belong not

- Ever seen a pubic hair in the sink?
- Ever seen Darren Fletcher dribbling and making passes?
- Ever seen a red-plated company car in PS at weekends?
- Ever seen a 14-year-old tripping in a club at 3am?
- Ever found a good-looking-not-family-related-bloke photograph in your girlfriend’s wallet?
- Ever found cuts of toenails sticking in your forehead after you prayed?
- Ever accidentally (or not) entered the ladies room and receiving surprised stares from the inhabitants?
- Ever seen tantowi yahya dressed up in a cowboy attire?

- Ever tried putting action figures in your cubicle, only to be stared by your colleagues who put only a calculator and stacks of papers in their desk?
- Ever listened to the cure’s trust in your PC and being asked “what is that song?” from a cubicle neighbour?
- Ever read the beatles anthology in your office break and getting questions like “aren’t they too old for you?”
- Ever gave a ride to a colleague who in the end refused to listen to your cd collection and preferred to hear the radio instead?
- Ever been involved with a professionalism-in-the-office-heart-to-heart conversation with your boss and forgot completely what was in the conversation the second you walk out from his room?
- Ever asked your colleagues to go watch twilite orchestra’s “adventure to the galaxies” together and realized that some of them haven’t ever seen a starwars movie?
- Ever browsed the internet and wished you were living the life of some other people?

- Ever felt that some things actually don’t belong where they are now?

- Ever felt that you actually don’t belong where you are now?

bankrupted, cheap, babbling me...

I remember being able to go out and have a hell lot of fun with a rp20k bill in hand. The same time when I could get myself the latest-state-of-the-art mobile phones or gadgets. Gone are the days when I could still go abroad and pay my meals in dollars, buy the tube tickets in pounds, or tip in francs.

Ever since I had a job of my own, and supported myself for that matter, all those luxuries degraded consistently. I began to think, calculate and finally reconsider before letting the cashier take away my plastic and swipe it in his/her beeping credit-burning device. Musical concerts like those of cranberries’, suede’ and twilite’ which I went to need weeks of planning before I could spare my money to purchase the tickets. Exquisite cuisines are no longer a routine for my digestion system, as opposed to pecel lele, ketoprak, tahu + tempe which are mundane to my lunch plates. Being the pride-snob-jerk in the house, I insisted of living in my own place, away from the house’s ring of comfort, overlooking the fact that I couldn’t afford anything fancy considering my salary. Bad idea. The aforementioned tahu+tempe now unite with daily monosodium glutamate in the stomach acid as I have no other cooking abilities other than making instant noodles and fried rice. Yes, fried rice. The geniuses in PT GarudaFood’s lab managed to invent this innovative formula which enables salt-like seed turns into rice once acquainted with water. A brilliant solution for the likes of myself.

To think of it, now I earn around 5 times of what my parents had been giving me when I was in school years. But in addition to what had been mentioned above, I now solemnly plan my routes to make the best out of my gas. “Nebeng” is considered another brilliant solution, just like the instant fried rice. Hair cutting is done by my mom. No more “jambangnya cukur, mas?” and mediocre massage from mas Bambang in Fix-up barbershop, santa.

Don’t get me wrong. This is no provocative journal. I’m absolutely grateful for still being able to whine like this. I know lots of other people are not as fortunate as I am, being confused of how to wet their kids’ beaks. That they earn like 5k a day and have to feed over 3 children and a spouse. That some people eat once every 2 or 3 days. That a friend of yours drop out of school due to financial matters. Yadda yadda yadda. So save the criticism and blasphemy telling me that I don’t empathy. You’ll need energy to do that. They don’t come cheap nowadays…

twisted shoulder - bruised foot - bring it on...

Having acquired the new ability to do a “handwalk”, I do it wherever and whenever I can. That of course, doesn’t include office’ nor mosque’ floors. Mostly, I do it in appropriate places, ie. My carpeted living room, or my capoeira “dojo”. So there was this one time right before lebaran day when I was handwalking in the living room, for the purpose of being obnoxious to my ‘lil sister who was watching the telly. I went back and forth to block her view from Mr. Gil Grissom who was analyzing a fractured bone out of a dead young girl. She threw me some packs of pillows to get me off my balance. Alas for her, for her brother posses a body balance that will make jonathan sianturi looks like a joke. Umm… maybe Ronnie sianturi for this matter. Anyway, I managed to overcome the pillow blows which felt like swinging gigantic pillars like those in Indiana jones movies when you’re being upside down. However, after she gave up, God threw me an uninvisible pillow of His. Somehow I was taken off my balance for no cause, and hit the floor with my shoulder as the first point of contact. I was lying in the floor, short-breathed, for over a minute when my lil sister said “satisfied now, bruce lee?”. The pain in the shoulder instantly multiplied by the razor-sharp words.

For days after that incident, I could barely use my left arm. It’s functioned was limited only to hold my pants down when I took my number 1 in the bathroom, to shift the gear from N to D position, or to activate the front car wiper as it’s top task. To make matters worse, I was paired up with that same sister when we visited relatives for the lebaran, where my parents stayed at home, and my older sister preferred to go with her husband. And I swear I could see her smirking on me when I ask her to push the next track button in the tape, since it was a bit painful for me to perform the routine myself. To make her point clear, she repeatedly said “I understand now you have learned your lesson not to walk like an ape again. Ever”. Boy, how she’s wrong. I just did a “wheeling” in my room just this morning after I finished my Subuh prayer. And I decided not to tell her that I hit the book rack with the inner side of my right foot, left a stamp of bruise at it, and limp my self up to this moment.

No. I’m not a sadomasochist…