On your quest to find someone to copulate with.

You see, I have a good friend who went by the nick of "Blacky." Because he is black, duh. Not black racially, more like the kind of black that would make him a really good spy as long as it's dark outside. But not black racially.

So, me and Blacky, we have been good friends for nine years and counting. But throughout those nine years, never have we liked the same girl, not once. The girls that I thought were cute, he deemed as flat-chested. And I saw the girls that he thought were cute as "meh." If you actually took the effort and made a Venn diagram between "Girls that I thought are cute" and "Girls that Blacky thought are cute," the intersection would probably be smaller than a typical ant. Granted, every now and then a girl came and she managed to cozily sit right in that very little small intersection, but that kind of girl was only born once every millennial or so. And even then, neither of us would want to date that particular girl. We just thought of her as cute, but not date-able. This taught me that I and Blacky have a different view of what our ideal partner should have.

Every single one of us have a mental list of how our ideal partner should look like and behave. I used to have a REALLY detailed list on what my ideal girl should have (heck, that list even contained what my preferred color of nail polish that she should use is). In fact, the list was so detailed that I was sure I would never be able to find the girl in question. I truly believed that I would sooner die a virgin before I could meet a girl satisfying 80% of that list.

God probably saw that list and decided that it would be funny to create a girl according to it. And funnier to let me meet her. So I did. I met this girl that was a somewhat perfect match of the list and, obviously, I fell for her. And I fell for her hard. To make the long story short, she fell for me too. But little did I know that she had her own list of what an ideal guy should have according to her. And I apparently was not that guy. So suffice it to say that she fell for me but not as hard as I did for her.

You see, the problem with making a too-detailed list of what your ideal partner should have is the fact that that person would be rarer than unicorns and you would be very very happy when you finally meet that person. You would literally look up to them and put them on a pedestal and cherish them. And when you put someone on a pedestal and you look up to them, they will have no choice but to look down on you. Keeping a relationship between two people is hard enough even without the handicap of one person looking down on the other.

It is perfectly fine to make a list of what your ideal partner should have, but it would be much wiser if you leave some room for flexibility. While finding someone to copulate with is definitely not an easy task (worst case scenario you can always just pay for it), it pales in comparison to finding someone to daily copulate with without getting bored. However, just remember that our quest to find someone to copulate with really comes down to a simple compromise between searching for the person we think we deserve and the person we're willing to settle down with. May you find the person that you would happily copulate with every day and night without getting bored!

On birthdays

And no. I'm writing this definitely not because today is my birthday or because I have any desire to remind you guys of it so you guys can congratulate me. Okay maybe a little bit.

On a more related note, the very idea of birthday really baffles me. I mean, Why do people congratulate someone on their birthday? It's my birthday today and God damn it, it feels really weird having people congratulate me just because I've survived another Earth's revolution around the Sun. 

I mean, sure, living on Earth is getting harder with each passing day, but I still don't think it's a feat worthy to be celebrated or --even more ridiculous-- to be wished happiness upon. Maybe when someone passes 80 year old or whatever the average life expectancy of human being is, then I believe it's appropriate to wish them a happy birthday. If they have just survived a mere 20 Earth's revolution around the Sun, wishing them a happy birthday sounds more like a mock than anything else.

While I think that the subsequent birthdays following your first are mundane and not worthy to be celebrated, I personally believe that your very first birthday (the day someone's vagina had to be cut and you were shoved head-first through it) is really important. It marks the start of your journey and is the origin of all the stupid birthday wishes you will get starting the following year. 

Not only do I find the idea of celebrating birthday weird, I find the very celebration of birthday even weirder. In some culture, people having birthday have to cut a cake with candles on it and to shut their eyes and pray their wishes before blowing the candles off. In another culture, they have to eat noodles with several red boiled eggs in it (coughchinesecough) because they believe that it is the secret to longevity. I bet you that the first person who convinced his friends that red eggs were the fucking secret to longevity actually sold eggs for a living. 

I hate thinking of myself as growing older, it's probably more appropriate for me to see myself as leveling up. But instead of getting power-ups or amazing abilities every time I level up, the only perk I get is increasing lower back pain every time I wake up from my prolonged sitting period. Ugh.

Meter per Second novel giveaway!

I apologize for the unwitty post title. It's 1:15 in the morning and I need sleep like an alcoholic needs his beer. 

So yeah, as I wrote in my previous post, we are holding a giveaway for Meter per Second. Here is what you need to do:
1. Post the above picture to your Instagram,
2. Mention me (@nyankent) and Debbie (@debbiewidjaja), put your creative interpretation as to what the title Meter per Second actually means,
3. Put #meterpersecond hashtag so we can easily filter your post from other nerds who talk about physics,
Only three most creative answers would get a free copy of Meter per Second novel, so
4a. Dance and enjoy the book if you get a free copy, or
4b. Cry if you're not lucky
5. Or you know, you can just go to the nearest bookstore and buy one yourself.

Start guessing and post away! (Twitter works fine if you feel you're too cool for Instagram and don't have an account)

An obligatory first post as a novelist

Contrary to the popular belief about how lazy of a person I am, I have been making a to-do list since pretty much forever (if you consider a year as forever). And like most to-do lists, I cross the stuff that I managed to finally finish. Among the pile of stuff that I had written on that to-do list (and believe me, calling it a pile of stuff is an understatement), finally I can cross off one entry that has been sitting there forever. 

And no, I don't think I'll be able to cross off the first entry, EVER.

So yeah, for some of you people who decided to actually make your followers-to-following-ratio look worse by following me on Instagram and Twitter, you guys might actually know that I can now call myself a novelist (albeit a half one). If you had told me two years ago right before I started writing that I would be a novelist, I would have rammed your head into a fucking wall and dialed a mental hospital to pick you up. But here I am, alive and more novelist than anything else. 

First of all, allow me to say my gratitude (feel free to ignore this paragraph). I thank Debbie for believing in my writing skills (albeit it was mediocre to say the least). Despite being born and raised in two different circumstances, I find tons of similarities between her and myself that I can safely call her my doppelganger. Debbie is an amazing writer and an amazing person (doesn't this mean that I am also an amazing person?) and although she rarely blogs, you can check out her writings at debbiewidjaja.tumblr.com. Why she uses Tumblr as her blog still remains to be one of my life's biggest question.

Picture courtesy of @abcditto, whom I used this picture of without permission, I'm sure he won't mind

If you read Meter per Second from the front, you will get a girl's point of view and if you read it from behind, you will read from a guy's point of view. I wrote it together with Debbie (who had actually published three novels before this one) and thanks to my inferiority complex, I actually felt inferior (duh). Doing something for the first time sucks. And unlike blogging --of which you guys can just press "close tab" if you feel that watching a video buffering is more fun than reading my blog-- people had to buy the novel in order to read it and by God I was scared. I was scared that people wouldn't like my writing, and it occurred countless times to me to just stop writing and curl in the corner of my room.

So a few months before Meter per Second was released, way back when I was still writing it, I told someone close to me that I was currently writing a novel and that it was a romantic/comedy teenlit. To which I blatantly admitted that I wished to write something heavier, like a detective story or a dystopic world. Moreover, I told her that I wasn't comfortable with writing in Bahasa despite having been using the language for 21 years. And I told her about my fear of people not liking the novel because of my writing. To which she casually responded with "Everything else does not matter, what matters is the fact that you tried and you started." And although I no longer am close to her, her words ring every time I doubt my own writing. 

As this is my first novel (unlike Debbie), I'm sure that my writing is somewhat inferior compared to hers. But that does not discourage me from improving and writing even more. Therefore, for any of you who had bought Meter per Second, I deeply apologize if it doesn't please you and I humbly ask you to help me improve by tweeting me if there is anything that you think needs to be changed from the way I write.

With that said, we (I and Debbie) decided to hold a giveaway for Meter per Second, click here for more details!

On relationship v 2.0

Ugh.

Yes it's four in the morning and I haven't slept a wink. And scientists have deliberately proven that the amount of time you've been awake is linearly proportional with how melancholic you are, which implies that I am now melancholic as fuck. My melancholy-level probably ranks somewhere between Adele and Taylor Swift right now. And I'm writing about something that -- if you're older than 15 year old -- you're very well accustomed to. About relationship.

You know, sometimes I find myself wishing that relationships were more like lego, that if it doesn't work out we can just knock it down and start all over again without anyone getting hurt.

Or if that was too much, I wish that at least soulmates were born with matching tattoos ingrained so that girls don't have to kiss so many random frogs before one of them miraculously turn into a prince charming (hopefully before they catch a salmonella). Or so that guys don't have to run around the city with a glass shoe in one hand looking for his princess.

Or heck. If that was still too much, I'd even settle down with an Android application that lets me find people with similar view of life as mine. 

But we know life doesn't work that way. People come and people go. And when there is a "hello," a "goodbye" lurks somewhere around the corner. 

You see, I once stumbled upon a definition of love that I think is the most accurate. 

So what does being in love feel like? 

It's like there's a button in front of you that says, "Press this for a 1 in 100 chance to get free cookies." But every time you press it, a bird comes and shits on your head. Yet you still press it. 

You still press it because people who managed to endure all the bird shits and actually get a cookie tell you that it's the BEST cookie they've ever had. They tell you it's so good that they'll willingly get shit on 99 more times in hope of getting another cookie.

So despite all the bird shit, you keep pressing.  

But we've hurt people and been hurt by others. We've pressed the "button" countless times and all it does is just summon a bird who will shit on our head out of nowhere. Yet we keep pressing the button hoping to get a cookie.

There will come a point in your life when you can't help but stroll through life and find your heart wondering "Is he/she the one for me?" to everyone you run into (especially if they're the opposite sex). And as you get closer to them, you find your heart whispering even more, "Hey, maybe I can live with this person."

And this is actually way more dangerous than it sounds like. You don't want your heart convincing you that you can live with them. You want your heart screaming at you, "HEY LOOK, I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT THIS PERSON. CAN'T YOU JUST MARRY THEM ALREADY?" This world is full of fish, so don't settle down until you find a fucking mermaid. 

If you just settle down with a person that you THINK you can live with, you'd just end up wasting the rest of your life. Oh yeah, and not to mention you're exponentially increasing the world's population (which apparently is already WAYYYYY OUT OF HAND).

Don't be afraid of pressing the button, the amount of bird shit you have been enduring will be nothing when you finally get the cookie. 

Let's be more skeptical

Pre-reading meditation: Before you continue reading, ask yourself these: 1. Am I a sensitive little prick? 2. Am I an overly religious person who -- despite how logical a religious argument is -- will snap at it? 3. Do I hate thinking?

If you answer any of the above question with a "yes," please stop reading and go watch Spongebob or do something else. Just, please. Stop reading.

Have you brushed your teeth today?

If you're like tons of other people, chances are you would smear your toothpaste all the way along your toothbrush, just like the above image.

Now I don't know about you, but I smeared toothpaste all the way along my toothbrush because the guy in the TV commercials did so. Or probably because my parents taught me how to brush my teeth and I kinda went along with it. Whatever.

Turns out, that we don't actually need to put THAT much toothpaste to brush our teeth. Apparently, the amount of toothpaste we need to use daily doesn't exceed the size of a pea. Which is like a measly 1/3 of the amount of toothpaste we use daily.

Mhm. That's the amount of fluoride we actually need daily.

The guy in the TV commercials put that much toothpaste because: 1. it looks good on TV, and 2. it makes you buy more toothpaste, which nets the company more profit, duh. I'm not saying that the way most people brush their teeth is wrong, it's just sub-optimal.

I'm writing this because I had just attended a motivational seminar and by God, I was more scared than I was motivated. I heard the speaker said one little obnoxious phrase and IMMEDIATELY afterwards my eardrums were pierced by the chanting of hundreds of people repeating what the speaker had just said. It was eerily scary how easy it was to manipulate Indonesians (or brainwash people in general).

When did we start believing everything? When did we stop asking questions? When did we stop being skeptical? Or maybe we didn't fully stop being skeptical, we simply stopped being skeptical at some things. As George Carlin put it, "Tell people there’s an invisible man in the sky who created the universe, and the vast majority will believe you. Tell them the paint is wet, and they will have to touch it to be sure.”

We're skeptical all right, but we're skeptical at the wrong things. We accept things that we cannot immediately prove. We shut our eyes close to the things that we do not understand and we stop asking questions. In this instant generation, we demand everything to be instantaneous. Instant noodle, instant rice, and instant pudding. Not only food, we also demand instant answers. But really, there is no such thing as "instant." Even instant noodle takes three minutes to cook and instant pudding takes 10. When we do not get instant gratification as per our questions, we lose interest and immediately stop asking questions.

I know it's cringe-inducing, but since I'm already talking about skepticism, I might as well talk a little bit about religion. Despite what I had written above, I am a christian (by that I mean I believe that there once lived a guy who died for my sins). And I know, unless some freaky genius invents Doraemon or time machine, I would have no way to prove that a bearded guy actually died for my sins, and that's where faith comes in. I get it and that's fine.

But there are things that we should be more skeptical about. (I know I'd get some angry feedback simply by writing about this. Ask me if I give a damn). For example, let's go and read Malachi 3:10-11.

10 "Bring one-tenth of your income into the storehouse so that there may be food in my house. Test me in this way," says the LORD of Armies. "See if I won't open the windows of heaven for you and flood you with blessings. 11 Then, for your sake, I will stop insects from eating [your crops]. They will not destroy the produce of your land. The vines in your fields will not lose their unripened grapes," says the LORD of Armies. 

If you have been a christian for quite some time, I'm sure you're fully aware about tithing. Direct your attention to verse 11. I don't know about you, but to me, it sounds awfully close to extortion. Anyway, for Christians, it has become so natural (as natural as smearing toothpaste all the way along our toothbrush?) to freely give 10% of our income. And that's fine, it's your money and I couldn't care less about the way you spend it. But there are kids out there that give 10% of their income pocket money that they receive from their parents to the church. I mean, IT'S NOT EVEN YOUR INCOME, WHY ARE YOU TITHING IT. And again, please be aware that I don't think children tithing is wrong or bad or negative in any way (I have to bold this because apparently some people, as indicated by the below comment, are butt-hurt by this post). I just think that there are so many children tithing without knowing what tithing actually means (they just do it because their parents do it or whatever). And them tithing without knowing what it actually means is bad.

I'm not asking that we all should immediately be more skeptical. All I'm asking is the next time you brush your teeth, remind yourself this: "Something doesn't immediately become true simply because you have believed in it for forever."

If my writing somewhat offended you (despite the warning I had put at the start of this post), please know that I sincerely apologize and I meekly ask you to go fuck yourself.

The unpublished scene of meter per second

   Di benak gue, yang namanya Student Council alias OSIS itu pasti dipenuhi dengan orang-orang yang super duper kuper, kacamataan, cupu, dan pada umumnya ngga seru. Oleh karena itulah, ketika Sir David mencalonkan gue untuk menjadi ketua OSIS ketika gue kelas 11, respon yang pertama terlontar dari mulut gue adalah: "Lo gila ya Sir?"

   "Excuse me?" ujarnya sambil memiringkan kepalanya dan mengarahkan telinga kanannya ke arah gue. Entah kenapa gue ngerasa kalo Sir David benernya denger apa yang gue barusan omongin dengan jelas, ia hanya memberikan gue satu kesempatan lagi untuk mengganti respon gue.

   "Um. Maksud saya. Anu. Eh. Itu kan nominasinya bakalan di awal tahun ya kan, Sir?" Gue memutar otak gue dengan cepat, berusaha mencari alibi yang cukup kuat supaya gue ngga dinominasiin jadi ketua SC. "Kucing saya ulang tahunnya di bulan Februari, Sir. Dan saya harus siapin pesta ultahnya." Kalimat yang barusan gue lontarkan terdiri dari dua kebohongan, 1. Kucing gue, Garfield, ultahnya bulan Juni, dan 2. Garfield udah mangkat waktu gue kelas lima SD.

   Sir David mengangkat salah satu alisnya. Mukanya kini begitu dekat dengan muka gue sehingga gue bisa melihat dengan jelas satu helai rambut berwarna abu-abu yang mencuat keluar dari hidungnya. "Ini bukan permintaan," ujarnya sambil menyipitkan kedua matanya. "Ini perintah.

   "Sir percaya kalo Agus punya kemampuan leadership terpendam yang luar biasa dan spektakuler dan brilian dan dan--" Ia memutarkan tangan kanannya dalam lingkaran kecil berulang kali seolah mencari kata yang pas. "Magnificent. Sir ngga pingin Agus menyia-nyiakan bakat terpendam Agus. Sir pingin Agus berkembang." (Sebulan kemudian gue baru ngeh kalo Sir David maksa gue jadi ketua SC karena dia taruhan sama guru-guru lainnya mengenai bisa ato ngganya dia mengangkat anak yang malesnya luar biasa [alias gue] menjadi ketua SC).

   Dihadapkan dengan bertubi-tubi alasan seperti itu, gue hanya bisa tertunduk dan mengiyakan "permintaan" Sir David. Gue mencalonkan diri menjadi ketua SC dengan harapan murid lain (yang lebih pinter dan lebih cupu dan lebih memiliki panggilan hidup untuk menjadi ketua SC di masa SMAnya) bakalan diangkat jadi ketua. Oleh karena itulah gue super kaget ketika voting demi voting menyibakkan nama gue.

   Sebuah suara terdengar menggelegar di speaker masing-masing kelas, "...Augustin, Augustin, dan voting terakhir adalah... Augustin lagi! Augustin Limanto telah terpilih menjadi ketua SC Unity International School untuk tahun ajaran 2011-2012!" 

   Kampret. Gue harus menghabiskan masa-masa SMA gue yang sangat berharga dan penuh akan kemudaan ini dengan menjadi ketua SC. Bleh.

   Sekali lagi gue ingetin kalo SC di benak gue itu diisi dengan orang-orang cupu yang berkacamata tebel. Dan gue hampir bener. Di antara lautan manusia yang berkacamata itu, terlihat ada dua sosok cewek yang -- kalo kata Afgan -- mengalihkan dunia gue. Kedua cewek tersebut rupanya berasal dari kelas 10 dan Sir David memperkenalkan mereka sebagai sekretaris dan bendahara SC tahun ini.

   Sang sekretaris berjalan ke arah gue dan memperkenalkan dirinya sebagai "Rhea sekretaris yang suka baca komik yang hanya mendaftar menjadi sekretaris karena dipaksa oleh Filia Graciel." Gue merespon dengan memperkenalkan diri gue sebagai "Agus ketua SC yang suka bubble tea dan martabak" dan menanyakan siapa Filia yang ia maksud.

   Rupanya Filia adalah salah satu dari dua cewek yang berhasil mengalihkan dunia gue di ruangan SC yang penuh dengan manusia berwajah kalkulator itu.

   "Halo, gue Filia. Filia yang suka main gitar," katanya.

   Meskipun nyokap gue selalu ngajarin gue buat menatap mata lawan bicara gue, mata gue dengan sendirinya bergerak ke arah bawah lututnya. "Halo, gue Agus yang suka main sepak bola. Lo maen futsal juga?" tanya gue spontan. Meskipun tadi Filia dan Rhea mengalihkan dunia gue, it's safe to say kalo sekarang betis Filia mengalihkan semesta gue. 

   Rhea terbahak. Dan dengan terbahak, maksud gue TERBAHAK. Suara tawanya terdengar begitu keras sampai semua orang yang ada di ruangan SC berhenti berbincang-bincang dan berpaling ke arah kami.

   "Gue ngga main futsal!" Suaranya yang terdengar agak kesal bikin gue berpikir kalo gue udah memberikan kesan pertama yang buruk. "Gue mainnya sepak takraw," ujarnya sambil nyengir lebar-lebar.

   Ah. Cewek yang punya selera humor yang bisa tertawa pada betisnya sendiri. Maybe I'll get along with her, pikir gue. "Jadi," ujar gue memulai basa-basi gue, "gimana pelajaran so far?"

   "Capek nih. Semangat masih semangat liburan, kayak males mau ngapa-ngapain gitu," kata bendahara berbetis godzilla tersebut.

   "A body at rest tends to stay at rest," kata gue mengulang satu-satunya hukum fisika yang gue inget. "And a body in motion tends to stay in motion. Hukum inersia biasa. Badan lo masih kebiasa liburan, makanya lo mager." Rhea (yang suka baca komik dan daftar jadi sekretaris hanya karena dipaksa Filia Graciel) mengangkat alisnya dan bersiul.

   "Hukum Newton yang pertama? Gue sama sekali ngga nyangka kalo lo se-geeky ini waktu gue pertama kali ngeliat lo," kata Filia sambil tertawa kecil.

   Gue mengangkat dua jari gue. "Hukum Newton yang keDUA."

   "Pertama!" teriak Filia balik.

   "Kedua," jawab gue, berusaha menjaga kekaleman gue.

   "Pertama!"

   Gue langsung menarik keluar hape gue dan meng-google tentang hukum Newton dannnnnnnn rupanya itu hukum Newton yang pertama. Shit, malu juga, pikir gue. Gue langsung menempelkan hape ke telinga gue berpura-pura ada yang menelepon gue dan ngibrit kabur.

   Di saat gue kabur, dalam hati gue berpikir, Ah, cewek yang punya selera humor yang bisa tertawa pada betisnya sendiri DAN pinter. Maybe menjadi ketua SC ngga seburuk seperti yang pertama kali gue bayangin. 

You mad?

If you are looking at this picture coincidentally, move along please.

But if you are looking at this picture because of my novel, too bad. Gue ngga mau pasang foto Debbie makan martabak di sini, ntar bisa2 rumah gue dia bakar.

Date a girl who reads

I don't usually post something that I didn't write myself. But I found this online and I figured it was worth reposting. And no, I'm DEFINITELY not doing this because I was too lazy to write something new. This little piece of gem is titled "Date a girl who reads." 

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes. 

You guys can find the original blogpost here:
http://littlemissdorkette.tumblr.com/post/3118512524/date-a-girl-who-reads-by-rosemarie-urquico.

AND YES I PROFOUNDLY APOLOGIZE FOR NOT POSTING MY OWN WRITING BECAUSE I HAD SOMETHING URGENT TO DO. AND NO, THAT URGENT THING DEFINITELY IS NOT WATCHING CAT VIDEOS ON YOUTUBE. THANKS, BYE.

Instagram for Dummies

Disclaimer: This is not sarcastic by any mean. Any offense done or taken is probably fictional, coincidental, and not directed to any one of my readers in particular.

For those of you who are cool enough or ignorant enough to not know what Instagram is, it basically is a "social media" that lets you upload a picture (usually a picture of a meal or a selfie with the occasional scenery/inspirational quote) and put a filter on it. It doesn't matter if you have no sense of photography (like I do), by using Instagram's filters, your pictures would look like it was taken by a pro photographer.

With that being said, I always thought that Instagram was stupid, like taking pictures of food before eating it, or taking pictures of yourself with stupid filters. That is, until I decided to join Instagram myself. And then now I totally think that Instagram is retarded. The worse part is the fact that I, too, now indulge in these retarded activities. Every time I have a fancy meal, I'd stop and think about SHOULD I INSTAGRAM THIS SO PEOPLE KNOW I'M GETTING ENOUGH NUTRITION?

Anyway, after being on Instagram for I guess around a month and endless research about accounts with lots of followers, I have designed a fail-proof method on how to use Instagram for dummies.

1. Be pretty
   I know that society's view on the word "pretty" is really distorted. But I still think that this is probably the best advice I can share on doing Instagram. I followed around 100 people on my Instagram and there are accounts who have more than a thousand followers simply by being pretty. Well, and probably by repeatedly taking a thousand pictures of selfies, uploading the one they think strangers on internet would think is good enough to tell other creepy strangers to fap to that one picture you uploaded. But still, being pretty helps.
   
   
2. Take lots of selfies
   Apparently, being pretty by itself is not enough. You also need to take lots of selfies. And I do mean LOTS of them. It's a good measure, just in case your face wasn't clear enough in your previous 100 selfies. Not to mention that your followers/stalkers would like to take a closer look at your face from different angle.
   
   
3. Hashtag everything
   Now we're talking about the very soul of Instagram. I once saw a picture of a motherfucking bubble tea with like 23 hashtags. Below are the actual hashtags I found:

   #instamood. #webstagram. #bestoftheday. #instafamous. #instacool. #instafood. #foodpic. #instadaily. #instaphoto. #instaday. #foodporn. #igers. #igersoftheday. #likeforlike. #like4like. #photooftheday. #picoftheday. #urth. #caffe. #boba. #green. #tea. #black. (GOD, MANUALLY TYPING THESE HASHTAGS TOOK FOREVER).

   Or worse, I've seen a selfie with like 30 hashtags or something. Some of the hashtags are like: #girl. #girls. #asian. #asians. #selca. #selcas. #selfie. #selfies. #woman. #women. etc. It took me 10 seconds to ponder whether these people are doing social media or learning plurals. 

   More reasons to do hashtags: people all around the internet wouldn't be able to tell if you were an Asian girl if you didn't put those hashtags on your selfie. 

   Even more reasons to do hashtags: hashtagging nets you strangers on internet ogling over your picture followers. Who cares if people around you thought you're an attention whore as long as you get followers, right? Right? Right.
   
   
4. Take pictures with everyone
   If your friend looks as cute as you, well, no harm done. If your friend is uglier than you, HEYYY YOU ARE NOW THE CUTEST GIRL IN THE PICTURE. If your friend looks better than you, well, just pray like hell to God that osmosis applies to beauty, too.
   
   
5. #nofilter, #nomakeup, #justwokeupface
   This will be my last advice on Instagram. Take 100 selfies with MINIMAL (underline this word) makeup, upload the one that you think will net you compliments (which will tremendously boost your self esteem), hashtag it with #nofilter #nomakeup (feel free to throw in 30 more hashtags), and finally bask in your followers' empty compliments on how pretty you are even without any makeup or any filter. (Optional: tell them you're not pretty so you can get extra compliments)

I wish you the best of luck in your quest to conquer Instagram by seeking approvals from strangers all around the internet and happy hashtagging! 

On surviving long distance relationships

Pretty much sums up how you feel when you're in a long distance relationship.

Disclaimer: I can either be the most legit person on Earth whose advice on long distance relationship you can actually heed. Or the person whose advice you can safely ignore. It's up to you.

If opposites do attract, I must be whatever the opposite of long distance relationship is. I've only had two relationships in my entire life. And both of them were LDR (writing "long distance relationship" over and over again proved to be too much for a lazy person like me). With those two failed relationships, I can safely say that I went through the necessary prerequisites before actually writing this.

Like most (if not all) of my writings, I got this revelation when I was taking a shower. I probably should start taking 10 consecutive showers every time I'm running out of stuff to write. Anyway. 

For those of you who have never been in an LDR, trust me, it sucks. Its suck-ness ranks somewhere between 'drinking an orange juice right after brushing your teeth' and 'rubbing your eyes right after cutting an onion.' Below is a crash course on why LDR sucks.

You can't hug them. Hugs are great, but -- unless some freaky physics genius invents a way to transfer body heat between two people separated by oceans -- we're stuck with giving a cyber hug that's cute and all but doesn't accomplish any shit in satisfying our sexual urge. 

Less thing to talk about. You grew apart from them and conversely, they also grew apart from you. As if communicating via texts is not hard enough, distance gives you another reason to hate your relationship. You get to meet new people, they also get to meet new people. The intersection of the Venn diagram between "people you know" and "people they know" grows smaller with each passing day. One day, you wake up and suddenly realize that you run out of things to talk about and inevitably just stop talking to them altogether.

I can probably go on and rant about a dozen more reasons on why LDRs suck balls. But this post is not about how distance (and time) sucks. It's more about conquering them and getting your happily ever after.

During my quest on purifying my body (read: shower), I realize that humans are bad spontaneous-decision-makers. That's why we make plans before going on a trip. Or why we write down our to-buy list before going on a grocery shopping. 

I thought to myself, "Why not apply this to LDRs?" Maybe we can apply the same principle to LDR. Maybe we can write a plan before walking into an LDR. But instead of a plan, it's a letter. You might think that it's a letter addressed to them. It's not. It's a letter to our self. A reminder for our future self, to be exact. 

Here is an example of a letter I wrote to my future self about imaginary (note the stress in this word) long distance relationship. (The girl in question might or might not exist).

Is it weird that I find my eyes secretly inching towards you in the crowd? 

Is it even weirder that somehow I manage to find you without fail? It's like you got put in a 1950's television where everything is black and white while you are gleaming with your colorful clothes and cheerful expression. 

Is it weird that I forget what else my smart phones can do when you're busy?

Is it even weirder that I had this micro urge to duct tape your phone to your hand so you can always reply to my texts? (I know that I'm probably starting to sound like a fucking creep, but in my defense it was only a really small urge.)

Is it weird that I find myself checking my phone every 30 seconds hoping for a notification? 

Is it even weirder that every time my phone vibrates, I immediately turn into a fucking cheetah and grab my phone in the speed of light? If Pavlov was still alive, he probably could redo his experiment with me and a vibrating phone instead of a dog and a bell.

Is it weird that I can probably watch a two-hours-documentary-movie about you and probably be too busy to go to a restroom for even once? 

Is it even weirder that I live in a constant fear of unconsciously spouting something that I only learned from stalking you online?

Is it weird that I get this irresistible urge to pinch your cheek every time you smile?

Is it weird that I want to play with your hair every time you flip it?

Is it weird that I get butterflies in my stomach every time I see you?

Is it weird that I grin like a retard every time I hear your name?

Is it weird that I wish there were more than 24 hours in a day just so I can have more time talking to you?

Is it even weirder that I wish humans didn't need to sleep so I can have like 8 extra hours to talk to you?

Ever since I met you, I feel weird. But then again, if this is what being weird means, I wouldn't mind being the weirdest person on Earth.

By writing a letter to your future self, you're immortalizing both a moment and the feeling you had at that exact moment. And by the time you're separated by thousands of miles as well as oceans and you're running out of things to hold on to, you can always reread the letter from your past self and remember how you really felt while you were still seeing each other. When you feel like letting go, remember the reasons why you held on for so long. 

To anyone who's currently having a long distance relationship, I wish you Godspeed.

On why I started writing

No one else could have said it better than Hemingway.

You guys wouldn't believe how many people have already asked me as to why I started writing. (It's zero. The answer is zero, guys.) If only some of you guys had asked me about why I started writing, I could have started this blog by saying "I'm writing this just to clear out the confusion that some people seem to have developed about my writing," WHICH WOULD HAVE BEEN WAY COOLER THAN THE WAY I STARTED THIS POST. I hate you guys.

To be honest, I had no idea why I started blogging. Some people seemed to get the idea that this blog was my first blog. It's not. I have already tried blogging for at least three times and the first two failed miserably. 

If I had to take a guess, I probably started blogging because I once read that women like a guy who is funny (and for some reason I thought that by writing, I could be funnier). Half a year after I started blogging, I read another article saying that a guy's smell matters more to women than his appearance. If I had known about this earlier, I probably would have started working (instead of writing) to buy a shitload of perfume. 

But now that I have been writing (somewhat) constantly for more than a year, I have developed a Stockholm Syndrome; writing is now an essential part of me. You see, one of my writing friends think of writing as breathing. I wouldn't exactly go as far as to say that. If I had to come up with an activity as to what writing is to me, I would probably describe it as peeing. Unless you go to a hospital every two hours and ask a doctor to extract pee from your bladder, peeing is necessary for everyone. I can hold my pee in for a few hours but then I would eventually have to relieve myself in a restroom. Peeing empties my bladder the same way that writing does to my brain. 

I love writing. Writing is fun; it lets you see the world in a whole new way and gives you a mean to describe it in 26 different letters. 

If you're a woman, you should try writing. It's the only way to talk without getting interrupted. And if you're a man, you should also try writing. It's like being a God minus the blasphemy. 

With that out of the way, I'd like to share some of the stories that I've written in my writing classes I took in college.

My (un-edited) first short story: here. (Warning: I wrote this in a writing class during my second semester in college and it sucked. Read ahead at your own risk.) I wrote this story because I had to (not because I wanted to) and I wrote most of it in dialogue. At that time, I didn't even know that description existed. I actually really like the idea behind this story and I swear one day I'll rewrite this story with proper punctuation.

My second story: here. I wrote this in a writing class during my last semester in college and I actually kinda like the way it went. I was told to write a story and for some odd reason, I wanted to write a love story. While the end product isn't exactly the happiest love story, I'm pretty satisfied with it. It's a story told backwards in alternating guy's and girl's perspective.

As for the title of this blog, it was inspired by a poem that I also wrote in my last writing class. The poem goes like:

An Egoist's Rant

I woke up to the sound of
high-pitched beeps. The kind of beeps you heard
when you bought something from a clothing store
and the cashier forgot to ring it
so you walked past the sensor with the tags still on the clothes. 

Seven beeps, or was it eight? were all it took to wake me up. How I managed to
count them, was one of my many useless talents God threw in when He made me.
I lay in bed for a few more seconds, before deciding that the annoying beeps
outweighed my urge to stay cocooned under my cloud-like blanket. 

I threw my perfectly white blanket with a large black coffee mark that wouldn't disappear after countless number of laundering (I gave up counting somewhere after 30 times) off me
and walked toward my alarm clock. I slapped it right on its head. 

I dragged myself into shower
undressed and twisting the shower knob precisely. 

30 degree to the left. I started as the shower head spat water and grazed my skin.
Cold. Freezing cold. 

I started counting at the top of my head. One, two, three...Before I managed to count to ten, steam from warm water started to fill the bathroom. 

Did I say warm?
Sorry, I meant hot. Mordor-hot.Another 10-degree-twist to the right, and that should do it. 

As I stood under the now-warm water like a writer waiting for inspiration to hit,
my mind began to wander about how many people could afford a shower
like this. Like the one I was having.
Children in Ethiopia had to walk for six straight hours to collect some water to drink,
surely they couldn't afford a shower like this. I silently thanked the Captain Obvious in my head. 

My mind began to wander everywhere else as I mindlessly wash my body.
I frantically told my mind to stop thinking about how this foamy fat was made.
Did I wash my hair already? I pulled my hair and it squeaked. I guessed I already did. 

I toweled myself to dry
and a silent curse slipped under my breath.
I cursed that it's another Monday to survive.
I cursed and cursed that it's another 5 days to endure
before I could get back to my weekend.

I agree that it's not the best poem. But when I decided to blog, the title "An Egoist's Rant" just kinda stuck to my head and so I chose to make it as my blog title.

I do hope this post answers all of your questions. 

Bottom line: if you guys are interested in writing and (for some odd reason) look up to me as your role model in writing (please don't), then by all means, start writing. Explain the world to the world itself by your stained glasses using your very own combination of 26 letters. Happy writing!

The Conju-fucking-ring

Some people write reviews by putting the conclusion at the end. But I'll write this review by saying what I had in my mind. Oh and by the way, this review is spoiler free (and by spoiler free I mean there won't be any major spoiler that would rob you of your thrilling adventure of sequential heart attacks).

This movie is -- hands down -- the scariest movie I've ever watched. If you're wondering, the movie scored an average 8.1 point from 14,653 users in IMDb. 

If you aren't all that familiar with IMDb, imagine IMDb as a high school teacher and horror movies as that one bad kid the teacher had always hated. No matter how decent a horror movie is, IMDb always gave them low scores. That's how much IMDb hates horror movies. An IMDb rating of 6.5 for a horror movie is deemed very high and would be a recommended movie for scary movie lovers. By now, you should probably know what an 8.1 translates to in the "horror movie"-score. Yes, while it might not be the Monalisa of horror movies, it would be pretty close.

I watched this movie with my older sister and by God, if humans could rupture their eardrums repeatedly, I would probably be dead within the first 30 mins of the movie from blood loss. The director of this movie (which, coincidentally, also directed Insidious, the close second in my list of the scariest movies I've ever seen) understood the idea that today's generation has a really short attention span and presented us with suspense (lots of it) in the first few minutes into the movie. (Unlike some other movies where we just sit and watch a happy family sleep peacefully for 30 minutes before being able to see some things moving. Stupid Paranormal Activities.)

As of I'm writing this, the movie has generated USD 30 million (from the initial expectation of USD 20 million) in revenue. Despite having little to no gore and violence, this movie was rated 'R' by MPAA simply because "hey, if adults like us shit our pants because of this movie, chances are children below 17 would, too."

The paragraph below might contain A LITTLE SPOILER, feel free to press ctrl+A/block the texts if you want to read anyway.

------ spoiler begins

While this movie is really great, I can't help but think that the director went like "Hmmm, I need more ghosts to scare the shit out of the audiences, let's make a new one who has no background whatsoever just for the purpose of making them shit in their pants." Now I know that the budget for this movie is low, but it would be better if some of the evil spirits' motives and background were elaborated a little bit more.

One more thing. the images are scary as fuck but there was one evil spirit which was like the future image of obese Avril Lavigne. A fat old lady who probably watched a Korean drama right after applying a half bottle of eye-liner. PLEASE DO A SCARIER MAKE UP.

------ spoiler ends

I shit you not when I say this movie is scary. If you are a girl who hates scary movies and your boyfriend asks you to watch this, believe me when I say that you won't be able to act scared and be cute while clinging on to him. You'll be genuinely terrified.

Despite me saying that this is the scariest movie I've ever seen, the after-taste is actually not too bad (definitely not as bad as Insidious). I can definitely sleep sound tonight without having to be afraid of an old, obese version of Avril Lavigne currently lying under my bed.

Footnote: Do not, and I do mean DO NOT, pick your nose at any point in the movie. I picked my nose when I thought nothing was happening and I almost tore my nose a third hole.

Dota and real life

I'm writing this because I grew jealous of my one particular friend who can sing really well. Or jealous of my ex who was able to play like four different kind of musical instruments, or of my other friends who can dance, or of my other friends who can cook. I wish God would take 'being able to sleep through 5 alarm clocks'-talent away from me and give me talents to play saxophone instead.

Anyway, since this post is about Dota, let me rant a bit about it.

Now I know you guys don't play Dota and you are probably rolling your eyes so hard at the title. However, I assure you that this post is more about life than it is about Dota. So, please keep reading. Or don't, I'm just a wall of text, not a police.

So yes, to some of you who are familiar with Dota, feel free to skip the next three paragraphs.

I have been trying to think of any analogies similar to Dota; sadly, there is none.

- In Dota, you control a hero who has a predetermined set of abilities. Let's say you're controlling a hero, your hero can only learn four abilities that are unique to them. Meaning that there are no other heroes in the game that can learn what your hero learns.

- In order to learn the abilities, you need to be around when your enemies die (yes, Dota creators get that right; you get stronger just by seeing people die). And after watching several enemies die, you level up and are allowed to learn another ability (out of the four abilities that are available to your hero). As you level up, it gets progressively harder to advance to the next level. You only need four dead enemies to advance from level one to level two, but you need like 8 to get from level two to level three.

- Heroes are divided into three categories: Strength, Agility, and Intelligence. For some reasons, Strength heroes are better at being a tank, Agility heroes are better at dealing damage, and Intelligence heroes are better at being a support. But that doesn't mean Agility heroes can't tank, or Intelligence heroes can't deal damage. It just takes them more effort to do what they weren't meant to do.

Dota is a complex game and it's probably impossible to explain it in writings only, but trust me, I tried. I really did.

It might strike me off as insane to you guys if I say that real life is somewhat similar to Dota. (Afterall, we don't get stronger as we see our hated ones die... Or do we?) While we don't have a predetermined set of abilities, we have a set of talents instead. Some people play music beautifully, some people learn language fast, some people trade stocks efficiently. And then there are people like me that just can't do anything well. Some people just do some things better than most people do.

However, unlike Dota (where a hero can't learn what other heroes learn), in real life we can learn almost pretty much anything. You can learn to play a saxophone despite you having no talent whatsoever in music. You can learn to write despite your thoughts are as incoherent as Justin Bieber's lyrics. You can learn to act although your face has as much facial expression as Kristen Stewart's. You see, some people just do things better than us and there is nothing we can do about it. In return, if you want to learn about those things, there is nothing they can do about it either.

Although Intelligence heroes are better at being a support, in my 6 years of playing Dota, I've seen far too many damage-dealing Intelligence heroes. I've seen people who do some things really well despite having no talents in that particular area.

I really wish somebody would invent a time machine so I could go back to 15 years ago and start learning to play saxophone.

What's stopping you? You're not a Dota hero that can only learn four skills. You don't live in the Dota world where you can learn new skills only after seeing your enemies die. Your potential is endless and you live in a world where you have all the time in the world to learn what you want. Just pick any skills that you want to learn and start learning it.

Now, please excuse me for I have to start looking for a saxophone to buy.

P.S. I'm writing this because I want to try writing something people are not familiar about. Let me know how you think about this below!

P.P.S. In another note, yay to me for publishing a post on Sunday!

Melissa's wedding

Note: This is a sequel to one of my other blog post. You can find the first part here. 

There are a lot of things that I had wanted to write. My confession as a gamer, my theory about airplanes and cute girls, as well as why I picked up writing. I have actually written some of those blog posts but I wasn't not done writing it. Then I went to Melissa's wedding party (YES HER NAME IS ACTUALLY MELISSA HAHAHA). And I decided to write this instead. Actually I'm writing this as soon as I got back from her wedding.

Melissa was one of my few female best friends. Despite her being one of my best friends, I was quite  ignorant and thus I didn't really know much about her. Some things that I could recall off the top of my head was that she liked the song So Close from Enchanted, and she was a really perfectionist girl.

By the time she gave me her wedding invitation, I didn't have any red envelope to send my money in, so I did what any other sane person would do. I stole it from my workplace. And to my boss – Steve – if you're reading this, I'm sorry I stole a few from Citibank. (It turned out that the red envelope actually was a 'Happy New Year' envelope. Can you make some 'happy wedding' red envelopes please? Thanks.)

The party was an outdoor party. Surprisingly Surabaya was friendly and the weather was windy and cool (for those of you who have never been to Surabaya, the weather is ALWAYS either hot or fucking hot). To cut the long story short, the wedding was great. It was so great to the extent that it almost made me want to rethink about getting married.

Also by the way, instead of numbers, the table was labeled with plants' names. I couldn't help but notice that our table – which was fully filled with Melissa's high school friends – was labeled 'Mistletoe.' A parasitic plant that is an essential decoration on a Christmas day, I thought. How befitting that her friends from high school (which – of course – wouldn't be able to shower them with a lot of money in our red envelopes) acting as a parasitic decoration. I'm sure that I was just over thinking it but I couldn't help but notice the uncanny coincidence.

An hour into the party, Melissa and her husband – Stefanus – started going around the tables to chat with everyone else. Then they came to our table to chat with us. Now, if you actually read about my first post, you will notice that I said Stefanus wasn't exactly someone that you would call a prince.

Stefanus came to me and shook my hand. “I read your blog,” he said as he stared deep into my eyes.

Shit. The situation was awkward as fuck and I wasn't sure whether or not I maintained my poker face but I was sure I kept smiling all the while desperately looking for a way to knock myself unconscious.

And after 5 seconds of silence, he said, “You're a good writer and blogger, keep it up!” I felt no sense of malice from his voice. Now Stefanus, if you're reading this (as I'm sure you will), I would like to say that if you couldn't make Melissa happy, I'm positive that the rest of the world (minus you) wouldn't be able to either. So please make Melissa happy!

After that, they left our table and immediately after, some piano keys faintly hung in the air. I barely recognized what song was playing until the “You're in my arms and the world is gone,” started playing. The song that Melissa really liked. I vaguely recalled 6 years ago that she once said she wanted this song to be played on her wedding and there I was listening to that very same song. Then the MC's voice blared and pointed our attention to the podium and then the newlyweds kissed. The kiss was followed by what-I-counted-to-be-27 explosion of fireworks. Both the audience and the night sky cheered them as they kissed their way into husband and wife.

I had a mixed feeling while I was attending Melissa's marriage. I was happy that Melissa was getting married and she was moving onto the next level of her life, yet I simultaneously felt sad because I realized I was getting older. Sigh.

I'm sure that I somewhat hate marriage and would quite frankly oppose it, however just this once I would like to say congratulations to Stefanus and Melissa, one of the very few couple whose marriage I was actually somewhat excited about. May you two grow to be so old and overpopulate this world with your very own minions!

P.S.: I know I've been lazy in posting blog posts, but you guys can expect regular blog entries every week (usually every Sunday) now! I hope...

A letter to Blackberry

Dear Blackberry,

First of all, please excuse the amount of swearing words in this letter. I tried writing one without any profanity, but it just didn't vent my feeling well enough. With that being said,

Fuck you.

Blackberry is not a smart phone. In fact, calling it a stupid phone is a disgrace to the word 'stupid.' By definition, a smart phone is... well, smart. Please allow me to sophisticatedly reiterate what makes a phone smart:

1. IT HAS A CAMERA THAT HAS A BETTER QUALITY THAN A FUCKING POTATO.
2. YOU CAN TURN THE FUCKING SHUTTER SOUND OFF.
3. IT HAS A BATTERY THAT LASTS LONGER THAN MY FUCKING ATTENTION SPAN.
4. IT IS FASTER THAN A FUCKING INTERNET EXPLORER.
5. YOU DON'T HAVE TO WAIT FOR 5 FUCKING MINUTES EVERY TIME YOU RESTART IT. 
   And above all,
6. YOU DON'T HAVE TO FUCKING RESTART IT EVERY 24 HOURS.

Granted, it's pretty hard to decide which one is dumber: the phone for being more retarded than Snooki, or me for using it as my phone. But in my defense, I am using Blackberry simply for its Blackberry Messenger. I wouldn't go as far as to say that I won't be able to live without BBM, but I would say it's pretty close. In fact, when BBM went down yesterday, I got so bored that I actually started doing actual work in my office. My boss would probably prefer BBM staying down if it meant me getting some actual work done.

So yeah, like most letters, it just doesn't feel right if there is no question in it. So, here is one. HOW HARD IS IT TO BUILD A FUCKING PHONE AND NOT MESS UP THE ONE THING THAT MAKE PEOPLE BUY YOUR FUCKING PRODUCT? Like, seriously. People buy your shitty phones simply for its Blackberry Messenger and you still managed to fuck that up too? Congratulations.

The most obvious joke has got to be the fact that you guys are developing a BBM for Android and IOS. To which the CEO responded with "OH YES WE DO THIS BECAUSE WE ARE CONFIDENT THAT BB10 IS UP TO PAR WITH ANDROID AND IOS."

BULLSHIT. 

I'm no Steve Jobs but I can fucking predict that with BBM being available to both Android and IOS, you can kiss your sales goodbye. With that being said, please make BBM available in Android and IOS as soon as possible so I can toss this stupid Blackberry away.

With much love,

A dumb user who has been using your dumber-phone for far too long.

Tricycles and Indonesia

Disclaimer: This blog post is about economy and -- like most economic reading -- it is boring. Beware, you have been warned.

First of all, allow me to apologize if this writing sucks. My major is Mathematics and while it is not the furthest major away from economics, I'm pretty sure it's quite far. So for all the finance/economy major out there, please stop reading and go read your Bloomberg week or something else.

As you might know or might not care, I have been trading stocks for the past two or three months. And like most traders, some days I win and some days I lose. But this post is not about my trading history and how I managed to fuck up all my transactions. This post is about something else.

When I was 10 year old, my parents decided that it was time for me to learn how to ride a bicycle. And like most kids, I started with a tricycle. After a few days of fiddling with my tricycle, my parents thought that it was time for me to remove the third wheel and start trying a bicycle. I fell several times and managed to scrape both my knee and elbow. I hated them for forcing me to learn how to ride this stupid two-wheeled thing. I thought that I would be fine for the rest of my life with a tricycle.

Ever since I started trading three months ago, I started reading everything that could help me trade better; stuff that I wouldn't have even glanced twice had I not been trading. It was then that an article caught my eye. It's about the Fed chairman - Ben Bernanke - and USA's policy about Quantitative Easing.

For those of you who are not familiar with economics and are too lazy to open Wikipedia, QE basically is a policy exerted by USA to stimulate economy. I'm definitely not the best economist out there, but if I were to put it into my own words, I think it's a lot like pass-go in Monopoly. The monopoly bank (that bearded guy) gives each player $200 every time they pass-go with the sole reason of giving the players money to keep doing whatever it is they are doing.

Now, the world is not a wish-granting factory, and instead of the central bank giving free money to everyone, they buy bonds from other banks in order to increase the reserve of money in other banks, so citizens could still borrow money (thus, increasing job openings). The amount the Fed (USA's central bank) spent to buy bonds from other banks is a whopping USD 85 billion per month. Ouch.

It's obvious that the central bank won't be able to purchase the bonds routinely with the amount of money they had. So, it was necessary that they create money in order to keep this QE thing going; in order to stimulate USA's economy.

I'm sure by now you guys would much rather watch a Youtube video buffering rather than continue reading. But from here on is what I think is disturbing.

So this guy - Ben Bernanke - just held a meeting and a press conference yesterday about Quantitative Easing. He told people things that they already knew but wished they didn't. For Monopoly players who managed to play the game for at least four hours without tearing the board down and ruining your friendship forever, we know that much like the bearded guy won't be able to issue the $200 for every time we pass-go, the QE can't go on forever. This Bernanke guy foresaw that US's economy is turning better with unemployment rate turning lower, and ultimately that he would stop QE by the end of 2013.

How did people react to this? They sneered at Bernanke as if he just brought a plague to them. It's ridiculous how stupid people can be. Bernanke did the right thing (or at least what I deemed to be the proper action to take). What Bernanke did is exactly what my parents did when I was learning how to ride a bicycle. At first I hated them for removing the third wheel, but now I'm thankful. Had I insisted to not learn to ride a bicycle, I woul have been laughed at by other people now. 

This is exactly the same with what Indonesia is facing: subsidized fuel. People keep on protesting about how the government should NOT stop subsidizing fuel. These idiots need to realize that these subsidies are not free and they came from Indonesia's debt. They need to see how stupid riding a tricycle looks, and how people all around them are laughing at tricycles.

Just as other people would laugh at you if you ride a tricycle, other nations are laughing at Indonesia because we keep piling our debts. There is no such thing as a Santa Claus and sometimes, the only way for us to be able to ride a bicycle is by removing the third wheel, riding our bicycle, falling several times and scraping our knees.

Same with Indonesia, the only way for us to be able to develop as a nation is by removing subsidized fuels, putting the subsidies into more important things, such as: infrastructure, education, and/or healthcare. While this might lead to higher inflation rate; one day we would look back to this and said "I'm glad we did that."

There comes a day that we have to remove the third wheel, a day that we graduate from a tricycle and step on to a bicycle. For Indonesia, now is that day.