samedi, octobre 28, 2006

to mom / on losing friends


Darlings, there will come a time when a sissy gay boy just needs to:

  1. talk his feelings to Mommy Dearest and get a pep-talk from the only woman in his heart
  2. get rid of the people who have messed around with his fabulous aura
Those two people, Darlings, are my former boyfriend and my former best-friend. Yes, my former best friend since 2001. I guess you all know how the plot went on, right?

I don't give a damn if you guys fuck each other brains out or stay just as friends, because it's your right to be happy. It is your right to look at me like a childish being enraged by blind jealousy, naive and unforgiving.

But it is also my right to be happy, stay alive, and keep my sanity.

And for getting rid of you, I am celebrating with a bottle of bittersweet Cristal Brut champagne while listening to Tina Turner's When The Heartache is Over and I Don't Wanna Fight. Doctor's orders while healing these double backstabbing wounds.

Cheers, Darlings.

Here's to Mom, my Wonder Woman:

Tina Turner - All The Best

Open Arms
~Tina Turner~

Ask me no questions
I'll tell you no lies
Come to me when you're down
I'll give you friendly advice

I'll be your avenue, your trusting ear
Release your deepest secrets
I'll be sincere
It's an age old situation

There's nothing to fear
Whatever life throws at you
Your friend is here
Right by your side

When love leaves you cold
Lies have been told
I will be there with my open arms
Hurting inside

Please don't hide the pain
I will be there with my open arms
I know what you're saying
I been there myself

Promises withstand
They left me for someone else
Then the tables turn
A lesson I had to learn

I can't put my fingers cuz
Girls, my fingers have been burned
It's an age old situation
The message is clear

Whatever life throws at you
Your friend is here
Right by your side

dimanche, octobre 22, 2006

monologues


Same taxi pool. Same route home. Only you bought one withered red rose from a girl in veil who sold flowers for .05 Euros two years ago.

What time was it two years ago? 23.00? And what time was it? 20 minutes ago?

A withered red rose. The prize for loneliness. Where is the veiled girl now? Probably already away in a village in Indonesia celebrating Eidul Fitri.

Same taxi pool. Same car. Same push on the gas pedal when you dropped them off, Yuska. What was it? Up to 30 km/hour without changing to the second speed? Getting your engines roaring.

You were trying hard not to look back and you succeeded. Never knowing what direction the two-years-ago was heading and the 20-minutes-ago was heading.

The two-years-ago? You don't know and you don't want to care anymore. But the anger and the pain live on.

The 20-minutes ago? That's more complicated.

Was it the same taxi that the two-years-ago and 20-minutes-ago used? Probably. What a coincidence.

Different taxi pool. The 20-minutes-ago guy kissed me. 3 months ago. On my birthday.

And the thoughtful gifts you gave them, Yuska. What? A wallet to replace the old, weary one for the two-years-ago and a rosary for the 20-minutes-ago?

A rosary. You bought it in Notre Dame de Paris. In the same church where you prayed for his happiness.

Did you mention about your happiness too?

Surely you said that watching him being happy would make you happy too, right? One of the oldest cliches. And yet, you feel that feeling in your guts. Not butterflies. Probably some are butterflies. But what are the others?

Did the lump of stone you tried to swallow earlier make it down your throat and into your digestive systems? Are the systems trying to digest it now? Is it the one? That feeling?

Forget the two-years-ago. You didn't even cry for him.

But you did for this 20-minutes-ago. Like the night when Mommy Dearest knocked the teak door of your room terrifyingly asking why you were crying eventhough you tried to die the sobbing down by pushing the pillow to your face?

Like tonight. When you cried while speeding down the driveway. Going somewhere between 80 km/hour and 120? Asking for guidance from a fairy tale character created from the minds of Hans Christian Andersen.

The ever-so-lonely Little Mermaid.

A character so familiar to you, right? A character you often identify yourself with, other than the ugly duckling. What did the Little Mermaid do?

Did she got lost in her dreams? In her fantasies? In her love?

She gave everything she had in exchange to a human life, to just see and get a glimpse of the human male she had longed for. And when she did see him, she had to give even more.

Sure, there were options. To claim the love that she might have never had, or just go back, knowing that the little scars would still be there for the rest of her long life.

But instead, she wished her human male and his wife a peaceful farewell and kept the wars inside her heart. And ended her life. The Gods, as wise as they are, turned the princess of the sea into the princess of the winds.

Princess, were you that gentle breeze that kisses my sweaty forehead on hot sleepless summer nights? Princess, were you that wind that helped my airplane stay flying safely to Paris and back? Princess, were you that cool air that nano-secondly dried my tears after the 20-minutes-ago left?

How many times are you going to repeat Gracie Hart's line from Miss Congeniality 2 of knowing "how it feels to get hurt and feel your heart get ripped open because you finally took a chance on that relationship and it ended up confirming your worst fears that you aren't worth loving or worth caring about"?

Or Ultraviolet's view that "these moments, as beautiful as they are, they're evil when they're gone"?

And yet you went all swooned up when you saw Lake House or The Simpsons when Seymour Skinner got it going with Edna Krabbapel.

You went all swooned up when you listened to your friends talking about their relationship and wondered why you had none.

You can listen to Anggun's Juste Avant Toi 200 times and still go back to zero when you put on Frank Sinatra's Embraceable You and realized that the only one you can slow dance with is your imaginary friend.

Your imaginary friend whom you created out of loneliness and despair. Nobody would know about this thing.

The 20-minutes-ago. Will it be the last time? Did you really mean it when you replied to his thank you message? How about the jealousy? Will you keep the war to yourself? He has too much to think about. Your nagging will only make it worse, right?

Like Tori Amos, you that that "it could be / a life-long thing / but I didn't know that we / we could break our silver-lining" and that you're "so sad / like a good book / I can't put this / day-back / a sorta fairy tale with you".

Another picture with you inside the frame. Slowly (or fastly?) fading. Until you're there no more. Isn't it always like that with you?

Fading.

Until you're there no more, Yuska. No matter how intense you deal with self-mutilation or self-mangling or self-slicing. It's just going to help you fade away quicker.

Fading.

samedi, octobre 07, 2006

friends forever / at 17


It's Ramadhan here in Indonesia (being the country with the biggest muslim population in the world). Our muslim friends celebrate the month by fasting the whole day, starting from the dusk until dawn.

In the dawn, they break the fasting (hence the word "breakfast", I suppose). And we have this get-together tradition that has been going on for years. We usually have a rendezvous once every two months, and this time, it is also to break the fast.

And it was a nice time. It felt like Christmas, when I can get together with the people I love. Although this time, not many people came, but it was fun.

We chatted a while, laughing so hard that, had it been indoor, we would be kicked out. But thank goodness it was outdoor, so no one complained (to our faces). And suddenly, it hit me that most of the times, we were discussing things like our jobs and marriage (yes, one of our friends just got married secretly!! But she promised to throw a party on the 18th).

And I don't know... I felt a bit depressed at that time. I mean, how time really flies by. One day I got accepted at the best university in Indonesia, proving to myself and others that I am quite intelligent. And from that day forward, I met the people who eventually became my good friends and compadres for four years and more. Until now. It was the year 2000.

Six years ago.

And now we're talking over dinners about our past, present, and future. What the mysteries of time (and God) hold for us. What we will be in the near future and not-so-near future.

Each of us have problems. With work, with love... And that night we poured our hearts out to each other and sort of prayed for each other.

And that's what friends are for, right?

That's what friends are for.

Guess which one is me!

I heard this song in The Simpson's. It was a very catchy sad song. So I decided to share it with you. After all, this is the little scars. I haven't been writing any scars for the last few months.

Oh, and I am so sorry for not being able to post the Burberry Golf jacket and Burberry sling bag I bought... yet.

Believe me, I'm definitely going to put their photos here.

Janis Ian - At Seventeen

At Seventeen
~Janis Ian~
I learned the truth at seventeen
That love was meant for beauty queens
And high school girls with clear skinned smiles
Who married young and then retired
The valentines I never knew
The Friday night charades of youth
Were spent on one more beautiful
At seventeen I learned the truth
And those of us with ravaged faces
Lacking in the social graces
Desperately remained at home
Inventing lovers on the phone
Who called to say come dance with me
and murmured vague obscenities
It isn't all it seems
At seventeen
A brown eyed girl in hand me downs
Whose name I never could pronounce
said, Pity please the ones who serve
They only get what they deserve
The rich relationed hometown queen
Married into what she needs
A guarantee of company
And haven for the elderly
Remember those who win the game
Lose the love they sought to gain
Indebentures of quality
And dubious integrity
Their small town eyes will gape at you
in dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts received
At seventeen
To those of us who know the pain
Of valentines that never came,
And those whose names were never called
When choosing sides for basketball
It was long ago and far away
The world was younger than today
And dreams were all they gave for free
To ugly duckling girls like me
We all play the game and when we dare
To cheat ourselves at solitaire
Inventing lovers on the phone
Repenting other lives unknown
That call and say, come dance with me
and murmur vague obscenities
At ugly girls like me
At seventeen

Ma photo
Nom :

Yuska's debut nonfiction, Gentlemen Prefer Asians: Tales of Gay Indonesians and Green Card Marriages was on LitHub’s 2016 list of Books to Read on Pride Month. OUT Magazine puts Gentlemen Prefer Asians on its must-read list and describes it as “Graceful and sensitive, yet pleasingly acerbic when necessary.” 

He's the founder and editor of Faglandia.com.