Midnight Malarkey

a peek inside the poetic freak



So what’s your story?

“Tell me more about yourself.”

If you’re above 18 and have never been asked that, mail me and tell me what kind of life you’re living. That question is the safe starting point for interviews, first dates, or when you just want to get rid of awkward silences but skip the small talk. It’s crucial information to give people context on who you are and what make a list of appropriate topics to converse on. It’s that small bit of info you put at the top of a resume or you say in class on the first day with a new teacher.

And you, dear reader. Yes, you. How would you answer?

Common answers would include age, gender, place of birth/origin/current residence, where you go to work/education, hobbies.

Seriously, is that the best thing you can tell about yourself?

What about that one song you always play when you’re down? What about your life’s biggest achievement, or dream, or come back after a failure when the world felt like it was about to end? What about that one spot where you’re ticklish but no one knows, or that one thing you’re dying to try but afraid of the social repercussions?

You’re a human being, a unique compilation of selected social patterns that society has sculpted combined with your own individual traits. Don’t tell me that yellow is your favorite color or you’re the first child of three. Tell me what’s the most uncertain thing about the future that terrifies you, or your first memory. If it has to be something about color, tell me the color that you see when you first gain consciousness—the first seconds before you open your eyes to snooze the alarm clock (for the third time before a relative finally drags you out of bed).

I find it so heartbreaking when a friend tells me about their problems or just monologs on about their thoughts and then apologizes for making me listen to them. Did you read that right? They’re apologizing for thinking that their life struggles are unworthy of being listened to. They’re apologizing for expressing themselves.

Tell me more about yourself, darn it. Tell me what sparks your passion—that twinkle in your eyes when you talk, that slight stutter because you have so much to say about that one thing or person you love most. Who hurt you and made you think the mind is big enough to hold your thoughts but the universe isn’t? Who so excruciatingly cut your soul into little thin strips of hope you keep to yourself? Who made you believe you shouldn’t show others the causes you’re fighting for because it might just jinx all the efforts you’ve put into it, and that embarrassment of failure is a roadblock from starting again?

You’re a human being, a unique compilation of stories from selected experiences society forces you to undergo combined with your own individual choices. Don’t tell me who’s the first person you fell in love with or what you wore on your first day of something. I want to know how you figured out “Oh my gosh, this is it, this is love!” and how you calmed your nerves enough to tell that special someone.

This may make you uncomfortable. That’s okay. You’ve been conditioned to keep private information like that to yourself. That, or you’re an introvert, which is also okay. Or you’re more invested in the other person’s story, which is—surprise, surprise—okay as well.

I don’t have a point to tell from all of this. I just want to let you know that people like me exist in your life. That nice people who greets everyone passing by, the barista at your favourite café, the stranger you made eye contact with and gives that smile, expecting a conversation to start. We’re all around you, or maybe you’re one of us. In that case, you’re a story collector like me, and probably dying to tell some of the inspirational things you’ve learned about people and life.

So when you meet one of us and get that question, surprise us. Tell us your favourite cheesy joke, or that one time you felt accomplished. And even in formal occasions like interviews, pause before you answer. Think about this:

Seriously, is that the best thing you can tell about yourself?



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?

There’s this phrase for the kind of love that people think fleeting. Usually it’s directed to first loves and young loves, drowned with lovey-dovey pet names and expected to end almost instantly at the first serious(-ish) conflict they encounter. I’m sure you’ve heard of it somewhere.

Made this with my dad’s Samsung Note 4. Also serves as my first published calligraphy attempt. What do you think?

But, when I think of it, I’d want puppy love to stay.

Most people may relate this term with relationships that aren’t committed nor serious. I, on the other hand, imagine a relationship with a real puppy. And it’s the fluffiest kind of relationship I could think of that also comes with the coveted commitment.

Puppies look at you with adoration that love that borders on looking stupid. They wait for you by the door and wag their tails like crazy and can’t stand still for more than two seconds. They get easily distracted, but when you know it’s your puppy, they’ll come pawing their way to you at the slightest call they pick up and in the cutest way.

And building a relationship with a puppy isn’t that hard because when you love a puppy, there’s no way you fall out of love with it. It can bite you and you may be more cautious, but odds are as soon as the wounds are all patched up the first thing that comes to mind is probably something along the lines of “Has my little pup been fed yet?”

So for the cynics towards the term: Sure, I want the kind of stable relationship that has utilitarianism in it, to some extent. But, when you really get down to it, don’t you want a little puppy love to go with it?


Doesn’t it also help put puppy love in the context of a relationship? :D

Add subtitle text

If you’re not interested in the “foreword” part of this post, skip to the part after I put another line. This post turned out much longer than predicted.

For those who don’t know, I come from Indonesia, a country where the dominant religion is Islam. We even have a separate court system to deal with legal issues concerning Islamic law—Shariah disputes, benefaction, divorce cases, etc. And, being a law student in this country, Islam Law is an obligatory subject I have to undertake if I want to pass.

Setting aside the ample times I got confused by the Arab terms, I find it interesting to learn a new subject that links law, religion, and culture so deeply. So, when my lecturer one day told the class to go to PA (PA=Pengadilan Agama=the religious court that solves legal cases using Shariah), I was sort of excited to go.

The PA court trials are closed to the public most of the time, since the cases ongoing are personal. I was lucky to get in and see the intricate workings of a component in my country’s wonderful (albeit flawed) justice system.

One little case stopped me in the midst of writing all I could down a piece of neatly folded paper. It was a divorce case. The judges were doing a final questioning for the couple, something along the lines of “Are you sure you want this? You can’t be reconciled? You’ve tried everything in your powers and it didn’t work?”, to which both parties nodded. Yet, when the wife was asked personally, she loosened up a bit and showed her true opinion.

“Well, that’s how things went. He wanted it like this,” she said in a half accusing, half reprimanding tone. Then, with a somewhat frustrating yet understandable attempt to shift the blame off of him, the husband reasoned that their paths just weren’t aligned anymore. That he didn’t know she’d turn out not to be what he’d hoped for.

To which, the wife replied, with calm and dignity that’ll be etched in my mind for years to come:

“You’re the priest (imam) in the family, you’re supposed to know me before having a family with me.”

Part One: Being in the Know

As often as I’ve heard the cliché “try before you buy”, I’ve never seen an implementation as affecting as that one case (refer to the last paragraph before the line above).

Sure, it wasn’t her precise words, and the guy didn’t suddenly feel remorse or anything, but it entailed an afterthought for me later that night and for the next few days.

The social system I grew up in has an innate characteristic of secrecy. Before a real relationship began (the flirting and hitting on people) there’s an adjective called “jaim” which is used to describe how people behave. Basically it means you’ll try to make a really ideal image for yourself to get the person you’re after.

Another thing that contributes to unknowing is that open, frontal discussions aren’t really that encouraged. No matter how subtle the confrontation, I found people often gape when I say I questioned someone for a specific behavior. When I think of it, there’s always that line “communication is vital” but I’ve never really seen it as a tip to follow before the marriage phase anywhere. It’s either not there, or not that obvious so people who don’t look for it don’t find it. That’s yet another problem—if you’re looking for a tip, you’re already in trouble. It’s not as much of an advice as it is an attempt to give a solution.

So I gotta cut that guy some slack. Besides, there’s also this:

Yeah, the woman’s probably got some blood on her hands too. But my point is many of us don’t spend enough time and energy pondering on compatibility with a partner as much as deciding what to wear at a special event. Sometimes you’re only checking for important yet vague things like “Is he a nice person?” and forget that three public displays of manners can hardly be enough material for assessment if the context is a partner for life. Other times, people are just desperate to fulfill their primal urges. There’s no shame in that, but no wisdom either.

I’ve known people who knew each other about two weeks before that started dating. Few people could survive over a year in that kind of circumstance, much less a marriage. Though both examples I’ve witnessed survived longer than I thought, one didn’t end on good terms and the other—well, I don’t even know anymore. After the initial giddy phase, you’ll find a list of questions soon enough. And the fact that most people don’t like to be vulnerable doesn’t help.

Just make sure when you know someone, you really, really know them. Though, even at best, you’ll always have to put up with little things that annoy you. All the more reason to take an option that’s worth the pain.

The same case goes with friends. How many people do you claim to really know? Do you know their favorite color, music taste, allergies, political preference, religious views? I never cease to be astounded by every discovery that reminds me of how little I know.

Come to think of it, this doesn’t just apply to relationships. It applies to life in general. *changes the featured image*

Well, this is gonna be longer than expected. Don’t groan, little (or are you big?) reader, you’ve done good. Go ahead and do something else, if you want. If you must. *cue for dramatic sigh*

Part Two: Being Responsible

People don’t like taking responsibility nowadays, and for a good reason: it’s tiring. Overwhelmingly so, at times. I feel it too. As a student who likes to read and pays attention in class, I’ve had an image of someone with above average diligence in many of my classes. Only when people got to know me better did they realize my will to do well is sometimes sub-par. And when I do want to please someone (or even myself), I make sure that I don’t look too eager. Why? Just so others don’t drop their responsibilities on my lap. Given, I’m not averse to saying no. It just saves time, social tension, and a lot of too-sensitive people’s feelings.

By nature I’m a stubborn person. Regardless of the trouble I’ve gotten into, I’m glad that being hard headed means I mostly stick to my promises and choices.

Maybe you’ve seen this pic before:

I think that’s true. I find it hard to make a choice, no matter how hard my resolution to undergo it afterwards. Even the task of merely picking one of two books can cost me half an hour. I even toss a coin sometimes to determine what I’m going to eat, just to save time. Well, there’s an example of over-thinking.

 If I had to box people, I’d box them into these categories:

  1. The people who make rash decisions and don’t take any kind of responsibility, blaming anyone and anything except themselves. These people are at the mercy of more responsible people who have to deal with them.
  2. People who make rash decisions and pay the price. I kind of like these people. They can be frustrating to see, but there’s a kind of eagerness and sincerity that goes into every little “yes” or “no” they say.
  3. This is the second most annoying group: The people who know they have to take on responsibility, but want to take as little as possible. These are the people who drop by last second on projects, who have to know every. little. thing. that may happen when they choose something.
    In high school (and even now) I’ve met lots of people who fall into this category. They don’t want to break a sweat and use their brains to try and figure out which option will let them use their brains the least. The thing that annoys me about them is that trying to make them take on more responsibility is excruciating. Sometimes it boils down to a demand—which, of course, can translate to them as an ultimatum. Oh well.
  4. The most ideal kind: Responsible people who know when to take action, take credit, and occasionally take the blame. We need more of these people, people!

I fall under the second category. Sometimes I don’t think as much as I should when making choices, but I know I’ll manage to work things out most of the time.

But enough of this mumbling of mine. Go, go, little readers! Shoo! (Yeah, I just ran out of things to say. HAHAHA… ha. *weeps inside*)

Are you blind? Don’t you know this won’t end well?

“That’s the thing. I do know.”

Then why don’t you keep your distance?

“Because it’ll hurt more. Because the quote goes ‘love and lost’, meaning this is the earlier half of what’s to come. It’s like how I like coffee and chocolate, you know? Bittersweet.”

But what of the regrets to come? What if all you’ve built is undone?

“So be it.”

On Using and Being Used

I’ve had my share of using people and being used by people. I know how annoying it is when someone depends on you too much for help, and I know how reticent yet desperate one can be to get help.

For my part, I’ve also had people who shut the doors and say up front that they’re too busy at the moment or they’d rather I try to get help somewhere else for a change. I’ve also been on the other side—trying to sugarcoat rejection (a habit which is slowly diminishing, thank God), trying to come up with an explanation that won’t get me in unnecessary drama with people who take everything personally, you know the likes.

The thing is, being in a (still relatively) new environment reminded me that lots of people try to beat around the bush. Recently someone’s asked me for help. She wants me to check her materials and whether or not the way she brings it during class would be good. I’ve been doing that since junior high, so that’s not really a problem.

During the actual meeting, though, that’s not what happened. I checked her materials, asked her what she’s come up with. Then she asked me to present it. Then she asked if she could record me saying it. Then she asked me for more arguments (the task was a debate that would later take place during class). My patience grew thin, but I still kept it cool.

Eventually, a sentence slipped out. One that says she actually wanted me to make all her arguments, and she’d just practice saying it for later. If only she were more perceiving, she would’ve seen the change in my expression.

Then, she asked if I could help her again the next day. I said I couldn’t since I already promised an old friend to check on another assignment (it was later on cancelled, but that’s not my point). What pissed me off was the two sentences that came next.

“Why would you help that friend of yours? Aren’t you being too nice?”

My reply: “Well, it’s my old and close friend. If I wouldn’t help her, why would I do such a crazy thing as helping you?”

The girl made an attempt to gain social pardon from me, but the damage is done. I’d rather have someone ask for a favor from me. You know, quid pro quo. Trying to be sly or sweet talk me won’t do any good to how I perceive you. In fact, it’ll probably backfire. A simple thanks is all I need.

I have a friend who’s awful at saying no. A few days ago she was slightly annoyed because she didn’t want too many kids copying her notes (and blaming her if it didn’t match the test questions). So after a kid came up and saw me holding a summary of the materials and asked if she could copy it, I pointed to my friend. She gave me a “WHY DID YOU PUT ME IN THAT POSITION!?” look. Lesson learnt—some people are too afraid of social pressure to say no. Even with me she needs to sugarcoat a subtle shake of the head with multiple apologies. That makes me uneasy. Meh.

On the other hand, yet another friend of mine (sorry, gotta protect anonymity, ha!) would gladly make me sulk a bit when she feels I’m taking too much advantage of her notes. Given, I’m disappointed at times, but not at her—it’s only because I have to do more effort to gain whatever it is I need.

In fact, I’m most comfortable with that last friend of mine. She’s quite the “no bullshit with me” kind of person. You won’t see it at first glance, and it doesn’t come out in her attitude, but in the way she deals with things and people.

Personally? My kind of person.

I really do wish people would be more direct when they ask for help or favors. It’ll save me a lot of trouble with social norms that just aren’t practical and exhaust me of what cheerful energy I managed to muster for that particular day.

Well, it’s in line with my lifetime resolution—being direct with people as long as it’s suitable. So that’s definitely something to keep in mind.

Goodness, I’m complaining again. *sighs* Well, what’s new with the world? (Or me, for that matter.)

What We Write

If you know me well enough, you’ll support this next few words: I do quite the amount of editing for my friends, both in Indonesian and English. Nothing professional, just enough to pass tasks with decent grades and please those oh-so-beloved teachers and lecturers who give a damn about language and the proper use of it.

This thought has occurred to me multiple times in the past, but it never really dawned on me until today how much of ourselves we write down, whether personal or not.

I’ve always scolded myself when I rant about something too clearly on Twitter or WordPress when I don’t want to. I’ve even taken care not to be explicit in certain parts in my own private journal. An acquaintance pointed that out a while ago, so I checked. It’s true. Some of my personal writings are ambiguous to the point that I’m not even sure what it’s about. I guess I’m that insecure about what info I give out.

But that’s about things we’re quite aware of. You probably have friends who own a private blog or an alias unknown to most people they know. But this is a whole other level.

When you’re editing tasks or writing down something in passion, you’ll find out many people don’t pay attention to trifle things like who’s going to read it or if it’s too personal. I’ve found out things about my friends from their writings I’d never guess about them. A few have hidden talent in writing, others bring out things that aren’t exactly in secret, but people just don’t notice. Once in a while, something shocking comes along.

Editing a letter informed me that a former classmate planned to go to France for college (nope, it didn’t work out). One friend had me check her essays and stories multiple times; this is how I knew she had a penchant of writing melancholic love stories. Sometimes I get a peek into their personal relationships with family members. It’s one of the perks (well, most of the time) that comes with the privilege of reading what people write.

Sometimes, I get to see these people in a new light. School tasks aren’t necessarily rigid—it can be about you, things you love, and all those mushy, wonderful things. I learn more about these people: how they think, what they go through, their personality.

What I’m trying to say from these jumpy paragraphs is we write down (and post online) more than we think. When people write, they really do pour a piece of themselves.

Aku Menantikan Kematian

Aku memimpikannya terjadi dalam realita
sampai datang dalam bunga tidur yang terasa nyata
lalu berpikir, “inikah saatnya?”

Lalu aku bangun.


Banyak yang takut pada kematian,
tak terkecuali diriku.
Masuk akal karena kematian begitu asing,
menimbulkan aneka pertanyaan
berputar bagai gasing.

Ada yang takut karena tak tahu kemana mereka akan pergi,
dan apa yang anak ini ketahui tentang itu?
Ada yang takut karena konsep “tidak ada” tak mereka pahami,
namun bagiku ini bukan masalah eksistensi.


Bukan maksudku menyesali nafas yang diberikan,
namun saat hidup bukan lagi suatu keuntungan….

Apa yang tersisa selain kematian?


Aku membayangkannya terjadi dalam sebuah cerita:

Suatu hari, jantungku berhenti
berdetak begitu saja.

Banyak orang mendengar kabar,
segenggam yang datang,
satu-dua dengan bibir gemetar.

Siapa yang tersisa ricuh tentang
cara penguburan,
masalah undangan,
dan kepada siapa koleksi bukuku harus diberikan.

Pikiran yang, anehnya, menenteramkan.


Hidup itu berawal dari sebuah judi
tentang keluarga dan harta
dan tempat lahirmu di dunia.

Hidup itu berakhir
sebagai pos menuju kebakaan.


“Baka” berarti kekal
dan dalam bahasa Jepang berarti bodoh.
Seolah-olah mengatai orang yang merindukan kematian
—seolah mengataiku—


Dalam kesadaran, aku memilih
setelah menimbang,
bahwa kematian mengerikan
sama seperti kehidupan.

Dan dalam tengah awal dan akhir
aku bukanlah pejudi yang mahir
karena malah duduk manis dan menunggu
keping kehidupanku untuk kembali diambil.

Hampir Menulis

Ini bukan sebuah cerita yang akan terjadi. Bukan kisah yang sudah terjadi. Bukan luapan emosi yang menjadi-jadi. Namun tentang untaian cerita yang tak jadi.

Tak terhitung kali ku mengangkat alat tulis, mempersiapkan beberapa carik kertas, mencari tenang, lalu menunggu ide yang muncul tertuang. Juga saat jemari menari-nari tanpa arah pasti di atas tuts keyboard laptop. Hasilnya? Sejumlah guratan tak jelas. Lalu si penulis menatap, mendesah, dan berserah.

Manusia itu aneh. Kita dapat terobsesi pada satu kalimat dari seorang tokoh dalam suatu cerita. Menulisnya berulang-ulang di berbagai tempat, mengucapkannya bagai mantra, bahkan menorehnya di atas lapisan dermis secara permanen.

Manusia itu aneh. Kita dapat terobsesi pada suatu ide abstrak, sesuatu yang tak jelas. Memikirkannya selagi menunggu lelap menjemput, memikirkannya hingga lelap tak bisa menjemput. Mencoba menggapai untuk memahami, seperti seorang anak yang mengira ia bisa menggenggam bintang. Terasa begitu dekat namun tak tercapai. Mencoba mengerti, namun kerumitan gagasannya tak terurai.

Terkadang bagiku menulis seperti itu. Ada bagian diri yang ingin mengatakan sesuatu. Namun saat sepertinya memaklumi tanpa bisa memaklumkan sama dengan nol. Memiliki ide yang tak bisa dikembangkan atau dijual sama seperti mengumpulkan sampah. Frustasi mengendap setinggi tumpukan sobekan kertas yang menjadi remah-remah.

Saya termasuk dalam kategori manusia yang aneh. Memikirkan suatu ide yang saya anggap bagus, mencoba menuliskannya, lalu membiarkan tulisan itu lari dari tema. Bagai kereta yang berputar tanpa mengetahui destinasi. Membuat pembaca bingung dengan tulisan yang ambigu.

Maka, kini  saya hanya menodai kertas dengan satu titik. Lalu berhenti.

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.

The Concept of “Being Real”

Is completely and utterly BOGUS at least half the time. I take the advice with a pinch of salt. What advice? The kind below:

It’s true. I’d agree with it if we didn’t live in an era where everything has to be politically correct. When image becomes crucial for things like connection and acceptance, how do you keep it real?

Some people are lucky because the real them is widely accepted in society. If you’re really polite, polished, and politically correct, man, you’ve got it good. But I, like many people, am not. Sure, I can be considerate and sympathetic, maybe even feel empathy, but half of the time I find it exhausting. Like, I want to do good. I can be good. But I can’t always be good.

Okay, I’m straying away from the topic.

My point is, being real comes at a high price.

My price for being the emotionally unattached me is the lack of depth in most social connections. People want a friendly, helpful person who takes their side or at least still supports them someway when their opinions differ.

I have a friend (a guy) who likes to sing karaoke, collect trinkets, doesn’t mind playing dolls, and has a pencil with glittery pink flowers as a pattern. He likes fashion A LOT too. Does that mean he’s gay? Does that mean he’s not a real man? He’s still a guy. He’s just being himself, and he’s okay with it. There’s also a girl I know who just like hanging around with guys, and I’ve heard people call her easy. That’s not true. It’s just that she’s more comfortable talking to the guys than girls in general. She’s being herself. They’re being real.

It’s not easy, is it?

“Be real.”

How do you do that? For me, being real is like something you should be ashamed about.

I’m punished by the looks and the shaking heads when I arrive in pants instead of a skirt/dress for parties. I’m punished by the stabs of words people say. I’m constantly ranted upon by people who’d like to see me “grow up”. I’m told to try on makeup. To embrace who I am.

Oh, fuck you, people. How am I supposed to embrace the real me by doing things I’m not? And it’s for your comfort. Your entertainment. If I were just trying out new things because I wanted to, whether out of curiosity or just for fun, then it’ll be just fine. If you simply approached me in a non judgmental way and I consented, it’d be a mere experiment to see if I like it or not. But this? Ugh.

What I think is the truth is that it’s okay to be real. Until the point where other people either get bored of you or become uncomfortable around you. 

Because when you dress different and look good, people call you unique, daring, fashionable, doing your own thing. When you don’t look good or don’t appeal to their taste, they call you a freak and a weirdo.

It’s hard being real. Some artists have it good and they say they keep doing them. Some do, but I see others are desperate for attention, thus they do whatever they can to stand out. There’s a fine line between experimenting and despair, people. But those who do make it—they have it oh. So. Good.

I’m not really there yet—real, that is. But I’m working on it. It’s somewhat embarrassing to admit I still say “sorry” when I’m going to say something possibly offending even if my friends asked for my opinion of something. I gotta stop faking my apologies. It just won’t do.

But I’m still learning to play within the boundaries of what’s legal and what’s acceptable while still being me. I mean, if the real me’s a psychopath, then there’s something wrong with me and not the world, right?

I guess the solution is tolerance for new and different things (both things you like and don’t) while keeping an eye out for the effects. That way people can still be themselves without going over the top with it.

Does that even make sense? Hmm… oh well.


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.

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