Dear Bloggie, my whole foots are hurt. Four kilometers walking back and forth from my modest-yet-unpaid boarding room to the working place in the beginning and the end of my days probably during the rest of this working month until the payday is come, is actually quite exhausting.
I don’t mean to whining about this all, thou. Just want to share something funny about my recent life, running fatigue-ly –mentally and physically- through tearful-depressing- resentment-and-broken-yet- effort-fully optimistic- soundtrack of my life . Do I regret about all of this? Wait, let me configure it out…
No. At all.
Even though now I feel like I’m at the edge of my mental endurance, but I still have hope and aiming high. I still can see that light, somewhere in the end of this slimy-dark-bumpy road. Please, if you think that this obstacles can ruin my dreams, then that would be you –who-the-fuck-ever-you-r epic failure.
Sekarang gue bisa lebih tenang menjalani hari-hari tanpa harus terlalu khawatir dengan kondisi nyokap dan adek gue. Setelah kegelisahan dan kekhawatiran yang panjang terhadap keadaan kesehatan mereka, akhirnya gue sadar bahwa, Tuhan pasti memberikan mereka sejengkal dari atap perlindunganNya, karena Tuhan tau mereka adalah orang baik. Jadi gue berpikir, apapun yang akan terjadi nanti, itu pasti adalah bagian dari jalan hidup mereka dan juga gue yang udah Dia gariskan.
For some people mungkin gue seolah hanya talking the talk without walking the walk. Well, you have seen the the tinniest surface of my skin deep, and that far you only can go. Shallow. Well, who am i to judge? That’s your right to think anything without being bothered to knowing the truth.
I really hate everybody now, Bloggie. Well, not hating actually, just feel sick about. How can they be so disgusting? I mean, I don’t know. I have no words to describing it. But one thing for sure, for now, I’m sick and tired with this kind of people that i already met: The fake-plastic people, the ass-licker, the opportunist, the skeptical, the judgmental, the prejudice, the pretender, the-my-life-is-happy-but-actually-deep-inside-I’m-mentally-miserable, the cheater, the swing-voter, the I’m-oh-so-sophisticated, miss and mister bossy pants, the snob one, the backstabber, the liar, the self-centered, the hypocrite, mr. Big-ego, the-I’m-smarter-than-you, the-I-know-everything-about-you-from-the-way-you-talk, the shrink-wannabe, the greedy one, the misfit Diva with slutty attitude and ect, including some parts of my self (I solemnly admit that I’ve once or more, had became few things that i mentioned before. So yes, I disgusted my self back when I realized that i done that things such as: big-ego, I’m smarter than you, the shrink wannabe, my life is happy but actually miserable inside, prejudice and also SOMETIMES judgmental. ) For being so weak, and easily freaked out by the things that have not been happening yet (well, some parts are already happening actually, so how couldn’t I be worried?). For I have been degraded my self by asking a favor to some –I-don’t-give-a-damn-about-your-problem- people to temporarily lend some air so I can breath for a while, even though it’s my concern about the life of the people i care about.
But thank God some people who actually really care about me are keep supporting me morally. Even though they only give me a pep talk and ensure me that everything will be alright, that’s just means a lot to me. They are the person that I would never forget until someday I die. They are here with me, the guidance at this ‘lost’ moment of my life.
And things are slowly getting better now. I enjoying my job so much. At least I earn money from the things that i love the most. Cooking. It is therapeutic and also soothing my weary soul. And I think I was wrong about the biggest passion in my life. At the first time I though it was writing. Well, writing it is. I still have big passion in writing for sure, that wouldn’t be a mistake, but… Somehow, cooking makes me feel like, liberating you know? It feels like heaven when I can make people smile when they enjoying the dishes I’ve made. There’s no pressure at all. I just doing it, creating something new without being afraid to be rejected. But when I’m writing, there are some times when I have to think very hard, and sometimes get stuck. But not when I’m cooking. Everything flows just like a river. A joyful moment, feels like I’m going back to my childhood memory. A very enjoyable activity without afraid in being dirty. So maybe that’s the tiny difference of two things that I passionate so much. To me, cooking is some kind of an edible arts. We create it with love, passions, creativity, sense of beauty, and the sensitivity of tastes and flavors. We can create something new and delicious from any ingredients, depends on how we mix and matching the taste and also the characters of seasonings and goods. There is no limitation in cooking. It’s all about instinct and the precise measurement of feelings.
Well, until here for now. Gotta clean up my sweaty shirts pants and face. Then going to sleep. I just lost hope with my ability to sleep earlier. It doesn’t come no matter how hard I try to get sleepy. Bollocks.
See you later, Bloggie. Nice to know that you still want to hear the story of my life. You should come and see my messy room now… I mean, literally. Dirty clothes are heaped at the corner , magazines are scattered under the table. This is not me. (Yeah I know! I’m the sloppiest one among people when it came to sharing the room. Well, the problem is, sometimes people tends to deny that they are also messy. Bitch.) I mean, when I’m living alone, I always like to keep my room clean an neat. I’m not lying, it’s clinically proven, I just haven’t had my day-off. And I’m too tired to wash it right now, and also don’t have money to buy the detergent.
One question, bloggie, do you think I ever been dishonest about my self? If I do, then I suppose to hate my self up-most. Because I do hate so much about dishonest and unreal person. Is ‘trying-to-filter-my-words-so-nobody-get-hurts’ can be categorized as dishonesty?
But then again, I ain’t angel. Unconscious mistakes are human’s best friends. But those who-do-the-things-that-to-me-are-disgusting-topmost-that-i-already-mentioned-above consciously, surely ain’t my best friends. I’d better be alone. A rare friend. That’s so far he/she can go.