I just posted a very long rant. This should help me calm down a little.
I’m not sure how but the spirit somehow managed to get into me earlier today. Maybe it was today being the Good Friday. Maybe I was being vulnerable. Either way. I found myself walking to a certain bookshop wanting to buy a Bible. Yes. No joking. I really did want to buy a new one as I had already lost mine a good while ago. When would be a better day to buy a Bible other than the day the Son of God had sacrificed himself for the good of all?
But… What if the spirit were never as willing (read: strong) as the Bible claimed it to be? What if it weren’t even as weak as the body but weaker? Because the second I set foot in the bookshop, I forgot about the Bible and bought a real gem instead. This gem being a particular box set of Roald Dahl 15-book collection. I know, I know. As I stepped out of the door I could hear the still small voice within. It said, “Ye of so little faith…”
To cave in to temptation, especially such sweet temptation as this, has been and will always be human.
Anyway, look how humiliatingly untidy my room is. I swear what’s covered underneath the striped sheet is definitely not supposed to be a night stand. Poor thing. The actual night stand is on the other side of the bed, but it is also buried by the likes of books, snacks and what-not.
This thing, however, is no different at all. Books are always the expected occupants but there will always be things which don’t belong like Seawie (some Thai snack containing squids I got from Seven-Eleven), Katshuoboshi (I still have loads of them from the previous trip to Japan, yes, the airport officers were highly suspicious of it, they must have thought I was a flake smuggler) and Bonting (some super delicious snack from Kalimantan I originally bought as oleh-oleh and instead I decided to keep them all to myself, yep, that good).
Oh and an electric pump. It’s for my air mattress but knowing me, you know I use it for something else like balloons. Lots and lots of balloons. Imagine my neighbour’s frustration, what with the balloons exploding every twenty seconds because the pump is uncontrollable. It’s electric pump, after all. For air mattress. That doesn’t stop me from pumping, though. Because I can.
Wait, why on earth am I telling you all this? Oh, I’m procrastinating again.
While waiting for taxi at Soekarno-Hatta Airport today. “Come and see nature and culture of North Sumatera charming.” My head hurts beyond description.
1. Grammar. It reminds me of the kind of writing someone would make. Yeah, I’m talking about you, obviously. I’m not a grammar nazi, but seriously. A bit of a freak, maybe, but not a grammar nazi. Still, there’s no remedy for the sort of pain it causes.
2. Confidence. While it’s not always bad, a misplaced confidence can be a cause of humiliation. For crying out loud, if you’re not good at it, don’t put it on display where everyone can see it.
3. This wounds my chauvinistic pride. I’m from North Sumatra and I refuse to be associated with the morons who made this happen.
4. I don’t know what the hell.
Third trip within 30 days. This is getting out of control. Mummy seems a bit stressed. The previous flight didn’t go very well, the runway was way too short. Mummy hasn’t gotten over it yet, she seems a little funny, honestly. Good job she doesn’t throw up. That wouldn’t be pretty at all. I can’t imagine what’s going to happen tomorrow since we will be flying on a helicopter. Yes, a chopper. I feel bad for mummy. Oh well.
I was going through not-so-recent photo folders and found this. Let’s see if I can actually post it here.
When this madness is over…
When I find myself breathing normally again…
When the stacks of books I’ve just bought are no longer a set of decoration in my room…
When I get to be home before I’m too tired to fix myself dinner…
When I walk all the way home from work just because I’m fond of it and not because I need to take my mind off things…
When that day is finally here, I’m going to go to a fucking beach and spend the night there!
Oh how I await the day that I can finally give a finger to these stupid overlapping deadlines, WITH BATED BREATH.
I really shouldn’t be left alone with a camera. The perfect analogy to describe the damage of such ignorance would be a kid being left alone with a microphone. Nothing good ever comes out of it. I’m an embarrassment to my profession (well, I mostly write but even so). I’m neither photographic nor photogenic. Cameras were invented to mock me.
Good night, may the bed bugs bite. Hard.
One of those things I so terribly miss. This pond.
The waiter: “This pizza has bacon bits on it. You might want to get something else.”
Me: “The bacon bits are the only reason why I’m ordering this pizza in the first place.”
Cuteness Overload. ‘Nuff said.
You know you need to watch more TV when you spend a couple of days with someone without knowing that she is a host to at least two TV programs. I really didn’t know who she was. But if it’s any consolation, I actually thought she looked like a certain celebrity called Venna Melinda (not even sure I spelt that right but what the heck).