Monthly Archives: August 2012

Tiger Mother Revisited: Mary in The Library


So after my laptop had some major problems few weeks ago, I spent most of my dissertation time in the library. Yes I am so proud that I actually (finally) became a little bit productive (in a lazy student standard) and finished the dissertation. Was not so bad, my supervisor approved, and revision is on its way.

Believe it or not, with a little observation, apparently library was not that boring. Of course, after 1 a.m, there would not be so many people around. But there was Mary.

Mary lives in the same building with me. Basically she is one of my smoking buddies; we regularly meet up downstairs to have a puff. She is a Chinese girl with a long hair and a happy attitude; I just did not expect seeing her so late at the library. However, after some accidental meetings in the library, we started to go to library together. It’s not so bad to have someone around to accompany you having a smoking break every one hour.

Few days before her Mathematics exam she was so frustrated, and when we were having a cigarettes break she told me her story:

When she was in China she got scholarship ever term, but she felt she was only average here and that frustrated her. She believed it was because she had been very lonely, and nobody as her support system; unlike when she was in China.

So what she did to improve herself was to get as many mathematics practices by doing the sample of previous exams. When she told me this story she had already done 3 years of exams. Holy crap.

It just reminded me to what my mother did when I was in the primary school. She would make mathematics problems for me to practice, and wanted me to score a perfect point; which I have never made. I was thinking, Mary is being a Tiger Mother for herself.

That is interesting.

Based on the articles I have read (since this is a part of my dissertation), the practice like this would train your brain to be calm and confident while doing your real exam. And although the strict parenting would usually ends when the children reached teenage years, the habit of pushing themselves to the limit is staying in their mentality.

People can sneer at this kind of ultra strict parenting, and accuse this as a type of abusive behaviour; but believe it or not it works. The character building was never easy. You have plenty to do to make children became tough and independent.

I remember my sister and I went by ourselves to register to our uni, and saw so many kids were with their nosey mothers hanging around telling them what to do. I remember how I chose going to UK, and came here by myself while the others are coming in groups and sometimes even with their parents assisting. I remember confidently chose not to take the IELTS preparation course, and did it by myself at home; and my parents did not say a word – not because they don’t care, but because they knew they’ve done enough to make me capable to understand how to get my own standard.

Yes I am lazy, for the Tiger Mother standard, but I managed to finish my dissertation two weeks before the deadline. I stayed at the library until 4 am in the morning. Yes I am lazy, and I can see the surprised reaction when my friends knew I was still in 2-1. I got the books before anyone thought of borrowing those from the library. Yes I am lazy, yet I am still this determined to get PhD in the future. I couldn’t pass one day without thinking of the topic I am going to propose.


The crazy Tiger Mother parenting might scare some people that it might scar the child psyche, but apparently with the right dose, it works as expected.

I am not a mother, and maybe I would not be one. So, I am not going to say what is right and what is wrong in parenting. However, I had a Tiger Mother and I am the result of one particularly strict and obviously not “favoured by kids” kind of parenting. I am not saying that being raised in the opposite way wouldn’t bring children to succeed in their life, or vice versa. But hey, this is something to be thought about.


Letters From Home: How Are You, Sir?


About few weeks ago my sister told me a shocking story about my English tutor back in my hometown. She said that my English tutor had an accident and got his brain damaged. I haven’t heard anything about him since then.

When I was eleven, the first time I went to the junior high school, my parents hired a private English tutor for me. Little that they know, he would be my favourite teacher of all time.

I was a spoiled little brat. Mr S was a very quiet man and I was never paid attention to his lesson. Until one day he got very angry, and told me with his low voice that he did not have to teach me anything if I did not want to. And he was more than willing to leave anytime. That was the day I got my respect to him; someone that I could not own, and treated like a shit. I learned not to treat anyone like shit since then.

And I learned my English from him. These blog, every words you read now, I learned from this man. My not so messy grammar, my not so screwed pronunciation, my fascination of English book, and language; came from this man. Al told me how I write better than most people she knew, Mr. Fix-It told me that my spelling skill impressed him; and nobody else should be thanked but this man.

So, I was so broken hearted when I knew that his brain damage from the accident affected his English. My sister said that he could not remember anything after his college life. He could not remember his sons. He could no longer speak English.

Few weeks before my departure to Norwich, I asked for conversation course with him. And writing course for academic writing as well. Although in the end I ended up writing blog more than doing my essays, I could not thank him more because he made my life here so much easier. All the conversations I can remember with him was in English (I can even remember one day I asked him what “bitch” means; I could not find it in dictionary).

All I hope is that he would be better soon. Not only for his family, but for him too. I hope when one day I come back home, I can meet him and ask him: “Hello, how are you, Sir?”

The Not So Ordinary Faerie Tale Ep. 1


Once upon a time in Far Southeastern land, there was a tiny little kingdom. People in this kingdom were always happy and smiling, because the sun was always shining. Believe it or not, it was always summer in this kingdom; and as people in this kingdom were not the most creative creature in the universe, they called this land The Kingdom of Summer.

And there were King and Queen of Summer, and they had four children: Princess Cinnamon, Princess Lavender, Princess Violet, and the Crown Prince Grey (have I told you that the people in this kingdom were not really creative? So were the queen and the king, they just picked up names from the colour chart *shrug*). Well, until she was 8, Princess Cinnamon was the Crown Princess because she was the eldest, but when the Crown Prince was born, all the kingdom’s attention were switched to him. She was furious.

Well, not for long. Then she realised that this might be what she had always wanted. Less attention, more freedom.

You see, in the Kingdom of Summer, although the people were not creative, they valued smart people. However, Princess Cinnamon was not the smartest girl in the Kingdom. The Queen kept telling her that she was a disgrace for failing to recognise the star pattern (mathematics haven’t been recognised in the curriculum). Instead of learning the star pattern and movement like Princess Violet or studying the buildings like Princess Lavender, (Crown Prince is a Crown Prince no matter how dumb he could be; but unfortunately he was incredibly smart *shrug*), Princess Cinnamon likes reading and listening to music. King and Queen said, she must have been spelled by a black magic from the outcasts.


Princess Cinnamon first encounter with the outcasts were when she was 14. She was having a walk in the town market to buy another book when she heard a street musician singing in a song in a language she had never heard before. The words were quizzical, the melody were melancholic. Suddenly she found herself standing among the passers by, and looking at the street musician. He smiled at her.

“Princess Cinnamon, we must hurry. I saw some guards around, I think the king is looking for you,” Coco, her servant (the word secretary and personal assistant haven’t been found either) broke her attention.

She hurriedly approached the street musician, and asked him when he would be there again to sing.

“Everyday, milady. Just after the market open.” He made a dramatic bow, not knowing who he was talking to.

Princess Cinnamon tossed three gold coins to his bowl; made that lucky street musician almost die of heart attack. That was as much as he could earn for one week.


So the Princess went to the market once again, this time without Coco escorting her. She sneaked out through the window and torn her dress a little. She knew the Queen would be very angry if she saw her like this, but she needed to see the street musician in the Market Street (you know, it is impossible to just browse in the internet and download the song at that period of time).

There he was, playing with his little banjo and sing beautifully. The melody was not melancholic, it was lively and happy; but the words were as queer as the last time she heard it. She threw three more golden coins to his bowl, and he stopped singing.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Who are you?” she replied. Of course it was unusual for her to have someone who does not recognise her. But oh well, she’s only a princess, not the Crown Prince.

“I am Banjo, the musician,” he said, then waited for the Princess to introduce herself.

“I am Cinnamon, the princess,” she replied. Awkwardly. She knew ‘princess’ is not a profession, but she did not know what she was, other than ‘a princess’.

Banjo could not hide his shocked face, and without his realising, he was staring impolitely to Cinnamon face.

“Please don’t do that Mr. Banjo the musician. I came here to talk to you about the song you were singing…”

Banjo surprised by what he have just heard. He realised that in this kingdom, not so many people would appreciate the music like he did. They would be busy trading or building, or inventing something. Some outcasts, of course selling books and make music sometimes; but they have to work somewhere in the restaurant or the dock to earn extra money. But a princess came to the street just to listen to music, wasn’t that so bizarre?

“What language is that? What were you singing? You don’t seem like you came from around here… ” Princess Cinnamon stopped talking, and started to feel that she have just talked too much. She waited Banjo to tell his story.

Letters From Home: Deepest Condolences


I got a sad news today from Jakarta, the mother of one of my Indonesian society friend in Norwich has passed away. I could not yet contact the person, neither any of my friends in Jakarta.

Yes I have never been the closest member of the Indonesian society. Heck, some of the members there weren’t even know that I am existed. But, with some people there I know them enough to feel concerned about their wellbeing.

This moment was supposed to be the holiday time for these people. When they come back home to release any stress they had when they were studying here. Maybe it’s good that she went back home because at least she could see her mother for the very last time, and the fact that she would be back to Norwich in the middle of September so she would not have to struggle with the memory of the late.

So, I know that the chance that she would come across my blog and read this is quite remote, but I will make a letter for her anyway. This is the least I can do.

Dear JD,

I could not say that I understand what you are feeling right now, because it must be beyond words. I am not going to say that everything would be alright, because we don’t know yet. But I do understand if you want to be alone right now, and absorb the reality; and feel whatever you want to feel right now.

You would slap me in the face if I started to preach you about the better afterlife, because I know nothing about afterlife. But you are living and that’s what matters now. You don’t need to celebrate your life, you just need to remember it.

Nothing could help you to ease the pain right now, and that is fine. It might take months or years, or forever to make it feel better. The memory would stick and it would be very painful, but it doesn’t mean you are weak, it just means you’re feeling something.

I am not good at making emotional approach in this kind of situation, I am probably incapable of doing that. But if you want to get drunk once you’re here, just let me know, I’d get it covered, girl.

There, there!

Cry tonight and wail and get angry if you want. Break the plates and glasses and scream if you need. Lock yourself in your room and sob and swear to god if it would make yourself feeling better. Like I said, I understand if you want to be alone today, please don’t hurt yourself.

Don’t beat yourself up. Don’t feel guilty for living; and for enjoying it. Don’t feel sorry for yourself. Don’t hurt yourself physically, or mentally.

I’m so sorry for your loss. I hope I can ease your sorrow. Annie said the sun’ll come out tomorrow, but I know you don’t give that song a damn.

Have some sleep my dear. See you soon.

Culture Revisited: “The Obligatory Party”


I just saw one of my friend’s facebook wall, and she said, roughly like this: “No wonder there is no party invitation, the birthday girls are having a vacation. Oh well, that’s fine, don’t forget the souvenirs!”

Here’s the thing. I have the problem with the “obligatory” party or souvenirs which is very popular in Indonesian culture. Some people like celebration, but I don’t. It was a torture for me to make a big fuss about the things that I would rather enjoy myself. Like birthday.

I am not a kind of person who would happily throw a birthday party. If I was the birthday girl, the last thing I would want to do is serving people and making them happy in the day where I supposed to be the Queen. If I was a birthday girl the last thing I want to do is to spend so much money, in the day where I supposed to receive tons of gifts. What is wrong with the culture? -_-”

So is wedding party.

Life after marriage would not be easy. It would require you a lot of money. You would want to buy a house, furnitures, and probably new cars and a dog. Why the hell you would want to use all your savings to have a glamorous wedding party? Why?

I would not say anything if you are very rich and throwing a party would not be a problem at all. I am referring to those who believed that throwing a party is obligatory. Those who believed that it is a part of the culture which they MUST do; and they forgot the essence of the moment itself.

Like what I have said in the entry about the independence day, a celebration comes after a deep contemplation. Oh today is your birthday, what have you achieved this year? What have you done? Have you been your best? Were you satisfied? What would you want to improve next year? Birthday is the perfect moment to self checking (New Year is too…)

Party was supposed to be a way for you to share the happiness with people who cares. If you’re not happy, what’s the point of throwing a party? Do people do this to show off by flashing their fortune? Or giving opportunity to people who wanted to do so? I remembered once, my great grandmother had her 85th birthday. Her children and grand children used the money for a charity. Isn’t that what “sharing happiness” about?

Of course I don’t want to rub in everybody’s face that they are wrong and I am right. I just wondered if anybody ever think what I just contemplated?

Anyway, whoever having birthday today, happy birthday to you 🙂

What’s New in Superbyq?


Yes, Superbyq had a new layout, that was some kind of impressive changing, wasn’t it? Not really? Don’t worry, in the next months there would be changes and changes and changes… I hope it would not stop you from coming to this blog. I would appreciate any input telling me what to do with this or that 😀

First, because of my dissertation is almost done, I would have more spare time to write. I would start doing what I have never done in my blogs: posting fiction.

I am aware that some entries in my blog were vaguely fictitious, however it was done to protect the anonymity of the person or the events, and also to save my ass from being sued for libel. What I am going to do next would be totally different, it would be a story. A real fiction. This would be posted every Sunday, giving me time to think and write continuously, and also giving you something to expect in the weekend.

I hope you would enjoy my stories.

Second, reorganising my blog would be my next project once the dissertation is done. I was thinking of making daily topic, for example: Stories on Sunday, Review on Wednesday, etc. It sounds fun in my head, but until you really do that, we would never know.

The reason why I want to do that is to make the blog more “committed”. I have seen some blog went to hiatus because they can’t commit with themselves. One blog I know committed to write at least two posts a week. Not much, but it means one hundred entries a year. That would be an impressive number. Of course the entries could be more than that, but if you have minimum target… I don’t know. It should work. What do you think?

Third, I am expecting for another layout changing. Not that I don’t like this one, but it just does not reflect my personality, does it? Maybe I would want to say something that ‘magazine-ish’ so it would support my previous idea to make the blog updated continuously, and thematically.

I would not, embed any songs in my blog. I did it when I was using blogspot and I thought it was cute. But it became a little bit annoying for some people because obviously readers have different musical taste, and sometimes people just want to read in silence (they were in the library, and they did not want anybody to throw pen in their face, for example). So my layout changing would not include the noisy bits.

I believed that changing is good, not always, but even when it’s bad and irreversible, it would be fixable; and modified into something good. Basically, changing is good. So, I hope you find that it is good too 😀



Just Because I Don’t Want To Go Back


I have been asked many times about my reluctance to go back to Indonesia. No I don’t hate Indonesia. It is just that there is a long history between me and my home country. A long history of love and hate relationship, if I must say. But the reason why I don’t choose Indonesia as the place I want to live now, is not because I hate Indonesia.

I know life could be so much easier if I just go back. My parents would be happily supplied me with everything I need, and I can just start a small business to make them happy. Even if I went broke, there would always be my dad who would support my life. I know that food are so much tastier in Indonesia, cheaper too. You can have sushi without having to use the whole month budget. Well, bacon is a little bit out of question, but although it is not so easy to get one, you can still go to Sogo Food Hall to get a package of bacon strips. Now I want to eat bacon, I blame you, my blog!

Life is so much easier in Indonesia. I will speak in my own language. And if I speak English, then it’s my plus point. I will have my own car, and no matter how crowded and jammed the road in Jakarta, I can just turn the air condition on to the max, and I don’t have to worry about how much petrol I wasted. It would be so much cheaper than here. You can even drive without driving license.

And of course, cigarettes too. Getting alcohol is a little bit trickier, but nowadays, people are more open about this. You can always find cheap wine with lower alcohol content or beer in some supermarket. And if you have the guts, you can always buy them online and stack your booze stash at home just in case you would need to release stress (or having a sudden urge to make a happy suicide attempt). You can do what you want. Indonesia is a heavenly place for fun. Even the club is so much cooler.

But is that what I want?

I think it is all about preferences.

I don’t think that living in Indonesia makes me happy no matter how much fun I could get. I could not fit in.

I could not fit in the culture where everybody wants to know everybody else’s business. I could not fit in the culture where everybody needs to say something just for the sake of it. I am not a social person, not that much, and I need a culture where a loner is appreciated as much as a social butterfly, and where no parents would tell me that I would be a weirdo because of staying in front of computer too much.

I don’t want to be among people who believes that education is nonsense, those who sneer on the academic achievement, and keep asking me “why?” instead of “why not?”. But most of all, I chose this place because of this

Haha! Why so serious, buddy?

I love Indonesia. I just fit here better, and I like the music. Just because I don’t want to go back to Indonesia, doesn’t mean I stop being an Indonesian. I just want to stay in a country where the beset musicians in the world was born. And, of course so many other reasons.

For some people, America is the land of opportunity. For others, it might be another country. I started my new life here a year ago, and when shit happened few months ago, I was thinking of leaving this place. But then I realised, that I never wanted to leave. In this place, I can overlooked the shit, surprisingly.

Yes, love life sucks. Job is not easy to find. Everything is expensive. And I can’t get my favourite clove cigarettes. But I want to live here. This is what I want. >_<


To You…


Hey I want to post a melancholic nonsense today. I know I promised not to be so soppy and mushy about stuffs, but what can I do? So if you are not interested to read my public love letter you can skip today’s post and come back again tomorrow (or later if I have new post, tee hee).

Dear You,

Happy Birthday.

It is silly that after whatever happened few months ago, I still can’t find a reason why I should hate you. Everybody hates you, especially Mr. Fix-It, because you practically ruined his plan. But anyway, I haven’t hated you yet. Maybe I am that wise, or maybe I am that pathetic. Or maybe I just love you. It does not really matter now, does it?

Anyway, there’s is only 0.000001% chance that you read this post today, which was exactly my reason why I wished you happy birthday here. I don’t want to ruin your perfect little life, in your perfect little birthday bubble by giving you a cheery happy birthday, no matter how genuinely happy I am for you. I am a good person, I know, and it would be fucking hard to find someone better than I am, you know :p

As a birthday gift, I will throw myself on your bed, I will wish you a very happy birthday. You know I have learned in the past that if I cursed on someone, it usually became reality. You don’t know how my mental vengeance has taken so many victims? So I release you from my vengeful curse.

No, I don’t want you to come back to me. I just want you to be happy… and to be an adult.

I know. I know.

You’re old enough, but no matter what I am still older than you, so shut up, and listen.

You might think your life sucks, and you don’t deserve good things in your life. But you do. You’re a selfish son of a bitch, but you are not an evil bastard. This guy is:

So worry not. You haven’t crushed a single soul. Or you have. I don’t care.

Anyway. One thing that I learned from being an adult is cleaning up your own shit, and taking the shit from those immature wankers throw at you. Seriously that sucks, but you can’t always be in the position of the immature wankers. There should be a process of regeneration in the International Immature Wankers Organisation. Oh… I am not saying that you are one of them, but if you insist…

No. Really I don’t hate you.

Come on. Can I make fun of you a little? After what you have done, you deserve it!

Ah you would not read this anyway. So yeah, let me continue.

In the future, of course, I hope you find someone new. Or if you want to get back together with one of your other exes then that’s fine too. But I hope you can find the feeling that you’re searching for. I hope you find a happiness you’re longing for. And even for a very short second, I hope you felt love.

I want you to believe that tomorrow can always be better. That the shit today happened for a reason. And I know you have told me that my philosophy is shit, but hey, at least I live my life like a boss with those shitty philosophy. I want you to know that true perfection has to be imperfect (Noel Gallagher, 2002), so don’t be afraid to make mistake (because you’re the one who has to clean up your own shit anyway).

I want you to believe that although miracle is a myth, but the probability is a chance that you can predict with mathematical formula. So if you don’t believe in luck, you should believe in “try again”. When everything fails, remember that there are people who cares. I do. I still remember your birthday.

Alright. Enjoy today like there is no tomorrow. But really, I think it is wiser that you postpone the celebration and the drinking contest until this weekend so that you don’t have to come to the office hangover. But hey you’re an adult enough to make your own decision, aren’t you?

So Happy Birthday


Selamat Hari Raya Idul Fitri


The title can be translated to “Eid Mubarak” or “Happy Eid Al Fitr'”

And that’s what I want to say to all my friends and reader who celebrates this moment. Enjoy the celebration 🙂

Etymologically, Eid Al Fitr means the celebration of going back to purity (CMIIW!). One month of fasting is practically the month of detoxifying your body and soul. Not only avoid food and drink, in the month of Ramadan, the Muslim would avoid all the earthly temptation such as: smoking (?), going to pub at night (although it’s already past Magrib), sex (and porn, of course. doh!), anger (cursing, fighting, and other emotionally damaging activity). Basically that is so fucking hard, and I know I would not last a day.

So, congratulations my brothers and sisters… 🙂

For some people this is only something that they do because they have to do it. For other, this is the life changing moment, their eye opener, and the turning point of their life. For some this is the celebration of victory, for other this might only be the celebration of festivity. Some people will continue the lifestyle they have built during the month of Ramadan, such as: stop smoking, stop consuming alcohol (alcohol is haram, isn’t it?), stop watching porn, and reduce swearing (I have never seen anybody who stopped swearing at all…). Some others saw this as an opportunity to come release what they’ve been holding back for a month of agony.

But hey… It’s everybody’s freewill, isn’t it?

However, I don’t want to talk about what you should and what you should not do, as I am not a Muslim myself, and my knowledge and understanding about (any) religion is very limited. I just want to congratulate, and celebrate with everybody. And talk about celebration instead of contemplation (because we contemplated enough on the Independence day, remember?).

I saw some status updates on my facebook page, some of my friends who celebrated Eid Al Fitr away from home. They told us how the celebration at home was so festive, that they can feel in their finger when they type “Fuck you guys” to their family members who were boasting about how tasty the food they have for the party. Oh hey… why is that so familiar?

Oh yes true.

Been there.

I think the celebration of Eid Al Fitr for Muslim is not so much different from the Spring Festival for the Chinese. Spring festival, or in Indonesia is known as Imlek is a moment where the family members gathered in one open house party, and get to know each other better. Meet up with aunts and uncles who would annoyingly ask you, “hey when are you going to get married?”; and you could not really reply with a snappy retort such as, “hey when are you going to die?” or a simple and efficient answer like, “fuck you”. No. That is against the law of festivity. You should be merry and happy, and smile and laugh, and eat like Goku.

The difference is, I guess, in the pork menu, and the alcoholic beverages. Of course.

But yeah… last Spring festival I had to celebrate it by myself. Not quite a celebration though, nothing happened anyway. Just some messages from my family telling me how tasty my grandmother’s cooking (as if I did not know that >: o) grrr. And sent me pictures of the food. It was a torture. I almost eat my own mobile phone because of the picture, but I did not because it means I could not send them a “screw yourself” message to them. Which I did not sent to, because again it’s against the law of festivity.

And therefore I know how my friends feels to celebrate what they used to have as a family celebration as a lonely pity party away from home. I completely understand how it feels to know what you missed back home and all you have is a bunch of facebook feed showing the pictures of people you know back home with their new clothes eating your favourite food and boast about it like fuck. Or well, sometimes it’s just the nostalgic feelings that infiltrate your brain with the homesickness, a disease which can only be cured with hometown traditional food or kretek cigarettes (?).

But this is not the time to feel low, isn’t it? You have just passed a month without porn, cigarettes and alcohol. How awesome was that?!?! You should be proud of your self and be happy. If it makes you feel better, my mum just sent me a message, with photo illustration about my family (without me) holiday in Bali right now. So cheer up, Buddies! Those frowning faces are definitely against the law of festivity. That’s a super sin.

Anyway, sorry for the long post. This is the day you HAVE TO forgive everybody, isn’t it? 😀

I Did Not Care About Olympics Until…


I was wondering if I was the only one who did not give a damn about the olympics game. I knew it was a litte bit too late to talk about the olympics, because it’s over, but… see? That’s how much I didn’t care.

So what have changed?

On the morning before the Olympics game closing ceremony, the OASIS facebook group posted something about Liam Gallagher and Wonderwall. After a short conversation in the comment box, and a simple google search, I found out that Beady Eye would perform “Wonderwall” on the closing ceremony. NME said that the committee have asked Noel Gallagher to do the show, but he rejected the offer. But hey, after I watched the entire show, I kind of having a vague idea why he refused to show.

But that was the first time I actually care about what was going on in the Olympic Games. That was the first time I cared enough to find where I can streamed an online live broadcast. I cared. How surprising?

I was in the middle of doing all the dissertation shit, and suddenly Liam Gallagher showed up in a show and I decided… hey. Why not taking a little break? Scumbag brain.

Maybe some people questioned why OASIS was so important for me. I might say that their music has saved my life many times. Their song inspired me to do something, to be someone, and to go somewhere. Here. In this country. This band give me toe courage to dream, and aim high.

I know that OASIS is not the only great band which can move me and save my soul. Music in general have saved my soul. But why OASIS?

The first time I listened to OASIS when I was 14 years old. My cousin recorded me a tape of a compiled album of spice girls and boyzone, and one Oasis song there. It was “Don’t Go Away”. It just simply became one of my favourite track, and I tried to find more. And there came the internet, and *cough*napster*cough* and *cough*audiogalaxy*cough*. Long before *cough*kazaa*cough* and *cough*4shared*cough*. I really think I need a cough syrup here.

Then I was crazy about them.

I was crazy. About. Them.

I didn’t know how they looked, and I didn’t care. I just liked the song Noel wrote, and Liam’s voice. And was broken hearted when I know they disbanded. And heck it didn’t stop me to pursue my dream to come to this country just to be able to come to their hometown one day. I met Noel Gallagher… fyi.

But why OASIS?

My reasons before were all emotional. I didn’t know that there could be another reasons, because I though music is always emotional. But no. Thanks to my persistence of watching the whole seasons of Criminal Minds, I found the answer:

“14 is when you start to make your own musical choices. Our cognitive development evolves at that age and we start to form our cultural identity. Those musical experiances imprint on us. Our hormonal surges as teenagers may make the choices seem more personal and passionate. But no music ever impacts us as much as that, that we listen to at age 14”
(Spencer Reid – Criminal Minds “s7 ep12: Unknown Subject”, 2012)

Is that a fate?

Is that a fate that my cousin slipped one OASIS song among other boybands pop tracks? Do I owe my cousin for making me someone with a good musical taste?

But what is it about being 14?

Amy Chua’s daughter rebelled when she was 13 (it’s almost 14, right?). Her first daugter said that she was miserable at the same age. Chua also said that she have received a lot of e-mails from 14 years old kids who believed that they can do better with a better motivation. What happened when I was 14?

Was that the first time I received a love letter? Or the first time I liked a girl? And a boy? Oh damn I was always a greedy bitch! I think 14 is the first time I had my own mobile phone. Oh that’s my first period!!


Oh and then 15. I guess, Five for Fighting made a really good song about being 15.

“Fifteen there’s still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose
Fifteen, there’s never a wish better than this
When you only got hundred years to live ”
(100 years – Five for Fighting)

anyway… forget about Olympics. I don’t give a damn about it, however… have you missed your teenage life yet?