Last year, my boyfriend flew home to Jakarta to celebrate my 21st birthday together. It is just ironic that today, on the eve of my 22nd birthday, I’m flying away from my dearest one.
Perhaps it can’t be helped. I’ve been in Singapore for over three weeks and in two days’ time I’ll be somewhere in Kalimantan. I need one day to recharge. That one day happens to fall on my birthday. And so I’m flying home, tonight.
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Date someone who walks you home. Someone who doesn’t mind taking the long route, the detour, the extra hour from the comfort of home. Someone who feels better if he knows that you’re safe and sound, before he kisses you goodnight and starts his other journey alone.
Date someone who walks you home. Who doesn’t do it when it’s convenient for him to do so, but who does it even though he needs to travel one hour and fifteen minutes back to his own place without the comfort of a car. Someone who does it, because he cares.
Date someone who walks you home. Someone who knows you are old enough to take care of yourself and to go back by your own, only to say no everytime you suggest he doesn’t need to send you home tonight. Date someone who sends you home not because he tries to be a gentleman, or has to become one, but because he wants to.
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It’s one week to the big day and three people have asked what I want for my birthday this year. Of course, they are my Mom, my big Sis, and my boyfriend. Yet I have no idea what I want.
If you have taken a peek at my childhood, you would have known that I love presents. Precisely, I love opening presents. Three months ago my baby nephew turned one month old and we held a celebration for him. There were lots and lots of gifts from various people. Guess who was the one who opened them? Nope, not my nephew (he’s one month old). Not even his mom (my sis) or his dad (my bro in law). But his auntie. Which is me.
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I have a confession to make: I hate reading inspirational stories.
Okay, perhaps hate is a strong word. And it is not entirely true either. No, I don’t really hate motivational stories. I don’t really loathe success stories. Yet everytime I read one of those stuffs which say, “If I can do it, so do you!” I can’t help but feeling my heart being jabbed with a thousand tiny little spikes.
It slaps me on my face and say instead, “What the hell are you doing with your life?”
Is it jealousy? Not really. It is just like those native dwellers who were content with their lives and yet still being forced to adopt the ‘advanced’ way of living. They were happy before. Everything was enough. But someone suddenly came and told them that this was no way to be living.
It feels just the same.
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I remember how you made me feel when I went to sleep last night.
It was happiness, but not like being-excited-happiness, which can go away as easily as it can come. No, it was more of being-peaceful-happiness, which made you smile as it caressed you until you drifted from reality.
It was like being comfortable in each other’s silence. It was like feeling the gentle wind kissing your cheek. It was like riding a car with the radio on while holding each other’s hands. It was like a small kiss planted on the back of your hand.
It was happiness.
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Sleep is a gift.
Ask anyone who ever had a nightmare, a sleepless night, or an insomnia – which is everyone – and you’ll get the same answer.
Yes, some people need ten seconds between hitting the pillow and going to dreamland. However, if you are more like most people, it will take you minutes or even better part of an hour to sleep. If you are under stress, or have something big going on tomorrow, or an emotional meltdown, or a baby, or have accidentally consumed an overdosage of caffeine earlier during the day – odds are you would experience laying-on-bed-with-your-eyes-open-and-your-mind-alert-and-it-is-damn-annoying thing.
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I have found it a little bit below impossible to take care of a baby while doing something full time, or even part time, on the side.
Yes, you can always sneak out 30 minutes of cleaning stuff or 20 minutes of the baby nap time to cook or work on your project, but you almost always end up using these precious 30 minutes to do something more important: taking shower for one, preparing food for the baby for two, and eating your own lunch for three.
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Today, I’ve been thinking a lot about justice.
It’s easy to say that there’s no justice in this world. Even the best debater and philosopher can’t argue to this one. How can you say to a 14-year-old slave that there is such thing as justice? How can you look at the parents whose daughter had just been killed in the eye and talk about justice?
People with power, the ones who can actually make a change, at times are corrupted. Many others think about themselves first, then others. It’s only human nature.
Yesterday, I have stumbled on an article written by a raped victim at Harvard. Yes, Harvard. Upon reading it, I could feel my heart boiling with anger. It isn’t fair.
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A quarter of the year has gone and no, I’m not sentimental at all.
Although by the world’s standard, I guess I haven’t been doing anything.
My days are filled with taking care of baby (not mine, my sister’s) and reading books. I managed to catch up with How I Met Your Mother (and by catching up I mean skipping the entire season 8 and go straight to watch season 9) and have a lot of sleep.
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I am not big in doing favours, especially when doing favours causes a hint of inconvenience.
Why? Because despite the joy that I know exists in helping others, I can’t help but being discouraged to do so in fear that they will do better than myself.
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