THE PLUVIOPHILE(Y) ME!

Dating back to five months ago, it was a rainy afternoon in February the 25th.
As I was sitting by the large wooden window, i was staring at the drops of drizzling rain.

Beautiful and peaceful.

Again, the way that my dearest author inspires me is awesome!

I mean, hey, we are more or less the same ages, but how can't I just be as inspirative as she is? I know, I know; ages don't have anything to do with great deeds and creativity which ones do. Sure, she and I are completely two different people, and each other is destined to have different kind of ... intelligence. Errr, now I feel hurt by merely the quality that I lack of. It may be because I am not smart enough to open up my mind, get the great things around me, and share them in such an outstanding way that I can simply inspire other people - just like she always does - so that I seem to play another role as the one who is badly inspired - by so many great figures in the world; such as Sitta Karina Rachmidiharja, those people in my Google+ circle, social medias, musicians, actors, family and people in my nearest side of life; as well as by a great number of simple things around me; such as the sun, cats, paper flower, cute yellowish dry leafs, and even drops of rain. I mean, though I never am an inspirator, at least I do my job very well as an inspired one. Okay, I sound desperate just now -_-

PROJECT WANDERLUST: Traveling Home and Indulging Olden Days

to start it off, i would like to refer my thought to one of my fave quotes ever, from one of my fave films, ever as well, LIKE CRAZY, when Anna said:

"... but it's nice being away, i think it's important to get away from where you've grown up for some of your life ..."

despite loving it, i just have to go home. i mean, i have stayed far away from home due to job thingy, for - like - 2 and a-half years, and it makes going home is not a casual thing for me.

i like that - being away from home, and the idea of traveling home.

I AM ... THE ECHELON!

It started just simple: a lazy midday back in 2008 when I didn't have anything really interesting as I listened to a song on the radio. I was laying on my bed, while both ears of mine were capturing the most significant tune of the day: "The Kill". The thing which attracted me the most was the high pitch of Jared Leto's screaming in the song. Amazing! A clear and finely-tuned screaming; high and long enough to match the whole song just nicely.

Totally, I was stunned.

FINALLY BERRY!

The almost long-forgotten dream of mine has finally come true.

It does sound pretty silly to have ever forgotten something like dream - whether it's an "ordinary" dream or biggest one. But hey, is there even an "ordinary" dream?  Sure dream is extraordinary - whoever dreams it, whatever it is, how "simple" it is. Well, here i go again - having a difficult time of arguing with my very own self/alter ego.

Seriously, what i meant by almost long-forgotten is simply something which i casually put aside for a while - but, it lives - still burning in the back of my mind. It's just about the right time that my subconscious awakes and claims it.

Since i have always been pretty nostalgic and defensively stubborn, i can tell that i seem to manage my memories (and dreams) well. I can both simply endure hardships to get them memorized and come into reality, and persistently get them forgotten and, eerrr, changed into much more come-to-my-sense, logical and reachable dreams. Just like a meaningful quote which i ever read, that  we may dream anything, but wisely start it with a real simple dream within our reach, and make it even bigger time after time; or else, change our dream, dream another thing. I guess it's more to it, as everyone has their own destiny, power, and endurance. For me, I always have that feeling of "oh, here comes the end. just stop", or "well, it's not yet over. keep it up." Guess it has been the rhythm of my life - so far.

LOS VAZQUEZ SOUNDS: THEIR COVERS, MY WONDERS

"We are a family and music lovers"

knowing that this musical trio originates from the city of Mexicali, Baja California, Mexico, i feel the more i got enchanted. not only by their superb covers. when i first noticed them back in 2011, it never flashed in mind that the way that i was captured by merely the Baja California could somehow reoccur. amable!

i first knew the word "Baja" while reading American Pie, a novel by Michael Lee West; and i just misspelled the word "Baja" - just like that, with full "J" in English or even in Bahasa. later i knew that it's Spanish, and the "J" is spelled "H" - makes it spelled "ˈbaxa". pheww! Spanish does sound good. exactly as exotic as spelling Mexico with the "X" spelled "H". in fact, as good as the things i remember the most when hearing the word "Baja" : a deep blue ocean, some whales, a female marine biologist whose name sounds unusual - well, it's Freddie, who was injured while exploring the ocean and how she just couldn't drop any blood which might attract sharks; some vocabularies such as "myopic" and "meticulous", and how the whole story amazed me with family issues, most of all: the three sisters. one of those great books among many in the library of American Corner at UGM. i can also still remember how i casually settled on the cold floor between the shelves; digging into the story. since then, as many  details of the story seemed to stay in my head, those are what i have in mind about Baja. and now, every time i hear Baja, the musical trio adds to them. Los Vazquez Sounds. 

NOTIONS OF MINE

⚫ about being a visual admirer

Everything which is vividly visible in my eyes means so much. It's not about judging; but what if the outer look of something and the first sight we land onto it really matter? What if the way that something impresses us is beautifully undeniable? For almost all of amazing visions my eyes capture, judging-the-book-from-its-cover is an attitude. It's not until I took myself into a typical sad-ending romance of a teen-aged love story with English-France fascination that the paper flower is pretty much lovely in my eyes. The way the boy handed the flower to the girl and the way the girl instinctively slipped it on the backside of her ear were a chemistry enough for two people who were unable to be together. I read the book when I was in my third year of my Senior High, and years after, still I feel it : I, in much younger version, was holding the book like it was the last thing i could hold, in my white-grey classic uniform and was realizing that the destined fate was inevitably God's.

LUCIDLY NEBULOUS

Being me, in this skin of mine, is sometimes something of a curse!

I am not cursing or resenting - not even disregarding God. Nope! I am just metaphoring one part of my life, the part which I have never ever wished for, but it happens to me - making me feel - errr, was it something I didn't notice, or give a damn about?

The thing is: every damn morning waking up and looking at my reflection in the mirror, I see definitely the same damn thing: my so-called ordinary-looking face, just like the way it is. Nothing special. Traditionally, I don't meet general standard of beauty, though there is nothing too wrong about my outer look. Yeah, yeah, of course, there is ALWAYS something about me which I want to change, although it's not as extreme as plastic surgery. The truth is, I do nothing significant to alter the way I look - just the way I have always been.