It is two exact months today since moving back to this placed I like calling it as home. Hasn’t been easy, this move and the entire paraphernalia it has brought along with it. Sometimes you need years of not learning and moments of unlearning to finally learn a few precious life lessons. It teaches you the hard way, they say. But I played along the hesitant student for the longest time who whined and brooded, waited and hoped, and gave and took many a second chance.

This has been my second such return in the last eight years of making a life, and yet the dichotomy of things have remained unchanged. I would still like to leave once again for the same kind of sticky situations and conceited hearts, and I would still once again come back to what is rightfully mine. Like these rolling hills and burnt-out meadows, and the endless stretch of smoky-blue skies singing in unison. Ever since a little girl, I have been a silent partaker of their quiet, rugged beauty and despite the brittleness of hearts and the exoticism of greener pastures, I sigh every time I pass by it.

Photo by Nitin Bhosale on Unsplash


How much memory is too much memory?

People tell me I remember too much, for too long. Some tell me I am a keeper of things past and precious. What I don’t tell them is that my blue whale of a heart knows no mediocrity. It’s an ancient machine that notices everything, every necessary and mundane detail, and bottles them up somewhere deep inside. The sooty, graffiti-stained walls of an old city; the mild, nervous tremble in the voice of a long-lost friend; mother’s palms smelling of ginger and garlic on Sunday afternoons — they’re all in there. It is a continuous work in progress, this filing of memory. When times change and along its flimsy tides so must the people, I like to pick morsels of memory from these archives and retrace them as they once were. Before life happened to them, much before the world had broken them at places they could not speak about, and way before remembering too much was considered outdated.

Picture is taken from here

between dreams and reality

threading a journey called home, fragment by fragment. Missing the flavour of homes, of the warm greatings, of the tearjerker goodbyes.

I see your soul up there, gliding on the beautiful sky. smiling at me, your calculator smiles.

when memories trickle you down to blurred silhouette, and yet, the place refuses you to go.

I think sometimes the world needs more letters, heartfelt and handwritten. Making the most elusive English summer.

Photo by Andreas Wagner on Unsplash

a just nobody

Dear readers,

I sometimes wonder if I die one day, will people notice that I am gone istantly? I can be quite sure that there will be only a small number of people who will realize my existence. I am working at a company where people are hardly ever heard. I keep my special people few. Even though I am trying my best to maintain my relationship with some colleagues at work, this doesn’t mean my presence is that impressive to stay long enough in their memory. I am living as a mediocre. I dont like crowd. I am also not comfortable with too much attention. That is being said, maybe one day if I die, I will die alone for none will even realize I am exist.

My besties sometimes jokingly ever said that I could be famous only if I let myself being known. However to be perfectly honest, I realize the reason is not because I never let anyone knew me further, but for I am hardly comfortable to show who I am to the just anyone. Damn for my social awkwardness.

seasonal feelings

The clocks have gone back an hour and once again time has been meddled with by a man. We have tricked ourselves into believing that there is an extra magical hour of daylight now. An extra hour of life buzzing and whirring till night falls abruptly, a little too suddenly.

Winter is upon us, officially and well, and whenever it is so, I find myself yearning for little pockets of different geographies. The claustrophobia of the heated indoors and being swathed in layers when outdoors gives birth to a strange restlessness in me. I long for places faraway and distant, both that I’ve been to and have had dreamy visions of. And then, I long for some that I once left behind with a heavy heart and a tired mind.

Spring slowly reveals its presence, welcoming the cold goodbye until the next year to come. Breathing dreams like air for I can  not really wait for the quiet beauty of a beautiful chaos of the blooming flowers. Some half-baked dreams and a pile of regrets wait for yet another times.

I think I have never been meeting the exact summer. Everyday is a summer to me. However once more people are coming to enjoy the seasons, most of the time that is when I decide to be a hermit, cocooned in the languid warmth of the coffee while reading an old-favorite book while simply watch the world go by. However sometimes, flying away is the only way to stay back in people’s heart. So we will miss the cheerful summer.

Now I am then meeting the Autumn. When asked recently if this is how I’ll always be — click umpteen pictures of the same neighborhood everyday, quake with a childlike excitement on spotting the first autumn leaf, google laborious descriptions of unknown flora just to know their name, doodle my favorite views from the hotel window after a holiday — my answer is, yes.

This is how I am and these are the things that make me who I am. I am a creature of moments and the little things wrapped in them. I draw my life sap from celebrating the neglected magic of the humdrum everyday. I have always lived by hoarding these tiny moments and making memories in the process. And I don’t know how to do it any other way.

yang dia sedang pikirkan

Dear readers,

Selama beberapa minggu belakangan, saya kembali ke twitter. Niat awal untuk kembali aktif di media sosial yang satu itu sebenarnya agar saya bisa pelan-pelan menjauhi instagram. Sebenarnya tidak seperti kebanyakan orang, bagi saya instagram bisa menjadi hiburan sekali ketimbang toxic. Hanya saja, karena sekarang sedang memikirkan tesis (baca: bukan menulis tesis), saya merasa Instagram sedang tidak baik untuk saya.

Saat kembali ke twitter, dasar saya orangnya sangat senang mencurahkan hati di dalam bentuk tulisan, kerjaan saya jadinya update Twitter melulu. Sedih sedikit, curhat. Kesal sedikit, misuh. Senang sedikit, diutarakan. Mengingat pengikut akun twitter saya yang tidak banyak, sebenernya membuat saya merasa lebih lega dan leluasa mengekspresikan isi hati. Tidak sering hal ini malah membuat saya jadi berandai-andai untuk menempatkan diri saya sebagai salah seorang tidak beruntung yang entah kenapa tetap memilih untuk mengikuti akun twitter saya.

Kalau sedang berandai-andai seperti itu, yang pertama kali terlintas di pikiran pengikut saya barangkali soal apa ya yang kira-kira sedang dipikirin seorang Lina, kok bisa-bisanya apdet status macam itu di twitter? atau mungkin bisa juga seperti waduuu, nih orang kenapa tetiba frontal amat ngomong begini, kan gue jadi kaypoh!

Hal yang sama terjadi juga ketika saya iseng membaca tulisan blog orang. Sering sekali saya berfikir dan menebak-nebak orang seperti apa ya yang ada di balik blog yang sedang saya baca. Saya juga merasa senang dan terhibur sekali saat membaca pengalaman dan isi pikiran berbagai macam orang. Semenjak kembali diingatkan perasaan menyenangkan itu, saya pun memutuskan kembali dengan kini menyewa domain setelah berulang-kali on-ff di dunia blog. Saya agak terkejut saat menyadari kenyataan kalau dunia blog masih ramai serta rupanya selama ini saya saja yang mengira era blog telah berakhir semenjak instagram dan twitter semakin ramai-ramai digandrungi para pengguna internet.

Photo by Dan Dimmock on Unsplash