Merry Christmas!

Have a joyful year end holiday! God bless!

Early Xmas Presents from My Bookish Friends!

Much love <3

The Harsh Truths

It's been a number of times already. Again, the reality of things dawns on me and forces me to see how most of things in this world work:
1. People will move on. Even if it is without you.
2. In relation to point no. 1, they will, gradually, no longer care that you are presently not part of their lives, because they're either OK about it or they've found a replacement.
3. People will see you the way they want to see you.
4. Time will likely lessen feelings, such as the value of friendship, if you don't maintain them.
5. People can grow ignorant - they'll no longer care about you.
6. People change. A sad fact.
7. Everything in this world won't stay the same. Yet a sadder fact.

Perhaps this is why I find the greatest comfort in books and music.

Devoid of Expression

The day was late afternoon. The sweltering heat started to wear off. Gathering my hair and tying it quickly into a messy ponytail, I decided to drop by at a nearby mini market ahead to buy myself a cool drink or ice cream. I strode purposefully, covering my face with the back of my hand - the exhausts from cars and motorcycles from the busy thoroughfares and pollutants as well as other unidentified yet equally just as harmful particles were so intense, almost unbearable.

So it felt really really really nice, to finally set my feet inside the mini market; their air cons were blowing cool air - the hum of its engine was quite loud - and immediately my hot skins were soothed. 

Only few people walked about between the aisles. I walked to the cool beverages section (it was cooler there), choosing something refreshing, and was torn between a flavored tea or a juice or simply a mineral water, when the front door was open. 

The mini market was small, and there was actually a round mirror attached on several different and interspersed spots within the small room, high up against the wall, almost to the ceilings. I absentmindedly looked into one of the mirrors, and from the reflection could see a girl - still with her school uniform (that must be around the time school was finished) - entering the mini market. 

She went to the beverages section, and came to a halt a small distance away from me. 

She was pretty. She was also young, so young, and looked so innocent that I was somewhat remembered of my school days - and wondered if, back then, I looked as innocent as she was or at least gave a more or less similar impression. 

I stole a glance or two at her, and it was exactly at that moment... that I came to be surprised. 

Her face was devoid of expression. 

Why, I don't know. I was confused. It was completely different with people's usual face expressions. For example, let's say, those office workers who flocked the street as they just got off from work - and while they didn't particularly display any apparent expression or emotion as they briskly walked or hailed a cab to go home, their faces and postures were still ones that depicted a story, or at least clues to guess a story - that perhaps work had been rough and demanding, or that certain vibe of anxiety and weariness from their simplest gestures, telling that they dreaded the mounting and awaiting tasks to be done at home. 

But this girl... you would think she was at least pondering, what kind of drink I should choose, or anything. But no. There wasn't a single hint. 

Nothing. 

Her face, as I said, was devoid of even the barest hint of expression. It was something akin to a porcelain doll, I think, or a mask. A mask that was destined, for the entirety of its life span, to bear only a single, fixed expression stripped from anything else. 

The girl quickly took out a mineral water and dashed into the cash register.  

I also went to the check out my drink (Pocari Sweat), and queued behind her. 

The man behind the cash register was friendly - young, perhaps in his 20s. I don't know if he found the school girl pretty or what, but he smiled at her. And while he was working with his cash register with the girl's purchase, he cheerfully said, "What a lovely day outside!" 

I thought, it's really hot and dusty outside and you call that lovely. But of course I kept quiet. 

He then continued, "Aren't you with a boyfriend?"

Perhaps he meant, it is a lovely day outside; why aren't you spending your day with your boyfriend?

I could see he only asked this out of friendliness, not of curiosity. At least... no apparent intention. But still, I didn't know what prompted him to ask her that question, out of many. Perhaps she was just beautiful - and that all school girls these days always went out with their boyfriends after school, and the very sight of this girl - so pretty and beautiful - was strange enough to the man because she only came by herself... was that it?

While it would prove to be so random yet funny (if he really thought that)... 

I was disturbed by the girl's response. 

The girl - one moment before had been devoid of expression - suddenly pursed her lips in a hint of smile. And then, slowly, ever so slowly, the muscles in her cheeks moved upward, and that small line stretched into a longer line - the smile then became visible and grew even wider. 

It was a sweet smile.

Not a plastic smile, but definitely not a real smile either. 

(What was that smile?)

Yet... she didn't utter a single word for further response. Not a single word. 

(Why?)

But she smiled nonetheless, so the man could only smile. 

(What was it with that smile?)

I was filled with a lot of questions. But of course, the girl, and the man behind the register, were oblivious.

After receiving her change, the girl took her water and went out of the door. 

Outside, she stopped a moment to pocket the change. She moved sideways, and I squinted - looking outside through the glass door at her. 

When her side profile came into view, I saw that the smile was wiped off completely from her face. The lips weren't stretched, they were clamped shut in a flat line, no longer curved. 

Not a hint she was just smiling a moment before.

Once again, devoid of any expression. 

And I shuddered.

Thoughts on No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai

Why... this is a remarkably dark and depressing story of a man who is literally horrified of a human being, who dreads the very notion of society. He is Oba Yozo. He is a man who feels like he doesn't belong - he feels disconnected to other people.

“All I feel are the assaults of apprehension and terror at the thought that I am the only one who is entirely unlike the rest. It is almost impossible for me to converse with other people. What should I talk about, how should I say it? - I don't know.” 

“I am convinced that human life is filled with many pure, happy, serene examples of insincerity, truly splendid of their kind-of people deceiving one another without (strangely enough) any wounds being inflicted, of people who seem unaware even that they are deceiving one another.” 

“I have always shook with fright before human beings. Unable as I was to feel the least particle of confidence in my ability to speak and act like a human being, I kept my solitary agonies locked in my breast. I kept my melancholy and my agitation hidden, careful lest any trace should be left exposed. I feigned an innocent optimism; I gradually perfected myself in the role of the farcical eccentric.” 

“As long as I can make them laugh, it doesn’t matter how, I’ll be alright. If I succeed in that, the human beings probably won’t mind it too much if I remain outside their lives. The one thing I must avoid is becoming offensive in their eyes: I shall be nothing, the wind, the sky.” 

It strikes me a great deal how familiar and understandable his thoughts and perceptions are - despite the fact that later on in the story he is claimed as a madman. The complexity of the details depicted from his very narration is not even foreign, his acquired concept of life is explicable and perceivable. Why he does certain things - hiding, escaping, running away, pretending, losing hopes all too early, torturing his own soul, committing a suicide, to convincing himself again and again that he doesn't deserve happiness - he makes one atrocious choice after another yet the rationale behind his godawful choices that condemns his life to a living hell - heck it does make sense. Yes, the most horrible thing of all, it does make sense, and I could unsurprisingly relate to his thoughts.

“I myself spent the whole day long deceiving human beings with my clowning. I have not been able to work much up much concern over the morality prescribed in textbooks of ethics under the name as “righteousness.” I find it difficult to understand the kind of human being who lives, or who is sure he can live, purely, happily, serenely while engaged in deceit. Human beings never did teach me that abstruse secret. If I had only known that one thing I should never have had to dread human beings so, nor should I have opposed myself to human life, nor tasted such torments of hell every night.” 

“Unhappiness. There are all kinds of unhappy people in the world. I suppose it would be no exaggeration to say that the world is composed entirely of unhappy people. But those people can fight their unhappiness with society fairly and squarely, and society for its part easily understands and sympathizes with such struggles. My unhappiness stemmed entirely from my own vices, and I had no way of fighting anybody.” 

The saddest thing of all, is even until the end of the story, he still doesn't know - let alone experience - the slightest bit of what happiness is. Or perhaps, fail to notice it. He has fallen too deep in his own mind-made chasm and the society doesn't even help him, or cushion his fall.

“Mine has been a life of much shame. I can't even guess myself what it must be to live the life of a human being.” 

“I thought, 'I want to die. I want to die more than ever before. There’s no chance now of a recovery. No matter what sort of thing I do, no matter what I do, it’s sure to be a failure, just a final coating applied to my shame. That dream of going on bicycles to see a waterfall framed in summer leaves—it was not for the likes of me. All that can happen now is that one foul, humiliating sin will be piled on another, and my sufferings will become only the more acute. I want to die. I must die. Living itself is the source of sin.” 

“The world, after all, was still a place of bottomless horror. It was by no means a place of childlike simplicity where everything could be settled by a simple then-and-there decision.” 

This is a brilliantly thought-provoking book. Deep, oppressively daunting, but interesting all the same.

I just really want to hug Yozo.

5 of 5 stars.

Goodreads | Book Depository | Amazon

Saturday Afternoon

Spending quality time on Saturday afternoon. Conversing some idle, stupid talks...  over Oreo Cheesecake and frappes and tea. And scoops of ice cream. 

"The Secret of Success in Life"

=p

This quote is from the front page of a menu book in this restaurant I happened to dine in last week.

One of the Nicest Feelings Ever.

Today's weather - early morning, to be precise - was really nice. The air was cool, the sky was brilliant blue, that post-rain weather which was incredibly nice but rare, the after-effect of heavy and constant rainfalls from the very day before. The wind. Did I say it was nice? I'd say it again; it felt nice against my skin. Reminds me of Puncak. I love it when it was breezy or even a little bit chilly, but the sun was up there in view, shining equally brilliantly against the blue, unobstructed by the clouds.

One of the nicest feelings ever. 

And I thought, on the back of motorcycle (when I was going to work) this morning, hey, this was the kind of day when one should spend happily. In other words, when one should be happy. 

And then I imagined myself, with my friends, in this framed imagination of mine, just landed in Japan (FYI, I'm planning to, but still have no success in getting a friend to go with). We took photos together, with sun at the background picture, feeling proud. 

Aish. I'm feeling wistful. But still, to imagine this kind of imagination feels grudgingly wonderful. 

Because, it can be real, and I can achieve it. But at the same time feels so far away. 

Do you think I should go to Japan myself?

I would be happy, of course. But there will be no one to share my happiness with. And eventually, I will be sad =(

The Not-So Trivial Thing

Last night I logged in to my facebook account, unopened and abandoned after a while, and surprisingly found a new message in my inbox. I was wondering who would send me a message via facebook - my close friends would've known better than to contact me via this platform.

But then again, I should've known better.

It was an old friend of mine, a friend from my junior high, who I lastly met in person probably during my first year of senior high. Last time we contacted each other was through facebook, of course (what else?), and that was about a year ago.

It was funny. Because we weren't even close to begin with when we were in school. We never were. I don't really remember why, but when we graduated from junior high and I moved out to a different high school, it was after that we started to talk. I mean, chatting online - again - through facebook. Some idle talks, not frequent, but it didn't feel the slightest awkward when we shifted to heavier subjects. Like, about feelings.

You see, I used to like his best friend, and he used to like my best friend.

This world is funny like that. But that was in the past anyway.

I remembered he was talking about his feelings to my best friend - it was unhappy stories. But, again, that was in the past.

But then I think we didn't talk again for some time later, until it was after my birthday last year in 2012.

It was a surprise. He sent me a message, something out of the blue, because he said, more or less: "Hey, I just happened to see your Tumblr. So, you like Final Fantasy songs too?"

Well, I used a flash player on my Tumblr - and I put my favorite FF theme songs and Joe Hisaishi's songs on my playlist.

And he pointed out that he knew and liked FF songs as well; so when he visited my tumblr, he was kind of liking the feel of it.

And we talked again, for a short period of time, about how each of us was doing and coping with life. But then our communication stopped again. I'd been so busy with life and work, and I didn't even realize another year has passed and we're now approaching year end.

This friend sent me another out-of-the-blue message via facebook, which was last night.

He said: "You should check this out," he sent me a link to a youtube video. "I just listened to this song and somewhat I am remembered of you."

It was Masashi Hamauzu's "Besaid Island", a recompose, for Final Fantasy X HD Remaster.

 

And I laughed.

Honestly speaking, the gesture is not something big or touching.

But I'm somewhat made more amazed, because he bothered to send the link to me - which I'm very thankful for - because I never listened to this piece before and I ended up liking it so much.

"Besaid Island" is probably my most favorite Nobuo Uematsu's piece from FFX. And although it's been many years since I played the game itself, "Besaid Island" - always, of course - has a place in my playlists throughout the years, either in my winamp, mp3 player, iPod, or my mobile phone's music playlist.

And Hamauzu's rearrangement is surprisingly beautiful. Lovely.

So I could only smile, when I think how my friend - with our infrequent (rare, in the rarest sense possible) communication - seems to remember something which, to other people, would probably trivial matters.

That he remembers, and understands.

To tell you the truth, we are not that close now, even now. We still never meet - we never have reasons to, he's with his own life and I'm with my own life.

Regardless, he's a friend. Period.

My Ever-So-Growing To-Read Books

My new books - as per October 29 2013

Another to-read batch borrowed from Elise! Kate DiCamillo books! (Nov. 1 2013)

And finally, another batch of new additions to my bookshelf (bought from book fair), as per Nov. 2, 2013! 

Can't wait to read them!  

Dusk at Ubud, Bali

Look at that. Aren't they gorgeous?? The dusk, the sky, the clouds...

These pictures were taken a while back when I was on a trip to Ubud, Bali. I just want to post them here - I really really like the colors and the moon, you see. These photos were taken by my android phone, so not the best quality, I know. Still, they are original - and beautiful!

It's K.

I have another confession to make.

Have you ever read The Sputnik Sweetheart, by Haruki Murakami?

There is a chapter in which the narrator, identified as K, only K, tells about himself. K is not the main character of the story; the spotlight is for Sumire, a friend of K, and K narrates Sumire's story from his point of view.

The thing is, the way K describes himself, I feel that K introduces my own self to me.

(Note: This can be -pretty much- a major spoiler. If you haven't read the book but plan to, and you happen to come across this blog post, I suggest you to read only until this part and not continue. Nonetheless, if you don't plan to read Sputnik Sweetheart and, let's say, will never do, then you're good to go.) 

Starting from this:

"I find it hard to talk about myself. I'm always tripped up by the eternal who am I? paradox. Sure, no one knows as much pure data about me as me. But when I talk about myself, all sorts of other factors - values, standards, my own limitations as an observer - make me, the narrator, select and eliminate things about me, the narratee. I've always been disturbed by the thought that I'm not painting a very objective picture of myself."

(p. 54)

That paragraph - it literally defines me. It is me. Enough said, it's self-explanatory. And this:

"Given the chance, people are surprisingly frank when they talk about themselves. 'I'm honest and open to a ridiculous degree,' they'll say, or 'I'm thin-skinned and not the type who gets along easily in the world.' Or 'I'm very good at sensing others' true feelings.'"

Yes, I notice a lot of people in my surrounding do that easily.

"But any number of times I've seen people who say they're easily hurt, hurt other people for no apparent reason. Self-styled honest and open people, without realizing what they're doing, blithely use some self-serving excuse to get what they want. And those 'good at sensing others' true feelings' are duped by the most transparent flattery. It's enough to make me ask the question: How well do we really know ourselves?"

(p. 54)

That's exactly what bothers me. Our opinions of things, including the topic of ourselves, are inevitably subjective, yes?

And so, K uses this method instead, to get to know himself better - I should say I'm pleasantly surprised, because that's exactly what I do!!

"What I'd like to know more about is the objective reality of things outside myself. How important the world outside is to me, how I maintain a sense of equilibrium by coming to terms with it. That's how I'd grasp a clearer sense of who I am. 

(p. 55)

"Like a master builder stretches taut his string and lays one brick after another, I constructed this viewpoint - or philosophy of life, to put a bigger spin on it. Logic and speculation played a part in formulating this viewpoint, but for the most part it was based on my own experiences. And speaking of experience, a number of painful episodes taught me that getting this viewpoint of mine across to other people wasn't the easiest thing in the world."

(p.55)

And other bits of things:

"I didn't swallow what other people told me." (p. 55)

"Not that I knew what I was seeking in life - I didn't. I loved reading novels to distraction but didn't write well enough to be a novelist."(p. 57)

"Novels should be for pure personal enjoyment, I figured, not part of your work or study.... I enjoyed reading and thinking, but I was hardly the academic type." (p. 57)

And then K talks about Sumire, a friend, who also happens to be a person he loves so much but it is easily an unrequited love. 

"Unlike other people she honestly, sincerely, wanted to hear what I had to say. I did my best to answer her, and our conversations helped me open up more about myself to her - and, at the same time, to myself." (p. 58)

I have 2-3 close friends who I can easily talk to, about almost everything from trivial talks or recent happenings to a series of heavy discussions about one's principles in life. These friends, they talk about themselves, how they consider everything, in a certain manner, how a problem is best solved, and their opinions of things... of course they know how subjective this talk can be, and so they really want to hear what I'm going to say about it. They ask me many things, the way I also ask them many things. 

And this is also, I think, one of the best ways to help you find out more about yourself. But this is also to say:

"I spend more time being confused than not." (p.50)

But no matter what, I can be judging and egoistic. 

"Judging the mistakes of strangers is an easy thing to do - and it feels pretty good." (p. 76)

"Did I do what was right? I didn't think so, I'd only done what was necessary for me." (p.201)

I've never met a character from a book that is (almost) so similar to me, so reading Sputnik Sweetheart gives quite a memorable reading experience. K feels lonely, I do feel lonely sometimes. But that's understandable; a lot of people are unsurprisingly lonely. We are all lonely, at a certain point in life or moments. K loves books and music, and I do (heck who doesn't????) (But I think so far Murakami's characters share this very particular passion in them: they all love books and music).  

But anyway, this is not a book review. But I rate this book with 5 stars anyway. 

Just need you to know ;)

I Still Love Haruki Murakami

I always enjoy reading Haruki Murakami's books. Well, I may still have several books to go before I completely finish reading all his works. But so far, no matter how weird they are, no matter how inconclusive their endings turn out to be, and although I understand the points argued by so many people who dislike, even hate, Murakami's books, I still love Haruki Murakami and consider him one of my favorite authors.

Unlike the majority, I didn't start with Norwegian Wood, and up to now I still haven't read Norwegian Wood (another confession) (yet I have read quite a number of his books anyway). Instead, I started by reading the most gigantic and ambitious book of his, 1Q84. Strangely, I got along just fine with this book and its lonely protagonists as well as their respective past and longing and problems, weird sex scenes, massive descriptions of almost everything, occasional (frequent?) drops of (most of them Western) music or literature references, and not to mention the whole strangeness and quirkiness of it. Mostly the otherworldly experiences. They are there, and they just happen - but not accompanied by a generous amount of explanation. Some are left hanging, and like I said before, often inconclusive.

Well, this kind of thing also happens to his other books, such as Sputnik Sweetheart or Kafka on the Shore. It's like a trademark. There's this character who goes over to another world, and he/she might/might not make it back to the real world. More cat town experiences (this cat town story is mentioned in 1Q84, telling a tale of a man who drops off at a station, and he lands in a town of cat and spends some time there, frightened yet curious of its inhabitants, and he misses the train back home. No train comes to that station afterwards, and he's trapped forever in the cat town). In other word, trapped in another world entirely different than the one we reside.

Besides the existence of and journey to another world, Murakami's books are famous probably of its in-depth exploration on human longing, their incapability and limitations, troubled relationships, finding and searching for lost thing and identity... well in a way you could say that it's kinda depressing.

But I don't know. I do find that journey, although not all aspects are thoroughly understood, fascinating.

I enjoy the weirdness of the story, and I don't quite understand why. It's strange, because I understand, more easily, why Murakami's books annoy some people, how they say it makes them feel depressed because of those lonely protagonists, or that it is simply boring and the surrealistic of it is plainly frustrating. Or the way the unsolved riddles are just... unsolved. Or that because his one novel resembles his previous novel a lot, and the raw plot is just overused (1Q84, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, Kafka on the Shore, Sputnik Sweetheart)...

Well, Murakami plays a lot with symbolism and analogy. Foretelling, and sometimes a view or philosophy of life is infused into his characters' dialogues - and this, I could say with confidence, is one of the best qualities in his novel. It is just interesting to read them, in a prose so easily understandable yet heavy in weights, in relation to the context of the story itself. Honestly, they can be thought-provoking - and although people may find it tiresome to go through that kind of book, especially when the book is also incorporated with too-detailed yet unnecessary description of honestly unnecessary, non-essential things - I still love every bit of it.

Yet, I don't swallow everything. I may agree or blatantly disagree with his characters and their views, their arguments and reasoning, and the roots of senses their decisions are derived from. But then again, it is always in my nature to be interested in what people have to say about life - their philosophy of life, their opinions, their experiences and how those experiences shape them in person and quality. 

Which is why I always take my time when I read Murakami's books. I don't read his books consecutively - one's finished, then I'd pick another one. No. I read other books: fantasy, adventure, sci-fi, etc. - and it would be months before I decide to buy and read another book of his. Another strange thing is, in between, I would simply miss it. I would simply miss reading Murakami's prose (that doesn't happen with other authors, I wonder why) and when I don't have a new Murakami book, I'd pick his short stories or reread his quotes instead.

This being said, I don't know if later I would end up detesting Murakami (let's say, after I read all his works including other nonfiction books he writes), but let's just see.

Presently, I love his works so far.

September 22, 2013

I honestly do not like family gathering; particularly when the host is one of my dad's side of family. I'm not doing any justice here, I think, when they are generally kind, full of inspiration... well almost all of them are living their lives successfully: tons of achievements, inspiring success... and rich.

Mine is... just average. Compared to them, at least. But that is not the ultimate reason why I really hate coming to their family occasions such as birthday party, engagement or wedding party, etc. It's because of its rigidity. Formally rigid, that I can't just be myself at all. It's suffocating. Not overly so, and it could be I'm just exaggerating things, since this story is told from my point of view. But oh well. I am naturally not an extrovert person, but when I'm in the midst of them, I feel more self-conscious and guarded, and eventually become more quiet than usual. Like a little girl I was before.

Honestly saying, there is also this pressure that only I could feel it. They are watching me. Watching who and what kind of successful person I am becoming. They never say it aloud, but looking into their eyes, I just know.

Which is why I always try if possible to make myself grow scarce, when it comes to attending my dad's family's occasions.

I've mentioned before, that I don't really want to live my life ambitiously by making glimmering achievements; because I just want to live quietly in this noisy world.

Still, I have my own aspirations and goals and achieved dreams (I'm not going to set them aside since they make me exactly who I am at the present), and I have my share of trials and errors, ups and downs, and I truly treasure those experiences because I came to have my own views of life, the knowledge of which is invaluable, indeed. Despite my mistakes and failures, I'm still proud of myself because I got the chances to learn and experience and become inspired and even have the privilege to meet a lot of inspiring people along the way and they, along with experiences, help me shape and reflect on my own views and I'm also able to share them with others...

But still, I am not an overachiever. I don't deliberately set up stepping stones to grab success. How do you define successful, by the way? I just want to live the way I want it to, so people burdening me with expectations (like my dad's family) or even predicting things for me or laying out future plans for me have become so annoying. Without meaning to, I have come to find them annoying.

Though I am sorry.

Yummy Tartlets!

I have a sweet tooth, there's no denying that. The mini fruit tarts above look dazzling, yes? Also the VerryBerry cake (it's cranberry + strawberry, sour sweet yummy). Not only they make such an eyecandy, but they do have a fine taste, not overly sweet, a bite full of fruits with a lingering sweetness from the cream. 

My brother's friend made this.

I too, wish I could just start learning to cook and bake. If only I had a decent kitchen and a supply of decent, if not state of the art, appliances. 

I would just be happy to invest my free time in a kitchen. I've always thought making foods is one form of art, because they evoke responses from human senses.

Sometimes This World is Kind

When you really do things truthfully, sincerely,honestly, people will just recognize you. We're talking about work. Or task. Or assignment. You may be struggling at the moment, and come exhausted at the end, and your heart is pounding upon your boss' evaluation, but in the end, even if you cringe, people just can see it and reward you with what they think is best.

Sometimes this world is kind. 

Warm and Full

Coming back home after several days away from the city, taking a quick shower and then tumbling over the bed only to find blissful comfort as you snuggle against your pillow and blanket and the familiar bed sheet under your skin. 

I never missed home and bed so much. 

The next morning, I woke up with my stomach growling, eyes aching to close again for another round of sleep. I was still groggy from sleep, with a series of throbbing headaches constantly attacking my skull, so I slept again. And then woke up in the next two hours to find that my stomach had stopped growling. Nonetheless, I ate my mom's cooking, sardines soup and  meat, and the rice was still warm and tender and spongy but not mushy. All perfect. 

Nothing beats the feeling of a warm, full belly after eating a simple yet delicious and warm dishes with well-cooked rice.  

Simple, yet authentic happiness comes one after another. 

Savor every littlest thing, be appreciative with what you have. Find simple happiness in the present moment. 

To Take or Not to Take…

I am talking about chances here. After all, this is what life is all about, right? Decisions, chances. That is basically how we build our lives: we make it and shape it into what we want it to be. Actually it is simple… on the surface. But we face so many crossroads (and blocks), and to survive we need to decide which path to take, and each path will lead us to a different destination - walking down on one path may take you to a completely different destination than the one that you might reach, if you have taken another path. If you think about it like this, it is a little bit scary, isn't it? How you may end up differently, if you do B, instead of A. 

How your own decision impacts your life. 

And who you are. 

That is why, we have so many regrets in our lives. They say, “Live without regrets!”, but that's completely bullshit. With so many life has to offer, with all those choices we have to make everyday, with all its bends and crossroads and forks and doors and slopes, we can never be free of regret. 

No matter how insignificant the regret seems to be, no matter how faint the impression, or the trail your regret has managed to leave on you. 

Now, this topic could also breach to something else: unfairness, which stems from jealousy. 

I came across this in a short story written by Haruki Murakami titled “Shinagawa Monkey”, in which the main character, Mizuki Osawa, leads a dull life that if one listens to her reciting her life history, he may yawn in utter boredom. This Mizuki, she never gets jealous over somebody else. She understands enough that everyone in this world, each of us, every individual, leads a different life and it is just so strange to start comparing one’s life with another. As she comes to accept this fact, she also comes to think that jealousy is unnecessary.

Well, that is also correct, in a sense that we all live a different life so why don’t we come to a mutual understanding then, that what you have – what she has, what he has, what they have – what we all have is ours. Our respective matters.  

But anyway. I have always believed, and will always believe, that our future is defined from our present. By the decisions we take. If you grasp the principle, you should be able to hold onto it. If you are worried by your unforeseen future, rather than putting yourself to dwell in the uncertainty of the unforeseen future, you’d better start investing your energy and all your thoughts in this present moment.

Right?

Quite a Diverse Choice: Kawabata, Reeve, and Bukowski

My next TBR pile :)

Palm-of-the-Hand Stories by Yasunari Kawabata, Mortal Engines by Philip Reeve, and Post Office by Charles Bukowsi.

I once read another book by Yasunari Kawabata, Thousand Cranes, and although it's a short read (147 pages), finishing this book was not easy and in the end, leaving me instead with this unresolved feeling in the back of my mind. This something, I can't explain it, was left by the shadows of the story itself, but more profoundly felt was from the characters. But this was strangely interlaced with beauty - yes, there was a hidden beauty inside it - an effect perhaps only Kawabata could achieve. 

Somehow, reading Thousand Cranes has become one of those exceptional reading experiences that I would most definitely be delighted to experience again. Which is why, I decided to pick another book of his and the choice went to Palm-of-the-Hand Stories. It is a collection of short stories; which Kawabata mentioned not less remarkable than longer prose fictions - just as well like haiku is no less beautiful than a longer poem. 

I look forward to reading this soon! 

Mortal Engines by Philip Reeve is also equally anticipated. Mostly because it is steampunk, and well yeah there is no need to explain this, but you see, adventure books make up the most of my bookshelves. Some of them sci-fi. Most of them fantasy. Well, they never fail me - and I'm a sucker of another world with foreign elements and systems - an entirely different world like those you can find in games and illustration - which also explains that I'm a sucker of world building - which makes a book way more awesome if it is complemented with a world map. 

Not necessarily though. 

But anyway. 

Mortal Engines belongs to my usual crowd, and is something that you would expect to find in my hands ;)

And.... Post Office. What could I say? This is my first Bukowski book and I think I like it. I think. I just finished part 1 of the book, so I have 4 parts (or 5?) to go, but man. Henry Chinaski fascinates me so much! What in reality is perhaps a dull, boring - although sometimes not but when it's not it's extra unbearable - life, it is never the case with Chinaski. I adore this guy - he curses a lot, boozes a lot, screws around, always finishes his route late, he drags his life day by day but he definitely doesn't take his life so seriously, or perhaps he doesn't even care. Things may get downhill and I will perhaps find myself despise this guy a lot later on, but it's just getting messier and I somehow and somewhat like the way it goes.  

LP Discover Japan! I think I'll still pre-order LP Japan (new edition, to be released in this October if not mistaken) since this one still doesn't completely cover some places in detail.

I'm currently into Japanese literature and look forward to reading more notable works of Japanese authors. So far, my experiences with Japanese literature are still limited to Haruki Murakami, Natsume Soseki, and Yasunari Kawabata.

But I can't just help it.

Will definitely read Yukio Mishima's Sound of Waves soon.

This is Not a Conclusion, But...

I dreamed of someone from the past last night. I sometimes had dreams about him - when other guys rarely (almost never) appear in my dreams, but this one... he does. Not always, not often, but every time I do, in the morning, I always wake up with this lingering feeling of profound longing - this morning is not an exception - which I have come to loathe.

I won't ask "why". Why he appeared in my dreams, a number of times. Why he stays, when I label him as "someone from the past". I have known, and am well aware of it. Of the reasons.

That's because, so many things, feelings, that we ever had in our hearts, were left unsaid. Deserted. Abandoned. Buried inside.

We were, perhaps, too young to understand. To confront our feelings. Unwise enough to think that letting go without sealing anything was wise enough.

Somehow, this keeps haunting me, faithfully. I let a deep corner of my mind being haunted, relished in its bitterness. Yet the whole part of me recognizes the loss, a definite fate that can no longer be disturbed, and my heart cries out for something that I could never have.

And I, as I said, have come to loathe this feeling, all the memories we ever had, my own self for still harboring, even the slightest, hope of encountering a chance to meet this person again someday...

and I hate him. So much. So much so that I want to hurt him so bad. But as I am only a pathetic person, I can only imagine and construct the whole scenarios of hurting him: me being happy in life and showing him how happy I have been, all this time.

Not that it will hurt him anyway. I doubt it.

But we will never know the depth of human's heart; what's affecting, damaging it or how it takes in every situation. This fact I know, simply because people do not know mine.

This is not a conclusion... but I steel myself, in the end, with a decision that I won't, and don't want, ever, to see him again.

And off to my own path.

If we ever cross paths, later, there might be another story.

A Quietness of My Own

I turned off the lamp. I drew the curtain open. I sat behind the window sill. I hugged my knees tightly. Fat drops of water were still falling from the open sky. They were splattering the window, brushing off the dirt on its blur surface. Streaks of lightning appeared soundlessly across the pitch black of darkness that looked awefully plain without the gleaming stars decorating on it. Stars. If I had known earlier that they would never to be seen again from the city that I came to loathe, I would have cherished those awkward moments when I laid my back against the cold floor in my old house, lifting my finger upward, tracing the sheet of the sky – acting as if I could poke the stars.

I closed my eyes. I buried my face, didn’t even bother to set aside the loose strands of my hair. There was no light in the room. My glow in the dark stars attached on the ceiling didn’t even shine. I was enveloped in ultimate darkness. But abstract pictures came alive behind my eyelids. Outside, tires were slicing across puddles of water. The sound of engines and cars honking were audible, only to trail off and disappear in the distance. Inside, a subtle hum coming from the air conditioner filled the small room.

I was in my own world. This world, was quiet. A solitude, for I was the only occupant. I actually wish this tranquility wouldn’t come to an end since the idea of hiding myself from the rest of the world has become essentially tempting. I don’t have to deal with people. I don’t have to force out a talk, I don’t have to fake a curve of smile. I could care less about others. It’ll be only myself. Seems like, involving myself in the emotional twist of others’ are just too burdening.

Sitting by the window, eavesdropping the background music of falling raindrops and splashing water, blanketed by the soothing darkness, shielded from the blinding light, doing absolutely nothing – did give a piece of something comforting to my mind. It was cooling down from overheating.

Well, I wouldn’t mind being interrupted by casual sips of chocolate or soy milk... as it wasn’t really the time for a bottle of beer or a glass of whiskey.

UVERworld - The Over

I love this song very, very, very much, so much so that I think my heart will break and explode and shatter and then I'll die - it's such a heartbreaking song, and I literally cried when I read the translation. It still pains me even now, every time I hear this song, because it is just so sad, yet emotionally beautiful. Takuya always writes powerful, meaningful lyrics - he really has this talent. The music also WINS! Kudos to UVERworld. Keep making great music!

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UVERworld – THE OVER
Lyrics: TAKUYA∞
Composition: UVERworld




Saigo made usotsuite madee hitori ni narou to suru nda ne
Nanimo kamo iya ni natte shimau hodo jibun no koto wo shirisugite iru kara
Itsukara ka boku wa mou nigeyou to shiteta

Nanimo nai no ni to ni kaku zutto kanashikute tamaranakatta
Konna jidai de ari no mama de ikitekeru wake nante nakatta shi
Taisetsu na kimi dake wa ushinaitakunai kara hontou no jibun wo kakushite mata tsukuro tte yuku
Boku wa itsuka ushinatte shimau wakatteru kara modokashii yo

TEREBI no naka no haiyuu ya daifugou ya BIGGU SUTAA nara
Kimi wo manzoku sasereru darou soshite shiawase ni mo suru darou
Demo boku wa kimi wo omou shika nai boku wa kimi wo omou shika nai
Tsutaeyou to shite sora wo nagame tachidomaru
Kasa wo sasuka douka mayou hodo no ame omoikiri no nai sa wa boku no you datta

Akirame nagara ikite yuku mainichi wa nani wo shite mo kanashii dake datta
Dare yori mo aisaretai no ni hitori ni narou to shite ita koto mo
Taisetsu na kimi no tame datta yo

Tsutaetai kimochi wa afurete kuru no ni kotoba ni sureba suru hodo chigatte yuku
Sore ga modokashii ndayo

Ichiban shiawase negatte ichiban kanashimasetesou de
Jibun ni jishin ga nakatta dekiru dake hitori de ikite kita
Demo kimi dake ga hanasenai naze kimi dake ga hanasenai
Hitori ja nai to rikai shite shimatta kanjou wo
Osaekirenai to mitometa toki ni naze namida ga deta no ka wa wakaranai kedo
Yoku mireba aozora mo ao isshoku ja nai
Sono fukuzatsusa wa kokoro wo utsushita you da

Mirai he mukau BOOTO ni notte OORU de kogu boku kara sureba ushiro he susumu
Boku ni wa susumu saki wa mienai demo kimi ga mukai ni suwatte mite ite kureru nara
Doko ni tadoritsuitatte tadoritsukanakatta to shite
Mirai wo souzou sureba daitai shiawase datta
Aa suki dayo kimi mo boku wo erabu nara mou hanasou to shinai yo

Toshi wo tori hi ga tatte kotoba sae ushinatte
Futari sugoshita hibi wo kimi ga wasurete shimatta toki mo
Kawarazu te wo nigirishime kawatte yuku kimi wo sasaete
Saigo made kokoro de taiwa shite mamori yasashisa wo ataete iku yo
Itsumademo kimi wo omou darou saigo made omoinuku darou
Hitori ja nai to kanjisasete miseru yo

Donna ni kotoba no imi wo shirabete mo dore hodo tsuyoku IMEEJI shite mite mo
Hitorikiri no mama ja shirenakatta
Ano sagashiteta ai wa kimi sono mono nanda

Daremo ga jibun wo koerareru OVER
Hitori ni nante sase ya shinai yo OVER

Saa subete wo koeru OVER

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TRANSLATION


Until the end, I even had to lie, trying to become alone.
Everything became unbearable because I knew too much about myself.
Since when, I wonder, have I been trying to run away?

Even though it was nothing, the sadness I felt was intolerable.
In this age, the truth was I had nothing to live for.
I don't want to lose you, who are so important to me, so I conceal my true self and try fix it, continuing forward.
But I know I'll lose you one day, that's why it's frustrating.

If I were an actor, a multi-millionaire or a big star in the television
That would satisfy you right? And it would make you happy right?
But I only think of you I only think of you
Trying to tell you these feelings, I stop and look at the sky.
The uncertainty of using an umbrella in a light rain, in a way it mirrors myself.

While resigning going on living everyday, anything I did was painful.
More than anyone else, I want to be loved, but it was for your sake that I tried to become alone.

These feelings I want to tell you are overflowing, yet the more I try to put into words, the more it gets mistaken.
That's why is so frustrating.

I wish for nothing but happiness, but it seems to make me the saddest all together.
I didn't had confidence, if I could I would live alone.
But I can't let go of you, why I can't I let go of you?
But this unrestrainable feeling of understanding that I'm not alone
When I realized it, why did I start to cry, I wonder?
If you look clearly, the blue sky isn't blue at all.
This complexity, in a way it is projected in my heart.

Riding a boat towards the future, I move backwards with each push of the oar.
I can't see behind me as I advance, but if you sit facing me and watch as we move together,
wherever we are, our struggles won't seem like struggles.
If we imagine the future, I can only see happiness.
I love you so much, if you choose me I'll never let you go.

As the days of the year pass, and words lose their meaning,
and when you also forget our time together,
Taking your hand as usual, supporting you even as you continue changing,
Having a discussion with our hearts until the end, giving you a gentile protection
I'll think of you forever, I'll think of you until the end.
I'll make you feel like you are not alone.

No mater how much I analyze words, or how strong an image I imagine,
I never knew what it was like to be alone.
The love that I have been searching for is you.

OVER

I'll overcome anyone OVER
Don't leave me all alone OVER

Now, I'll overcome everything OVER


Lyrics and Translation by: OneMelody @ jpopasia

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Note: I'll die the second time if Takuya wrote this based on his own experience. Curse that lucky girl.

TBR March 2013

I believe one of the most happiest moments for a book reader, or let me be specific by saying a book lover instead, is the moment and time spent to browse the next book(s) to read. It's fun, and it is made even more exciting with so many gems out there, coming from different genres. Finding out the true or hidden gems can be challenging, but there are plenty of them out there actually, so no need to worry.

Some people love fantasy. Some always stick to paranormal genre. Some even only prefer dystopian books. Or, they don't mind reading any genres as long as it is young adult. There are also those who go for romance.   I myself used to "restrict" my book choices, ranging from dystopian and fantasy (but usually dystopian books have this sci-fi elements in them, so perhaps sci-fi is also included in my range of book choices), and contemporary. All YA. But then I found out that venturing into other book genres are so fun, fun, and much more fun. I tried adult fantasy (favorite ones are NK Jemisin and Brandon Sanderson) and romance. And I loved it. I tried new adult (which proves to be awesome), and I also delve more into middle-grade books (a lot of them are fantasy, yes) and found that it's just as equally fun as any young adult or adult fantasy. Middle-grade fantasy books that I read are not even afraid to introduce kinds of serious issues and quite bold in addressing these issues to their intended young audience - let's say, A Face Like Glass by Frances Hardinge, or The Bird of the River by Kage Baker. I also read classics - I used to read short stories by William Faulkner or Ernest Hemingway when I was in my early year of college. I read John Steinback's Of Mice and Men and didn't really like it back then. I recently re-read The Adventure of Tom Sawyer and came to love it more. My adventure with classics has just begun though, and like many, it was actually started with Jane Austen's works (my favorite in the meantime is Mansfield Park), and this has further ignited my interest in historical fiction, really. I intend to explore more notable classic and literature works (as well as Asian and Russian ones), from the least-known to the well-known, from the enthralling one to the bizarre one.

Ha. Quite a challenge. I know, because there's no guarantee I would be able to go through them... but anyway. I will still love fantasy - high fantasy, dark fantasy, steampunk, magic, adventure, fairytale, time travel, but it's really nice and quite a wonderful change of air to try other genres.

Below is my TBR (to be read) list as of now.

This really makes my reading experience richer, this - to discover and know a lot of things.

After all, readers are supposed to know every little bit of everything, right?