The L Word

Rain - crop

“I love you,” she whispered in my ear. And that was it. I suddenly think I don’t need anything else in this life. I’ve never said that word to her (maybe I should, then she could say ‘I love you too’), but hell, it feels so damn good this way.

She loves me. Yes yes yes! Hahaha… I mean, she is gorgeous. She is fierce but funny, she is independent but needy, and despite her being obnoxious at times, she is actually sweet. I am not sure why she loves me. But she does and that’s all I need to know.

Getting overwhelmed by that L word (which I rarely use myself), my radar has become sensitive and it easily spots the word when it’s out there. Especially when it comes from her and damn! I just realised she says that word a LOT.

“Oh, I love this purple dress!” So, she loves the dress. Although I must admit she looks wonderful in it, but… loves it?

“You know, I really love chocolate Soufflé at Otel Lobby!” It takes twenty minutes to have the Soufflé and she joked she loves it because it will give us twenty minutes more together. What a sweet cheesy line of her. But since when a person really loves chocolate?

“I love Robbie Williams!” who the hell is Robbie Williams? Um, I smell a competition here.

“I love rain…” she said softly while holding me tighter. That makes me appreciate the rain more.

And… “I love you,” she said again with her sparkling eyes. I smile, for a second feel doubtful if her ‘I love you’ to me is special. What is this love? Is it the same love to that purple dress? Or that Soufflé? Or that fucking British dude (yes, googled him)? Or even the rain?

Strangely, I am afraid the answer is yes. I think I fall in love with her. And mine is definitely different from my feeling to any dress, food, dudes, or rain – no matter how peaceful and calming it is.

“I think I love you too,” I said with inexplicable jealousy.

“You think or you know?” she asked.

Damn, what’s the difference? I then just shut her mouth.

Painting by Leonid Afremov


Still Looking

I’ve been unhappy since… since I can’t remember. Some of you might see me as an ungrateful person right away. Well, you have the right to do so. But, it is good to hear people grumbling about their imperfect life, isn’t it? You will feel normal. You will know that you’re not alone. Look! Even Amalia is unhappy! 😀

Okay, okay, maybe unhappy is such a too strong word. Of course I am happy at times. I am happy when I get my wonderful mark. I am happy when I get a full plate of nasi padang Sari Ratu with gulai otak. I am happy when I watch Sondre Lerche live. I am happy when my haircut looks cute. I am happy when I can sleep 12 hours in a day. I am happy when I get a seat on the bus.

Yeah, it is true. “Happy” is not the word. I should use other term like… um… “content”? Ah, but don’t make me write a long and boring definition and explanation on the difference between happiness and contentment. No, thank you very much. You search it yourself, please :D.

However, for the sake of simplicity, let me call it happy and happiness. Just know that sometimes what I actually mean is “content” and “contentment.”

Here is the thing. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what will make me happy. I thought, a cool job will make me happy. It’s not. I thought love will make happy. It’s not. I thought, a pretty dress with incredibly soft fabric will make happy. It’s a big NO. I feel something is missing in my life. I thought, I know what it is. Well, I don’t.

—– thinking process —–

Nothing to do with the topic of this post. But I find it amusing 🙂

I think I should write another book. I remember clearly how happy I was in the whole process of publishing a book. The writing process, the editing, the cover designing, the launching, the talk shows, and all. I felt existed. I felt alive. I felt important. I felt pretty. I felt smart. I felt creative. I felt rich. I felt happy. I felt content.

So why don’t start it like… now? Now your ass! (pardon my language). I have my reason.

Some people believe that writing a novel is about persistence dan discipline. I believe so. But I also believe that to be in persistence stage, I need to take the very first step. The step which is beyond my control. The step of being chosen. Being chosen by the inspiration that picks my brain to transform it into words… pages of words. Writers don’t look for an inspiration. The inspiration comes to them. Just like magic.

I am unhappy. I keep too much jealousy in my mind. And at times like this, I miss my old me. The part of me which is strong and confident. Which needs no man to put a smile on my face. So, this is about a man? Or some stupid men that don’t treat me as I expected? You will soon laugh because I will say… yes. Some stupid men (and some stupid women too) have brought my mood and my self-assurance down.

Ugh, this writing becomes a useless ranting. I shouldn’t post it because it will be poisoning my “lately-well-mannered” blog. But… WTH! I am sure lots of people out there enjoying someone’s desperation. So are you.

So, let me entertain you.

😀 –> fake smiley 😀