Just Being One Useless Piece of говно

Aahh… a rainy afternoon. Feels pretty nice and relaxing now that the heat’s gone and has been replaced by a cool and gentle air. It’s just me and a cup of hot sugar-free coffee, and most importantly, the internet. What a perfect afternoon indeed. Now where in this vast and deep universe of the internet can i go have an adventure to? YouTube perhaps?

Yes, yes. YouTube. What could possibly go wrong?

Scrolling, scrolling…

Oh hey, what’s this? A Russian song? Tri Poloski? You mean Adidas?

And then I clicked on the video.

And just like that, my day has become 100x better. Yes, yes. Cyka Blyat.


Does this really need a title?

Seringkali aku berpikir untuk berhenti menulis, mengemukakan apapun yang ada di dalam benakku, karena apa gunanya? Sekadar membuat pembaca mengetahui isi pikiranku, mungkin menginspirasinya satu atau dua kali, atau hanya membuatnya menilai bagus atau tidaknya tulisanku. Namun tidak lebih dari itu.

Kalau dilihat dari gambaran kecil, rasanya apa yang kupikirkan dan yang ingin kutuangkan ke dalam tulisan terasa sama sekali tidak ada gunanya. Buat apa? Tidak ada sepatah kata pun yang kuungkapkan, yang sekeras apapun kucoba kubungkus dengan bingkai yang indah, dapat memunculkan perubahan, besar atau kecil. Aku bukan siapa-siapa, tidak memiliki pengaruh apa-apa. Aku tidak memiliki opini unik nan mutakhir yang dapat membuat orang mempertanyakan kembali kebenaran yang selama ini dipercayanya. Kreatifitasku tidak setinggi J.R.R. Tolkien atau seluas H.P. Lovecraft. Pengetahuanku tentang dunia ini tidak sekaya orang kebanyakan karena sebagian besar waktuku kuhabiskan di dalam kamar, menertawakan diriku sendiri. Untuk memadatkan semua hasil renunganku ke dalam sebuah batasan yang bernama tulisan membutuhkan usaha yang melelahkan. Oke, di satu sisi aku dapat membantah diriku sendiri dengan berkata bahwa menulis sama dengan berolahraga, dengan kemampuan menerjamahkan pikiran ke dalam tulisan yang sama dengan kemampuan otot menggerakkan kaki atau mengangkat barbel. Makin sering dilatih, makin lancar dan mudahlah prosesnya. Tapi ini tidak menggoyahkan pesimismeku. Aku masih tidak dapat menemukan alasan yang cukup kuat untuk beralih dari pemikiran bahwa jika aku menulis, itu tidak ada gunanya.

Ya, kadang aku berpikir andai saja aku memiliki kemampuan telepati, karena kata-kata adalah sebuah bentuk duniawi yang, seperti hal-hal duniawi lainnya, mewakilkan suatu batasan. Kalau manusia dapat berkomunikasi tanpa batasan ini, betapa besarnya perbedaan yang muncul, yang dapat dibandingkan dengan situasi di mana kita masih harus belajar menggunakan kata-kata. Dari isi otakku yang semrawut ke dalam satu halaman yang setiap katanya dengan sempurna berbicara kepada pembaca dan setiap kalimatnya tersusun dengan rapi. Oh, kurasa itu tidak akan pernah mungkin. Aku mengenal diriku sendiri yang tidak pernah bisa mengatur apapun, tidak bisa menyusun apapun ke dalam suatu bentuk yang sistematis dan mudah dipahami. Jadi mana mungkin aku dapat dengan sepenuhnya membuat orang mengerti akan maksud dalam tulisanku?

Just talking about a timeline…

I used to suck at executing ideas (maybe I still do, but trust me, the past me is much worse). I apparently had an incredible ability to make any great idea sound totally ridiculous. When the idea was still inside my head, it appeared to have a lot of potentials. But when I poured it and shaped it into a concrete story or poem or even a drawing, the final result would always make me curse at myself and think, “Why?! What is the meaning of life?! 😥 ”

So I’m grateful for what I’m already capable of now, and that I’ve improved, even if improving alone is not enough. At least I can now look back and say, “I’m starting to see some clarity. I still have the chance to keep improving and more.”

And hopefully, the present me sucks much more than the future me.

Rainy Season

Rainy season has come! Oooo yeah! I love rains! Although, this means my melancholic side would emerge after months of being dried and unused.

I’m not going to make this post too long just to tell you in detail about why I love rains. But to put it simply, I love rains mainly because of the air and the weather. It’s clement and the wind blows quite heavily and I love that. However, rain can be pretty annoying especially when I’m outside, not being able to come home because the rain is in a very good mood to slow down humans’ activities. Also, floods. Damn you floods! But it’s okay, I can cope with that. My backpack always has an umbrella kept inside of it for me to use whenever it’s necessary.

So umm… Thank you for reading ^^

Now I’m going to congratulate myself for succeeding in writing a very short post that’s not a poem.

And after that I’m going to celebrate the arrival of the rainy season. Yay!


There’s this thing about Sunday that always makes me feel… a bit… no, very depressed. It’s not that I hate Sunday. It’s just that whenever I realize today is Sunday, I feel like today is “the end”. By the end I don’t mean like the end of the world or anything like that. “The end” here literally means the end of the week. Yes, maybe some of you would say, “So what’s with it? It’s just the end of a week, there would be other Sundays coming. No big deal.”

But for me, it is a big deal.

If I put my thoughts about Sunday into words for you to read and understand, it’s not going to be enough. There are more emotions and pressures that I feel that lie beyond any logic. So even if you do understand why I always feel depressed everytime Sunday comes, that doesn’t mean it can be empathized by you, or in other words, you may not feel the same way (or maybe some of you can empathize, in a way I would never comprehend, who knows.)

But I’m going to put them into words anyway.

In a week, the happiest I would be is on Friday. Friday means, “There’s still Saturday coming, and my work is almost done. I can be all like it’s a wonderful tiiiime!” It’s just very relieving. In a normal circumstance, my happiest point would be at Friday night (which probably is also most people’s happiest point, so I guess many of you reading this would understand the feeling I get during Friday night).

And then when Saturday morning comes, my happiness meter would decrease a little bit. I would still be the me who can easily and lightly smile and doesn’t get to think about homeworks and/or exams or other responsibilities. I would still be able to lie down and relax. But the thought of what day tomorrow is would prevent me from celebrating too much. So I’d say Saturday is always fine and calm. I enjoy Saturday. I do.

But then… dun dun dun!

Sunday comes. In the morning my feeling would still be, umm, light, or calm, probably it’s the remaining feeling from yesterday. I would have breakfast just fine, probably also work on things that I have the responsibility to do if I’m in the mood. But as the sun slowly rolls to the west, I become more and more depressed to the point that I would do nothing at all, just curling up in my bed with some of Sigur Ros’ songs playing, thinking about too many things. The thoughts jump around really fast from one thing to another, and mostly are about depressing things. They don’t have to be sad or bad things, just the things that make me feel so little, so useless, so fragile, and so low. I would think about the meaning of life, my dreams, my flaws that make my dreams seem impossible to achieve, big mysteries of the world, the things that I have done, my sins, sweet memories of the past that I know I can never relive again, the future in general, what kind of person I was, am, and going to be, my relationships with family and friends, and many more. I’m sure many people occasionally think about these things as well, but I doubt they do that every single week, in the same day, at the exact same hours. Oh, right, I forgot to mention, by the exact same hours here I mean at nightfall and especially during the sunless hours. Sometimes I would cry, sometimes I can hold my tears inside by “running away” into the entertaining world of movies or funny stuffs on Youtube. And the additional depressing thought of Monday, which is also a very depressing thought for me, makes me more and more afraid of Sunday. No, not afraid. More like, a very bad feeling I can’t describe in words.

I just wish I wasn’t this melancholic. I just wish I wasn’t this manic-depressive, and could be more acceptable towards every single day of the week, equally, no matter how bad or tiring it is without being so depressed. However, I can’t help but to drown in these indescribable feelings.

And I’m sorry if my writing doesn’t really seem to be focused. I get distracted easily, even when I re-read and re-correct it multiple times.