cure for february weep

RAIN | Soyou X Baekhyun

LET ME LOVE YOU | Junggigo X Chanyeol

WOULD YOU COME TO ME | Brother Su

SHAPE OF YOU | Ed Sheeran

CAVE ME IN | Gallant X Tablo X Eric Nam

MOON, 12:04 AM | offonoff

3 AM | HONNE

어설퍼져 | Rheehab (beat by Duny)

SEND ME | Taek

YOUR EYES | Hoody feat. Jay Park

BYE BYE MY BLUE | Yerin Baek

WISH | Urban Zakapa

WHERE ARE YOU | Sam Kim

I MISS YOU | Soyou

FOR LIFE | EXO

I'M NOT OKAY | Chen

why my fictional characters are doomed to failure

I don't remember when, but since childhood I guess I've liked to make up stories. I've been reading cheap-story novels (as in shallow lovey-doveys) for a long time (although now I've committed my sins and slowly turn into heavier materials, as in literature -see my rant upon trying to understand it here) and the girl main characters (usually I read the girls ones) usually inspire me. Some novels made me want to jump into the stories, and I even sort of try being in the character as I live reality (and I failed hard, surely, as these novels are very unrealistic).

Post finishing a novel or watched a great romantic movie, I would start making up fictional character (I usually start with a girl) and draw its 'perfectly imperfect' life. But I could never finish any of my draft (just some silly paragraphs, to say it right). None other because 1) As a writer, you're supposed to torture your characters, and I create my characters too perfectly that nothing could harm their well-beings, 2) I could not bear the fact that my character has a huge flaw. Then I realized, I didn't create these characters I type, backspace, then delete for good in order to tell a story. 

For all these years I've been creating [female] characters as a manifestation of people I wish to become. I didn't create them too perfectly, as in popular, angelic, smart, well-mannered, have many adored talents, plays piano, sporty, and all sorts in one person; that is I know for sure is nearly impossible even in novels. I tend to create a physically pretty (not out-of-the-world beautiful or superstar charismatic, just fond and charming), smart, and confident females. They are busy bees, have a great social life, and financially well off (not heiresses). You know, that girl in high school who's adored by many boys, surprisingly very nice, and excels both academically and non-academically. To top it off, she reads some interesting books (not cheap romances). Even girls would fall for her. 

That's the girl I always wanted to be. and so far I've been creating fictional characters, in a hope that it would inspire me to make myself be one, but... no, I just watch or read something new, wipe the old fictional role model, then create a new one; a new goal. 

My birthday fell on the same day of Jakarta's Governor election day. I felt somewhat... special. Plus, I was turning 20. I spent most of the day with my high school friend who was currently coming back home that day. I accompanied her to Serpong for lash extension and we each ate a plate of Pontianak mixed pork rice. There was an option to spend my special day with the most special person, my mom, but somehow I always choose to spend my time with other people but my mom whenever I have the chance. I mean, there are times when I miss her, because... well, she's a home. I think it's true what my mom said that there's something wrong with me (mentally or spiritually, definitely not physically) and I need to fix it asap through a sort of meditation camp. When I think of it, I hate her. It's also true what she said that I could not be told what to do. How I see it is that my feelings, my subconscious, contradicts with my logic and the reality. The fact is she has helped me through so much, I owe her my life, but sometimes this strange hatred toward her emerges upon the silliest reason... when she tells me to love. When she tells me about acceptance and understanding. And I hate how sensitive and self-righteous she is... oh God, she's so screwed up. I wonder how she (or both my parents as they each took the part in my 'golden age') made me think of such about her.

So it's never been a loving relationship between me and her (in my perspective), but a love-hate one.

Okay, this was supposed to be a birthday post.

a survey of classical music

I am amazed by this very part of the movie: when Zibby tells Jesse to give a try for classical music in the middle of going through his day in the city. It's both beautiful and funny (makes me want to give that, too, a try) at the same time. So, you just need the right soundtrack in order to change your way to see things around you. Real talk, a city is overpopulated and most of its citizens are, well, not very pleasing to be around with, considering all those stress and workload they prioritize in order to survive in this lego palace*.

I wouldn't give a review of the whole movie, but this is just one of those interesting non-mainstream genre movies I'm always up for watching. I enjoy their deep thought conversations -feels like I'm in a lit class discussion. It takes quite a skill to pull of these kind of 'smart-ass' conversations in real life that will not make the parties seem like cocky satyric poets. Anyhow, here's a short gratitude letter from Jesse which I find... substantial.

*lego palace: a metaphor I use for a fast, ever-growing place called the city. You ground things, and build new ones, modify the yesterdays, building frames for tomorrows.

"Dear Zibby,

I can't thank you enough for introducing me to this music. Beyond just genuinely loving it, I feel it's quietly altering my feeling about New York City, with which I've always had a slightly conflicted relationship. I've found that if you replace the horns and the shouting with, say, Schubert or Telemann, the city becomes unbearably beautiful. After years of thinly disguised rage on both our parts. It's like the music had mediated a truce between us. Some early favorites, Massenets Meditation. If a more beautiful piece of music has ever been composed, I don't know it. That Brandenburg concerto is no joke, and I echo your sentiment regarding Beethoven. Whoa. I have no idea what the Vivaldi piece from Giustiono is actually about, but to me, it suggests deception, some kind of elegant double-crossing. It makes me feel like I'm a double agent knee deep in some kind of sexy espionage. I've decided the Wagner overture you included should come with a warning label. According to some quick online research, the opera deals with the struggle between sacred and profane love, which is arguably the only struggle there is. The other day, I was crossing the street lost in my head about something, a not uncommon state of affairs. I was listening to the overture, and as the music began to swell, I suddenly realized that I had hands and legs and a torso and that I was surrounded by people and cars. It's hard to explain exactly what happened. But I felt in that moment that the divine, however we may choose to define such a thing, surely dwells as much in the concrete and taxi cabs as it does in the rivers, lakes, and mountains. Grace, I realized, is neither time -nor place- dependent. All we need is the right soundtrack. I suppose this new infusion of music in my life is, at the very least, making me reconsider my hostility to dead, white males. And I have you to thank for that. How's things, by the way?

Your friend,

Jesse Fisher"

counting

I've lost count of how many people who have said I'm nasty, fussy,
and given me disgusted looks.
I've lost count of how many people who have said I'm fat,
both politely or frankly.
When I ask people what is good about me
many of them say, "Well, you're smart..."
Some others say I'm sincere.
Only one person tells me, no absent, that I'm pretty
something I always wanted to hear, ungrateful and artificial as it sounds.

My friends laughed at my personal journals,
in other words, at my thoughts.
Only one told me to keep going
and that what I do is good.

Only one person who has all the rights to take over my life,
and that is Him.
So, I think... I'll move on and give my best to meet His plans.

and so my mom made me hot cocoa...

My mom made me hot cocoa
after I cried the residue of my tears earlier this afternoon.
Maybe I was tired,
maybe I hate what I did,
maybe I wished I'd been mean and out of contact
not the one who raises her hand for quick help at any second,
maybe it was my period,
maybe I deserve to cry for all's sake.
I was walking to my faculty to drop the remaining unclaimed graduation gifts my religious community prepared
when I ran into my friend.
I could only gave a hopeless smile.
I was going to just pass by and made her wonder,
but I stopped at her side and received her hug.
I cried.
Sob.
Weep.
"It's like I'm holding a big baby!" she said while I still held her tight.
I told her as much bits as I could let out in the midst of my sobbing
of why I became such cry baby.
Actually, I didn't know why I cried myself;
it was the maybes and combination of them all.

then my mom made me hot cocoa (of my surprise)