Hunger

Have you ever felt so hungry but you didn't eat in time to fulfill the hunger, so you're just not hungry anymore? This is probably the best and closest thing to describe my life right now. Straight after high school, I was hungry; I was ready to eat, I was ready to do my work experience and to prepare myself for university. But something came up so I was late for dinner and didn't end up eating anything because it's way past dinner time. I thought that maybe I could still eat, maybe I could just start university soon, but the want is no longer there.

I guess it's true when people say the longer you put it off, the more put off by it you'll become. Everything has its time and when its dragged out for long, it kind of just loses its pa-zam. Especially when everyone you know is out there living their uni lives and you're stuck at home writing in your blog. From where I went to school, it was expected of you to immediately start uni or college straight after high school graduation. A gap year is usually frowned upon and not highly recommended. So when I show up to retrieve my IB Diploma, back in the foyers of my high school mid-January, my teachers were a bit confused as to oh, I dunno, why I'm still here. "I'm just gonna really miss it here, Miss. I don't want to leave just yet," said no one. Ever. I guess now I realise why they never spoke highly of gap years: it's because your brain gets fried and you'll never want to continue education again. That's true, but mostly the former part of that reason. Well, a fried brain is a bit of a hyperbole but my point is still intact; I haven't done anything productive in the last month and a bit, that included any form of writing, which I'm supposed to love doing. And I have lost all motivation to start this new "job" I'm supposed to have next month. I think all of this is happening because I just really want to go to university. 

My friends are complaining about how long and boring their lectures are, how early they have to get up and all the tasks they have to complete. In all brutal honesty, I'd rather be doing that than making my Sims go to uni. It's even harder when I have a madre who keeps wanting what her friends' children has for me. "So and so's daughter/son got a scholarship to study in Tokyo. It irritates me how you can't get that?" I know my time will come eventually, I can't put off university for so long. One way or another, really. But like I said earlier, everything has its time. Maybe in a year or so, I'd rather be working because all my friends have earned their degrees. So me, just having gone through Freshers Week or O-Week wouldn't be much fun. However on the other side of the spectrum, everything has its time, and my time for uni will be later on. I guess that's the light at the end of the tunnel. That's the moral of the story, boys and girls.
Meh.

Leap of faith

I did the most unexpected thing yesterday: I saved a life! Out of all the infrequent morning walks I take, this happened. Not that I'm saying it in a bad way. In fact, I think it has made a pretty good start to the new year.

My mother decided to join me on yesterday's walk and in hindsight, she was a big help. We walked the usual route, and half way through, I heard what sounded like a cry for help. I had to search where the sound was coming from until I saw him peering out from a fence of what seemed to be a house/small office type lot. My eyes quickly scanned the situation he was in: shivering, panicking and alone with the exception of his sibling's corpse. He was squeezing through the gap to escape the pungent smell but even if he did succeed, a metre-tall drop to the sewer awaits him. If the fall won't kill him, the cold water will.

So I thought fast.

I quickly grabbed him in my hands and the old lady who lives across gave me a plastic bag to carry it home. "Carry it home", you say? Yes, I say. Because I saved a kitten.

I could not tell you how fast I ran my way back home with the abandoned kitty in my hands. The sound of it's sad meows chipped away bits of my heart and I thought, "I'm going to take good care of you." Now, I'm not the biggest feline expert but I am well aware that the kitten's mother could've been out looking for food. However, after seeing his sibling being swarmed by flies, it's hard to imagine that their mother being gone for only a few hours. It must've been days.

Isn't there something wrong with this story? There is something very wrong. Firstly, these kittens were inside someone's lot. Next to the distressed kitty, lies a plastic plate of milk. Clearly, someone within the the lot placed it there - the gaps of the fence were too small for an outsider to do it. It's likely that the kittens' mother gave birth to them there and left but the lot's owner was able to just ignore that? To the point where one of them died? 

Another weird thing I notice was the reaction of the old lady that lived across from the lot. She was walking back from getting groceries when she noticed my mum and I assessing the kitten's situation. She said that "there were five of them but three died within the last few days." Isn't that so strange? She clearly knew but has done nothing about it. This was what saddened me the most.

As I was running back home with the kitten in the bag, I heard things from "why are you carrying a dirty cat" to "that is so disgusting". I was clearly labeled as, what Indonesians would say, aneh, because I was saving a kitten. Because I was saving a life, I was classed as weird. I'm sure if it was a human in need of rescuing, it would be the opposite. Or not... The doubt I have scares me.

Is it because they are afraid of responsibility? Or some commitment/association issues? Over a cat? It makes me really sad. What struck me was that I started to imagine what the little kitten was going through: the mother's abandonment, death of sibling in front his eyes, hunger, the cold... And I couldn't let it stay there. Maybe that's what the other people didn't feel... Sympathy.

Once I brought it home, my domestic helper's 3 year-old son was excited about a new critter in the house. He wasn't scared nor was he disgusted - it was just another living and breathing thing... Like us. After my mum repeatedly said how the kitten had no mother and no milk, it shook something in him. All of a sudden he burst out crying and everyone rushed out thinking the kitten scratched him or something but really, he was just sympathizing for the kitten. The exact opposite of the people I encountered.

And this is a 3 year-old boy -  who can barely concise a proper sentence - feeling sad for the kitten. A boy who has hardly stepped out into the real world and with very little influence from other people, in fact. It just goes to show how much people can change you as you grow up. Mold you and shape you into society's "norms". It isn't bad but it sure isn't good, either.

I felt shunned from my own neighborhood but it's okay because I got something good out of it. I took the risk of taking him in and after only a day, Leap is looking much better.

Frozen: the amateurish review

It's been a while since I watched a Disney movie in the cinemas. Just earlier this week, I watched the highly anticipated Disney animation Frozen for the second time. And let me tell you: it's been quite some time that a movie made me genuinely laugh and smile (either that, or the type of movies I watch are seriously depressing).

I watched it without high expectations - I haven't even seen the theatrical trailers, either - and knew nothing of the plot whatsoever. From only looking at the posters I expected some generic story about an evil ice queen, thawing the town/land/kingdom of eternal winter (Narnia, anyone?) and having an underdog save the day. But boy, was I way off. Spoilers from here on out, people!

Like most Disney animations, I expected nothing less of the characters being able to break out into a song at any given moment. The songs were so immensely happy I found myself literally grinning from ear-to-ear. Some songs even gave me the chills.. Idina Menzel's voice acting as Elsa was so spot-on that it actually scared me. And I mean that in the best way possible.

Apart from the perfection that is Christophe Beck's scores, there is the plot. No plot is perfect, of course, and Frozen is no exception. However, after watching the 90-minute animation, you eventually forget the minor plot holes and find yourself praising over the beautiful moral of the story instead of nit-picking the fact that Elsa's dress isn't actually ice so how-could-she-possibly-make-it kind of thing.

Speaking of Elsa, she may have just been my new favourite Disney character. Why? Because she's a badass. Ok no, in all seriousness though, I have only one word to describe her: misunderstood heroine. Alright, so that's two words.. Hush now. For those who have seen the movie (or the trailers), you'll understand me when I legitimately thought that she'll turn into a stone cold biatch as the movie progresses. Here we have Princess of Arendelle, struggling to cope with her "icy magic". She wasn't cursed but rather born with it. Whether it's genetic or what, we'll never know. But it doesn't really matter, does it? Here is a perfect example of brilliant pacing! Anyway. As a child, Elsa accidentally hurt her sister Anna with her powers and a series of events involving self-isolation follows soon after. Cue the song "For the First Time In Forever" where Anna expresses her excitement of opening her then "shut tight" gates of the castle.

lost her parents during her teens, she was never taught on how to control her powers. Thus leaving her vulnerable and scared of her own abilities. So when Anna pushed her too far during her coronation night, which lead her to uncontrollably unleash her powers and harming civilians, I totally understood! I feel you, Elsa gurl. What happens after struck me: Elsa flees and retreats to her handmade ice castle whilst Anna runs after her, hoping to resolve the accidental icy winter. And guess what? They didn't need men for that. I love it!

Sure, there was that cutsie Kristoff and Hans but they didn't rely on them for "true love" or a kiss to awaken them from deep slumber or whatever it is that seems to happen a lot. In fact, this movie was like a big middle finger to the renaissance Disney films - these two sisters were able to survive without them, because the real true love they had was each other. Best.

So I thank you, Disney, for showing the kids of this generation that you can't marry someone you just met because that's ludicrous. Thank you for adding a refreshing twist to your movie 'formulas'. I look forward to the next vague one-word title feature films.

I don't even know

The premise is that the eldest sibling gets the most pressure. He/she has to set the right examples to the other siblings, be a good role model and everything else that requires to be the "perfect child". But what happens if he/she "screw up", in the eyes of his/her parents? Hypothetically speaking, the parents would now look to the other child and subconsciously instill pressure to be what the elder sibling wasn't. Hypothetically speaking.

So that premise flies out the window. It is the youngest that is faced with high expectations. And I happen to be the last out of three kids.

Fortunately, till this day, I have never really received the downside of being the youngest. Especially thirteen years younger. It's always been easy: I get called 'cute' most of the time, I never got into fights with my siblings and of course, I get all the attention in terms of being spoilt. Now I get plentiful of attention, but more of a... 'closely-monitored' attention.

See, my siblings and I don't live under the same roof. We're actually thousands of miles apart. So I consider myself an only child sometimes. Everything was ok (as listed above) just until recently. Maybe it's been happening way before I noticed it but now that I'm pretty much idle on most days, I'm starting to realise this icky thing called pressure sneaking in. And it's not even the good type.

My siblings' behaviour recently is also a catalyst to the crawling of the poison. Without having to explain the details (or else I'll be here for days typing it out), long story short: my parents are heavily disappointed. So disappointed to the point where I can feel the drag in the room. Their disappointment lightens up as they realise that they have one daughter left that could possibly make up for what their two other children did, or didn't do. Eighteen years of having it easy finally caught up to me.

From academic choices to boyfriends to something as little as reading the right books are being scrutinized. I appreciate the concern from both of my parents and I understand wholly where they're coming from. They feel that they've messed up somewhere along the way in raising my elder siblings and so they only want the best for me. But they shouldn't have to live through the regret of every parental choice they had to make with them.

I don't blame my parents, I really don't.

Accurate

"You know that feeling?
When you're just waiting
Waiting to get home, into your room,
close the door, fall into bed,
and just let everything out that you kept in all day.
That feeling of both relief and desperation.
Nothing is wrong.
But nothing is right either.
And you're tired.
Tired of everything, tired of nothing.
And you just want someone to
be there and tell you it's okay.
But no one's going to be there.
And you know you have to be strong
for yourself, because no one can fix you.
But you're tired of waiting.
Tired of having to be the one to fix yourself and everyone else.
Tired of being strong.
And for once, you just want it to be easy.
To be simple . To be helped. To be saved.
But you know you won't be.
But you're still hoping.
And you're still wishing.
And you're still staying strong and fighting,
with tears in your eyes.
You're fighting."

Highly observants

There’s just something about the way my mother eats her meals. Sometimes I’m just so engrossed and bemused by the way she makes eating more than a necessity; she makes it a passion. Passion, in this case, doesn’t necessarily mean doing it in an obsessive way, just with love. Throughout my whole sixteen years of life, I’ve never seen anyone do quite the same as what my mother does.

Telling others exactly what I mean with this is difficult, let alone trying to write about it. Well here’s me, hoping the power of words will describe my fascination:

Dinners aren’t a usually a big deal in my household – if you want to eat, you may join, if not, feel free to continue on with whatever it is you’re doing. And my mother doesn’t tend to join us a lot; if she did she would come late to the dinner table. She’d take out a plate, place a handful of rice and sit in her designated seat. The rice wasn’t much compared to say, me or my father, but it was enough to fill her up. She then starts with a protein; say chicken or fish, then work her way to getting the vegetables. Here comes the interesting bit: my mother doesn’t care what anyone thinks of what her dish looks like. It may look like the most unappetizing dish in the history of unappetizing dishes but it doesn’t seem to bother her. As long as it tastes good, it pleases her.

My mother loves ‘kecap’. My father detests it. Just the sight of the thick black liquid is enough to make my father squirm a little. In every dish my mother eats, she would ask for kecap. She says, “it makes the dish more alive”. Frankly, I agree with her on that. I have inherited my mother’s love for kecap. Now, a person who likes kecap tends to not like anything of the opposite, like ‘sambal’, and vice versa. Just like my father. My mother’s an exception. She douses on both of these taste enhancers every time. Once everything was on her plate, she starts to dig in. Not in a grubby, stuffing the face, dig in… But in a decadent way. Whatever it is she’s eating, it looks delicious. She makes it look delicious and I believe that’s exactly how one should eat. Perspiration starts to appear on the bridge of her nose the deeper she goes into her dish. But that doesn’t bother her; it didn’t look gross, as one might think. To me, it looks like she’s enjoying herself a lot with something as simple as a dinner. 

Finally, half way through the dish, my mother stands up and walks over to the glass container that’s filled with kerupuk. She grabs a handful not only for herself, but also for both me and my father. It’s the one thing we all like. She puts the kerupuk into her plate and pours some kecap on top of it. The snap of the kecap bottle cap is quickly followed by a sudden simultaneous crunch. 

In a way, I'm sort of envious. I can't deny that I've tried to mimic the way she eats because I've tried countless of times only to be disappointed at the end result. You're probably thinking "eating isn't a piece of artwork - why should you care of how it looks?" and frankly, I don't really know. I guess some things are better left unexplained.

Of course, I haven't told my mother this. I'm afraid if I do, she'll be more conscious about it and maybe even stop and change they way she eats. I could ask her how she manages to do that but maybe some things are better left alone to enjoy rather than imitate. Because really, if I do, I'll be no more than just a copy and who likes those?

Happy birthday mum - here's to the best original of you there ever was!

xo,
S

Metamorphosis

My mother always tells me that I don't have enough friends. Compared to her, who is the biggest social butterfly there is, I am just a caterpillar. Like the caterpillar, I prefer to stay on the ground and make do with just a few essential necessities. Necessities being my closest friends.

I don't know whether it's a preference or I just don't like going through the phase of making new friends (maybe it's both) but I'm someone who would rather have one really good friend instead of a thousand "friends". Maybe I should credit my father who recently admitted to me that ever since I was a pacifier-sucker, he rarely sets play dates for me amongst my fellow toddlers. And he did this for one reason only: my environment is the most influential thing there is.

This is proven by what I've noticed at home. My domestic helper's 2-year-old son, Abi, used to be the sweetest most adorable thing until he befriended my other domestic helper's son. He is about 2 years older, super mischievous and just not nice in general. Gradually, I noticed Abi imitating his new found friend and not the kind of things you'd like to see anyone imitate for that matter. It dawned on me that my dad made the right choice: in sacrifice of me having childhood friends, I became somewhat a "good person". I was never heavily influenced by anything apart from my parents and maybe my sisters. TV and games was never really any trouble to me because I never took it as anything more than just fiction. And fiction should definitely stay fiction.

I make it an effort to cut out the negativity from my life and that usually stems off from the wrong people. I've been called a bitch plentiful of times because of my non-sugar-coating attitude: if I don't like you, I won't talk to you and I won't kiss your ass to create a friendship as real as Paris Hilton's boob job. So, sure. I don't have many friends. And I guess I'm picky in this area of my life. But it's only because I want to surround myself with good nature and maybe learn a thing or two from my environment. Eventually that caterpillar will morph into a butterfly, but a butterfly with stronger, defined wings. 

xo,

S