My history of writing

My second story: click here

Below is my very first story I wrote. This was written in 2009 when I was in my second semester in college.

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“Sleep and dream what you are seeing! Preorder a Visualorb right now and get a free controller device! Another 3 days until soft-launching!”

“Gosh, not this commercial again; I am getting sick of all these Visualorb commercial advertisements” muttered a boy as he carried a cardboard box into the house.

“Van, what’s a Visualorb?” asked a girl who had been patiently looking at his brother moving around all the stuff into the house.

“That’s Shiva’s new product. That Shiva Company keeps on inventing new products and advertising them like shit”

“Wait no, no, I mean what does that visualorb do? I know that much about Shiva Company too.”

“Oh, I think it would enable you to stay awake when you are sleeping.”

“? I don’t get it. How do you stay awake and sleep at the same time?”

“You can put it this way, when you use Visualorb, you create a dummy soul that can move around and see things; and you can see the things that dummy see.”

“Oh, I got it. That’s fancy!”

“Haha, anyway, what do you think about our new house? Dad got this house really cheap!”

“It’s OK. I hate moving. Packing stuff and moving them all around the place are tiring.”

“Wait, you are not doing anything, I am the only one moving stuff here; how could you be the one tired?”

“Haha, its ok, don’t worry about tiny matters! I’m thirsty, you want some tea Van?” said Meredith as she rose up and walked toward the kitchen

“Yay, don’t put too much sugar in it. Oh and do you know where the kettle is?”

“Nop”

“I think I dropped the kettle somewhere around the warehouse when I was carrying all these boxes”

“Hmm, OK, I’ll try looking there”

“Oh, and don’t forget to put your jacket on, it’s snowy out there.”


It was one of those sunny snowy cold days in June, probably was somewhere around -10 Celsius. Meredith put on her scarf and her jacket, and she walked toward the warehouse. A kettle was lying in front of the warehouse.

Meredith was about to crouch and take the kettle with her when she finally took a good look at the odd warehouse standing in front of her.

The warehouse was locked.

The warehouse didn’t have any windows.

Overflowed with curiosity, Meredith stepped toward the warehouse and examined the padlock locking the warehouse. It was rusty. She tried pulling the padlock, hoping that the padlock would break; no good.

She looked around, looking for something that could be used to hit the lock.

She found a kinda big rock. She picked the rock up and started hitting the lock; deep inside herself, she knew that she wouldn’t be strong enough to crack the padlock open. 

She was about to give up when suddenly, crack—! The padlock made a cracking sound.

The door opened.

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“Ringgg!” the phone rang, startling van who was moving stuff all around.

“Yes? Van Tibiele here” Van answered the call.

“Van? Its daddy” said the voice over the phone.

“Oh, wassup dad? How is the trip? Our moving is going fine here; I already put all our stuff into our new house—”

“I just got a call from the house seller; he said that the warehouse behind the house is not to be entered”

“OK, I got it, I will tell Meredith to stay away from the warehouse too. Go enjoy your trip, it’s not everyday you get a vacation from your boss, right?”

“Haha, that’s my boy! Take care then.”

Van hung up the phone.

“Now where is that Meredith? I just hope she would come back as soon as she got the kettle.”

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Meredith pushed the door open slightly. It was too dark for her to see anything. She pushed the door again, this time harder. Sunlight burst in, she could see a vague bluish light from inside the warehouse.

She stepped inside, and got a clear view of the inside of the warehouse. The inside of the warehouse was really dusty, with some spider webs all over the place. There was only one thing inside the dusty warehouse, a beautiful large tube made of a transparent blue glass with a push button on it. It was as if the tube came from the future.

The tube itself was pretty large; an adult could possibly fit in it. Meredith leaned closer to the tube, taking a better look inside the tube. It wasn’t really clear, but Meredith thought she saw a smaller tube inside it.

Still puzzled, Meredith tried to push the push button on the tube. To her surprise, the tube opened, she could feel the air pressure changed. It was as if the inside of the tube itself was vacuumed.

Meredith was right; inside the tube was a smaller tube. It was made of the same transparent blue glass as the larger tube was. Meredith took another look at the second tube.

‘what is that…?’ Meredith thought to herself. ‘it looks like a— ’ 

Meredith was finally able to see what was inside the tube.

She felt a chill go down her spines.

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‘Dith sure is taking her time’ van muttered to himself.

“I guess I would have to pick the princess up myself” said van as he stood up. He put his jacket and scarf on and walked toward the warehouse behind the house.

Van saw a kettle lying on the ground; he rushed there and saw that the warehouse door was open. Beside the door, a broken rusty padlock was lying.

“Dith? You there?” Van called his sister name softly.

No reply.

“Dith?” Van called again; this time louder. 

Still no reply.

Van decided to step into the warehouse; it was too dark for van to see anything. When his eyes finally adapted to the darkness surrounding, he could barely see Meredith inside a large bluish tube. 

“Dith!” van called again. Meredith didn’t answer.

Van walked into the tube, he touched Meredith. Meredith looked so surprised.

“Dith! Why didn’t you answer? I have been calling you so much!”

“Really? I didn’t hear anything… More importantly—”

“No, no, dad just called. He told us NOT to come near to this warehouse.”

“But—”

“No buts, lets just leave now, we can relock the warehouse” said van as he stepped out of the tube.

“But there is someone inside the tube!!” said Meredith.

Van didn’t react. It was as if he couldn’t even hear Meredith. Van turned around, “Dith? What are you doing? Step out of the tube.”

Meredith could see his brother’s mouth was moving, but she couldn’t hear anything.

Van was getting angry, he stepped into the tube again, “Dith? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I can’t hear you from inside the tube” replied Meredith

“Huh? That’s strange, try stepping out of the tube and say something”

Meredith did so, and as Meredith said, Van couldn’t hear anything.

Meredith stepped back in. “See?”

“That’s strange…” muttered van. “it looks like something’s blocking this tube—”

“Anyway, let’s just leave these things alone. OK?” continued van.

“OK…” said Meredith without resistance. 

They were about to leave the warehouse when suddenly a rustling sound can be heard from inside the tube. Van and Meredith turned around, and they saw before themselves a person rising up from the smaller tube.


They were both dumbfounded seeing the person before them. As he stepped out of the tube, Van and Meredith were able to take a good look at him. He was a middle-aged guy wearing a fancy looking suit that they had never seen before. On his right hand, he was holding an orb-like thing.

‘I swear I have seen that thing somewhere’ thought van to himself as he saw that orb.

“Doesn’t that thing look like visualorb?” whispered Meredith.

“Now that you mention it, yea it does resemble a visualorb, though it has some differences. Wait, why are we discussing the orb? That guy is the one who matters, not the orb” replied van to Meredith.

“Who are you?” asked van to the guy who just rose up out of the tube.

“Where am I? What year is it?”

“Huh? You are in xxxxx, 2030 A.D.”

“2030? 22 thousand years have passed…?”

“22 thousand years? What the hell? Does that literally mean you were from, wait, 2030 minus 22 thousand years, err, 18,000 B.C.?”

“Based on your calendar, yes”

“No, you are lying, right? That’s not even possible. How did you survive for 22 thousand years?”

“Haha, I guess 22 thousand years is not enough for you to catch up with our technology. The tube before you is a time capsule; it preserves whatever in it and holds it as such so that the condition inside remains unaltered. After it closes, it wouldn’t open until the environment supports. Temperatures, moisture, oxygen rate, carbon rate, et cetera. So, as soon as that girl opened the tube, my time capsule automatically opened.
Oh, I overheard you guys talking about how something was blocking the tube. No, the tube was designed to be sound proof. Any sound from out side would be cancelled when it reaches this blue wall”

Both Van and Meredith rendered speechless. They couldn’t believe what they just heard.

It took van another minute before he got a hold of himself, “I still can’t believe it. Do you have any proof—”
“Hey is that a visualorb on your hand?” Meredith cut van’s question.

“On my hand? Oh, you mean this Lapicto? What’s a visualorb?” the guy answered.

“Oh, it’s a fancy orb that lets you ‘see’ things when you sleep” said van.

“That’s basically what Lapicto does. This Lapicto was invented at my time too” replied the guy.

“Do you… seriously believe in him?” whispered van to Meredith.

“Why not? He is wearing a fancy suit that we have never seen before, and holding a visual orb which hasn’t even been launched.”

“You… got a point there, Dith. Well, it wouldn’t hurt us to believe in him, would it?” said van convincing himself.

“So, what brings you here? Mister…” Van tried to be formal.

“Erg, Erg Menses” replied the guy.

“So, you are saying that you came from 20 thousand years ago, which at that time you had more civilized technology than us?” asked van with a serious face.

“22 thousand years— and yes, it seems like we have an understanding here”

“Then why did you ‘seal’ yourself in that time capsule?”

“That… would be a long story”

“We are all ears” both of them replied simultaneously.

“22 thousand years ago, technology was developing rapidly, and I really mean rapidly. Well, to be honest, if you just invented Lapicto, or visualorb in your term, then your technology and mine don’t differ that much” said Erg.

“With all the technology advancement, our earth was damaged so badly, ozone holes could be spotted all over the atmosphere. The earth’s climate itself had changed. I could recall my grandparents told me that winter used to be over the December, but at my time, winter would start at June”

Van and Meredith fell silent. 

“It was then,” continued Erg, “when everything went out of hands. I could still remember it clearly; one night, the moon turned red, and it became cold, very cold. We thought it was just a strange phenomenon, but when I think about it again; it could have been a sign from God; a sign that a doomsday is coming. Since that red moon incident, earth’s temperature had been declining exponentially; until approximately a year after that incident, the earth itself became uninhabitable. I believe you guys refer to this incident as ice age.”

“That sounds just right, how do you know our term—“ Van cut Erg’s story.

“I use Lapicto, remember? I was able to walk around using my dummy soul, and see what was going on, I even read newspapers and magazines by standing behind someone who was reading it”

“Ok, that’s creepy. I can’t imagine a soul would stalk me all around, anyway, carry on with your story, if you please” said van, his curiosity was taking over. He totally forgot about his dad’s order to stay out of the warehouse.

“Where was I again?” Erg stopped to think for a while, and then he continued his story, “The ice age came, earth became uninhabitable. That’s when the time capsule came into play. The time capsule was still under research. They had just soft launched the time capsule. Not many people had the privilege of using the time capsules to save themselves. I, of course, was one of the ‘not many people’ that got a hand on the time capsules. My wife, unfortunately, was one of the many people. The earth itself gradually became extremely cold, until the state humans could die, and it was still getting colder. Time passed, and those who got into time capsules, found themselves to be alive. It took earth around 2000 years until it became inhabitable again.”

“What happened then?” Meredith asked anxiously.

“The cities at that time were totally destroyed. The remnants were only 11 people—”

“Sec, we had our history class too you know. 20 thousand years ago was prehistoric age, if I recall correctly” Van stopped Erg’s story.

“Correct, that was a prehistoric age that we ‘created’” said Erg. “We, the remnants, decided to make 2 vows. The first vow, was a vow of abstinence of technology. We decided to make it as if no technology was invented, and the second vow, was a vow of silence. We would stay silent to our children about this incident—”

“Why is that?” Meredith asked, “Wouldn’t it be better if your children became aware of technology too?”

“We didn’t want our children to hate technology. The blame was not on technology; it was on us humans”

“I’m starting to see the whole point here” van talked as he closed his eyes as if he was thinking. “Then,” continued van, “If you managed to stay alive through the ice age, why did you get into the time capsule again?”

“Remember when I said the remnants were 11 people? They were 6 men, and 5 women; one man too many. I myself would rather live in a technology age; there was no way for me to live using stone and wood. Furthermore, having lost my wife, I didn’t really have a reason for living. Thus, I put myself back into the time capsule, not knowing where I would end up at; and here I am, in the year 2030.”

“I see, what are you planning to do now Erg?” Meredith asked.

“I honestly have no idea about what I should do now. Maybe I will go back inside that time capsule. Stalking people using Lapicto isn’t that bad actually” chuckled Erg. 

The warehouse became dark. ‘How long had it been since I and Meredith came to this warehouse?’, van spoke to himself. ‘2 hours? 3 hours? It’s getting colder here. It probably is already night’

“Dith, I will go back and get some tea. You want some?”

“Thanks, make a cup of nice warm tea for me. I would stay here and keep Mister Erg company”

“And Mister Erg? Would you like some tea?” van asked Erg, trying to be nice.

“Yes, please” Erg answered shortly.

Van stepped out of the warehouse, and saw that the moon…

Was red.

Official launch of my t-shirt brand, sarcastee.com!

Head over to www.sarcastee.com to view the full collection!

If you have read some of my blog posts, I am sure (or at least I hope) you've come into conclusion that I might have a higher intelligence quotient compared to your average hobo (I attribute my wit half to the fact that I am not a homeless and the other half because most people are idiot).

You see, I believe what people share in their social-medias are things they deem important. The fact that there are people post who excessive selfies actually implies they think their face is worth sharing. They want you to see how physically attractive they are; they are confident in their beauty.

Well, good for them. The thing is, I'm not as confident as they are. In fact, I give up exercising since I'm positive that, if there is any girl who would fall for me, they would not fall for my looks, but for my thoughts. Instead of broadcasting how physically (un)attractive I am, I decide to broadcast how witty I am.

With that said! I created a t-shirt brand just for fun, hoping there are people out there who like wit and words like I do. When you read the word "sarcastic," who crossed your mind? Do me a favor and tell them about Sarcastee!

P.S. the t-shirt design was done by a talented designer, Devlin. Check his IG out at @devlinputra. Or his portfolio here.

Imagine a world without sight

Imagine a world without sight.

A world where blindness was natural. And only a minuscule fraction of us could see how others looked like.

It is quite hard to picture, no? We depend so much on our eyes. In fact, sight makes up like 80% of information we receive from the outside world. And to be instantly robbed of it and work with the other 20% is a very frightening thought indeed.

Imagine if we were born without eyes.

You woke up from your slumber and the morning scent grazed your nose. Yet the darkness didn't lift. The world was as bright as it would ever be. You groped through darkness with both your hands thrusted forward, searching for the clothes inside your wardrobe. And you would fumble through it, endeavoring to undo your shirt button before you put it around you.

You would run your hands through your fridge looking for eggs; through the cabinet searching for a bag of coffee; through another cabinet for a frying pan; and through the kitchen set fumbling for a gas knob before turning it to the right hearing a cackling sound and feeling relieved when you felt warmth and simultaneously smelled the aroma of gas tickling your nose.

It's hard. Living without vision is.

Sense of sight has become so important to us that we often forget to consult our other senses. We become so obsessed with beautyfing ourselves: starving ourselves to get approval from others, buying things we don't need to blend in with people we don't even like, having our faces cut to fit in the shape of what society thinks is beautiful.

When was the last time you actually had a heart-felt chat with someone important to you?

The last time you did something for the first time?

The last time you read a book?

The last time you made someone laugh?

The last time you listened to someone's rant whole-heartedly?

The last time you went on an adventure?

We do so much physical beautification that we forget that our inside is equally, or probably more important than the outside. We should learn how to love with our eyes closed, so we can appreciate the blessing of loving with our eyes open.

Imagine a world without sight.

If.. if the whole world was blind,

How many people would you impress?

How many would have fallen in love with you?

How many lives would you have touched?

Prabowo atau Jokowi, opini seorang anarkis

An obligatory Pusheen picture.

Kelingking saya perawan.

Saya adalah sifat anarkis yang menjelma menjadi seorang manusia. Umur saya 22 tahun, tapi saya tidak pernah mencoblos sekali pun seumur hidup. Awalnya bermula karena saya tidak pernah berada di Indonesia ketika periode pemilu berlangsung, tapi entah sejak kapan ke-golput-an menjadi sesuatu yang saya banggakan. Bahkan ketika Starbucks atau vendor-vendor lain mengiming-imingi pencoblos dengan diskon dan promo lainnya, saya masih menjaga keperawanan kelingking saya dan bersikeras mempertahankan ke-golput-an saya.

Dengan enggan saya mengakui ini, tapi saya baru tahu bulan lalu kalau mencoblos dilakukan dengan menggunakan paku. Saya selalu berpikir bahwa aktivitas pencoblosan dilakukan dengan mencelupkan jari kelingking ke tinta dan mencobloskan jari bertinta tersebut ke kertas. 

Saya adalah orang yang cukup pintar. Jika IQ adalah satu-satunya indikasi kepintaran, saya lebih pintar dari 98% manusia di bumi ini. Sayangnya, IQ bukanlah indikasi kepintaran yang sah. Dan saya telah menunjukkan betapa terbelakangnya saya dalam urusan politik.

Oleh karena itulah, saya tidak akan menulis dari sudut pandang politik, atau bahkan mengenai bagaimana Mr. P dilanda tuduhan mendalangi kerusuhan Mei 1998, atau tuduhan penculikan dua mahasiswa menjelang Orde Baru, atau bahkan tuduhan kudetanya terhadap pemerintahan Habibie. Karena kita tidak akan bisa tahu mengenai kebenaran isu-isu tersebut.

Melainkan, saya ingin mengalihkan perhatian kita kepada isu-isu lain yang lebih saya kuasai, ekonomi. Sebenarnya, topik balet juga lebih saya kuasai jika dibandingkan dengan politik. Anyway.

Salah satu janji dalam kampanye Mr. P yang sangat menarik perhatian saya adalah ketika ia mengatakan akan menaikkan upah buruh menjadi enam juta Rupiah, atau menjadi 2.5 kali lipat dari upah buruh yang sekarang. Janji ini, tentu saja, menarik bagi para buruh yang kurang memiliki pengertian tentang kondisi ekonomi makro Indonesia. 

Mari kita anggap  perusahaan-perusahaan yang memperkerjakan buruh-buruh tersebut tidak keberatan membayar enam juta Rupiah untuk tiap buruh per bulannya. Kenaikan gaji buruh sebesar 150% berimplikasi kenaikan biaya produksi setidaknya 150%. Tentu, buruh-buruh sekalian akan memiliki nominal uang yang lebih banyak dari sebelumnya. Hal yang mereka tidak ketahui adalah konsep inflasi. Dengan membengkaknya biaya produksi, tentunya harga setiap barang di market akan mengalami kenaikan yang signifikan juga. Janji Mr. P ini bukannya mensejahterakan kehidupan buruh, melainkan malah menghancurkan perekonomian Indonesia.

Janji manis ini hanyalah memperkuat poin yang diulas oleh Anies Baswedan dalam pidatonya "Mengapa Jokowi?" Dalam pidato tersebut, Anies Baswedan mengatakan bahwa seorang pemimpin harus memiliki pengertian mendalam tentang ekonomi makro; selain itu, ia juga menyindir mengenai Mr. P yang menelan mentah-mentah estimasi kebocoran anggaran negara sebesar 7,000 triliun Rupiah yang dikemukakan oleh KPK.

Tujuh ribu triliun Rupiah. Just let that sink in. PDB Indonesia pada tahun 2012 hanyalah sebesar 878 miliar USD (atau 8,780 triliun Rupiah). Masak sih anggaran negara bocor 80% dari PDB? Lak yo gak mungkin toh?

Bahkan ketika melihat debat antar capres, saya rasa cukup jelas siapa di antara mereka berdua yang lebih menguasai isu-isu yang mendesak Indonesia. Berbicara murni dari sudut pandang ekonomi, cukup jelas lah pemimpin mana yang akan membawa Indonesia ke arah yang seharusnya.

10 tahun sudah Indonesia dipimpin oleh seorang presiden yang, jika kita telaah ke belakang, prestasi positif terbesarnya adalah menciptakan empat album lagu. Tiba kiranya kita memilih sebuah pemimpin yang berani melakukan sesuatu, seorang pemimpin yang memang turun tangan. 

Jokowi baru saja menghabiskan sepertiga masa jabatannya sebagai gubernur Jakarta, namun kita sudah dapat merasakan apa yang Beliau lakukan. Pluit tak lagi merasakan air bah tiap musim hujan dan Tanah Abang sekarang sudah lebih bersahabat. Bayangkan apa yang akan Beliau lakukan jika diangkat menjadi pemimpin Indonesia?

Tulisan ini bukanlah sebuah persuasi, melainkan sebuah justifikasi. Saya hanyalah seorang bocah ingusan yang berpikir bahwa coblosan itu dilakukan menggunakan jari bertinta. Saya rasa para pembaca sekalian lebih berwawasan dan bisa memilih pemimpin yang akan membawa Indonesia ke jalan yang sebenarnya.

Kelingking saya perawan. Tapi untuk Jokowi, saya bersedia melepaskannya.

Why am I still single?

Let's play a guessing game.

How old, do you think, is Earth?

If you're like me and are totally oblivious to geology and history, chances are you might guess around millions. If, for whatever reason, you guessed two thousands years old, please close your browser and tell your parents they gave birth to an idiot. Earth, actually, is 4.54 billion years old. 

How old, then, is Humanity?

The answer for this question varies. Some say it's 6,000 years old. Some say it ranges somewhere between 100,000-200,000 years old. I wouldn't delve into technicality. Yet, my point remains. Humanity is old.

Which brings me to my other question, how old do you think you're gonna be when you die?

Probably 70. Or 80 if you're lucky. Maybe 90. Unless scientists develop some amazing gene manipulation process that would allow gene revitalisation, we inevitably die. I would. You would. For your parents and mine, my pets and yours, your significant other, your children, their children, death is inevitable.

Then what happens when we die? And I'm not talking about life after death or about heaven and/or nirvana or hell. I'm talking about the people we leave behind; what would they do when we die?

Compared to how long Humanity (or Earth) has existed, we're really just a speck of dust in this evolution process. One day, we would die and everyone else we leave behind would cry. Maaayyyybe they would pray or burn some incense.

And then they would move on with their lives. 

Augustus Waters, the protagonist in The Fault in Our Stars admitted that his deepest fear was Oblivion. He feared being forgotten. To have walked off this Earth and forgotten and disregarded as just another mortal. 

Being forgotten is terrible. And I also am afraid of it. Probably second only to cockroaches. Before I die, I would like to leave something, anything. That way when I'm dead and people think of me, they would also think of the things I leave behind. They would look at the scar I gashed on this world, and realise that I. Have. Lived. That I was not just another person who walked this Earth lightly without leaving something.

Which brings me to the title of this post. Why am I single?

Countless people had asked me this question before I decided to write this post. There are so many reasons I could churn as to why I'm not in a relationship: Haven't found the right one, not yet ready financially, still need my freedom, and probably another dozen excuses. But really, the reason I'm still walking alone is because I need to gash a scar in this world; because I want to leave behind something less temporary than myself. And being in a relationship doesn't help me achieve that.

It just so happens that my preferred method of scar-inducing is writing.

What's yours?

On friend zone

The term friend zone actually was derived in 1994 from one of "Friends" episode, a sitcom that has been around since God-knows-when. Despite this post is written for guys, it is also applicable to girls, although girls are rarer to be friend-zoned.

There are actually two kinds of friend zone: Pseudo friend zone and True friend zone.

1. Pseudo friend zone

I don't know what your definition of friend zone is, but most guys I know say that they've been friend-zoned because they're too nice and the girls they're attracted to don't want to risk their friendship. Hence, putting him in the forever friend zone. This is what I call by the pseudo friend zone.

It's really a stupid concept. On looking for a potential partner, we don't just check whether or not someone is kind enough for us. We also check, whether consciously or not, for other factors, such as: cuteness, hotness, intelligence, family background, and other dozen stuff I can probably list down forever. 

When someone thinks that your defects outweigh the kindness you offer, chances are they are no longer interested in you. And since their parents had taught them to be kind to others, they didn't want to hurt your feelings by saying, "Fuck you, you're too ugly, do the world a favor and go celibate so no girl should ever have to go through the pain of dating you." Instead, they say "Aww, you're too kind. I just don't want to ruin what we have right now for a minuscule chance of relationship."

Boom. You cry and cry and curse the sky because, fuck life, you have been "friend-zoned." All because you were too nice to Her. Or at the very least, that's what you think. The truth is just that She doesn't think you're a potential partner. 

You are NOT in a friend zone, you are in a not-boyfriend-material zone. It's easier for you to use the "Yeah, nice guys finish last" excuse rather than admitting that you have asymmetrical eyes or that you have an oedipus complex.

So, how do you escape it?

Simple. You change. As Einstein stated, "The surest sign of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result." Be a better guy.

Afterall, you can't force someone to love you; all you can do is make yourself into someone worthy of love. Sure, it's easier said than done. Then it comes back to you again. Do you like Her that much that you can't imagine spending the rest of your life with another girl? If you answered yes, then better yourself. If no, then you might want to start looking for other girls.

2. True friend zone

This is a much less common occurrence than its counterpart. 

Maybe you knew Her since you were in highschool, but She had a boyfriend then. And when She broke up, you yourself had a girlfriend. Years passed and now, She became so gorgeous and smart and single. But before you both know it, you have been friends for far too long and She can't see you as someone other than Her friend. Hence, friend zone. This is the actual friend zone, not the pussilanimous excuse that guys use when a girl he barely knew for a month rejected her.

Quiz time. What is it?

It's a melon, duh. We have been taught all our lives that that is a melon. That kind of skin, that glowing orange-ish color, that sweet sweet fragrance, that oval shape, that tangy texture, they all are associated to a melon. If I were to ask you to label it as an apple, would you be able to pick it up in a supermarket, hold it up to your mom's face and say that you wanted an apple?

First impressions last, which is why it's strenuous to change the label on something. Her brain has associated your traits as that of a friend's. The way you talk to Her? A friend. The way you pick Her up and drop Her back to Her house? Another friend. The way you listen to her rant at midnight? Just a friend. The way you warmly smile and stare at her eyes as she tells you a story? Friend, friend, friend.

There are two ways to escape this kind of friend zone. First is the insane way, just keep doing whatever it is you're doing and hope that She is sensitive enough and realize that you wish to be something more than a friend.

Or.

Be upfront. Tell Her that you want to be more than friends. Force Her brain to relabel you from a friend to a potential boyfriend. And everything you do will no longer be a friend's actions, but a potential partner's.

Godspeed, people. Godspeed.

Dear no one

My lips would arch every time I see your dimple.

And don't even start about the butterflies in my bowel.

Your eyes would be my third and fourth favorite things in this whole world.

I would fix mine on yours when you talk and it would stay that way even when we get old.

We would read books comfortably in silence and drink our tea.

And I would snatch your cold hands and put them into mine when we're watching a movie.

Or maybe I would bring you a box of tissues when you're watching your stupid drama

and bring us a blanket while you fall asleep in the sofa. 

You would be my sleeping aid, my caffeine,

and everything in between.

I could have a very bad day,

and a kiss from you would shoo everything away.

Dear no one,

We could be the couple every single person is jealous of. 

Dear no one,

This is your love letter.

Dear no one, 

Hurry up and come.

A letter to a stranger

Dear stranger,

Breaking up, in my experience, can either be a somewhat easy thing to do or an utterly devastating one. In my case with you, it was the latter.

How are you? Are you dating someone right now? How did it feel to break a heart? Did mine leave your hands bloody? are the four questions I'm dying to ask you right now if you have bothered replying to any of the several 'Hey's I had mustered all my courage to type and send your way. But you didn't, so I just tucked all those questions inside my pillow and carry on like nothing ever happened.

I hope you're well, I really do. Unfortunately, I have no idea how you're doing right now, and I bet you don't even care how, out of all people, I'm doing. 

To be honest, you were the only person whom I'd voluntarily let get that close to me. We ordered coffee and made fun of strangers sitting around us, we nonchalantly made political jokes, we sneaked kisses in bookstores and cinemas. At that time, I thought (and boy, I couldn't be more wrong) I had finally found someone to walk with, someone to ride the roller coaster of life with.

I could still clearly remember how you looked as I pulled a bouquet of red and white roses: how your eyebrows arched, then how your eyes lit up, and immediately your lips made a lopsided smile; then the smile slowly made its way to your eyes, wrinkling the sides of your eyes and pulling your cheeks up. And the next thing I knew, your lips were on mine and your arms slithered around my back. But I guess you totally forgot about that now.

I fully understand chatting like a friend--like nothing has ever happened between us--is impossible. But is it that hard to annually text each other Happy Birthday? The whole world could congratulate me on how I managed to survive one Earth's full revolution around the Sun, but if you didn't, I couldn't care less.

Isn't it ironic how two people who were desperately trying to be as close as possible have now become two people who are trying their hardest to be strangers? I find it painfully peculiar and I hope you do, too.

You know what? I have no idea where I'm going with this letter. The more I write, the more miserable I become (and the more you know how low I've fallen). So I will end this letter here before I humiliate myself even further.

With much love,

Just another stranger.

A nerd's guide on clubbing

I said it's a guide, but it's really just my rant about clubbing. As you might know (or not care), I dislike going to clubs. I've been to club exactly thrice in my entire life. The third time was last week and this post is a rant about how my clubbing went.

First of all, let me clarify what I mean by clubbing. By clubbing, I didn't mean the act of repetitively beating someone with a club. What I mean is the act of paying ridiculous amount of money to enter a dimly-lit room to dance for a few hours to overly repetitive music in which you have to dress like you're going to a royal banquet or the bouncer will throw you out. That kind of clubbing.

Despite having gone clubbing twice previously and was greatly disappointed, I was still grasping at the minuscule chance of maybe, maybe, maaaaaaaybeeee I would have fun today, and prepared accordingly. I dabbed some perfume behind my ear just in case I would meet and hit a cute girl (not physically). Heck, I even prepared some killer pick-up line: Hi, my name is Kent. As in, Kent I buy you a drink? (I swear it's much better said than written).

Hey, I heard you were a wild one-- was the song that greeted me as soon as I got within an earshot of the club. In front of it, cigarette butts sparsely littered the ground. I went in and got my arm stamped by invisible ink, visible only when ultraviolet light shone upon it. I went in and oh my god, I'd never felt more clean-air-deprived in my entire life. Cigarette smoke raped my nose and I considered to breathe-in through my mouth only to realize it would kill me even faster. So I inhaled air just like drinking a bottle of water in a remote desert; just enough to survive, not abundantly.

While I said that I dislike clubbing, the activity itself really fascinated me. It allowed me to watch people, like, various kind of people converging to be a single species that EVERYONE had socially, silently agreed to be a cool and better species (compared to the rest of us who didn't go clubbing). Both sexes dressed like they Googled what clothes to wear to a club and they all clicked the first Google search link: Guys with hair waxed wore button-down shirts and khaki pants and dress shoes and overpriced watches. Girls with hair curled wore dresses and high heels, their face the very epitome of coloring books. One girl tried to hide her acnes by putting layer upon layer of foundation. While her ultimate goal of becoming attractive was achieved, I had to say that she was more attractive as a mosaic.

The lights in the club were continuously alternating between not-so-dark and dark-as-fuck, which ultimately led to the girls in the club furiously alternating between somewhat-cute and invisible. 

You know how in middle school we were taught that two things with the exact same frequency will resonate? Turned out that loud-as-fuck noise also made EVERYFUCKINGTHING resonate. The music was blaring so loud it literally shook my diaphragm. Comfort and serenity was a unique concept in this place, foreign to the DJ and everyone else. The deafening music (which shook my colon as hard as it did my diaphragm) made me want to poop. Ugh.

I looked around and saw everyone around me started dancing and trying their best to have fun without stepping on others' feet. I spotted a girl who literally went from a meek "Yeah, the music is nice, but I don't really know how to dance," to "YEAH THIS IS MY JAM, BITCH. LET'S DANCE," just because the DJ changed the song to Party Rock Anthem. I caught myself thinking, Humans are fascinating. I looked around and realized that all the girls around me were very very monotonous and similar: TONS of makeup, wildly dancing with a drink on one hand, and a cellphone on the other hand as a counter-measure in case the song being played by the DJ was something they were not accustomed to.

And then I realized how stupid I was. Dabbing perfume behind my ears and preparing for the greatest pickup line and dressing up like a template were stupid because I wouldn't want to date a girl who went to club who were trying so hard to be cool anyway. 

Bottom line: if you're a nerd, my advice if you're pondering whether or not you should go to club is this: don't. Paying to enter a dimly-lit room, shouting at the top of your lungs just to talk to your friend who is like 20cm away from you, and drinking over-priced alcoholic beverage? I'm sure you can think of better ways to spend your weekend.

If I were a girl,..

.. I would suck (metaphorically, not literally) because I didn't like taking selfies.

.. I would be bad at it because I couldn't think of more than two hashtags when posting a picture on Instagram.

.. I would have no friends because I didn't have the patience to return the empty compliment of other girls about how "beautiful" I looked on a picture. 

.. Nobody would tell me how slim I was because I couldn't bring myself to post a picture with the caption "OMG I'M SO FAT."

.. I would be broke as fuck when blood gushed out of my genital because I would spend all my money to buy vitamin E.

.. You know what? I would still be broke as fuck even when I wasn't on my period because society demanded girls to wear makeup and stuff, and that shit ain't cheap. 

.. I would probably cry. A lot. I mean, I'm already quite emotional even with a penis attached to my crotch, I wonder how much more emotional I would be without one.

.. I would cry about my stupid boyfriend who spent more time playing games than talking to me.

.. I would cry about fictional characters in stupid Korean drama.

.. I would cry about my stupid little crush who couldn't take a hint that I really liked him.

.. I would enjoy the free drinks at bars.

.. But more than that, I would enjoy special parking spots.

.. I would also enjoy feigning interest in guys who were interested in me, and when they confessed their feelings to me, I would look them in the eyes, pick my words carefully, and friendzone them. ("Aw, so cute. But I never saw you that way. But hey, we can still be friends.")

.. I would probably spend too much of my time waiting for the right guy. Not only did he have to love me, but he had to also be rich. And handsome. And funny. And would accept me as I was.

.. Then I would cry again because that kind of guy didn't exist.

.. And I would probably cry again after realizing I was getting older because women are a lot like Christmas trees in the sense that after 25, they're both half-priced.

.. Then I would probably say "Fuck it," and buy a dozen of cats.

Writing a detective novel

Yes, as the title suggests and as you might have noticed, I'm not really the kind of guy who excels at writing romance novel. I'm thinking of writing a detective novel. In Bahasa, of course.

In order to do that, I need to get a good grasp at what normal people actually feel when reading crime/thriller. (I don't consider myself normal since I actually enjoy watching Happy Tree Friends).

Anyway, if you guys can take the survey here, that would be really great!

Flappy Bird: a game from hell

A lot of my friends (and by "a lot," I mean A LOT) have posted a screenshot of their highest score in Flappy Bird. And due to this and my curious by nature, I decided to give Flappy Bird a shot. DO NOTE THAT THIS POST CONTAINS A SHITLOAD OF SWEAR WORDS AND IF YOU ARE THE KIND OF PERSON WHO ARE EASILY OFFENDED BY THEM, PLEASE GO AWAY. There. That was my "Viewer discretion is advised."

This would be my phone, if I had an iPhone and if I were stupid enough to break my phone because of a stupid game.

I was told that the game was very addictive (and frustrating and stressful and impossible to beat and and makes you want to throw your phone on the floor), so I was really surprised when I searched the Play Store only to find that the game was less than one megabyte in size. Due to my competitiveness, and since I see myself as an avid gamer, I shrugged --thought about how hard can a less-than-one-megabyte game be-- and hit "Install."

Hitting the "Install" button was easily the biggest mistake of this month so far.

The game started without a hitch and I was greeted by a very nostalgic Mario-esque scenery and the same 8-bit graphic. No, seriously, the scenery is like a rip-off of Mario games. The only difference between them was that Flappy Bird features a shitload of skyscrapers. Maybe if Mario lived in Jakarta instead of some random green pastures, there would be literally no difference between their background.

Anyway.

Flappy Bird was simple. Painfully so. The tutorial consisted of just a flying bird and the word "TAP." And if you do tap the screen, the bird will bounce a bit and raise in altitude. If you don't tap, the bird's altitude will continuously decline. And there are pipes everywhere (like, Mario Bros' pipes, the kind of pipes that we always tried to go into when we still played Mario). And since birds are retarded and fragile creatures that are not able to keep their altitude constant and die at the slightest touch of a mother fucking pipe, you have to tap the screen every now and then in order to keep the fucking bird alive.

The bird isn't even cute. Shouldn't we be happy if the motherfucker hits a pipe and die?

That's it. 

The amount of pipes you managed to fly through without killing your bird then becomes your score. In the first 20 tries I did, I only managed to pass through two pipes. TWO. Two effing pipes. And thanks to my competitiveness (and while we're talking about it, allow me to say fuck you to my competitiveness, because without it I wouldn't be bitching about this game here), I played for another half an hour, and managed to pass through 17 pipes. I heard some people managed to reach a score of hundreds. Yeah, I would much rather believe that unicorns exist rather than them. 

So the game was developed by Dong Nguyen. Now, I don't speak Vietnamese, but I know that Nguyen is the surname of at least 2183646723121 Vietnamese people I know. I would take a guess and say that Dong means "Satan" in Vietnamese. BECAUSE I BELIEVE THIS GAME WAS MADE BY SATAN HIMSELF, AS A WAY TO CAPTURE OUR SOULS. 

This game (much like all games, really) is a pure waste of time and prolonged playing would result in a desire to tear your arms and claw your eyes out because the game (or Satan himself) makes you think that you are so idiot (and retarded and have an IQ lower than a fucking Chihuahua) since you could not guide an ugly-as-fuck bird through a labyrinth of pipes.

If you haven't played the game and are thinking of downloading and playing it now, here is my advice to you: don't.

If you still insist to play, fine. Here are some advices I can give to you:

1. Play on your bed, this minimizes the chance that you will go full retard and throw your phone to the ground, possibly causing it to disfunction forever.
2. Don't tap unless you have to. Most of the time, the cause of death was because unnecessary jumps that lead to hitting the top of the pipe. 
3. If you're like me and your dominant hand is right hand, tap on the lower side of the screen in order to prevent blocking the view of the next pipe with your own fingers. 
4. You cannot win. So relax.
5. If you have any desire to tear your arms off and/or claw your eyes off, immediately stop playing and count to 10. Afterwards, continue to play and indefinitely hate yourself. 
6. After prolonged playing, feel free to uninstall the game and curse your dominant hand forever.

Do yourself a favor and do not download this game.