Monthly Archives: June 2012

Bybyq Got Her Ears Pierced

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… AGAIN

I don’t know how many times I got my ear pierced. The first time I got my ear pierced was when I was still in the primary school. My mother brought my sister and I to the jeweler and got our ears pierced. At that moment, her reason was girls are better with earrings. But it went bad because apparently my sister and I had keloid and we had the wrong treatment, so I had to remove my studs and live with keloid until 2005.

Keloid removal was done when I dropped out from Architecture School and moved to Communication Science. I spent the first week of the orientation explaining why I had my ears covered with bandage. Not a big deal, because soon after it was done, I got my ear pierced again. Now I treated it myself and until now, I never had any keloid.

But it’s me.

Few months after I got my ear pierced, I took off my studs and the hole was closed. I got them pierced again, this time 2 on each ear, when I was with Onyed. But then earrings became a little bit irritating, so I let the hole closed… again. Only few weeks before I came to Norwich I got them pierced… AGAIN.

Really… sometimes I wondered if it was me who enjoyed the pain of getting my ear pierced.

Just a week after I came here, my right ear got infected. I don’t know how and why, and I didn’t try to find out. I just went to the nurse at the Medical Centre and got my stud removed. Finally the hole was closed again, and well… I just want to wear earrings again, so today I went to Claire’s to get my ears pierced.

I thought the procedure would be as easy as it was in Indonesia. When I was in Jakarta, all I need to do was to come to the shop, ask for it, choose a pair of earrings that I would want to wear, and SNAP SNAP, got them, paid them. And it was very cheap too.

When asked for it on Claire’s, the shopkeeper who later was the ‘executioner’, asked me for a photo ID. Don’t worry, I am getting used to that kind of request >_<. But, out of curiosity, I asked to the shopkeeper how old I should be to get my ears pierced without parental consent. She said I had to be over 16, so I was… “oh…”

Of course she was a little bit uneasy when she saw my passport because I am waaaaay over 16 >_<. I don’t know I should laugh or cry.

Anyway… she also asked me if I had diabetes, or any kind of disease that would need a special attention. I was asked to fill in a consent form too.

The price of having a ear pierced here is almost 6 times more expensive than having one in Indonesia, but the process is so much different. I think it all comes with the price.

First, the shopkeeper cleaned up the preparation table with anti bacterial spray. And after cleaning her hands with antibacterial hand gel, she put a pair of disposable latex gloves on before all the rituals start. She never… never ever touched the stud before it touched my ear. And I got a bottle of an aftercare solution to take care of the piercing at home. And all of them came with a copy of the consent form, a brochure of how to take care of my new ear piercings and a voucher for a new pair of earrings should I want to change my studs after 6 weeks.

And that snapping sensation when you had your ear pierced in Indonesia… I was waiting for her to shoot and snap my ear but it was like a soft smooth poke in my ears. And that pain few hours after the piercings that I usually had when I got the ear pierced in Indonesia… Nope, not at all. I don’t understand how it can be so different >_< but then again, 6 times more expensive apparently means something -_-”

Superpower

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One of the most common quiz questions is: “If you can have a superpower, what do you want to have?”

I always said that I want to have Mind Reading and Manipulation. I still want that superpower now if I could.

But I have different reasons now.

When I was younger, the idea of having mind reading and manipulation is to get to know what is in someone’s head. And, the idea of messing around with things in people’s mind was fascinating. Imagine that you can control people’s behavior by manipulating their state of mind, and probably make them do what we want them to do.

Now, if I had that superpower, I just want to fix.

I don’t want to mess around with other people’s mind, I want to fix their damage. I want to change their mood. I want to make them feel slightly happier.

I am not a saint or a superhero, but I saw unhappy people. Not just people, but people that I care about. So if I ever had the chance to be able to manipulate anything inside their head, I would make them happy.

I would make you happy.

I would change your view about the world. I would take away your cynicism and bitterness. I would not be able to erase the bad memories, but I can manipulate how you perceive it. I might not be able to make you like me, but I can make life easier for you so you can like something. I might not be able to make you feel, but I will make you understand that it is okay to feel something inside.

That’s the superpower I would want to have.

And… Yes… I am still stuck at the same place >_<

Dammit

The Dating Guru

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One of my old friend suddenly send a text few days ago. Understanding her nature, I know somehow the whole conversation will lead to the romance/dating/love problem that she’s having at that moment. Of course, I know that she will open the conversation with something really casual like her job, or her family, or a gossip about one of our mutual friends, but… I just knew.

And of course I was right. Like always.

She asked me many things about dating. How she should respond. Should she be the one who send the text. Whether he’s into her or not, or whether the regular routine text is a good sign or not. Just a lot of questions.

I don’t know if she knew, but I don’t think I am the right person for someone to come and ask about dating. Yes I dated a lot of people, and I had few relationships, but I think it doesn’t make me a dating guru. Of course I have some tricks, but it doesn’t mean that it works for everybody.

Unlike Barney, I don’t believe in 3 days rule. I also don’t care who makes the first move. I don’t have this “10 things you need to know about dating” or “a-z dating do and don’ts”. I am a useless dating trainer. My references are limited to “the ugly truth” and “he’s just not that into you”, and of course “Hitch”. However,  if you only want a quick fun, you can always refer to barney’s “the Playbook”, the “for woman” chapter.

My only rule about dating is: “He’s not into you until it’s proven otherwise” and added there “no matter how convincing your female best friends tell you that he is”.

My non-trusting behaviour, of course has successfully driven away some potentials, but it’s always better to stay safe than sorry.

Silence isn’t the kiss of death. Friendzone is; nothing’s worse than your ex telling you that he’s indifferent.

Brainy conversation is always better. Cute conversation might be nice for the beginning, but you will get sick of it if you have that for the rest of the conversation. And, nobody wants to hear what’s inside your heart when you’re dating, they want to hear what’s inside your head.

BUT HEEEY… That’s just me.

Some brainless chick can always get good guys too. Most of the time it’s just about luck, isn’t it?

 

Trying Too Hard

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Back to 2005, Onyed sang this song for me after her first few attempts asking me to go out with her. Anyway, it was a bittersweet memory I had with her. But today, I just realised that this song is still relevant. Not for me, but for people around me.

If anyone I knew in real life read this, I just want to say: “please stop trying too hard”

I am going to break your heart if you did.

Not that I don’t appreciate your efforts, but the feeling that I am obligated to appreciate your effort will eventually push me away. Stop trying too hard because good things only come naturally. Stop squeezing yourself into my personal space because for now there’s not enough room. Stop trying to cheer me up, because I need time to grieve and contemplate myself.

And most of all, stop telling me that you understand, or that you can understand, because if you really did you would have never said that to me.

Basically,

Stop trying. Stop adding catalyst to life because when there’s no chemistry, no matter how much you put it in, it would never spark.

Damn, I start to talk like Grey’s Anatomy narration.

It Is Sweet Like Candy

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I am not a fan of sweets.

I used to be a girl who turn to a bar of chocolate or a cup of hot chocolate when bad things come. I used to have a pocketful of candy when I go to school just for something to chew. Basically, I am not against sweet. However, the I have diabetes running in the family from both sides of my parents, so it is only sensible for me to cut out sweets and carbs to get myself away as far as possible from diabetes.

After sometimes, I got used to non sweet things. Eating too much sweet makes me sick. To be honest I don’t know how some people here live with desserts. You know, like D or Mandy who would give up the main course for desserts. I prefer the main course. Of course.

That’s how I see life too.

I used to believe that sweet talk and gestures are the best way to get me satisfied. Like how people tell me that I look good, or that my new hair looks stunning, and how wonderful I was. I used to like when people make sweet gesture like over dramatic hellos and good byes, or soft touch on the hair when we sat next to each other.

It’s sweet. Like candy.

I still like it.

But too much of it makes me sick.

Once in a while I want it to spark things up, but too much of it makes me want to run away from it for maybe a hundred years. Or more.

*sigh*

I am not a type of girl who wants everything sweet. I know I am not living in the candy land, and I know that not everything in this world should be all good. I want some bittersweet. I want some spice. I want some hot and cold, and crunchy and gooey. I want varieties.

I want to go out in the wild, and sit on the fancy restaurant drinking wine. I want to dance madly in the club, and waltzing like a queen. I want agreement, I want arguments. I want varieties.

Making everything sweet for me wouldn’t work. Too much candies makes me sick. And even if it doesn’t it still makes me feel bad about myself for long run. Treating me like a fragile china doll wouldn’t work.

Oh what a demanding byqtch

Seriously!!

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I am a very serious person. Don’t laugh, because I am very serious when I am saying this. I know that the way I said it and the way I look and the way I behave lately made some people take my words lightly and didn’t take me seriously, which I don’t care, but I am a serious person.

I am serious about my life, my goal, my plan, my principal and my blog. I am serious about my preferences on how I live my life, on what I like and what I don’t like. On what I eat. On what I drink. I am very serious about being serious and even I made joke about it, it just to make you understand how serious it is to me.

I am serious even when I do my game. I am serious even when I listen to music.

And that’s why I am so stressed when I flunked. I got so depressed when I screwed. Because I am very serious at it and thus I don’t want to get things wrong.

Things doesn’t have to always go my way, but when it’s totally out from my prediction, I would be flipped. And that’s not good.

So when my mother told me not to take things personally. Or basically telling me not to take things too. And when she made a joke about things that is important for me, things that I do very seriously (and apparently screwed seriously), and asked me not to get these seriously…

And asked me not to take this personally?

Think about it. And tell me why I shouldn’t I get pissed off?

Can Someone Actually Help Me? Please?

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If I really ask you nicely. Very nicely. Can I get what I really really want right now?

Okay, I have to be very honest with you now. I am really stressed with things going on in my life, and especially my dissertation. I need something to make my blood rush to my brain so it can work again and I can start working… again. I need my cigarettes.

Okay, no offense, but I don’t really like the cigarettes here. Even the menthol ones tasted like burnt paper.

I love kretek cigarettes. Djarum Black Menthol. I am so Indonesia in this aspect of my life.

Let me tell you why this cigarette is so much better than any other cigarettes. First, kretek cigarettes use clove. It gives the zingy tangy on your tongue, and sweet aftertaste on your lips. And have I ever told you that kissing someone who’s just smoking kretek cigarettes is the best? Okay I only had two exes who smoke kretek cigarettes and they kissed like… oh fuck I am not telling you this.

So, I’ve been asking people to send me this cigarettes. Basically you are allowed to send up to two cartons (20 packets) of cigarettes, for personal use only. And I had it sent… once. Unfortunately, these fellows are now not very dependable in this kind of things. I know… I know… when you have a boyfriend, then all boys and girls who were trying to impress you suddenly stop and even better they stop being friends at once. How life being nice to me.

I just want to enjoy a real cigarettes again. Once again no offense but I’m done with these sissy cigarettes. Of course I can roll myself, but that means no menthol flavour and I would hate that.

Mandy gave me a packet of cigarettes she got from China. Which is a really good thing because that’s the closest I can get to my kretek cigarettes. It is still not a kretek cigarettes, but at least I can taste tobacco, and not burnt paper. I know I asked too much but if anybody… anybody read this and feel a little bit sympathy to this poor girl, and decided that… oh well, maybe sending her two cartons of Djarum Black Menthol is not a bad idea at all… please let me know.

I. DESERVE. THAT. FUCKING. CIGARETTES.

I deserve that.

A Very Depressing Blog Post

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First of all, I am not coming from a broken home family. I considered it a little bit dysfunctional but my family are still together. I just don’t feel the bond the way most non-broken family does, and even though I think it is something to be worried about, I don’t think my parents think the same.

When I was young, my parents were very busy with their business, because they just started up. I practically grew up with nannies. As the firstborn, my parents had a very high expectation towards me, they did the so called the tiger mother parenting style (which later on my life became the inspiration of my dissertation writing). I don’t mind with everything that has been done, because I grew up well, and I achieved many things in my life.

However this came with a price. For me especially, because I realised that my parents had treated me differently from my other younger siblings. I didn’t blame my parents, because you only became parents once, and trial and error is the only way to get things done. I am the prototype of their parenting style. If things went wrong with me, they can always fix it with my other siblings. I don’t hold grudge, but I have my own little bubble.

I love my little bubble.

Unlike my sisters, I love going out with friends when I was in high school. Unlike my sisters, I like trying things that for my parents considered ‘deviant’. I am the only one who smoked among my siblings, and I am pretty sure none of my sisters and brother got drunk as much as I do. I believe they don’t get high like I do, and I know I have healthier sex live than they do. So, I don’t miss anything.

But, after I had a girlfriend (now an ex-gf), they started to think that my little bubble is not good enough for me, and they want to pop my bubble. They invaded my little bubble with personal questions that I don’t even know how to answer it. They pushed in and think that if they popped my little bubble they could just get to know me. They wouldn’t. I know it, no matter how much they believe they would.

I don’t like their intrusive way to get in to my personal life. They were never there before, and I don’t mind if they kept themselves away from my personal life. I feel more comfortable if they never tried to get in. I am alright with that and I dealt with that pretty well. So, why now? Why do they have to force me to open myself to them?

This afternoon my mother said something like: “you have to open yourself to someone and talk about your problem. If you can’t talk to me you may want to talk to your aunt?” What the hell is that?

I can’t even talk to my counselor and she wanted me just to blurted out all my feelings to someone who’s not trained to handle emotional problems? If they look further and read my blog, they might know me better than just asking me “where are you?” and “have you eaten something?”

I am not a suicidal kind of girl, but now every time I got a message from my mother, all I want to do is doing something to injure myself. No kidding. I really want to hurt myself that bad every time she asked me to tell her what’s wrong with me.

I punched door and desk so I can hear the slamming sound even it hurt my hands. I throw my empty bottle collection so that I can hear the crashing sound. And I drink, a lot. I drink a lot I am so scared I will end up with liver failure, or worse… alcoholic.

If only there’s a way to stop her from asking. Sometimes… some people just want to be left alone, don’t they?

Guilt

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Yes, that’s what I’ve been dealing now.

I know it is my fault so, please you don’t have to shove it in my face and saying the same thing over and over again. This guilt is killing me and it makes me feel depressed every day.

My boyfriend, I want to call him McSteamy but it would make my blog very very cheesy and I wouldn’t let that happen since I am no longer a teenager, and the fact that a lot of teenager write a non-cheesy blogs, it gives me one more reason why I shouldn’t let this blog became a cheesy blog… Oh where was I? Oh yeah. My boyfriend is a good person. He is a really good person. He is a life partner material.  He is kind, he is nice and he does what he says he wants to do. So basically, less bullshit more things’ done.

He is thoughtful and he… well… like I said, treated me like a princess.

I know it’s only been few weeks, but…

Anyway…

So…

Dammit!

I know it’s been so long since the last time I really blogged, but I never knew that it would be so hard now to talk about things. I don’t understand why. I don’t know what I feel right now about this relationship except guilt.

After some times he tried not saying the “L” word, he finally said that again few days ago. I will be lying if I said that I am okay with that. I will be lying if I said that I don’t get freaked out. Because I did.  I was freaked out and I really didn’t know what to do. I was so scared that I might one day hurt this very nice and kind person, because I might not be able to feel the same.

For one second I kind of understood what my ex felt. I kind of understood why he did what he did. I kind of understood the guilt that he had at that moment, which pushed him away from me and made him leave me. And it made me even more freaked out. What if I got to that point, one day?

 

And You Think Your Life Screwed?

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Just for one day, I asked people around me not to tell me not to worry. Just for one day I asked them to stop saying that there’s nothing to be worried about. That everything is going to be alright. Because I am not alright. I am not fine. And for the first time I know I am angry. I am angry.

And if someone told me that I am not screwed enough. Screw them.

My new boyfriend told me that he loves me and I couldn’t reciprocate because I haven’t felt the same way, and it totally freaked me out to hear him saying that. I like the French guy who told me that it will be fun to break me up with my boyfriend and wanted me to come to see him in Canada. I haven’t fucking moved on completely from that Danish-English boy who made me feel like I was the queen of the world. My dissertation is now in jeopardy, and my supervisor wanted me to revise (but it basically more like starting over). And, now I can’t go back to Indonesia because I have new deadline, which is NEXT fuckn WEEK.

I asked my parents to send me cigarettes because I really need that now, but they refused (you don’t say?). I can’t get fuckn drunk because I need my brain to stay sober. I have to unpack my clothes that I just packed yesterday. I have to pay 100 quid as a cancellation penalty, and couldn’t get my money back for today’s bus ticket. I can’t go to see my buddies getting married, two of them. I have to forget the whole list of things I am going to do once I come back to Indonesia (massage, spa, facial, and other fuckn stuffs).

And they said I am not screwed?

Screw you. And screw your universe. And if you’re living in the same universe I am in… welcome to my world.