Midnight Malarkey

a peek inside the poetic freak


Random Blahs

A List of “D” Words





It’s scary. Took me less than two minutes to think of nine “negative” words. Took me over ten minutes to match that number with “positive” ones.


Series of Thoughts (2/12-9/12)


I was thinking on how long it would take for you to look for me if I ever disappear from your radar. Then I thought about doing such a thing, just to find out.

Childish, aren’t I?

Why would I believe you’d ever notice?


It’s funny how people don’t like the fact humans always chase things and people just beyond their reach, how people ignore or take for granted what they have, yet everyone does it anyway.

It’s funny how some people are just like walking waste and others take the burden of God knows how many people just because they know they can do something more for others.

It’s funny how people want to be productive and contributive in tasks then they always bother you and ask you to explain things to them, then end up doing so little. You could’ve done the whole thing and save more time. Sometimes it’s good they’re learning something new, sometimes it’s not worth it.


I’m screwed, screwed, screwed.

Bye freedom bye holidays bye opportunity to get myself together.


Why is it so hard for people to understand there’s a wide spectrum of emotions? Like if I’m sad you don’t tell me to be happy then I go happy like there’s a fucking switch inside my brain which I always have access to.

And it’s not just emotions, it’s personalities as well. Me acting like a brat then like an old soul then a shy person isn’t being two-faced, it’s adapting to different environments and circumstances.


Bubbles bubbles bubbles UGH BUBBLES

Me wanna pet and balloons. What about pet balloons? Nope they’d whither away and I’ll be sad again. :'(


What in mother nature’s name are you doing back here again?

No, you do NOT get to resurface for a few minutes then disappear just when I realized you were there. Why on earth are you back in my head after months of not being there?

How dare you leave me to deal with V alone, then give me a smirk like that.Get out of my head you manipulative little delinquent!


KYAAAAAAAAAA these people are just ADORABLE I wanna cut their heads off!


Something’s gonna break, isn’t it?

Gosh I’m scared of myself.


Why aren’t more ceilings made of glass? It’s not like people are gonna peep from the 6th floor or something, right?


I try to move my fingers. They do. Just not the way I want them to.

I want to write. They tap themselves. Moving, but making my mind stand still. The idea then disappears. Dispersing into unfathomable scrapes, unable to endure the hollow that’s occupying me.

I want to type. They tap themselves. Pressing, but hitting all the wrong keys. Anything I want to pour out freezes. Dissolving into a distant thought, a fragment of what could’ve been written, unable to endure the frustration.

My fingers… they’ve gone stiff, I fear.


Help me.

Tell Me A Story

Tell tales of tortuous travels, trivial trifles, teeny tiny things and thoughts tailored through clenched teeth. Share your soul and spirit by stories, sending silent shivers down sound-sleeping spines. Make morose, melancholic melodies of memoars from malicious memories that meditate in mind-meddling mazes from life’s mean mediocrity. Tell me a story.

Wake wonders wandering within, wane wobbly weaknesses and wield what words would wow. Emit epicness, let your epiphanies be epitomes to show errs eradicated by experience, educate on the energy of empathy. Tell me your story.

Give glorious, grand gems to gladly glaze and gush over gregariously. Revive riveting random happenings, rhymed into reasonable, rational ramblings. Tell me a tale.

Make me laugh until I fall of my chair but don’t care because your story’s just so funny. Make me moan and hum to the touch of your sweet, dripping poetry. Tell me your tale.

Who you left and where you went. What you lost and gained and have yet to get. It’s always pleasing to hear people spilling words from the heart.

So tell me a story. Tell me a tale.
Tell me of you.

Di Luar, Di Dalam

Di luar sana ada sakit dan sayang. Di luar ada tawa dan erangan. Di luar ada segalanya. Di luar tak ada apa-apa. Tak ada apa-apa untuk kita berdua.

Mari tetap di dalam. Dalam rumah bersusun bata kenangan. Batu lawas yang melapuk seraya waktu berjalan. Tetapi aku di sini, di tempat di mana detik berlangsung namun saat terhenti.

Apa yang kau cari di luar sana?

Di dalam ada sakit dan sayang. Di dalam ada tawa dan erangan. Di dalam ada segalanya. Di dalam tak ada apa-apa. Tak ada apa-apa untuk kita jika sendirian.

Di dalam ada penerimaan, makian gemas yang diutarakan. Ada obrolan di sela-sela seruputan kopi. Ada seruputan kopi di sela-sela obrolan di sela-sela membaca di sela-sela tawa dan bahagia bersama. Ada tawa di mata, di lidah, di tiap getaran udara yang menggelitik bulu kuduk hingga meremang. Ada sayup di sela cekikikan yang menggema dalam keremangan. Ada wajah-wajah bahagia yang senyumnya berbayang di bawah cahaya temaram.

Apa yang kau cari di luar sana?

Di luar ada penerimaan, makian gemas yang diutarakan. Ada obrolan di sela-sela seruputan kopi. Ada seruputan kopi di sela-sela obrolan di sela-sela membaca di sela-sela tawa dan bahagia bersama. Ada tawa di mata, di lidah, di tiap getaran udara yang menggelitik bulu kuduk hingga meremang. Ada sayup di sela cekikikan yang menggema dalam keremangan. Ada wajah-wajah bahagia yang senyumnya berbayang di bawah cahaya temaram.

Apa yang kau cari di luar sana?

Semuanya serupa dengan di dalam. Serupa, tapi tak sama.

Lalu kau berpikir, jika sama saja, apa masalahnya jika kau berada di luar, bukan di dalam? Sudah kukatakan, serupa tak berarti sama. Kau bisa mendapat begitu banyak hal di luar sana yang tak bisa kau dapatkan di dalam. Terutama, pengalaman.

Lalu kau bingung mengapa aku gelisah. Pasalnya, ada satu hal yang berbeda. Yang bisa kau cari hingga semesta iba dan membuat ujung dunia agar kau berhenti berkelana.

Di luar, sana, tak akan ada aku.

Tetapi rasanya tak masalah. Peranku bisa digantikan. Bahagia bisa dicari lagi. Jika rindu melanda, kenangan bisa dimainkan. Ketahui saja, saat kau melangkah, aku juga akan raib. Entah kemana.

Hei, sudah, cepat, pergi sana sebelum terlambat!

Apa yang kau lakukan? Mengapa kau masih berdiri di ambang pintu?

Apa kini kau ragu?

Thoughts: Memory Wipe

I’m sure we all know that the past contains memories, both good and bad. I’m sure we all have those days when we wish we could just make the bad ones go away. I’m sure you can all relate to this:

Right? Right? Am I right or what?

The things is, I would never want to wipe out my memories. So far, anyway. You have to take the good and bad in life. Like coffee or chocolate—bittersweet in all its glory. It’s like eating Oreos. You can lick the cream first then the biscuit, or eat the biscuit first, or taste both in a bite. Either way, if you want the whole thing, you need to eat the whole thing and taste both sides.

Same as life—to truly live, you must take the good and bad in stride. The cliché “Life is a roller-coaster ride” is a cliché because it’s true.

“But it’s only the really bad ones I want to erase! Let’s say the technology exists, I won’t wipe out all of my happy or bad memories. I won’t erase my good ones with the horrible ones!”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Try looking at the pic below to guess what I’ll be blabbering about next.

I don’t know about you, but I highly agree with the quote. It’s not so much about the pain, it’s about what comes after it.

Like it or not, memories help to shape who you are. Wiping the good memories will make you lose a piece of you that you are now, so does wiping out the bad ones.

And especially the bad, specific ones. Memories are based on true incidents that resonate throughout your life, sometimes in the weirdest and most wonderful ways. Sometimes through reality slaps, or déjà vu. Other times, through things that remind you of those memories.

Memories are how we learn from mistakes, because we remember how bad it felt making those mistakes. It’s the reason for our being uncomfortable in new surroundings because our brain’s grasping for familiar things we can relate to but scarcely find any, but it’s also why we find home so… homey.

I know I’m rambling here, but I do hope you understand what I mean. Whenever I pause and relive my past, it’s the bad experiences that have shaped me the most. And I do get negative effects from those bad memories, but I’m also aware that those bad memories are the ones who have shaped what I like about myself the most.

So, there.

Who or what inspires you to write?


I’m really asking here out of curiosity. You can answer with one word or a lengthy comment or even a list; I don’t mind. Maybe I’ll be inspired by your answers, or try some things myself.


Sometimes I wonder if the stars would compare themselves to each other if they’re alive. Who shines the brightest? Who’s the prettiest?

They don’t know that we find them beautiful as a whole. We stop at night to look up and see them. Sometimes go to less polluted places so we could take a clear, long look. Some of us even look regularly to find new lights.

I wonder if they know how many pieces of art have been created because of them; metaphores, poems, songs, paintings, pictures, even things like clothes and cheesy love letters.

I think about the ones whose lights die. Then they turn into bitter blackholes. Even then, many of us find them beautiful. It just takes the right kind of people to appreciate that kind of beauty.

Just like it takes the right kind of people to love us.

History of Words and Me #1

So I just felt like blabbering about my life and how words in all kinds of forms have shaped it so much. Maybe it’s not so much about “how” but I think you’ll see when you read it since it’s become part of who I am.

The child within screams,
“Tell me a story! Any story!”
But I had to settle with bad dreams
for I wasn’t fortunate to have bedtime tales.

I’ve always loved stories. Any kind of stories. Fairy tales, fables, myths, name it! I admit, I’m not a fan of horror stories, but in my defence, it’s because of my vivid imagination. But I’ll save that for later.

I’m an early reader. My mom used to work at a small bank that had a magazine stand in front of it. Dad used to pick her up from work when we only had one car, and I loved to tag along because then there’s a good chance she’ll buy me a magazine. My favourite, as many kids’ are, was Bobo—a blue, green-haired rabbit. I barely remember a thing about it now, but that’s my starting point to where I am now.

You see, I used to have nightmares almost every night. I remember them even now. They’re always the same. I wake up in my bed and see some kind of scary creature beside my bed—vampires, skeletons, monsters, kuntilanak, pocong, name it. (If you don’t know about the last two feel free to Google them since I don’t want to discuss the two. Ugh.) Then I wake up for real.

Anyway, these nightmares kept happening to the point where they bore me. I remember one time I actually sighed because I was already fed up, then I looked to my right and saw a dancing skeleton. I guess that explains my lack of fear towards it now, huh? Well, there’s a silver lining for you.

But these nightmares gave me vivid imagination. Sure, they’re scary—even now I can imagine freaky stuff with my eyes wide open—but in time they helped foster my love for stories. It’s freaky, but true. To tell the truth, I’m fine with watching horror movies most of the time. It’s when night comes I get anxious. You see, I’ve been sucked into movies in my dreams. It’s happened dozens of times. But who’d want to be in a horror movie? They never turn out to suck in my dreams; always manage to keep me awake at night. So, yeah, that’s it for how I got my imagination.

So, back to my early childhood—reading kid magazines. I’m a curious person. Was then, still now. I wanted to know what the characters were saying, the explanations to the pictures and illustrations. I often asked my nanny and parents to read them for me. They did, but were soon fed up with me. I kept asking questions, I kept asking them to read more. They said they were busy and tired. So I learnt how to read it myself. I only asked for words I didn’t understand.

(But my parents are great with that. No matter how mad they are at me, even when they’re cursing at me, I can always ask them about any kind of word I don’t get, and they’ll answer me. It’s kind of cool, really.)

Here’s something I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone: I was shit lonely. I didn’t go outside and play with other kids for some reason; it’s too long ago and I was too young to remember. All I had were my fairy tales. My parents spent time with me, sure. But they never read me any bedtime stories. I wanted them really bad. The closest thing to a bedtime story I got was my grandma’s stories.

My grandma lives out of town, but when she comes to visit, we’d sit together on the terrace of my old house and she’d tell me all kinds of adventures about Hengky, my neighbour’s pet monkey. I don’t know where the hell they got him from, but he’s there. He’s a cheeky one alright, so they keep him on a leash that’s long enough so he could move around, but short enough so he won’t jump into the houses to the left or right and steal stuff.

Oh, damn. This is depressing for me, you know? The trip down memory lane. It’s just… it’s the reason why I spent so much time with my grandma. It’s the same thing with my sister. We both loved stories as kids. Only, she grew out of it, while my love for them only grew. Hengky’s probably long dead now, but I still recall his stories and how my grandma makes funny sound effects just to make me laugh. When she’s around and I get scolded, she’d make the stories extra happy just so I’d smile again. Ah, I miss those days.

Well, that’s it for now. ‘Til next time, folks.

Sesungguhnya gue nggak tahu kenapa bisa menulis begini tengah malam tadi. Entah ini atas desakan apa, untuk siapa… gue nggak tahu. Yang pasti saat gue susah tidur karena ingin menulis lima kalimat pertama di atas kertas, pensil gue menggoreskan dirinya. Dan jadilah lamunan tengah malam ini. Selamat menikmati. :)

Ia seperti bintang kecil yang tertutup polusi. Kau perlu mencari sampai tak ada lagi ramai. Barulah ia memperlihatkan kerlipnya.

Ia tak terkenal, tak menjadi buah bibir banyak orang. Namun ia menjadi yang pertama yang ku cari kala malam datang.

Binarnya tak terlalu terang. Rapuh, malah. Namun, itulah yang membuatnya nampak kian indah. Tiap kerlip bagai degup jantung. Bisikan bisu yang hampir tetapi tak pernah sampai di telingaku. Biarlah. Biar apapun itu menjadi rahasia. Sama seperti ia adalah rahasia yang tak ingin kubagi.

Bintang kecilku tak ada namanya. Lalu bagaimana aku mengenalnya? Dengan melihat. Ia selalu sendiri. Walau ku tahu jarak antar bintang tak terbayang, ia selalu terlihat kesepian. Mungkin itulah alasan aku menemaninya. Saling mengusir sepi. Tanpa sepatah kata pun terucap.

Kau tahu? Berteman dengan bintang memang menyenangkan. Namun aku takut.

Aku takut kehadirannya saja takkan cukup. Padahal aku tahu pasti jika aku mencoba mendekat aku akan terbakar.

Aku takut kehadirannya bahkan tak terasa. Ia akan selalu terlihat dalam gelap, tetapi bagaimana cara melihatnya dalam silau terang?

Aku takut orang lain akan menemukannya. Diam-diam, ia akan membagi waktunya, tak hanya untukku seorang. Terlebih jika bintang lain muncul di dekatnya dan ia tak menginginkanku lagi.

Aku takut suatu saat nanti aku akan berhenti mencarimu. Lalu kau berhenti menungguku. Lalu aku tak mampu lagi membedakan kerlipmu.

Aku takut suatu hari nanti cahayamu mati. Dan aku tak akan tahu sebelum semuanya terlambat. Kau telah lama pergi dan aku menganggapmu masih ada.

Bintang kecilku, berjanjilah sesuatu padaku.

Jangan pergi.

So I’ve reached 100 followers! Yay!

Thanks for everyone who found my blog worthy to be followed. I hope I can continue to whip up good writing for you guys.

And for the readers who don’t speak Bahasa Indonesia, sorry for the ramblings you don’t understand. *bows*

Love you guys! Shannon

On Balloons

I just realized that for the past two, maybe three months, there’s always a balloon (or balloons) in my room. I just love balloons.

I don’t know what it is about them that’s so… cheerful. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re light and bouncy. Maybe it’s how colourful they are. It’s a rubber sack filled with air. How do I find it so fun to look at?

Just so you know, I’m 17 and I still stop in my tracks most of the time or slow my walking pace each time I spy a balloon floating by. (Sorry, can’t help rhyming.) But it’s what happens.

When I think of balloons I sometimes feel sad too. Especially helium-filled balloons. They have such short lives. Just a few hours. Well except for those gigantic ones.

Even normal balloons don’t last long. A month or so, if you’re lucky. Makes you think. Well, it makes me think, at least.

I wanna be like a balloon. I want to make people happy just by being me. It may be something small and simple, but if it brings a smile, then why not?

And to do that, I guess I’ll just have to be a better me. :)

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