Senses and time and space

It's funny, err, I mean strange, how a sense can bring you to the past, or to exactly a certain spot in time, in space, with people who have ceased to exist.

This drink struck me a chord. Just a glass of hot lemon tea. I catch cold so hot drinks are all I need these days. With lemon or ginger to boost my immunity (or so I believe).

I sipped it. And it was like lightning struck my mind. Yes, I felt it, my mind, not my brain, or maybe the ultra micro cells in my brain I don't know for sure. The mix of sweet and sour reaches a balance that exactly like the first sugary lime drink I ever drank long long time ago, back home. Someone made me, I can't recall, whether it was Mom or my aunt Ros. The first time I tasted the kind of lemon tea drink. The space. The taste. The time. They all traveled back to the past, to that very moment, exactly the very first moment I have ever tasted lemon tea. For some minutes, I was there, in the past, recalling my childhood, the kid me, stood there, receiving the glass of lime drink from either Mom or aunt Ros, sipping it and tasting it with my tongue, activating all the nerves there, feeling the sensation.

That was not deja vu I suppose? I recall I similarly had this experience with smell too. Some certain perfumes which brought me to the past. I will tell you later.  

"Mansion Over The Hilltop"

I'm satisfied with just a cottage below

A little silver and a little gold

But in that city where the ransomed will shine

I want the gold one that's silver lined

I've got a mansion just over the hilltop

In that bright land where we'll never grow old

And some day yonder, we will never more wander

But walk on streets that are pure as gold

Don't think me poor or deserted or lonely

I'm not discouraged, I'm heaven bound

I'm but a pilgrim in search of the city

I want a mansion, a harp and a crown

I've got a mansion just over the hilltop

In that bright land where we'll never grow old

And some day yonder, we will never more wander

But walk on streets that are purest gold

Songwriters
STANPHILL, IRA

when craze for a house, a home

Sparrows, the Messenger

Every time a sparrow perches near my window, I have this odd belief that God is trying to say something to me. To ease my pain. To heal my wound. To convey me a joke. To make me laugh over the satirical life aspects.

This has been at least the third or fourth times, spans over six or seven years. When I was in the middle of a fight against the ‘rulers’, some sparrows landed near my windows and door, and they tweeted.

Other time, they flew to the nearest windows nearby where I was, church or office or school. Just when I was almost desperate about something.

Some other time, a sparrow simply wooft…perched near my window and looked into my eyes. And tweeted.

And this time, just now, one sparrow like fell from the roof, hop on to the water reservoir frame near my window, feeling lost and tweeted, right when I felt like my life is turning into a failure compared to other’s luckier life.

Perhaps, I am not allowed to be ungrateful.

Life, a fast forwarded movie scene

Life moves so fast like a fast forwarded scene. Within a year I reckon there have been so many changes in my life and others. Last year, Mom was still alive. I was in stupid relationship. There were at least 3 or four people I know were singles back then, get married this year. Friends give births. Some deaths of friends. They were young and full of life. People move abroad, meet love of their life and settled down and buying house and raise a family. Some other move due to work. Some got scholarship and move abroad. Odd things happened. Interesting things happened. Tears went down for the loved ones who passed away. For the mixed feelings, sorrow, yet happiness for the faithful people: for the deceased had moved to her eternal home. The home of home. The home of soul. Where tears are no more. Where everything we perceive, maybe, are irrelevant. The knowledge, the feelings, the emptiness, the longing. That something unsolved. They are no more exist.

[Don't] Follow Your Dream

In English, no, no subtitles. People talk in English. I do too there.

I saw kids uprooted and sold mushrooms from a forest. In a small village nearby green pasture. They are Caucasian kids with golden hair. They said, "no they're not poisonous, ma'am", persuading me to purchase some bunches of the fresh things [this is the effect of watching Tom Sawyer].

Then I was there in a feast at a house. Of my own. I went out with a guy, older than me, a senior position, like an elder of a family. He was Hugh Grant [this is the effect of watching Final Cuts the Hungarian movie, when Hugh Grant is there]. Gosh. We chatted in a car, we laid down. And he started to g**** me. Caress my b***** and touched my n****** [this is also the effect of watching Final Cuts, the steamy scene in the movie]. I hesitated and said, "but this isn't allowed, is it?" And he said it was OK, nothing's wrong with this. We talked in English [this is definitely because I watched too many movies in the European on Screen].

Then I was having coffee with J. He and his innocent smile I had been dreamed about for quite some time. We sat in a round table with squared tablecloth. Green or red I can't recall well. He held my hand and smiled. It was so warm I can feel it now. His smile reminds me of an innocent child [this is the effect of exchanging email with him].

This is the proof that my dream always follow this pattern: an unclear mosaic of things I experience, or hear, or see, or think or watch or talk or write or meet, during the day.

I would have to make a journal of my dreams. Did write some already here in the blog but perhaps it must be more regular. Then it will prove my thesis that my dreams are merely the repetition of events. Meaningless. And an attempt to interpret my dreams, -is a waste of time and energy. I knew this already, though.

The quote that says 'follow your dream', I buy it not. Because in my life, I don't follow my dream. I follow my imagination. I try to make my imagination real. Not dream. Because my dreams are mostly about the past. But my imaginations are about the future. 

•5 May 2014

On Memories and Imaginations

There are only two enemies we keep on struggling and have battle with, probably since we are aware of our consciousness in this world and of the people and the environment surrounding us.

They are the memories of the past, and the imaginations of the future. Both of them are equally dangerous. Both of them can be pain in the ass, make you nervous.

When you dig up the old memories, remember and sense the old feelings, the old pictures, the old long forgotten smells and the old sounds and voices..they all start to overtake you, yourself, overwhelming. You hate yourself for your inability to feel and claim them back. Claim back the people from the past to come to here and now. To talk to you, to spend time with you. 

Inability to bring back the smell of grass and wild bushes in the morning, with the morning dew on them. Inability to bring back the softness of the wild purple trumpet flower petals. Inability to bring back the scent of the persons you loved. Inability to bring back the voice of the sparrows in the prairie when there were no built environment. Inability to bring back the silence, the quietness of the neighborhood without the annoying motor exhaust sound. Inability to bring back the butterflies on your stomach when you fall in love.  

The helplessness feeling that you have, that reminds you that you cannot do anything to change the present and send the past to the destination: now, is vain. The emptiness inside, to know that even if you scream, crawl, roll over, tantrum, yell, mock, angry, rage, spit it out, nothing will change. And moreover: who will and should be the RIGHT subject of your anger?

Is it God? Time? Weather? Circumstances? Fate? Destiny? Some Divine Beings?

In the end, just like a child who is in a mess after tantrum, you look around and realize that it is a kind of hell that you are dealing with. Knowing what you want, but cannot make anything about it. Not after the tantrum. Not after the harsh rebellion. No efforts will be useful. No matter how hard you try. 

And imagination. It is something that exists only in your mind, in your brain. It might be triggered by memories or experiences or it might be simply there because you think of it at the first time. Triggered or not triggered by empirical reasons.

And the dangerous about imagination is that it may go wild. Untamed. 

It is when you can make them real. When you imagine of a future condition you don;t know how to make it real. Feeling the helplessness of wanting it come to pass. And it didn't. You are trapped with the now. The future is still out of reach, despite the beauty of the imagination. When you project the picture or motion picture in your head, in your mind. Just to find out that they stay there.

Again, you will feel like that tantrum child again. Helplessness. 

In the end, "Everything under the Sun is meaningless". Just like the Bible says. Call me an existentialist, I may be one. 

*I Googled the two words, and surprisingly, found a quote about both by Cioran (just heard of him). The pic's there on the top right. 

Cinemas marathon and lonely planet

Two days in a row, Europe On Screen, 8 movies in total, 4 in a row each day during the first weekend of May. Plus one on Monday. My record so far is 5 movies in a week when Adi and Ois and Ile had a visit in Jakarta last January, so I guess I just broke it. I was interrupted by the Manila assignment, so I lost Delicacy and The Hunt and some others, but I resumed on Sunday, with two more movies. A total of eleven movies in two weeks. Not so bad.

Let's see what I've watched these last weeks:

1. Tom Sawyer - Goethe Haus [Germany]
2. Clara - Italian Inst [Switzerland]
3. Gilded Cage - Erasmus Huis [French]
4. Love is all you need - Erasmus Huis [Danish]
5. Alfie little werewolf - Goethe Haus [Dutch]
6. Klitcshko - Goethe Haus [Ukraina]
7. The final cut - Goethe Haus [Hungary]
8. Philomena - Goethe Haus [British]

9. I want you - Erasmus Huis [Spanish]

10. The eternal return of Antonis Paraskevas - Italian Inst [Greek]

11. My best enemy - Goethe Haus [Austria]

I must say, Philomena is the best, followed by Gilded Cage and My Best Enemy. Klitcshko is surprisingly not boring, and Alfie is great too, with strong characters. Clara? Nice one, but bad experience in Italia Inst, because the screen and sound system is really inconvenient.

Klitcshko, is rather emotional to me. The Chernobyl, the downfall of the Soviet Union: glasnost and perestroika, these were on the world news during my childhood. These K brothers are people of my age, we share same world historical period. Newspaper during my time, my readings, I shared similar news with the ones they read those years. 

I remember the same feeling watching the historical pictures on this movie with the feeling when I visited Berlin. About the fall of the Berlin Wall. The world had been changed so fast within a blink of an eye, if hyperbolic is allowed. And I, the world's citizen, witnessed the period, live in that period.

Besides, it is a movie about the life of two great boxers. I remember my father so much. He was crazy about boxing. When there's boxing on the television, no one would dare to ask him to be away, not even an inch from the television. How he commented on a boxer's jab, or stupid strategy, or stamina. How he screamed or yelled or rolled and or goggled his eyes when his favorite boxer did a mistake or missed a target. "That's it! Hit him! Beat him! Use your right jab, stupid! Knock him out! Aargh!!!", were so normal those days when there was a boxing match on the television.

Back to the story line, the brothers mention in that documentary that their mother is their sun, and they are the satellites. It struck me a chord. I suddenly had this thought, that I am a lonely planet, figuratively, since my sun is not there anymore. All in a sudden. And I realized, not just a lonely planet, I am an orphan, no father and no mother. 

I've been thinking about them a lot these days. Dad's birthday was 23rd of March and Mom's birthday was 22nd of April, so their birthdays were only a month apart. And to face the reality that we remember their birthdays, two months in a row without the presence of any of them, hurts.

I didn't write anything about it. Nor did I put sentimental status on my Facebook, Twitter or the likes. Not during their birthdays, not during Mother's Day. 

No. It's my feeling, my personal loss, my wound. I suppose no one likes to expose their wound in front of others. Err, well some exhibitionist extrovert might like to do so to attract attention [more than enough evidence of this in the Facebook]. But I am an introverted person and I would never want people pitying me or say sorry or so. Or they become melancholic about my story. I rarely feel the needs. 

If I am a lonely planet, then there I am. I have no need to announce it to the world. What would I expect from making it a public statement and public consumption? Useless for them, useless for me.  So..I wouldn't want to waste my already deficit time stock on that. Writing them is better, at least I spit it out from my mind. And my brain cells can work on something else more useful. For me, for others.

(4 + 11 May 2014 Post )

"Demons"

By: Imagine Dragons

When the days are cold
And the cards all fold
And the saints we see
Are all made of gold

When your dreams all fail
And the ones we hail
Are the worst of all
And the blood’s run stale

I wanna hide the truth
I wanna shelter you
But with the beast inside
There’s nowhere we can hide

No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed
This is my kingdom come
This is my kingdom come

When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

At the curtain’s call
It's the last of all
When the lights fade out
All the sinners crawl

So they dug your grave
And the masquerade
Will come calling out
At the mess you made

Don't wanna let you down
But I am hell bound
Though this is all for you
Don't wanna hide the truth

No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed
This is my kingdom come
This is my kingdom come

When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

They say it's what you make
I say it's up to fate
It's woven in my soul
I need to let you go

Your eyes, they shine so bright
I wanna save that light
I can't escape this now
Unless you show me how

When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

Do not pitying me

I hate being pitied. That indicates a gap of ..fate? fortune? power? 

I don't like to be reminded how lucky you are. How wanted you are. How good you are.

I don't like to be reminded how unlucky I am. How unwanted I am. How bad I am.

This sort of contrasting comparison that I hate. 

So just leave me alone.

Do not pitying me. I have been walking my fate and will keep on walking. You were just a dot in my path that I flicked when I moved on.

And I am moving on.

You know what my favorite thought is? That you don't have that power over me.

I'm a dreamer, I am a nomad, I am a traveler. And you're just a dot in my path.

No posting in February

So..here I am. After all that happened in February, I did not write anything. I almost forget that I have this blog indeed. Trouble with sleeping, heavy workload, and so many distractions hampered me from writing and reflecting. Less reflecting. That is a sign of no good things. Reflecting and praying come in a package. Secluding one's self out of this material world and move into immaterial world. Less reflecting, less writing, less praying. That is exactly what I did in February. Which explains why I visited this blog no more in February.

It's December again

The last month of the year
Gloomy days
Rainy days
Advent period
In waiting

Yesterday was Mom's 3 months passing away
I just can't believe it
Time passes by so fast
Feels like she's still away on a very long trip
And never given us any news
About how is it up there

I'll write again, be back soon

12.12.13

Today is 12.12.13. Yesterday was 11.12.13. A triplet that would not happen again this century.

I forgot what I was about to say, so I thought I'd just posted this now, over a month after.

Unspeakable

It's not sadness, nor grief nor sorrow. It was something else. A feeling of..like there's a hole that you know will stay that way forever, because nothing can replace what supposedly be there. I don't know. The first Christmas without all parents. It's not loneliness either. It's a feeling. A sort of unidentified feeling. People say that words, written words are very limiting. Words can't say what we feel completely. Something we think, we feel, it's there, but it's unspeakable. People say music speaks thousand words and I can relate to that saying. I know that when I hear a composition, I can relate myself, relate my soul, emerge my soul in that composition, and be somewhere else, not in the here or in the now. Like the composition talks, but only to my inner self, speaks to my mind, and I found not enough words to describe. Beauty, not that, it's more than that. Amazing, awesome, not those either. It's deeper. It's just..unspeakable. And I see no points of attempting to type it down. You see, I'm failed here. I give up.