Eat

“Are you home yet?”

Andin had lost count on how many times her annoying boyfriend have said those four repetitive words from the very moment the call started. Getting home from another exhausting of work caused her to lose most of her energy, so hearing Qushoy being his dorky self made her feel rather bothered. But at the same time, relaxed.

“No, I am not, babe. How many times do I have to freaking say that?” Andin groaned, rolling her eyes as she heard Qushoy chuckle on the other line. “I miss you, though.”

“Of course you do, but I know you miss me more when you know I’m still in London taking the internship program for BBC,” Qushoy teased. “Oh, to be honest, you’re cute when you get all emotional and whine about everything.”

“I’m n-not… c-cute,” Andin blushed, not ready to be flirted by the older boy.

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Of Sickness and the Inevitable

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These hospital corridors will haunt me in my dying days.

This is, actually, my first proper blog post. Normally I write short poems and stories that are fictional and made up from my head, but with my mom recently gettinf a serious case of vertigo, it’s hard not to write about it.

During our days, we never think of the possibilty of getting ill as we continue our daily activities. We often think that we have control in everything. Money, food, clothes, our health, needs. Not ever thinking the slightest that we are living beings that have certain boundaries, and sometimes we tend to break those boundaries.

Being ill is the worst feeling in the world. I’ve been sick, my mom’s been sick, my friends, everyone’s been sick a couple of times in their lives. It is one of the shittiest experiences in life, possibly behind other situations like death. We don’t want to be sick, and we don’t have any plans on being sick. But as we all know, we are not some god or an all mighty being that is immune to illness. We’re humans, and humans can get sick all the time whether we like it or not.

One day everything will be perfectly fine, and the next day you’ll just be miserable and mopey and depressed as we question the meaning of life and our existence in this universe. Good luck with that sort of existensial crisis.

The thing is, we gotta be ready for everything. And if we aren’t, and the inevitable happens, then we gotta deal with it wholeheartedly. Life is too short, and you can’t just complain about everything that happens in your life. Don’t be a dick about life either, you’ll regret it later when oblivion comes to you.

And most of all, appreciate your life. We will never know when everything and everyone gets taken away from us, and we’ll soon be drifting into a dark, empty space.

Thank you if you read all of that just for the sake of reading. I would love for you to follow me here, and on Twitter. I also have a Tumblr and SoundCloud, but it’s also linked in my Twitter so yeah.

This is Arya, signing off. Ciao!

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Art.

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Art. There are no boundaries.

People can use art to express themselves
or perhaps a better to free themselves
from the stale reality we live in.

It’s a way to let your mind wander off
into somewhere deep within your mind
unlocking thoughts, ideas, skills
that truly symbolizes our soul.

It is good; but it is bad
for it can give a positive messages
or a cry for help.

It can be used to spread freedom
or a call into the dark abyss.

It can be used to help people in troubled times
or a waving flag showing mercy.

It can be used to communicate with others
or secluding yourself from everyone else.

It’s a gift, a miracle, a present from God
or a curse, an unbreakable attachment.

But no matter where you are, what year it is now
art will never stop growing.

Art will keep spreading its wings against humanity
showing how beautiful and majestic it can be
before it waits for a certain time
to finally fall down.

But for now, let it grow
Let it spread.
Let it live.
Let it be what it is.
Let it be art.

Accident

My mom told me she doesn’t want me at all. She said I was an accident.

My dad hated me for being alive.
He said having sex with my mom was an accident.  

At school, I got tripped over by a bunch of assholes.
They said it was an accident.  

I got harrassed and abused by my classmates.
They said accepting me in their school was an accident.  

I cut my wrists to ease the pain.
When my parents asked, I told them that I got into an accident.  

I jumped into an oncoming train one night.
I told myself, it was an accident.

Demure

If there isn’t a will, there will be no do.  

It was a quote made by my father, way back before he was sent to prison after raping and murdering my mother whom he caught cheating on him with a friend at work days before. I found her body all mangled up one night, chopped into big pieces and floating in the inside of the bathtub. There was a pool of blood. I remembered standing there in horror, vomitting all over the white-tiled floor as my nose were filled with a horrid smell. I remembered hating my father so much that I sent him hurtful remarks as the police carried him to the car. He looked at me with no signs of emotion, a blank face that hid his monstrous act upon my one and only mother.  

That was years ago. Now, I realized that it’s not entirely his fault.  

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Conscious

Soft knocks woken me up from my slumber.

My eyes opened groggily, still heavy and was begging to be closed again, and I turned my head slightly to the left. It was dark in the room, no lights were on and me and my friend were sleeping in opposite beds. We had a sleepover, staying up all night playing video games and making up stories that were more or less bullshit. Ending our nightly fun at 12:03, we decided to hit the hay and catch some snoozes.

The darkness seemed to have adjusted on both of my eyes, and they soon lay upon the figure sleeping comfortably under the covers. He was snoring, his chest rising up and down showing signs of his presence on the bed opposite of me. Wondering what time it was, I checked over the digital clock on the shelf. 3:03.

Thinking that the knocks were just something imaginary, I lay back down into the comfy bed and closed my eyes rather slowly to take in the peacefulness.

I had felt myself drifting off when I heard another knock. It was coming from my window.

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Happiness

We crave for happiness.

The lives of billions of people in this world depends on happiness. Whether if it’s in the best, or worst situations. As if we couldn’t live without it, like it’s some sort of drug that you will never stop getting addicted at.

We sometimes, search for happiness in the most darkest places.

People find calmness, relaxation and a sense of light-headedness in any kinds of situation. Smoking could be one of them. The dangerous chemicals within the roll of tobacco helps the ones in stress, pain, or sadness. As soon as the tip of the cigar pecked their lips, they inhale it, and exhale while a trail of smoke flew through the air. And just like that, they feel calm and stress free.

Drugs. An addictive substance. Though it helps. It helps those who want to feel like they’re flying. Hesitance comes first, pleasure comes afterwards. You inhale the smell of weed, cocaine or marijuana, and you feel scared at first. But once you try it, you can’t stop. Though it helps. They feel happiness.

Money. The face of economy, the food every living rich bastard consume everyday. Wasting it in all on expensive things, wealth and accessories. They laugh at the poor and middle-class, thinking they are superior than God when in reality, they’re the cancer of society. It sickens me that these people find happiness in what they do; like hungry savages ravaging their meal.

Sex. A common thing to do for everyone. Teenagers, young adults, and adults themselves. Once you do it, your sexual urges kicks in. Feeling the euphoria, lust and pleasure running through your body, never wanting to stop. Once you do stop, you’ll just beg for more. Getting sex, whether if it’s free or paid hourly, is as easy as picking out your favorite candy in a convenient store. Just pick your favorite, pay for it and just it while it last.

As human, we crave for happiness. Though at times, we let the devil himself control our being, letting our body unconsciously do sinful things.

Even if we are nothing than living monsters, we too have the right to live.

Pintu Terlarang (The Forbidden Door): Review

Before I say anything, let me just say one thing first. This is film is just… *applause*

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After few weeks of researching about films of all specific genres, I have once again rediscovered this film when I stumble across Imdb’s list of Asian cult films. Now, I have searched about this film some time ago, and I have given up on it when I found out that there aren’t any cheap copies of this in the nearest dvd stores, so I felt blessed when I found it available online. And so, here it is the review.

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