http://bah-records.tumblr.com/post/43147082120/a-short-story-through-nights-till-dawns

A short story I made once upon a time, quite a long time ago.
There's something about sadness that is, to me, so captivating. Why else do we like to read about disappointments, heart breaks, unrequited loves, about losing, missing, and longing?
Sometimes one looks more beautiful with sad eyes and bitter smile. Sometimes words string together better when triggered with aching pain. Sometimes solemn scenes and somber colors makes the most enchanting views.
And most of the times, their impressions last the longest, speak the strongest. Dwell in your heart the closest.

I did a reread on an essay yesterday night:
https://www.marxists.org/reference/archive/goldman/works/1914/marriage-love.htm

It is funny, the essence of the essay itself - the message that it tries to convey, I don't necessarily agree with; however, it forces me to think a lot of things I previously take for granted. A friend of mine told me to read this a good while ago - what it speaks of still stays with me until now.

Emma Goldman, the writer, was an anarchist-feminist, and the essay speaks very strongly against marriage. By no means am I trying to promote the anti-marriage campaign by sharing this in my blog, neither am I subscribing to her values and her views, I just strongly urge all of us, especially Indonesian women, to read it just to gain another perspective, to hear some counter-arguments, to understand things that are so often ignored in our society, since marriage is seen as merely another sequence of life, a natural step to take after meeting a desirable partner.

Do we ever consciously add 'getting married' as another box to check in our life's bucket list? As in, really thinking about it as an option instead of an obligation? Or is it a box that has always existed without you remembering having jotted it down, which existence you've never questioned, instead you just assume it's something you'd want to do without ever sparing your time to think 'why'?

THE popular notion about marriage and love is that they are synonymous, that they spring from the same motives, and cover the same human needs. Like most popular notions this also rests not on actual facts, but on superstition. 

Marriage and love have nothing in common; they are as far apart as the poles; are, in fact, antagonistic to each other. No doubt some marriages have been the result of love. Not, however, because love could assert itself only in marriage; much rather is it because few people can completely outgrow a convention. There are to-day large numbers of men and women to whom marriage is naught but a farce, but who submit to it for the sake of public opinion. At any rate, while it is true that some marriages are based on love, and while it is equally true that in some cases love continues in married life, I maintain that it does so regardless of marriage, and not because of it.

You'd perhaps cringe as you read it as the contempt of marriage is very overwhelming throughout the essay (bear in mind it was published in 1914, during that time the idea of marriage is very men-centric and patriarchal), but entertain the thought. Just like Aristotle said, it is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.

Just finished this book, and it seriously sent chills to my bones.
I've been wanting to buy this book for quite a while, but never found the book in the bookstores in my city (and too lazy to purchase online). Finally found the book in Balikpapan (Balikpapan!! Shame on you Bandung!!) and bought it.
Seriously, guys, if you haven't already, you should read this book. I can't recommend this enough. This book makes it straight to my all-time favorite list. Orwell is such a genius. Seriously. doubleplusgood.

I had you chalked up as the kind
who likes the shores for its waves and sands
I never knew you had it in you
to adore the gentle ripples
or the way the sea ends where the sky begins.

I like the occasional silence in our conversations.

I like the gaps in between the all the talking. I like the brief rest after my last sentence. I like sensing you frantically searching for the next word to say, the next question to make. I chuckled a bit at that, sorry. It is a bit awkward, I wish you brought that up. So I can brush it off easily. It's okay, you know, sometimes I like it.

It is hard to stop loving the ocean.
Even after it has left you gasping, salty.

-Sarah Kay

I like having spaces, distances,
here and there empty,
rooms spared for later, maybe.
And I like being rest assured
that I'd left some seats vacant,
four-by-fours void,
as if bared under some kind of
yet undefined expectation.

Turns out, I'd like it more
furnished, and used, and set
close together.

Because what's coming
will always manage to find its own spaces:
under the blanket,
over the little space left
between shelves and ceiling.

It doesn't need to be spared some vacant seats,
or rooms void.

*

October 2014, from now on it'd be just me and my mom.
Suddenly the spaces become overwhelming. Suddenly the idea of living crammed, six-by-six shared by four, seemed so comforting.

Eight in the evening is by no means a time late enough to be thinking things. You shouldn't be second-guessing.
There's sound of engine roaring. Then halting. Gate opening. You'd probably expect footsteps approaching. Front door banging. Stranger barging in.
Brief silence, followed by sloppy footsteps stumbling over bags of trashes you're piling. Plastics scrunching. Panicky footsteps approaching.
Which takes you back to expecting door banging. Heavy breathing. Low-pitched mumbling. Stranger barging in.
But no. Silence is what's following. And it is rather unsettling.

You'd lose to curiosity. Leave your couch. Walk to the front. Take a peek.
A cat is rummaging through your bags of trashes.
And your gate is closed, well and fully closed.
A car is parked right across the road. Someone is chatting happily to your neighbor.

You shouldn't be thinking things. You shouldn't be second-guessing.

I am thinking it's a sign
that the freckles in our eyes
are mirror images and when we kiss
they're perfectly aligned

And I have to speculate
that God himself did make us
into corresponding shapes
like puzzle pieces from the clay

And true, this may seem like a stretch,
but it's thoughts like this that catch
my trouble head when you're away,
when I am missing you to death

When you are out there on the road
for several weeks of show
and when you scan the radio
I hope this song will guide you home

They will see us waving from such great heights
"Come down now," they say
But everything looks perfect from far away
Come down now, but we'll stay.

Ijen, August 21

Ninety minutes after midnight we started the hike. We could not quite make out the landscapes, the sceneries surrounding us through the dark. It was a long, ascending walk - followed by quite a steep descend to the crate, going through the sulphur smokes to catch a close glimpse of the famed blue flames.
We were climbing back up, racing against the sunrise to the top of the mountain. Luckily we were in time to catch the dawn, the emerging light, the dark phased out by the blue and oranges of the sun against the sky.

The most beautiful pictures were the ones only our eyes can capture, it was true. As fascinating as the pictures of sunrise and dusk were, nothing can quite capture how beautiful the morning at the peak was; how the sun casted its lights and shadows in all the right places, how we squinted our eyes at the glaring brights, how golden the lashes looked when bathed with all the lights, the dawning realization of looking down and seeing clouds - how we were at such height.
And actually feeling the gradual warmth taking over the chill over our quivering bodies, our cold skin - how the higher the sun went, the warmer our bodies became. It was quite a reward.

Malang, August 21-23

Another long hours of drive, exhausted but content with the hike. At night of the 21 we arrived in Malang. I wasn't strange to the city - went there once years ago.
It seemed like the rest of the day passed by so fast - sleeping and eating away all the exhaustion.
On 22 we went to Batu. From the museum to the secret zoo, it was a day well-spent. The attractions were well-designed, decent and the contents were not at all boring. One would think that a day visiting museum of vehicles and a zoo of, well, animals, would be quite a cliché, but it was not.
Malang was a pretty enviable city to live in; great food, nice places, even pleasant weather. We had a full-day to explore the city but I didn't think it wasn't enough. When my nephew is old enough to see things and understand, I'd love to have a vacation with him and the family there.

Surabaya - Bandung, August 23

Our schedule was packed and by the morning of 23 we made our way back to Surabaya to return the car, and then board our 15-hour train ride back to Bandung. We smelled all sulphur-y courtesy of Kawah Ijen (it was hard to rid the smell off the clothes) and we had certainly seen better days physique-wise, but despite all the tiredness and the sleepy-ness and for some of us, the cold and illness, we were content with the days spent.

-
It was quite a week. I wish I kept track of the cities we passed, the places we went to, the foods we ate and the conversations we had. I wish I had a travel journal. Weeks later and the best I could make was travel footnotes: a blur recollection of what happened in merely brief narratives, leaving out details (some of them I forgot, the others I intentionally leave out).
I did remember though, that it was a mightily fine week, an enjoyable voyage, a fantastic travel. Quite an epilogue, closing out my book of college life.

With the friends. Those were the times to remember, and y'all were a part of it, so I'd keep you close in my heart, I guess.