Does-a-Bee-Buzz?

I really want to talk about this without sounding crazy. 

Without judgment nor consequence, I just want to talk about what’s going on inside of my head. I romanticize the club 27, I wish I can join them. My only concern is that I haven’t made much art or masterpieces that would make the world trembles, by that I am unworthy to be part of such a club.

 I imagine a life, a life where it all ends when I reach 27 but that decision is mine to make. Sure, I can get hit by a bus tomorrow or choke on my sleep locked in my room and be gone by tomorrow or the very second after I am typing this note but that, that is beyond my control. 

I am getting numb each and every day, I stop finding joys in the little things, every day is just a reminder of my insignificant existence and prolonged burden to the ecosystem. Why should I keep on writing? What’s the point? I cannot come up with anything extraordinary if I kept on hoping this brain to paint the city in divine colors.

 I am so insignificant that my being here does not make so much difference with me not being here. To come to an end is such a brave choice, others see it as an act of cowardice but I beg the differ, for the soul wanting to break out of this vessel we have to tame the mind. Or, perhaps sedate it, to the point of lethargy. 

Suicide is part of my political philosophy class, a subject threaded to understand why the body can be overpowered by the can and the cannot, potentiality they said and that choice that enables you to end the body is an expression unlike the other. It is not about societal construction, psychological trauma, neoliberal depression, it is so much more than that, it is a will and a desire to connect. The being inside of the body is already dead so that no one can decide what kind of function and purpose the body serves unless it can unify itself with the mind. 

For me, I just want it to stop. Just had a perfect phone call with my boyfriend, so loving and calm. My day was mediocre, even subpar, not much had happened, my stipend was late yet again for another day and it puts me in so much anxiety. This right now, this is a good spot, a good spot to go before another pain smacks me in the face and decapitate me. 

I do not think that life is worth living. If I can take one moment to stop it, end the story there, to the night when I was briefly content with everything, not too good or bad, then it would be today before the storm comes for another day and it feels like I am covered in scars surviving another day of acid rain. I swear I am not built for that. 

As for right now, she doesn't feel a thing, maybe she does, but it’s the loosening of her joints and muscle in contrary to earlier. Earlier it was just her and her head, the voices of those whom she had never met but overpowered her into a crippling state of sadness. Honestly, it’s difficult to describe the sensation within the mind when it comes to anxiety. Time just stopped a really fast beat into a condition where everything doesn't make sense anymore, followed by an explosion of the infinite trapped in a finite vessel. 

Cliche, but frankly that is the only thing that will get the attention of the people these days, cliches. I hate the overused term of “when things don’t make sense anymore.” I mean, for most of the time it won’t make sense. and it is our job to put sense into those conditions 

It was silly of me to think that I went through those wars without scars. 

I went home with no disfiguration, but boy, I was part of a revolution. 

I lose most of the time, but being hopeful is not a crime. 

To the battle, we go, and that’s all that they know. 

It never made sense that those voices that creep in my sleep, 

for all of those unexplained fear as if death is near,

for all of those shackling delusions that disturb my vision. 

I am wounded yet unalarmed, diluted unable to bear arms. 

He came into my life with such promise, an old song with the usual premise.

Boy, I am a war veteran, being in pain is not a preference. 

I have served my nation right, the nation that is my heart. 

Humans can’t fly but the wars cut my wings serving the wrong kings. 

This caged bird can’t sing as she was just waiting for the Spring. 

It was silly of me, but the first fire had been shot, the horrors it brought. 

Fight of flight, make that decision it’s a minute to midnight.

going to war as a deputy or leave your country as a refugee? 

Then if love is a battlefield, for this time I yield.

You were just an idea, amidst the cacophony of desire which echoes within my heart. The whole building bricks to call the two of us are nothing but a bunch of what ifs, I have given up on all of those what ifs. I am not much a dreamer; my puny imagination was beaten down by the world. My initial plan was to find my ways into you, stand in front of that flesh and bone of yours, smile, a long hug, ended up with my everlasting gratitude for your mere existence. 

The whole idea of us, not you and me, but us deconstruct my assumptions of time and space on both ideational level and material. To which, I question reality, whether what I touch is what I should believe. But when the heartache creeps in through my veins, it sends the shiver to my mind signaling all the potential pain I might gain. Naturally, I defect, as I worship this logic of mine. I told you, once the bubble is burst magic dies. With your voice, you caressed this mind of mine, reminding me that magic lives within thine. And maybe, just maybe, it does not have to be so bad to submerge into that moment so infinite. I have to step out of this fortress of my own which was assembled from the ashes of a hopeful soul. I need to protect myself from this world, yet, when I felt that sweet-sweet whiff of that gentle soul of yours, it reminded me that you subsisted across that great big lake of faith. 

Nonetheless, I started running, to the other edge of that lake, I screamed from the top of my lungs calling for your name. Not knowing, you were sitting on the other side of that lake, staring at the ripples of the water as the wind whispered your name. A feeble sound, which you hung into with great confidence. It has to be now, not seven years ago. I do not flirt with destiny but for once, this heart of mine walked up to the presence of fate with such determination, and I hold her by her neck, telling her that if I never had that chance, I would cause havoc on this lifetime. 

And I opened that locked doors, coming out of my fortress, I was free to sail, free to fall, free to fly. Your voice met mine, in the same frequency of reality. I was terrified, to be unworthy of your journey, who am I but a disdained creature of hollowness, an empty shell with nothing to offer. I hurt you once, with my inconsiderate nature which infested my adolescence years. It has always been you; you are the little secret that I carry, hidden between these written words, do you have one more room for this troubled soul? 

When you crossed that lake, I was asleep, just like any other night, the idea of us blurred into my deep slumber. I do not know how to feel, for all the answers I have been looking for become obsolete. I saw you, among others, with that tousled hair of yours and a weak smile. We are breathing the same air, my heart stopped for a brief second, unable to fathom such boggling truth faded into teetering two-dimensional lines. As I was stunned by my luck which rarely was in my favor, your eyes met mine. It must have been the most bemusing embrace that brought me into your arms.

I consider myself as a renewed woman, tougher than the 15 years old ranting-machine who react to literally everything. 

Composed, as I often feel exhaustion from the abundance of work and responsibilities. 

However, in the issue of betrayal or even dishonesty, I still crumble. 

Perhaps not into pieces and not hysterically, just a little ‘umph’ in my chiselled heart. 

I think it becomes difficult to get up in the morning when something tampered your sense of hope, very vulnerable and authentic as it strengthens other physical senses to feel something. 

On the topic of writing, 

When it comes to writing then a constant tug of war is in line to define my afflictions. I mean, one thing that incorporated who I am materialistically (I make money out of writing) and personally (it is something that I like). So I divided my purpose, as simple as to write in personal favor (such as blog, to please oneself), to write in the form of service to science and community (such as my involvement in an upcoming inclusive learning platform but literally make 0 money out of it, purely to serve), and to sustain one’s life as a human being through food, roof, and such (by getting a job that allows me to write). This is when it gets confusing because the constant need to split oneself in order to perpetuate the idea which I want to express through my writings (academics and non-academics).

I spent my afternoon reading the news, there was a chain of reactions toward the 13% of parliamentary seats which are won over by Germany very own alt-right party. The post-election paradigm shift got me thinking about a time in my life when I dated a Neo-Nazi. I reckon, probably, he is filled with elation that there is a political justification for his condescending attitudes towards non-Aryans and his never-ending narratives against immigrants. Moreover, those ‘ideas’ are going to be politically represented by the opposition in the very political battlefield of what’s left in Europe, Germany. I could not be at ease and say, perhaps ‘this is what we need’ as I did back then in November when I gave the benefit of the doubt over Donald Trump in regard to what the middle class demands.

Wait, before it all started, hold up, how could you, Beeba, an Asian girl coming from a ‘lower race’ ever catch the attention of this man in the first place? While the idea of Rassenschande or race defilement for not keeping it ‘white’ should have been his main agenda in keeping the purity of Germany. Apparently aside from his strong Internet rants, the man also inherited the Imperialist fetishism towards Asian Girls as they are deemed to be submissive and exotic. Moreover, this relationship happened way back in a past when being alt-right was considered as unfashionable, in comparison to the contemporary pride that the alt-right represented in their rallies. Even if he was already an alt-right since then, he’d choose to be a closeted one. In addition to that, in my defense, I was another case of post-colonial product, a girl highly indoctrinated with the idea of creating better offspring (I want to puke if I put my mind into it right now, damn, gurl), I uphold this whole appraisal to fabricated biological nonsense and believed in the very idea of Aryan supremacy.

All the flavorful circumstance which pushed the two us toward each other sealed the deal for us to start dating. Even though I could say the feelings and the dynamics of our relationship were rather mechanic in comparison to a sincere attraction caused by shared values or mutual interests. It was mechanic as it was highly affected by the constructed environment on the imagery of significant other. Again, my judgments were impaired; I have no idea that there is a specific term created for people like me who felt inferior in the presence of my date who came from the ‘developed country’. In fact, my choice of being with this first world savior was celebrated by my peers as I successfully pull out my exotic tricks straight from the small-timid-Asian-girl Playbook which I now burned among other disempowered attitudes b.s.

I mean, to an extent, or at least on my understanding what drives us to end it was mostly due to the fractions in that relationship, paraphrasing from him “it was coming from my backward thinking and overly traditional values.” I mean, I did not just spit over the religion which I was raised in and joined the so-called-progressive-agnostic-crew (I am not sure, I think he’s an atheist?). Furthermore, despite how secular I am, I still put religious values to my consideration especially in how I anticipate my decisions. To him, this will put me in the perpetual delusion of self-righteousness (dumm wie bohnestroh, my obnoxious kraut cannot see the irony). The sinking ship that is our short-lived relationship was beyond repair, well, it started off with holes in the first place, I even wonder how it stayed afloat in the first place. 

The very next day of the encounter, passing by, we could’ve been friends. 

In a dimmed room blasted by loud noises, we could’ve been friends.

Through your hands on my hips and a push on my lips, we could’ve been friends

Long stares galore and you who did not bore, we could've been friends. 

Blame the rum, blame the music, blame the room it was rustic, we could’ve been friends. 

But we are not friends, not by any intentions, accidents, or mistakes. 

For a little while, I have been avoiding my work and research. I have spent 2 years to gain the experience while paving my path and another 2 years to actually work in the academics field. I mean, it has been great, but do I love money much more than I love knowledge? 

Hello, waalaikumsalam and thank you very much :D 

Hello,

I used to have 2 meetings/week session and prescribed alprazolam. But then I can totally tell that my writing quality deteriorates as I became more and more forgetful (one of the side effects of alprazolam), I feel unable to perform in front of lots of people and it hits me even harder as I was starting to enjoy working in a research institution. 

For now I prefer more holistic approach in dealing with my anxiety and panic attacks, I tracked my food intake because I realized when I over-consumed sugar it triggers foul hormonal imbalances and I spend daily 20 minutes/day exercise. I have supportive environment as my institution provides free psychological consultation by appointment for the employees and I can take a day off every now and then. Lastly, I re-connect with people and they have been very accepting. 

Me, in Bogota, staring into your face, actual face, as close as it could be. 10 cm from each other, I can smell your scent, giving me a surreal sensation that shut our 6 years of separation. Regardless of how the world was, your dark hair once again captivated my mind as I pulled myself together and that’s when our hands touched each other’s. The world stops in one deep breath, an awkward smile, followed by forced giggles as the heart already knew what the heart wants. I was afraid, I was afraid that I became too consumed by the manifestation of my feelings towards you and by taking this step it meant that once again I have fallen upon my inner hysteria. I was afraid that when I leave, I’d once again be helpless by the thought of living on the other side of the earth. I was afraid that this is as good as it’s gonna get but I am not great with the nature of uncertainty. But at that time, by god or whoever rules the order of the universe, it was certain that I really want to kiss you. 

What’s on your mind? My head craved for the answer, the dark brown eyes left it unanswered as it was harder to suck on the air, leaving the 10 centimeter of space between us no oxygen to breathe in. This was the moment that I have long for in the sleepless nights where we had stumbled upon each other. If you knew what I did just to spend 5 hours with you, you’d know it was no child play. And so you did, put your palm in my cheek while you smile, your dimple was showing, and my brain had stopped working. 

“ You know, you were my first artificial crush, but not so much anymore.”   

Was that supposed to be flattering? Does that mean you have no feelings left for me? I cannot even fathom this magic spell you held upon my head, in your presence I am this 18 years old, dying to be loved. “not so much anymore?” I asked you, your hand was caressing my hair as it falls. 

“No, you are real now, no? Not a face on a screen, not an image for wasted feelings.” your hand was crawling to my other hand, 5 centimeter away our faces were apart. 

“I know. You are real and my mind still cannot process that.” 

“Maybe, it can process this.” 

In the touch of our lips and your hand resting on my neck, we fell into the comfort of the couch. Kissing you was everything that I have dreamed of slightly rough, you kiss with your upper lips and it got me overwhelmed, an unmatched tempo shared by two, but we are still in rhythm. For the first time, in that moment I knew that you wanted me as much as I wanted you. So I kiss you back while running my hand through you hair, as I drowned into your embrace. Heavily breathing into your face, once we looked at each others, I could see your blushing face and I told you “You don’t know how long I have waited for that.”  

As if 6 years of feelings spilled over that one kiss, as a release of two opposing polar hit on another once the imprisonment of distance release all of its chains. It was two energy being contained by faith, accepting to the cruel nature of destiny, yet the two were trying to understand why were their paths crossed in the first place. In the disarray of odds and probabilities, I cannot wait for the second kiss as I welcomed your lips into mine, going back to that moment when we become one. 

I mumbled “Por un beso de su boca. voy al cielo y hablo con Dios.” 

“Hey, you remembered.” 

“For me, you were never artificial. Never was a written word in the screen, never was made up, so if I am going to fall today, please let me fall,” 

You kissed me, again, rough, passionate, and meaningful. “I was a kid then, but let us fall together this time and let the world falls with us.” 

I feel like I was winning that time, the unraveling 23 years of pain, and for once something went right in my life. 

We were holding hands, watching as life passed down in the streets of Bogota that night. Me resting my head in your shoulder, not feeling like a loser, a loser who has been beaten down by life for so long. I was winning, right here, right now. 

I woke up as the creeping sun touched my face earlier this morning, there was nothing, just me in my old room, I looked at my cellphone it was GMT +7 not -5. My dream vivid and the remaining feelings were flushed into my brain residue. I woke up in much pain. 

I dreamed about you last night, I wish that it did not have to end.

 Hello day dwellers, people who accidentally followed my tumblog and hoping for some quality posts and met the exact opposite of what they wished for. 

I have not posted anything here due to various reasons, but it got me sad because tumblr is my first and true love. I mean, it gets harder and harder to write because of my job (great beeba, play the excuse game like you always do!). As a content writer I have been facing great challenges in writing sincere thing. The activity itself changed, from a therapeutic free time activity into something in which I got paid for. Thus changing the value of writing for me and to an extent got me even lazier to write (if I ain’t got remunerated for the activity, which is so lame). 

So yeah, I have a job now, well, I have had a job since 2015 but in the last 2016 is when I eventually settled for a steadier and stable job. I work for a research institution as a researcher, well junior researcher, on the beginning of 2016 I worked for ASEAN Studies Center and by the end of 2016 I moved to Center for Digital Society. It has been a crazy ride working in two different places and the burden on my shoulders got heavier when I commented on something as if I represented my institution just by saying a,b,c ... 

I have not graduated, even though I have never seen myself as part of the cliche humdrum of everlasting college student, I became one. I am currently working on my thesis (on the bright side, I won a research grant for my thesis, so cheers for Beeba!), I am working for it real hard while balancing the whole work, life, and family (okay, why family and life were separated? But I feel like as I got older life and family did not intersect anymore). 

I am still a pain in the ass with verbal diarrhea, but now I use more obscure words as part of my diarrhea.