking oil when someone is frying in the kitchen.

But it's nighttime now, which means less lively sounds outside my room. Other than the occasional cricket sounds, music blasting from residents' rooms indicates the existence of life. I decide to do the same. I finish my cheese chicken rice and throw the empty box in the trash bin. I enter my room, also bringing the unfinished soda inside and open my laptop, trying to find the perfect song to play on this night.

---

I actually like cooking, but as I said, I thought cooking for one is a bad investment. Perhaps it's an excuse and I'm just terribly lazy, but the fact stands that I barely cook during my university days. My preference to eating out or takeaways might seem like excessive spending to you, but believe me, compared to buying cooking equipment and food ingredients that would go to waste because I'm too lazy to cook on most days, it's better this way. Besides, I'm saving up on other living costs, and takeaway foods are too tasty and practical to be given up.

My finger's quiet tap on the keyboard is almost rhythmic to Radiohead's Subterranean Homesick Alien playing from my laptop. I put on my earphones so the music doesn't clash against other residents' loud music that could still be heard even from my room. I'm amazed how they could enjoy music in such way. I continue typing my project report's introductory page, occasionally taking time sipping the remaining of the coconut soda, with Subterranean Homesick Alien almost over.

I could tell writing report is a lame way to spend Saturday night, especially after I hear footsteps and giggles and girls talking outside my room just before midnight. They just get home, and guessing from their conversation they just had a really good time. Almost makes me wish I have a friend to spend Saturday night with. Oh well, I'm almost finished with the report introduction anyway. I hope I can wrap this up and get at least a few hours of sleep.

---

I wake up at 5 in the morning.

Apparently, the landlady also gets up in the same hour, also comes the maid, so the kitchen is occupied with all sorts of heavy cooking. The landlady boils water for hot water thermos to be used during the day, and the maid does all kind of chores, so she gets busy walking back and forth around the house, cooking and cleaning stuff.

I leave at 7.30 am, when the coast is clear of people, because as usual, I don't feel like talking to anyone. It's kind of a bummer, really. I want to leave just before the sun rises, when it's still cold outside so I can wear my thick Sharks hoodie and there's less people on the street. I don't expect the landlady to wake up and do stuff so early in the morning. Old people, old habit, I guess.

I like to travel light, but when you have to fit your whole life in a 23-liter Eiger backpack and a hand-me-down canvas totebag, morning commutes aren't very pleasant. Luckily, bless the technology and information advance, now we can order online ojek or motorcycle rides, so traveling anywhere is really easy in this city. This morning, though, my destination isn't really far, so I decide to walk.

One of my morning routine is stopping by a McDonald's by the main intersection. They have a McCafe outlet as well, but their fancy coffee choices are too sweet for my taste, so I prefer to just order a black coffee from the main McD menu because it's cheaper. This time, I order a big breakfast and choose black coffee as the menu set drink. After the cashier confirms to me what I just order is a black coffee, which is black, and not some sweet fancy-cappuccino coffee, and I won't come back to protest after I take a sip, and I tell him that's precisely what I want, I pay for the meal. I don't mess around with my breakfast.

I pick a seat, put the tray on the table and set all my baggage down. One of the reason I like to go out for breakfast here is mainly less people. McD gets super crowded on lunch or dinner time, but not in the morning. I open the syrup package and pour the content on the pancakes. Besides the pancakes, sit a piece of hash brown and scrambled eggs sandwiched between two English muffins. I should take a picture and post it on Instagram.

Wait, I just realize that I don't have my phone with me. Darn, I must have left it at the kosan, by the charger. If only I leave a less valuable item, I could just let it go, but it's my damn phone. You know how important a mobile phone is, especially at this day and age. Bringing all my stuff would be a hassle if I want to go quick, so I decide to gamble and entrust my bags to a McD employee, and promise him I would come back and retrieve it as soon as possible.

As I scurry to the kosan, my heart beats and my thoughts race. All kind of worry envelops me. I hope nobody finds it before I get it. I hope I don't get caught. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How can I forget something so important?

I finally arrive, but now panic is all that I am. My poker face is gone, my words are bound to stutter. I take a few deep breaths, and open the back door. Unlocked. I can get in. I hope nobody notices. See, the thing about secretly living under someone's roof without them knowing is, you cannot forget something of massive importance, like mobile phone, wallet, or IDs, stuffs that you need to get by and contain fatal information of you. On the case of left IDs, the resident who finds it might think it's just an ID left by the previous resident, but phone? No way man, people just don't leave their phone around, especially if it's a fantastic three-years-old Google Nexus 5 with Quadcore Snapdragon processor.

I don't see any sights of the landlady, but the maid is in the kitchen boiling something that smells spicy. I squint a bit and try keeping a low profile as I walk into the empty room I slept in last night. The door is still unlocked, and the lights still off. The power socket is located on the wall behind the bed, just under the bed head, and to reach it I have to duck under the bed and reach out. That's where I charged my phone last night. I unplug the charger from the socket and my phone, and roll the cables neatly. I tuck both the charger and the phone each into separate pocket of my trousers, and head out, still trying to keep low profile.

The maid glances at me. As far as the landlady knows, I sleep over a friend's room in this house every Saturday, but she never actually sees me going in or out of which room. The maid, however, now sees me getting out of a room that's supposedly has no resident whatsoever. I don't know if the maid knows the whole residence situation here or she's just here doing her job oblivious to other things.

I walk towards the back door. I don't know if it's the panic effect or it's real, but I can feel her eyes still following me, curious or suspicious I have no idea. All I know is I have to find another house for me to stay in on Saturdays, and far from here, because my routine has been ruined by the small act of leaving my phone.

I leave the house, heading back to the McD where I left my bags, and wondering if I can last until the end of university year living like this.

Beta

I am, undoubtedly, what you would call a beta person. A pushover, to simply say. I am a follower by default, not a leader by any chance. Not even in my own life.

The follower mentality drives me wandering around, seeking for soul I have to cling into for my life to have a meaning. So far the meaning of my life is defined by, dependent of whoever was close to me, which I'd call alpha host from now on. Ecch. This just turned into an Alien fantasy real quick.

I don't really take anything from an alpha host, though, all I need is to cling onto an alpha host in order to function normally. If anything, as a beta, I help the host to reach a better place in life as an alpha. I take orders, I follow along, and I nod to their opinions. The slave of relationship, so to roughly speak.

It's not like I do it by forcing myself into it. It just happens ever so naturally. For the alpha host to take the lead, and for beta to follow along. The least a beta can do is to contribute to the alpha host's voice, so they can feel at least validated and appreciated. An alpha host's happiness is the beta's happiness as well.

And it kills for a beta to lost an alpha host.

The cycle of a beta is really simple: live, grow, find an alpha host, follow for the rest of their life, die. But most of the times, naturally, an alpha doesn't follow along the cycle of a beta. Most of the times, an alpha leaves the beta, rendering them confused and lost, like a puppy losing its mother.

A beta may cling to several alphas at once, but one that really masters them is the true alpha host. Losing an alpha from many may confuse a beta slightly, but losing an alpha host just kills. Mentally.
Having an alpha host means giving half of your soul to them, and being left by the host means losing half of your soul, as a beta.

That is why, sometimes, when a beta has lost too many of its soul, it would try to re-contact an alpha host in a pathetic attempt to possibly regain few pieces of its soul it had given. The story of each beta is different, and this effort can be either futile or fertile depending on the situation. Say the alpha host consented to take the beta back, the beta would gain both its soul back, and get the alpha host needed in order to survive. But this is a beta survivor's wet dream. Most cases do not end so well like this.

The worst case of a soul-deprived beta would be failing at the attempt to reconnect with previous alpha hosts, leaving it with less and less soul, rendering its function so bad it misses the opportunity to spot a new alpha host, and ended up being a hollow shell, floating around the world aimlessly. It loses its function as a beta for quite some time before dying in desperation.

As a beta, I had only three alpha hosts before losing them altogether. I manage clinging an alpha host at a time, so it was one host to another, and it wasn't really easy. The story wasn't that exciting, they were fed up and left, so it's now up to me to find a new alpha host.

Challenging, really, especially since I don't have much soul left to waste away. The new alpha host needs to be perfect and long-lasting, because I couldn't afford any more soul-losing. If you happen to know an alpha that you feel perfect for me, please do let me know. And be quick please, I'm deteriorating in a rapid tempo here.

Thanks.

I Hate Instagram

Hey it's ya boy T back at it again with their rambunctious complain of life in general and beyond. Not really. This time I'm just gonna get to the point: I hate instagram.

I wouldn't call it a strong word or exaggeration, really, because I've had my share of good, bad, or even dissatisfying mobile applications, but nothing drives me quite mad as instagram, for personal reason truly.

Instagram is just like that nagging aunt of yours who never stops reminding you that you're not good enough; that there's so many people out there who are more gorgeous, doing better things, or having a better life and job than you in general, after you spent so much in flight ticket on your way to meet her, hoping the next visit would be better than the last, only finding it's not changing at all. Am I making any sense here? I'm probably trying too hard on the analogy.

My point is: the instagram community just reminds me of how inadequate I am. It just reminds me how I'm not pretty enough to snap a picture of myself, how boring I am to not travel enough to post a panoramic beach picture, how lonely I am that I don't have friends to hang out with and take selfies together, how untalented I am that I can't snap my doodles, etc etc. I do live my life so I know that it's not true: I have gone to a lot of exciting places, I have a few close friends and we've hung out and had good times together... I just don't like to take pictures of myself, that's all.

But the inadequacy still stands: instagram makes everyone in it seems to be having much, much, better time than I can manage. It's a red carpet, accessible for public to share the glitz and glam of their life and a e s t h e t i c i s m online and rub it in everyone's face. Such a pinnacle of social media, representing millennial narcissism in its whole.

I know it's a terribly glum perspective, and I'm just being negative. It could be nothing, right? People could be posting things as a reminder of a point of their life, like scrapbook, just online. People could be using it just to connect with their friends and families, seeing how they're doing. People could be using it as a media to advertise their products and nothing else. It could be that nobody is using it solely to show off their all-deluxe life, and I'm just being a total loser here... right?

Sure, in all seriousness, I do believe people use instagram for normal purpose just like any other social media, to share moments. The thing is, in instagram, most of the moments shared are their 'best'. People always post the best shots in instagram, in the highest resolution possible. You can say that instagram mainly captures the ups of people's life. And it makes me compare their wonderful moments to my own messy ones. It's bad. It brings my mood down most of the time. It's toxic.

I do follow some people whose post makes me feel nothing but happiness towards them, but they don't post a lot so they got lost in a pool of others' garbage. Maybe I should just do unfollow spree instead.

Another thing: because instagram posts are either hi-res pictures or videos, they take up massive storage space and loading them needs a lot of internet quota. Not to mention the time I spend to scroll the 'explore' tab, discovering more aesthetic pictures and cancers which I can barely stop. This leads to a lot of time and internet quota wasted. Not pleasant, especially considering most of the posts deplete my self-esteem. It's like paying people to punch the heck out of you. Masochistic.

I know I'm mentally a masochistic by default, but even instagram is too much for me. I just uninstalled that shit so I can finally stop comparing my downs to everyone's ups, and live my life according to my lo-fi tempo... and it works! During the time instagram was out of my life, I lived my life instead of scrolling through everyone's posts and sulk about how my life is shit comparing to them. I actually studied for tests, tidied my room, made small talk to people, got a haircut, read some books, and got myself a boyfriend. The last one's not true, but my point was made. Probably an exaggeration and pathetic excuse to say that this one little app is what keeps me from living my life, but getting rid of it is certainly helping.

I still have my account, though. It's quite a pity to just delete it, because I still have some friends who use instagram frequently and I would like to be able to contact them when I need to, and see moments of their lives when I came back.

Long story short, I hate instagram because it makes me compare my shitty life to everyone else's, it takes up too much of my phone memory and internet quota, and just makes me unhappy in general. I do plan to come back some time later to instagram, though, to unfollow people whose life I do not really want to see. Perhaps when I'm less of a bitter person and more sure about myself.

I don't judge y'all who actually use instagram, though. Like I said, I'm just being negative and it makes me compare because I'm not really a genuine, kind person who would be happy at every single person's accomplishments. In fact you could say I admire your kind heart to be able to put up with everyone's narcissism... or you could say I dislike you because you're a narcissist yourself.


Cheers.
T.