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Welcome, Sir, and we hope you enjoy your stay. But first let it be known to you, this is how we live down here: love is a currency and life is a blessing, time is of the essence and we waste not a second of it, trust is the foundation of our relationship and dishonesty is foreign to us. Respect is handed out in the streets and you can find honor in every one of our heart. Please don't stay overnight and introduce us to corruption, please don't slip violence under our door, don't plagues us with envy and hatred.
I finished Bumi Manusia earlier today. It wasn't the best book I've read, and I had a few dislikes, but still it has me wanting more of Minke and his life in early 20th century Indonesia. Minke and Nyai Ontosoroh were two interesting characters, but Annelies Mellema, though beautiful as the Angels, was a mess of a girl. I couldn't stand her dependence and weakness, but her brief development in the near end of the book was an exception -I liked her then. Darsam, on the other hand, I would love to know more of. Overall, it's a great book.
Two am, one cold winter night, baby girl woke up to a horrible feat of shoutings and curse words. The nightmare came from the bedroom next to hers. The man whom taught her to be brave and she, the woman whom tucked her in last night. When did it change? What went wrong that they who made her stopped loving each other? When did peace and harmony cease to fill the house? Baby girl cried, four hours and still the devil had not left. Tearing her family apart, destroying those and what made her home. Mum, dad, I'm dying too.
I rode a horse uphill today. It was my first time after my last ride last July in Bali. Of course, like any man, I started out a little stiff and nervous. But after a few laps I became a bit relaxed, I relearned a few tricks and got re-accustomed to the beautiful creature trotting below my weight. When we arrived on top of the hill it was breathtakingly beautiful. I had no business being anxious or afraid, and I realised I was truly enjoying it, sitting on a horse looking over the mountains and farmlands. How extraordinarily wonderful.
There is something with places in high altitudes that are comforting and relaxing, soothing to the mind. There's something about waking up at six, walking through fog-covered air with your hands tucked inside your pockets and greeting the rising sun that excites me. It's another thing to escape the cold outside into the warmth of your little house, hot tea in a mug and fuzzy socks hugging your feet. Stepping out of a hot shower, slipping into your pajamas and under your thick wool blanket is a different bliss worth everything. These little things will forever be my escape.
What a great childhood one would have if it was spent in the great outdoors. Weekends spent in a town of one hundred miles away, of waking up to mountain breeze and sleeping to the swish-swash of the wind. Of mornings going horseback riding uphill and back down, a quiet ride with only the sound of hooves hitting ground in sync to one's own movements, of afternoons drinking hot tea on the foyer of a wooden cabin, of nights under the starry sky circling a crackling bonfire, grilled corns and marshmallow stuck on twigs. It is truly a dream.
Here's a little something I wrote (not really, just a bit of schoolwork on paraphrasing)
Though it is undeniable that the Sears Tower is by far the leading model in skyscraper engineering, it is improbable that architects and engineers have stopped the pursuit for the world's tallest infrastructure. However, it's only logical to consider just how tall a building can stand. William LeMessurier has designed a structure twice as tall as the Sears Tower, towering at a half of a mile high, while architect Robert Sobel asserts that a 500-floor building is feasible given our current technology.
I feel that time is our only enemy. Time knows not mercy or compassion, it recognizes not love or passion. Time takes and steals, it gives no warning and heeds not to our prayers. Time decides to run out for those it does not like, and stay for those it's in favor of. Time always runs, it refuses to be bought and sold -like a common commodity, refuses to be saved up like coins in a piggy bank, refuses to be given as blessing or curse. Once it's gone, time won't return. Time won't hear excuses nor cries of regrets.
I simply can't stress how big of a deal exercising is when it comes to making your day. Truly. I'm not a person who really holds on tight to intangible matters, but I've experienced first-hand the differences of being physically active and inactive. There would be time when I'd work out daily, but then comes the slump where I wouldn't move for weeks at end. Those are the most terrible. I actually feel gloomy all day, weak and listless, I feel my muscles relaxing and turning into useless fat. But if you've always been used to inactivity, you wouldn't understand.
But truly I'm lucky to have such awesome parents. I mean, how many of my friends can say: "My dad is forty, goes to the gym and has a shit load of people who looks up to him." ?I'm not bragging, but there's even more whom he'd helped and now owe him more than money can pay. My dad does a duathlon at forty-three and knows so many, too many, things. My mom, she's forty and swims every night at eight. Who else is strong enough to do that? And she runs on just five-hour sleep every day.
I can't think, can't write anything. I have this idea in mind to write about how stories are the currency of humanity. It's the record of our stories, dating back to tens of thousands of years ago, that sets us apart from other living creatures. It's how we preserve our culture, how we know what life was like then, how we learn about our own race and it's growth. Stories are a gift for humanity, they make us thoughtful, insightful and from stories we learn, we understand. We make progress and we prevent repeating mistakes. That is how we live.
I inhaled and smoke filled my lungs. My throat felt constricted, my body don't want no more of the toxic air I breathed. My heartbeat picked pace, my chest heaved in labour, and my brain joined the protest. My head throbbed and the world spinned around me. Suddenly I longed for home. I closed my eyes and imagined myself back, where the air was pure, uncontaminated by the sins of the world and its menacing evil. Where people cared for their brothers and men loved their wives. Now I felt better, and I inhaled once more. Home is still there.
I don't truly understand why, but today was an awful school day. I sat through all of my classes unmotivated and hopeless, more today than ever. I'm not sure what triggered it -perhaps the disappointing test result handed back to us this morning, or a following test that I'm certain I flunked. But maybe I'm just questioning myself, yet again. How is it that I always receive low scores when I devote my time to studying? How is it that everyone else manages a higher score than me, when they obviously did less studying than me? Maybe I should stop.
Maybe it's true that classes are limiting your creativity. Or maybe it's just me who is incapable of such an expression. It's illogical, very much unforgivable, that we are made to memorize theories on writing, that we are graded based on our ability to work by the book, write by the rules, follow the protocol and do not, not even attempt, to follow your heart or your stupid, foolish, inexperienced head. Stop, don't write about emotions, those aren't what you're taught. Be structured, and please, no more than one sentence on that. You're not allowed to go beyond the lines!
We're going to Bangkok tomorrow. I had a phase of regret when I wished I hadn't signed up for this foolish activity. Especially knowing of the company that doesn't excite me at all, and that we would be skipping three days of school (yes, I'm actually not keen of skipping classes), added to my belief that joining camp was a mistake. I mean, I still wish I'm not going, but a part of me tries to see the good in it. Now that we're at twelve hours from taking flight, I've got to admit I am a little bit excited.
You gotta make opportunity, not wait for it. If no door is opened for you, then build one, open it for yourself and while you can, leave it open for somebody else too. Do one good thing or two, spread kindness and care. Smile, make love out of the mortal world, tell the stranger she's beautiful, and the old man he's a hero. Crack a joke to that boy over there, he looks like he needs to laugh, offer a compliment for the little girl, a smile won't hurt. You can't change the world, but you can change someone's day.
The road calls him so that's where he goes. He takes the plane to a place he can't find on the map, and the language he does not speak. But it's okay, because he's packed his home in a backpack and the backpack rests on his shoulder. He looks out the window and the clouds meet his gaze. The earth is far below him, the world's pain far behind. The need to go and be on the move, to make somebody's motherland his home and his country the first destination. It is beautiful how he lives and loves, people say.
Swearing is a natural pain reliever. So please, do not refrain yourself from swearing. Do not punish yourself for swearing. Except maybe if you swear to insult someone, or say an "offensive" word before the President. Now that would be a problem. But otherwise I am a firm believer that swear words (when said to nobody in particular) are essentially harmless. Replacing words such as hell, fuck and shit with supposedly non-vulgar ones like heck, fork and shoot does not give you excuse to say them, anyway. It's the intention and reason that truly makes them impolite and inappropriate.
Oh no. We're flying back home Wednesday and we'll all be coming back to school on Thursday. We're missing plenty of lessons and I'm not at all excited to come back and make up for all those tests and assignments. Help. I'm not ready to get back to routine and reality. I mean, we still have two whole days of "holiday" and another one for going back, but our free time is running out, the clock is ticking and school is approaching. When you come think of it, it's not that big of a deal, still, I don't want it!
He told her she was beautiful, but she didn't know if it was a truth or insult. He had said it genuinely, but she thought she saw a flicker of mischief in her eyes, a glint of malice and a trace of a smirk. She wanted so bad to believe him, no matter how little it seemed to matter to him, for her it was life changing. He said her smile was beautiful, he said it was stunning, but everytime she looked in the mirror all she saw was a lip that was wrong, and eyes that were rendered lifeless.
She didn't know what love was, for she had never loved. Perhaps she had no heart, at least that was what she was convinced of. She saw her friends, squealing over cute boys, or falling head over heels over the bad boy, crushing on new guys every summer but she was... she was different. She never felt adrenaline rush when she bumped into him, never had her heart skip a beat over a pretty boy or felt butterflies in her belly. But she wanted that, truly. She longed for a boy to dream upon and hope to be hers someday.
When's this going to stop? The hectic life of an A Level student? It does you no good, I keep telling myself, to sit glued on your desk mortified by the upcoming tests of the week and the mounting assignments. But there's so much that I want to do and school is taking up too much of my time. I'd like to get back into horseback riding, work out daily, study for my Literature (which equals to lots of reading), edit videos, travel, write stuff and catch up with old friends. Every night I think, I need a fucking break.
He was a grieving mess, you can tell from miles away. Who knows how long it has been since he last left that drab and dreary home of his. If it was still his home, I can't tell you, because what made his home had been her presence, and now that she's gone, you wouldn't have guessed what went on his sorrowful head. All the servants were fired, except old Mrs Nancy. I heard he kept her around because it was she who had raised
. Perhaps it was the only way to keep
I'm thinking of starting doing my 100words entries first thing in the morning. Honestly, I don't know how that would work. At least in the weekdays where my morning routine spans literally only 30 minutes before leaving for school. But I guess it's true, writing in the morning is something I'd like to try out. You can reflect yesterday, write about what's on your mind the moment you woke up, what would happen today and what you wish today would turn out like. Well, perhaps I should try it out, maybe just in weekends and off-school days. Let's see.
I set my alarm at 8.30 this morning, and I woke up with a sore in my armpit muscles. I know it's because of the pushups I did yesterday, but I'm not entirely sure if those are the right spot to feel soreness after push ups. Anyway, I have so much things to study this weekend, including Maths, Biology and English. But then I must also proceed in reading and annotating Wuthering Heights. Plus I won't be at home for most of the weekend, I honestly have no idea how I'm going to accomplish that. I better get going.
What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? I'm going to repeat that, over and over again, until an answer drops itself from the rooftop, until a reason bounces off the walls of my heart. It's a black place where my soul lingers, a labyrinth of regret and confusion, a dark and dreary hole to be lost in. But that's exactly where I'm trapped -my own thoughts consume me, like fire in the depths of hell, a plank in the raging sea. Help, fuck, I'm screaming for it but can't anybody, anyone, hear me? Give this fucking world an ear.
I'm falling apart. I'm fucking falling apart. My teacher told me today that my grades are falling. I feigned cool and reacted how anyone would, but inside I was tearing myself apart. Why? Apparently I've been studying more than ever, been keeping myself busy, but why are those grades free-falling, no warning, no slowing down. I know I have to prioritize my academic score, but fuck, ain't nobody got time for that. I want to read, I want to focus on Literature because that's where I need to catch up, that's what matters. At least what I believe in.
But what does it feel like to fall in love? At least, what does it feel like to crush on someone? If I were to be honest, I've never felt butterflies in my stomach, never felt a pang of desire over a boy, never been nervous around them and never have I met somebody I wish was mine. But I do dream about having someone. I do dream of my other half, clichéd as it was. Though his face is shielded, I do know he loves me, and that I love him and his body warmth around my own.
I'm anxious for too many things. One, my academic grades. My report card this semester is a forest fire, it's pretty much a generous downgrade from last year. Not just that, but I do notice my frequent screw-ups for daily tests. Two, our visa application for the UK and Schengen. June's approaching fast, bless my mom for her devotion. Three, my English Literature progress. It's crawling, it seems impossible to catch up. He said I have potential, I hope he's right cause I can't seem to see it. I may be being negative, but at least it's also realistic.
The man sat there for days, it seemed, weighing on the few options he had. He had none, to be fair, for either way he was meeting his demise, but the fate of his love rested on him as well, whether she would suffer as much or less, while he bore the consequences of her sins. Naturally, he would take on any pain and hurt for her, for he loved her with all he had. But this was forever he was dealing with, it was eternity. Finally, the man stood up and gave up his name, his self. For love.
Tell me what's so special about a girl turning seventeen, that the world expects her to throw a sweet seventeenth party and dress up all pretty in some fancy dress? Honestly, I wouldn't want to host one of those parties where I must be all smiles and flowers for three hours, being loud and happy just because it would be "my day". It is exhausting even just to be thought about, it is. I mean, I have no problem coming to my friends' birthday bashes, but to think that someday I'm expected to be the one blowing candles, terrifies me.
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