a little hello

I dreamed about you.

I don’t quite remember what it was. I just remembered you, in bed, in your grey brown shorts, in your olive green shirt, you wore a hat, a cap, the cap I knew so well.

You looked at me and your smile just said everything you’d wanted to say, everything you’d been trying to say, all those years, all those years.

I dreamed about you.

Months after months after months without even a little hello, a little acknowledgement of existence, but I know you’re still there, still alive, still surviving.

I don’t blame you. How can I. I was the one who left. I was the villain. The poison. The bitch. I took everything away from you. Everything everything everything.

Delete me. Eliminate me. Annihilate me. I don’t blame you. I won’t blame you.

You’re a better person than I am.

You’ll always be a better person than I will ever be.

The sun kissed my skin when I woke up and for a moment I wondered why I was so happy.

Canggu Beach, Bali

turbo: that snail is fast

TurboThis one’s a bit dated (holy hell, I haven’t even reviewed Keanu Reeve’s Man of Tai Chi), but here goes.

Turbo is okay. It’s by DreamWorks. What can you expect? It’s not as high-quality as Pixar’s movies (except for Cars series. I really don’t understand why Cars is so famous. Perhaps I’m just not into that sort of thing, and oh my God, Pixar is releasing Planes, a spin-off of Cars). Honestly, it’s one of the best summer movies I’ve seen this summer. Granted, it’s a cartoon, or more precisely, a 3D animation. Apart from its catchy summer tune (seriously, “That Snail Is Fast”?), it tickled my fancy for a while. Or rather, it slapped my face at the right time.

I didn’t write the quote down, but there was one moment early in the movie when Chet (Turbo’s brother) talked to Turbo (whose real name is Theo) about how Theo’s urges to be fast was unnatural. Hello.

I’m guessing with the subplot of Theo being bullied (by other garden snails, not the racing ones, which are so awesome!), it strikes me as trying reinforce not only that notion that even underdogs can strive for (and succeed at) that one shot that’s make or break, but also about knowing what we really are in life (and by that I mean our urges. And by our urges, I mean, well, you know, our sexuality). So, moral of the story: be gay, people!

That's Los Angeles

That’s Los Angeles

Anyway, Theo got involved in some freak accident that made him fast. Like, superfast. Like, even faster than race cars. Then Chet, ever the skeptic (or probably overprotective of his brother) asked, “What would you do if you woke up to find your powers have disappeared?”

Theo (or Turbo) thought for a moment and said, “That’s why I’m going to use it as much as I can while I still have it.”

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! And I think I cried.

Well, the quote is somewhere along those lines anyway.

That being said, I know it’s an animation, I know it’s fantasy, I know it’s far-fetched (you’d think a snail that fell into a car’s engine would automatically be barbecued), but here’s what bothers me so much from that movie:

I rollerblade. And holy hell, rollerblading on asphalt is a pain. It destroys the wheels. So how in gay hell can a snail’s undersides not be destroyed when he races 500+mph on asphalt? Seriously? How?

Snail, speeding on asphalt.

Snail, speeding on asphalt.

the time has come

Now listen to me, I have thought this over. I have thought this over long and hard.

At first I was going to release a bottle into the sea. There would be a piece of paper inside the bottle, my wishes would be written on that piece of paper. It would contain everything, but cryptic enough so that no one, not even those closest to me would understand what I was trying to say. Yes, I can be that secretive. Surprise, surprise.

But then I had this great epiphany: releasing a bottle into the sea would be the same as littering. As polluting.

I thought of using glass bottle instead of plastic, but it still felt the same.

“Why don’t you just etch your wishes on a plank of wood?” he said.

That sounded like hard work. Too much work. So maybe not.

It’s difficult to be an environmentalist and drama queen. Decades ago, people released bottles filled with wishes into the sea, balloons filled with wishes into the air, without any sense of guilt. But today, oh no no. I don’t eat meat nor support the meat industry for environmental reasons. And yet I pollute the sea? Won’t someone think of the fishes!

Maybe I should end my life. For some people, life begins at thirty. For others, it’s the end. One less human to worry about. Just throw myself into the sea and let the fishes take care of me. Hey, that rhymes!

But this was what I thought: I thought, on my thirtieth birthday, I would stare at the open sea, ruminate on my life, my failures, my accomplishments, my love lost, found, lost again, heartbreaks, heartaches, those whom I’d hurt and nurtured, those who had become my friends and my foes, my allies and my enemies, the bridges I’d detonated as I watched from afar and sang and played my harp, and I would write my wishes down.

I would list my wishes down on a piece of recycled paper, or on the back of a used paper, or perhaps a shopping receipt, then I would throw it into a trash can. Why? Because wishes are trash.

Ancol Bay, photo by yours truly.

Ancol Bay, photo by yours truly.

Then I received another great epiphany. there I was, sitting on the side of the beach, the breeze from the sea kissing my face and the pale sun was hanging there, shining but not too harshly, and the tropical Jakarta air was not too moist and not too dry. There I was with my wishes and I thought how superficial they were. How shallow they were. How unworthy and pretentious.

Why? Because my life, as ruined, as destroyed, as damaged as it was at that point of time, felt absolutely perfect in the sense that I didn’t need anything else.

I realized it ought not be the end, and I have to believe in it. And I do believe I am right, because I have thought this over. I have thought this over long and hard.

* This post was supposed to be published on my birthday several days ago, but I placed it in my draft and posted a haiku instead. I felt something was missing. Then this prompt from the Daily Post came and I remembered I had the second epiphany. I put it in, and it all fell into place.

i dream of satan

This is getting frequent, too frequent, he thinks.

He can’t remember exactly what the dream was – he’d remembered it when he woke up right after the dream, but he was too tired and dozed off again.

All he can he remember is that in the dream, there was a figure sitting in front of him, veiled under opaque white fabric, and then that fabric was yanked off and he saw the figure, he saw the face, the skin wrinkled and droopy and sagging and almost red, but maybe that memory is tainted by the images of the devil he’s seen in movies and paintings.

All he can remember is the realization that there’s something familiar with the face: that face was also his, with the skin wrinkled and droopy and sagging. That face was also his.

Then there was a sense of dread when he woke up, but as he dozed off again, he half-wished he could dream the same dream again, or the continuation of the dream.

His other satanic dream was two weeks prior. It involved falling down a rabbit hole. Like Alice. Down, down the rabbit hole. He was clinging to a figure. The figure was wrapped in opaque white gauze. As they were falling down, he unwrapped the gauze in panic, he unwrapped it and unwrapped it and unwrapped it until the thing beneath the gauze was uncovered and he was clinging on to it, and he woke up screaming and crying. He woke up alone.

When one dreams, one dreams alone. And that dread, the dread that comes from dreams, it can never be shared.