The Past & cynix's 'Chocolate Quest'

I haven't posted in decades, well, no not really. I'm hardly two decades old, but while I'd love to write inspiring or at least a tad bit original blog entry, my own laziness and the lack of inspiration has made me take the easy route.

Humiliating my dear DEAR cynix...
[no, it's not humiliating.. reallyyyy]
(I LOVE YOU BEST FRIEND.... Twinzah xD)

So without further ado, I present to you cynix's 'Chocolate Quest', written by his 6th grade self...

The Chocolate Quest

This story is about three brave knights who were sent on a quest to get the king's crown and a scepter stolen by an evil witch, but who knows what could happen that stops them from getting the crown and the scepter back.
Cocoa Country is the only country in the world where everything is chocolate, the people are chocolate, the plants are chocolate, and even the jewelry are chocolate. For thousands of years, all the people in the Cocoa Country have lived peacefully, and happily in harmony. Jake Rum Black Forest is one of the bravest knights in the Cocoa Country. He had dark brown hair, brown eyes, made out of dark chocolate, strong, handsome, romantic, funny, and kind too. Jake's best friend is John Fredrick Chocolate Moose, he has blonde hair, blue eyes, and is white chocolate. Jake and John live in Tiramisu City. One day, the Evil Chocolate Witch, Poison, came to the king's throne and took his chocolate crown and chocolate scepter. The king sent Jake along with his best friend, John on a quest and said, "Jake, you are my most trusted knight, so I'm asking you to get my scepter and crown back from Poison," and
Jake and John were getting ready for their quest, "Are all of the things ready John?" he asked. "Of course, I packed three hot chocolate swords, to melt things that get in our way, some firebombs, some ice rays, in case we melt, and some money," replied John. The money in the Cocoa country was called Chops. A chop is equal to two US Dollars each.
Jake and John were ready to start their quest, they were first going to go to Hershey City, and try to find clues of where the Evil Vanilla Witch, Poison lives in. At the exit of Tiramisu City, there's a monster, and the monsters name is a Harritheragth, Harringtheragths are slimy giant trolls. They are fire breathing, they only have one eye, like a Cyclops, and they can fly like a bird. Jake had never encountered a Harritheragth before, because they are very hard to find. At first Jake and John tried to slice its head using their hot chocolate swords, but it just grew back again. The Harritheragth attacked them back using its flamethrower, and incidentally, John's head was melted a little bit because of the flamethrower. Jake quickly shot John with the ice ray so that he wouldn't melt into chocolate syrup. Even though John didn't melt, his head looked like a bird's head, and somehow the ice ray malfunctioned a bit. When Jake and John finally figured out that there's no way to defeat the monster so John took a magic turkey and threw it to the Harritheragth's head, and suddenly, the Harritheragth became a turkey.
After they defeated the Harritheragth, they left Tiramisu City and started their trip to Hershey City. When they arrived at the main gate of Hershey City, they found one of Poison's pets, the Gollampagle, the Gollampagle was some kind of worm, its gigantic and is as 50 meters long. The Gollampagle was vanilla, and it was very hard to defeat. The temperature inside its body is -300'C, so if Jake or John melted it, it would immediately freeze again. "What do we do Jake?" John asked. "Well, usually when I find a Gollampagle, I just make it eat a firebomb or get a firebomb inside it, then it will explode," Jake replied. John took his sword, cut the Gollampagle's tail open, and put a firebomb in it. They waited for a few minutes, and then suddenly the Gollampagle exploded. Since the Gollampagle is Vanilla, there was also a vanilla rain when the Gollampagle exploded.
In Hershey City, John and Jake met their friends, who were brother and sister, James and Jamie. James is quite strong, and smart, he used to be the most trusted kid in his family, James is made out of white chocolate, he has jet-black hair, and black eyes. Jamie is a very quiet and kind vanilla girl, her dark brown hair was braided, and she has bluish green eyes. Jamie was a priest in the chocolate moose temple, and James worked in the ice company. Jamie and James met Poison once, and they said that Poison told them that she had a candy house at Wonka City. James decided to join the quest and said, "Hey guys, I was thinking, maybe I could help out getting the scepter and the crown back from Poison, so, I think I should come" "Ok," Jake said. James brought some ice bombs, ice pills, and some freezer swords from the ice company. And so, Jake and John, with James coming along, set off for their trip to Wonka City.
The three of them walked for a few days to Wonka City. When they arrived at the front gate of Wonka City, a sorcerer with red hair and scarlet eyes came with a Paggle-taddle with him. A Paggle-taddles are huge chocolate chip dogs, usually they are as large as an average townhouse. Paggle-taddles are usually quite shy, but they're also quite dangerous. The sorcerer said, "Good afternoon gentlemen, my name is Hades Baroque Espalier, so, you three want to get to my master Poison huh? If you want to see her, you'll have to get past me and my Paggle-taddle, Bruce!" James once owned a Paggle-taddle, Kip, James said that the only way to calm a Paggle-taddle down is by flipping its nose or biting its ear. Jake tried to climb up Bruce's back, but the sorcerer shot some flames towards Jake. James and John both destroyed the flames using their ice rays to help avoid Jake from melting. Jake got shot by the flames a few times, but James always shot Jake with an ice ray on time when he melts. Jake managed to climb unto the Paggle-taddle's back, and then he bit Bruce's ear. At the moment Bruce's ear got bitten, Bruce immediately fainted. The sorcerer was so angry, and said in a very grumpy voice, "You haven't seen the last of Hades Baroque Espalier, I'll be back, I'll be back!"
When Jake, John, and James arrived at Wonka City, they went to Prince Franklin Ice-cream and Princess Ellis Ice-cream. James asked, " Your majesty, our king's scepter and crown was stolen by Poison, do you by any chance, know where poison lives?" Prince Franklin said, "I once met Poison, she said she lives in a lair in the dark forest, she tried to invite me there, but I thought it wasn't safe, so I just stayed her."
The dark forest was only a few kilometers away from Wonka City. When they arrived at the entrance to Poison's lair, they met the dark Vanilla Prince, Lucas Job Compharus who was Poison's son. Lucas had a really evil look, he has fiery, red eyes, as if there was a fire in his eyes, he wore a long black robe, and there was a snake on him, grasping him slowly, and the snake itself is Lucas. Lucas said in a creepy voice, "So, who are you three Want to see my mother, want to get the scepter back, want the crown? It's your choice, if you want to die, fight my pets, Campatholl, Diggourous, and Rumomonster, if you want to live, leave! Well, it's up to you!" Lucas was holding the scepter and the crown when he snapped his fingers and disappeared. The Rumomonster is the largest monster in the whole planet, it's as large as the empire state building itself. John already had four encounters with a Rumomonster before, he said that the temperature inside the monsters body is over 1000'C, and the only way to defeat it is to freeze it. John said that he usually freezes the Rumomonster from its eye, but this time it won't work, because this Rumomonster's eye is steel. Jake thought about it and found out that there was only one way to freeze the Rumomonster. Jake took a freeze pill, and then he went inside the monster's body through its nostrils. He went into the monster's brain, then stabbed it with his freezer sword. He immediately got out of the monster's body and the Rumomonster died.
Jake once owned a Diggorous, a Diggorous is a blue dragon that likes to dig, it's not fire breathing, instead it's ice breathing. The Diggorous is the easiest monster to defeat, you just simply melt the whole entire monster's body. Jake, John, and James took their melting swords and threw it on three spots, the Diggorous' head, it's belly, and it's feet. The Diggosaurus then split into two parts, then the inside of it's body came out. Jake, John, and James were surprised to know that the inside of a Diggorous is only ice.
When the Campatholl saw that his two fellow friends died, it cried and went to Poison. Jake, John, and James walk through and finally found Poison's throne, when they saw Poison they collapsed, they found out that Poison was John, she had the exact same face, then she snapped her fingers and she turned into Jake. Poison clapped her hands and turned into herself. Poison's face was ugly, it looked like a wolf's face, only her face is a human's face to, they just found out that Poison is a werewolf. The Dark Prince and the Campatholl accompanied poison, they all screamed and recited a mysterious sentence, it was in some kind of evil language, "Daal dool chocolate duul del dol". Nobody knew what it meant, but when they were reciting it, their eyes were completely white. After they recited this, they disappeared and left the scepter, the crown, and a note, "Please give the crown and the scepter to the king, love, your mother." Jake was confused, her mother just died a month ago, this mystery continues to live forever and ever in Cocoa country, nobody knew what happened, it continued to be a mystery forever. "Jake, John! You're back! Thank you so much for getting my scepter and crown back, thank you, I now bestow upon you, Jake Rum Black Forest, and John Fredrick Chocolate Moose, princes of Cocoa Country," the King made Jake and John princes of Cocoa Country, and so, Jake and John together with the whole Country, lived happily ever after.

*disclaimer, this is written by cynix. Vitriolic plays no part whatsover in this composition and is now hiding under a rock indefinitely for fear of her life.

Chain-mailed and Unchanged

Today I found another chain-letter in my inbox; and it irritated me to no end.

Chain-mail, for me, is a pet-peeve. It puts me in a foul mood for the rest of the day (and since I check my e-mail late at night, that's sort of okay...).

I was introduced to chain-mail right around the same time I started to really get into using e-mail. The entire prospect of international connection through the internet was magical and mysterious, and because you can catch criminals on the internet, I supposed there was some sort of secret, hidden camera watching my every click. So it should be no wonder that I freaked out and annoyed my elder sister to no end when I opened my first chain-mail to find that I was doomed to 7 years of haunting because I hadn't fulfilled the demands of the e-mail (I had yet to learn what "cut-and-paste" was).

Up to a few years ago I obediently catered to the wishes of whatever mysterious and demonic author had typed up the scary e-mail; about little girls that were abused and now hunted her missing head; about how the phone will ring and turn out to be the love of your life(and if you don't continue the chain mail you never will meet the love of your life). I feel slightly idiotic and heavily embarassed, remembering it now, but I have a point to make here.

Out of the myriads of chain-mail I received, I hated the ones that were mystical and warned of ghosts or promised lifelong spiritual rewards, but even more I was spitting with anger at the e-mails that told about the suffering of people; babies with brain cancer who benefited with a cent for every person the e-mail was forwarded to, children in some desolate part of the world who need monetary support...

...and all you have to do is put another name, another detached identity down on the bottom of that long, long list of people who care.

What's the point?

Your e-mail doesn't actually make much of a difference. It just ends up in a few hundred other inboxes along with the other two-hundred and twenty-three names on that same list that begs stop the genocide in Darfur! and nothing really changes.

Forwarding an e-mail is not going to stop MSN from charging you for using MSN Messenger. Copy and pasting a poem will not support the impoverished, tubercular author in Siberia. Who really takes the trouble of noting down your e-mail address? What person in Darfur is safe and comfortable and powerful enough to see that message and do something about the genocide? What person in Siberia is going to get back at that impoverished author who owns nothing but a paraffin stove (How did he get his poem on the internet in the first place?)

Sure, it's nice to see that so many people care about what's happening. But let's get real, shall we? Go sign and forward all the chain-mail you want; but if you believe in the cause and if you can do something about it, then instead of placing your signature on a petition you ought to be placing slogans on posters, putting the trash in the bin, sealing donation envelopes.

If we want a difference made then we better get off our butts and help it happen.

Shall we?

Because She Is Waiting

How long do you wait until you stop waiting?

I've been waiting for five years, and still waiting. I'm about to stop, though. Because it hurts, because it's pointless, because I really think I should. Should I?

She's still waiting. She has been waiting for seventeen miserable years. I'm sure she has had thoughts of letting go and giving up, but she always come back strong. She and I, we, are both waiting for the same impossible thing. It is impossible because we both know we need a miracle to make it happen.

You know what? That's exactly what I'm waiting for right now; a miracle.

Andy Warhol said, "The idea of waiting for something makes it more interesting." Yes, Andy, I'm with you. Unfortunately, there is a thin line between interesting and infuriating; I'm just not sure if I want to cross the line.

You know that thing in the science museum? That thing where you have a roller coaster of wire and a loop, and the objective is to move the loop along the wire without having them touch? I don't know how I can explain this better, but that thing is interesting, right? You fail, yet you try again and again and again... until you realize the impossibility of the "game" and stop trying because failure annoys you. In my waiting, I try. But it has been five years and not once did I succeed. I am annoyed, big time.

I sometimes wonder if God is playing with me. Since what I'm waiting for is a miracle, interaction with Him is crucial. I talk to him every day, asking him for a miracle, the miracle, and other things unworthy of mention. I'm sure He is listening, because I talk to Him out loud. Where is my miracle, God? His answer: My time is not your time. To this, I cannot argue any further.

How long should you wait until you stop waiting?

During these five years, I have discovered love (and/or lack of it), revealed secrets, and cried more than I've ever cried in my life. I feel like I've been wasting my resources: time, tears, tissue. Except for the tissues, I know full well there are not a lot more where they came from.

I have made sacrifices, performed for the sake of pride, and lied for the good of one other. In my waiting, I almost died. And then I wonder if all this waiting is healthy... Is it? Waiting for this one miracle, I have risked my heart malfunctioning from beating too fast, eyes going blind from crying too much, lips glued from extended silence. In my waiting, I broke.

After five years, I don't cry anymore. I threw away the hope of a miracle after a surprise party was thrown for me. Probably the worst Sunday in my life, and ironically I bought a CD titled 'Happy Sunday' that day. The Guy Up There probably forgot to tell me it was opposite day.

Best surprise party ever.
I spent the next two nights crying. She was away, so she didn't know I know.

A miracle was what I was waiting for; instead I held a miraculous two-day tear fiesta. By that time, I've lost all hope. Maybe I kept a little bit of it, knowing that when she returns she's going to ask me about that flicker of hope. She is still waiting, remember? She said she has got nothing to lose since she's lost everything. Everything. We could be wasting our time, I said. That's why I collect watches, she replied.

So here I am. Waiting for a miracle. Waiting for something more impossible than... I don't know. If you're wondering why I'm still waiting for this, my answer would be her. I can't let her wait alone.

How long am I going to wait until I stop waiting?

As long as her clock keeps ticking.

Unbeautiful

A 150-page magazine can write a hundred pages about how it's acceptable to be fat; but the other fifty pages are packed with at least ten pictures of the thin and beautiful on each, so that it amounts to a total of five hundred thousand words (which, according to IB-smarts equals two hundred and fifty pages?) of propaganda that strictly dictates THIN IS GOOD.

Because a picture is worth a thousand words, right?
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You can parade around saying fat is beautiful and having the normal weight is the healthy thing to do. But the reason publications with skinny models sell so well is only because that's what the public that buys it wants. On the other hand it always looks so good when you're tolerant of every single variable that might crop up in a human being; so that if you had any opinions invested against *gasp* (Turn your eyes away! Taboo comment!) fat people, you instantly become sort of fat-bigoted monster.

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Isn't it ironic that obesity is the disease of the affluent?

Oh, wait. Let's rephrase that; the disease of the people who can afford to buy the tools of widespread social propaganda magazines?

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So when you're fat, you're not beautiful because you're not thin--but no one with an inch of consideration will ever tell you it makes you ugly. So you're nonbeautiful. Nonugly.

Unbeautiful?

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Let's face it, what most sane people want is for it to be understood that a healthy state of well-being is of the utmost importance. The problem now is that healthy has become synonymous with 'thin'; and these sane people do not agree with anorexia.

So it's kind of a situation of damned if you do, damned if you don't. Because it seems like you're either against being thin. Or against being fat.





Oh, the humanity.

Him and I

[I am a girl]

Until that day, no one had even noticed his existence. He’d walk past corridors unseen and unfamiliar amidst a sea of faces. He’d sit there; there beneath the same shady maple tree out in the courtyard each morning in a blank invisibility, drowning his mind in the emotional soup of Sylvia Plath. But now things have changed. Now the image of him is imprinted into everyone’s minds – the dark shadows on his face that seemed to whisper a black horror; a requiem to the lifelessness of life.

“They can’t see,” he scribbled unto a worn-out moleskin notebook which he carried with him every day. Those three words caught my eye; those words that carried a frigidly cold essence with them. I sat down on the other side of the tree, fascinated by this new breed of human. On the corner of my eye I saw him digging for something in his rucksack – a black box. In it, a rustic old mirror which he took out. I saw a blank gaze into his own eyes, in those pupils a morbidly fascinating hate for life. Out of a sudden those grey pupils moved and looked straight into my eyes. The school bell rang and I left. I don’t know how, but I could feel his gaze turning into a sharp glare that was pointed at me. I wrote myself a note, “Talk to him.”

The next day I came to the same tree. As always, he was sitting there in solitude. I sat down – this time right next to him. An hour later I found myself conversing with him about life in general. His slurring voice presented an ethereally dark solitude. I don’t know why, but I find myself comforted by the presence of this soul in this world. I felt an inexplicable feeling – some sort of satisfaction in this discovery of someone truly untouched and isolated.

I found a deep solace in spending my time with him. I find there something to be very comforting about knowing that life doesn’t have to be lively. Sometimes a dying life is a good thing. There is a tranquility and peace in this non-energy. I was happy to find that I can have another self – a self without my usual exuberance; without that plastic fakeness of spirit – a self more like myself, who sees life as it is: cold and quiet.

Over time, our conversations would become less and less until they just ceased to exist. I’d stare into his eyes and his into mine, and from just that we could see what each other was thinking – all secrets unveiled; all emotions poured. We’d fall asleep together every night - me on his arms; his head against mine. There developed this close intimacy that I’ve never experienced with any of my past lovers.

One night I woke up in the middle of my slumber. When I looked to my right, I saw how he wasn't there. This isn't uncommon - I knew where he was, and walked to where I expected to find him, near the very same maple tree where we first met. This time it was different though. It was snowing and a thick haze blanketed my body and soul with shivering warmth. I walked slowly, step by step, and began to feel serenity unlike no other, which grew to a peak of thickness and depth when I saw him hanging on that tree. In his eyes I saw lifelessness; a satisfaction of not having any control over his body. I gazed into the beauty of that silence for hours until Gaea swallowed me whole.

The next morning they found me there beneath his swinging corpse, frozen solid, a frigid grin cracking my face. They now remember him as that whisper of black horror. I remember him as my eternal savior: the provider of this black harmony of death.

I'm thirsty

I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But somehow fate manages to do it. It manages to dry this world of happiness. It manages to flood us with tears. It manages to make our parched souls hike around in an arid air of unrealized misery.

No. Shut up. Sorry. Misery’s not the word to describe it. Unfulfillment is.

There is something terribly wrong with life. It’s the fact that we are all thirsty and no matter how much water we drink, we remain insatiable. I’m not just talking about the literal H2O water – I’m talking about every single thing we are determined to get, only to find ourselves wanting more and having to work even harder once we actually do get it.

A year ago, while my new house was being constructed, I would think to myself how great my life would become upon its completion – how I can be finally proud and happy to live in a comfortable place. Fast forward a couple months. I’m all settled here, and it’s as usual to me as the old crypt I used to live in was. Now downgrading to the place I was fine growing up in would seem like an earthly hell, and I still find myself envying others for their ‘superior’ properties.

It’s not just that. A year and a half ago I told myself that I’d be satisfied with my academic life once I got the scores superior to a fellow colleague we like to call ‘sway.’ Ever since I did, I have only since found myself proven wrong again, as I still find myself in frustration and envy of that other girl’s one extra IB score, while stressing over how I am supposed to sustain my already high grades for the next terms.

I can only tell myself that I am already very privileged – that millions out there don’t even have the hope of getting into college; that people live under bridges – but that reassurance means nothing to me. I keep wanting more and more. I suppose it’s the same for everyone else - wealthy celebrities who have everything but are no less miserable than we are; popular jocks who secretly wish they were geeks.

You see, life is cancerously self-destructive. You are constantly told to put in insurmountable amounts of effort and determination into being somebody, blind-sighted and completely oblivious of this fatal flaw of human nature. For people like me – those caught up in this vile vortex of determination and thirst - the more you put into it, the harder it becomes, because you can’t ever give up, and you put in more and more of your energy into life until you eventually die an exhausted death. Success isn’t hard to find. There's a goldmine of it right next door. But no matter how deep you dig, you’d have to have all odds going for you to find a single drop of contentment.

To Get To My Heart

I'm not saying there is someone who wants to get my heart, nor am I saying I want somebody to have it. But if anybody wants it, here are a few tips from the owner.

To get to my heart, you have to be funny.

I can't stand a dull conversation. I'd rather watch TV and be amused alone than be with someone who can't make me laugh. But I'm not selfish, no. When and if I like you, I'll start to want to make you laugh, too.

To get to my heart, you have to be yourself. I, for once, will never change just to get some guy's attention - so you shouldn't, too. I like people for who they are, I don't want you to change. If I don't like you just the way you are, maybe we're just not meant to be. So when you're over me, pray. You'll find her, the girl who will love you just the way you are.

Be funny and be yourself. So if you are not naturally funny, you probably won't stand a chance. But maybe he'll like you; maybe you should go to him.

To get to my heart, you have to get through Ray.

He's my brother, only a year older than I am. He used to be fat, but now he's freakishly big and buff. We used to be real close. It used to be 'I'm not going if he's not going', but we're both older now. We both have a life.

If you want my heart now, he's the toughest one to get through. But I guess you shouldn't worry, he's graduating soon. But if you want my heart now, be careful, he's scary. There have only been two guys, ever, whom he approves to have my heart. What's weird is that I didn't even ask him about those two; he suggested me to like them.

One day, on a car ride home, he spontaneously blurted two names. He said, "Dek (Sis), why don't you go with A? Or B, he's nice too. Don't go liking weird people, those two are just right for you. They are good Christians." Fortunately for me, I was sort of "in a relationship" with Boy A. Hearing that, I laughed in my heart. I was glad, relieved even, that I was with the "right guy". And then life happened. My "relationship" with Boy A ended. But right now, I'm very good friends with Boy A and B. (No, I don't think I should be with any of them in the near future)

Unfortunately for two other guys, who actually wanted to have my heart, Ray said, "No." In eighth grade, I had a boyfriend. We decided to have the relationship backstreet for a while, but Ray soon found out. And he objects. He objected badly. He made me break him up. He cornered me; I had no choice. I was psychologically unable to continue the relationship because of Ray. I don't exactly understand why Ray doesn't want him to be with me, but if he doesn't like you... then he doesn't like you. I doubt he will change his mind. For days, everyday, Ray would ask me, "Have you broken up with him?" To me, the question sounded more like an order. It sounded like, "Break up with him!" Imagine hearing that every day. I couldn't handle the pressure; I cracked and I broke up. Trust me, you don't want to be Boy C. Then again, you probably don't want to be Ninth-Grade-Karina's boyfriend. She didn't know much about relationships then.

We were swimming one night, and there was a Swim-In Movie at Hard Rock Hotel, Bali. The movie was Chicken Run. Ray gave me a piggy back ride under water. I watched the entire movie on his back. As we were watching, Ray mentioned Boy D. He updated his knowledge on my love life at the time. I had a crush on Boy D, but I never told Ray about it. I don't know, maybe he just knew. He told me nicely to not be with Boy D. "Dek, don't go with D, ya..." Why? I asked. And he just said Don't. So I didn't. Boy D is his friend, not mine, so I guess he knows him more than I do. It was kind of sweet, actually. The whole brother-sister moment. :)

To get through Ray, you have to be a good Christian. That, and a whole lot of other things on Ray's invisible My Sister's Ideal Boyfriend list. In the long run, Ray is the easiest to get through, because...

To get to my heart, you also have to get through Noel.

He's been hurt by girls a lot, but he never hurt them. He's always the victim in his relationships, and frankly, he doesn't want me to be one. He checks up on me, asks me who I like every now and then. He cares, a lot. I can tell.

One night, my eyes were red and puffy from crying over Boy E. He was my first real love, and up to this day, he is the only guy I ever loved. Don't worry, I will learn to love again. So Noel came in through the door without knocking and found me looking oh so miserable. I looked like I was dying; I looked like someone just died! Knowing who my heart belonged to, at the time, he asked, "What did E do to you?" I lied. "No, seriously. What did he do to you?" Nothing, I lied again. I was in no mood to tell him anything and Boy E didn't exactly do anything worth punching. But Noel had his guards up. "Just tell me if he's hurting you." He left the room.

A few minutes later, Ray came in. He looked at me and giggled. "Are you crying over a guy?" I laughed and I said no. So he left.

Noel is about two years older than me. One of his friends was interested in me, once. He only told me about it months after the incident. Knowing what kind of a guy his friend was, he told him, "Hell no."

So to get through Noel, you have to promise him you will never hurt me and keep that promise. Not hurting me means being loyal and true. Break my heart and Noel will break your face. So you think you can get my heart, now? Think again, because...

To get to my heart, you still have to get through Dio.

Dio is currently in Germany and he will stay there for six months, so if you want my heart right now, things will be easier. He's coming back; he better come back. Dio is my cousin, he is three years older than me. He's been living with me since he graduated from high school in America; it has been two years now and we've grown close. I would say I am closer to Dio than any of my brothers. This is due to the countless car rides he drove me in. We go everywhere together, and believe me, car rides bring people closer because close spaces force you to talk.

He gives me advice on guys. He gives me insight on life as he knows it. I trust him. He has never met any of my crushes and/or boyfriend, though. Well, of course, why would he feel the need to see any high school dorks? After listening to my stories, he often respond with words like As long as you're happy, Slow down - he's not going anywhere, and You're doing right. He treats me like an adult, he trusts me with my decisions. I guess you don't have to worry about him for now. I, myself don't know how evil he can be when it comes to guys loving me. But later in life, getting through him will come in handy, because...

To get to my heart, you finally have to get through my Daddy.

I actually call him Papa (I wrote Daddy just to rhyme hehe). Last time I checked, he doesn't allow me to date. But that's, like, five years ago. I was eleven, then. You see, I don't tell my parents when I have a boyfriend or whatever. I do it backstreet, and so far, everything's been fine.

I don't know about other girls, but me, I plan to have a husband. I want to get married and have kids. All I know, right now, Papa doesn't want me to have a smoker, like him, for a husband. If and when you plan to ask for my hand in marriage, there's no detour but to get through him. Yes, it's my life. I have the power to choose who I want to marry, but I respect my parents. They have lived life longer than I have; they understand life (and love) better than me.

You should watch Meet the Parents. Let's hope when my future husband gets to meet my parents, it will not end in a catastrophe like in the movie. My dad has his own way to detect lies; so to get through him, you have to be honest. He cannot stand lies. I have many stories of him and his employees (plus lies) with endings you don't want to hear.

Because I am not planning to settle down anytime soon, I think Papa is fine with anything (anyone?) as long as it (or he) does not interfere with my studies. Also, don't smoke and be honest. Impress him. Get a job or something. :)

I am surrounded by men. They guard me, they protect me, they want the best for me. I am somewhat grateful to have them, because, look.. If I don't have them, I will probably end up being with guys who are simply funny but untrue. Or with comedians who plan to break my heart. (Well, no... I don't fall that easy) This is the advantage of being the only girl and having three brothers in the family. When it comes to guys, I just have to like, sit back, and relax.

Unfortunately for you, if you want my heart, you have a long way to go before you reach this girl's heart. Phoebe once said (in a debate speech), people often gets confused with finding Mr. Right and Mr. Right Now. Well, until I find my Mr. Right, I guess I have to date a few wrong Mr. Right Now-s, right? I'm not looking for a husband, I'm not looking for a boyfriend. I'm not looking. I'm simply walking and waiting for Whatever I Can Get (facebook).

When people ask me what type of guy do I want to have as my boyfriend, I usually answer: I don't have a type. In a way, I don't.. but after this analysis, I suppose I can give you a list.

MY TYPE OF GUY
Funny
Good Christian
Ray Has To Like Him
Loyal
Won't Break My Heart
Respects Me
Not A Smoker
Honest

Hey you, if you want to have my heart, I hope you're not intimidated. ;)

Life Lessons

I realize I have changed.

I'm still changing, even until this very moment. For good or bad, I do not know, but I welcome change with open arms simply because I can take a lesson in all that happens for a reason. I guess I'm still like water; I'm unable to retain my 'shape'. People have come and gone and left footprints, some big, some small, some shallow, some deeper than others. I have learned many things, both the hard and easy way for some things, along the way and would like to share some of what I learned.

I've learned not to be too open with people I have just met. But I do believe in the kindness of strangers. I have learned the hard way that 'love' has a different meaning for different people. And that some people are simply heartless no matter what I do. I learned that despite good intentions, you can never make someone change for their own good, so maybe you should save the effort. I learned to be careful where I put my trust in. I learned that those you perceive as good friends are often not all that good and that sometimes surface friends are more sincere and genuine.

I learned to pour all my heart into what I do; it gives better results. I learned that higher expectations equal bigger disappointments, so I try not to get my hopes too high because I do not like feeling disappointed. However, higher expectations push harder at motivation, so it depends on the circumstance. I learned to give up pride in certain things, because sometimes it just makes things worse. I learned that a little (emphasis on a little) jealousy is healthy, in relationships and in life. Like higher expectations, it pushes at motivation; makes me strive harder to be better and achieve bigger goals; and a little goes a long way to show that you care.

I learned that it is easier to forgive and forget; simply because this gets it off the mind quicker and no time is wasted on anger and needless dwellings on the matter. I have learned in many occasions that displayed anger from someone does not mean hatred. Often it means that they still care, enough to get mad at me and show me that I was wrong.

I learned that sweet words often equal to sweet nothings. They are fulfilling, satisfying at first but they really mean nothing. I learned to be careful with males with sweet words... Actually, scratch that. They are the ones who should be careful with their poetry. I learned how to detect which words are true, which lines are made up.

But most of all, I learned that hopes and dreams are often all that I have. I will not give up on them. So you shouldn't, too.

Twelve Strikes of Midnight; the modern fairytale.

The clock strikes midnight and the world explodes in a show of flashing lights and incredible noise.

Happy New Year.

Fireworks dress the night early morning sky in spectacular blooms and ribbons of exploding colors. All the human mind perceives is the light burned across their vision, and not the smokescreen in the background. All we can think about is how beautiful it is to be standing here, on top of the world, gazing out at a heaven that celebrates another year of human existence. We don't think about how we've basically traded off our hard-earned money for a compound of ammonium perchlorate, sulfur, and potassium nitrate. And, surprise! we're more than happy to blow it up to pieces. The result is a thunderous clap of sound, plumes of smoke--transparent against the dark sky, and a shower of sparkling lights; inspiring a brief moment of kaleidoscopic joy.

We only think about how marvelous it is; this parade of lights. We don't think about how poor confused birds drop dead out of the sky and lose their way in this hellish forest of light exploding from inside the dangerous smog. We don't think about how their little hearts stutter and stop at the sound of explosions. We don't think about the widening malicious grin in the ozone layer or the smoke slowly settling on our clothes and hair, nesting in our lungs. That's for later; worries and horrors for the morning of January the first.

It's the second strike of midnight. Everyone is sharing a few last toasts of well-wishing for the new year, and a last batch of hugs goes around the room. A few people failed to make it to midnight, and are seated on the sofa and chairs with sticky eyes and slow, sleepy smiles. Just one more, everybody says. I can't, I really can't stay. I have to be up in the morning. Really, everybody else says. The spell strains, cracks.

With each consecutive strike of the clock that follows, people walk languidly out the door and climb into their cars. There is the muted revving of engines as they move away, to the sound of the last few fireworks still lighting the sky. Everywhere there is still the overbearing sight of Happy New Year set in bright decorative neon lights. Gold and metallic-paper trumpets bleat tiredly a few final times. The sound pierces the fog that settles. The only thing is; that's not fog. But at the moment it adds a dreamlike quality to the night, and we wave it away. We will complain of the smell of smoke in the morning.

Ha py New Yea .

The twelfth strike of midnight,and the New Year has already overstayed its welcome. In people's minds is the thought of going back to normal, routine life, and the horrors of this new and alien year. My brain takes a few brief seconds to remind me about an unfinished essay and the last few days I have remaining before I go back to school, and my enthusiasm takes a nosedive.

It is the twelfth strike of midnight and the spell has been broken.

White stallions revert to simple white mice and the carriage is a deflated orange pumpkin in the middle of the road. Cinderella has to run into the forest and hide. Has to go back to the dreaded stepmother's house.

She can always still hope, of course. We can remember the promise of good health and dreams to be achieved in this newly-begun future. We can hold to the hope, and the dream, and pray that in the future the glass shoes will fit again. There will be an occasion to dance to again, even it's only the promise of yet another year.








Happy New Year.

The Intrusion

I tried to retire to somewhere quiet to listen to myself think. Just completely away from any people and any sound. I wanted to see if it was true that you'd hear your heartbeat, that you'd establish an ethereal and complete state of peace. What started out as an experiment born of curiosity evolved in a few brief minutes into full-blown chaos.

There were voices in my head.

They were retelling stories; recounting memories and reciting poems. One moment they were breathing warm whispers in my left ear; in the next moment they were buzzing about at my right, excited and inconsiderately loud. Somewhere in the back of my head was a shrill, falsetto (and decidedly male) little voice singing a song in slurred staccato. Yet another voice is demanding my attention, grumbling and complaining about something somewhere to my right. The oddest part of it is that I recognize these voices. I've heard them well and often--but to think they now existed in my head?

Even now, sitting here, I can hear vitriolic practicing her presentation to the rhythm of Sanjana's mellow scatting. Karina is screaming Pink!! and chasing something in circles in the left hemisphere of my brain, and the voice to my right is my sister complaining about the noise (I was tempted to respond; you think?!). There's cynix singing his "You're Ugly" tune and Kendal is desperately trying to convince me to do something ("Chel...!")--probably to stop the unbelievable mess scattered shipwrecked across my entire plane of thought.

The worst part was what came later.

I stopped concentrating on the silence, and I stopped blocking out the noise. The voices receded as the A.C.'s comforting humming poured like cool, refreshing mist into my head. That silence was nearly complete. The deafening white noise was like a veil that saved me from the pandemonium that had momentarily ruled my head.

"It's cold." What?

"No, it's not. You're such a sissy." No way...

"I didn't say anything." Go away.

"Not youuuuuu...!" Argh.

"Rach, you're stepping on my foot." I would have stepped on heads if they had been there.

Later on I would realize that I had been falling asleep as I was thinking these things. Or rather, as these things thought themselves out. It was heavily odd, of course. Anyone would be freaked out by the notion of voices in their head. Only this was more like an imaginary recap--courtesy of a tired and sugar-ridden brain--of the day's conversations. Presented in delightful jumbles with a shot of bizzare eerieness to top.

I really need a holiday.

"I know! Me too."

Indonesia’s Presidential Candidate, Another Pitfall In Our Democracy?

Much buzz has surrounded Indonesia’s Presidential candidates. From the current president SBY, to former presidents Megawati Sukarnoputri and Gus Dur. Also ex-Governor of Jakarta Sutiyoso. But the question is, are they really the best options for corruption and problem ridden Indonesia?

SBY – is the first Indonesian president elected democratically by direct vote by the Indonesian people. He boasts a clean corruption free reputation and reputed good heart filled with well intentions. However, his indecisiveness has left few problems to be solved.

Fun Facts: He procured his own album, singing and playing his guitar quite delightfully in his album.

Megawati Sukarnoputri – Is the daughter of charismatic Sukarno, propelled to the spotlight sheerly by her lineage her brief Presidency has been mocked by many. Though feminists would be pleased by another female President, her crying over every natural disaster victim without initiating any solution has been made a mockery of several 11th Graders.

The overall tone is that, things won’t change. There is no candidate that spurs out hope, that is a fresh voice to our Democracy.

Sure, there are reasonable candidates but the same faces reappear and we once again stuck to pick which candidate would bring LESS Damage to Indonesia.

My personal pick: Pak Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono.

Why? Because I believe in his intent to better Indonesia. Perhaps his indecision will be lessened if he won, he would not have too be wary so much of reelection and political consensus.

This is the Indonesian people’s second shot to putting a President in the Istana Negara. Will we take it? Will the candidates proof themselves?

On a side slightly geeky note, I'm actually excited for 2009!

It's going to be my first vote!

While I might be doing so in an Indonesian Embassy in a country I decide to go to University in I’m quite unabashedly giddy in the thought.

So I sincerely hope, along with me, Indonesians should realize the importance of our decision, and the press and the public should be aware of the gravity of the situation.

We actually have the power to put into Office our leader for the next 5 years.

We have an opportunity! (despite it accounting for practically nothing... [ our votes do count, they count 0.000000000000001% (not sure of the exact mathematics but the number of Indonesian population and do some mathematical thingo to it) ]

The biggest question is, will the next president be able to achieve change and progress?

Predictably, only time will tell.

Malaysia, MalingAsia?

Disclaimer: I wrote this for Voice and added personal biases to it, so sorry Voice!

The diplomatic relationship between Malaysia and Indonesia has never been perfectly harmonious. Dating back to the Sukarno era, conflicts and disputes over land territory has been rife, this problem has yet been settled and a new type of conflict arises.

On Malaysia's recent tourism campaign the Malaysian government featured an ad with two dances actually BELONGING to Indonesia which immediately spurred critical anger from the Indonesian government and its citizens.

“"We want the Malaysian government to stop copying our cultural heritage," said Tritomo one of the many demonstrators in front of the Malaysian Embassy in Jakarta.

The stealing of ‘cultural heritage’ is not only limited to dances. Last October another cultural rights dispute has circled a theme song for the Malaysian tourism promotion "Rasa Sayang" or "Feeling of Love". The Indonesian government is currently pondering whether to sue Malaysia for the breach of copyright. Upon that possible lawsuit Malaysia has defended that the song has a dual origin based on the many cultural customs similar between the two countries.

It seems like a recurring pattern to me, does Malaysia really have no culture of their own to the extent that they would steal ours just to make up for their own mediocre culture?

With not only songs and dances in question but also traditional handcrafted souvenir like shadow puppet theaters and batik fabrics the troubles that are being sold in Malaysia for traditional ‘Malaysian’ merchandise among many things. It would seem the troubles and worrisome relations between these two essentially similar yet polarized countries will not end quite so soon. (Nor should they)

Furthermore, Malaysia’s blatantly racist government has approved a militia to round up (read:Beat up) illegal Indonesian immigrants. There was even a case when a wife of an Indonesian diplomat got beaten up because of those sorry uneducated imbeciles of militia did not recognize a diplomat passport.

You see, forgive my imprudent assessment, but when my countrymen are beat up, and my culture is taken, I cannot help but feel antagonistic to those Malaysians, to the point that calling a friend of mine ‘Malaysian’ is the worse insult I can think off, to the point that I resent and decline to eat Penang food (though Teh Tarik is really delicious), and to the point that I’d never bring the Malaysian government revenue by going to their racist filled soil.

So yeah, Malaysia might be ‘Truly Asia’. But that is only attributable to the fact that their Asianess derives from Chinese, Indian and Indonesian cultures.

So to people looking forward to going to Malaysia, please DO feel the truly Asian-ness of Malaysia, because it is. Truly stolen.