Vexations
Posted by Amel Anniza | Filed under Virtually Speaking
Bring a new domain:
Not always better, but still good enough to permit more than five posts per day.
Collected works gathered from this blog:
Remember
Posted by Amel Anniza | Filed under Affliction Diversion
We met once, in a dream, when I was nineteen.
It was afternoon. The hospital where I had stitches in my arm long ago — a childhood injury for being too insensible. I was walking out when you were heading inside. What was I doing there? Alone?
Serenity. The lane leading to the main entrance. White wooden pillars. Gray stony floor. Dry summer breeze. Squeaky swings that I loved so much. People passed us by. No need to stare. A short knowing glance. Everything melted into silvery blur of lights. You. Me. No one else. Not a word. Not a sound. Lightning-struck recognition. We found the one.
Were you twenty-one? The image was too hazy to recall. Your short straight black hair. Black eyes. Fair skin. White shirt. Black pants. One hundred and eighty centimeters of height. Our gaze almost reached the same level. Go back and remember. You must remember. The most beautiful feeling when we found each other. Your heart pulling mine.
I’ve been counting twelve lonely years to get to you. I found you once and now it’s your turn. Leave the dream and find me now. You have to find me. I believe in you. Only you can make me feel better. Make me whole again. No one understands. I need you to find me now. Find me.
Saturday, January 21, 2012, 8:08 PM
Tags: dream man, faded memories, foretelling, nineteen, the one, true love
Instant Swooning Effect
Posted by Amel Anniza | Filed under Fool's Paradise
Sasha Mitchell, in Spike of Bensonhurst, 1988: the most beautiful man in the entire Universe.
He reminds me so much of my fifth-grade (secret) crush, Richie. I am very sure that Richie looks a lot like Sasha when he is grown now. Too bad I don’t know where he is after I transferred to another school in sixth grade. And that is why I subconsciously feel fatal attraction towards tall, fair-skinned, dark-haired men.
Tags: fatal attraction, most beautiful man, photos, Sasha Mitchell, Spike of Bensonhurst
I Have Died Every Day Waiting for You
Posted by Amel Anniza | Filed under Unreliable Narrator
Fiction and its unrealistic depiction of men. Fair or foul?
I grew up with almost zero interest in sex or romance. The chapter “Reproduction” in my Biology textbook educated me on how humans mate. That was when I was fourteen. Maybe I was abnormal. Maybe I still am. There were crushes on boys since I was in my fifth grade. But nothing that I acted upon. Nothing but faraway crushes.
The first time I wanted to date a lad was in college, when I just turned twenty-two. And no, it wasn’t sex. It was blatant curiosity. Like, like… a paranormal instinct of sensing someone who was a reflection of myself. We met in an English Club session, where I assisted my professor in a Speaking class.
He was witty and charming. I was psychologically attracted to him. I was right, that he used to be a “good kid” like me: never dated anyone, spending most his time at home cause his mom asked him to do so. But after college, he turned “normal”, like everyone else. Started dating and touching girls. Eventually, when he told me all this, it turned me off. His behaviors conflicted with my idealism of an ultrachaste boyfriend.
That ended in 2005. Since then, I kept on searching for the one man who can fulfill all that I dreamt of. No one fits. Reality is very discouraging. It seems that chastity is not the trend of the twenty-first century. This evokes two fictional males as my role models.
Before Kurt Hummel, there was Cody Lambert: my 1995 TV crush from the series Step by Step. The actor playing him was Sasha Mitchell. Handsome, 188 cm tall, dark-haired. In the show, Codeman loves to read the novels in the local library, and volunteers there to teach children to read. His SAT score is 93% (and he didn’t even know that he needed to take SAT to apply to college). Naive. Silly. Thinks he’s a werewolf. Wears a cheese-shaped hat. And staying a virgin till marriage.
Another, more notorious lad is Edward Cullen. Though many people think he is just a bad influence on teenage girls, he’s not. I relate to him cause we are so much alike — apart from his being a vampire. He waited his whole life for Bella, the one whose blood sings to him. His true love. Imagine staying a virgin for 108 years. No sexual conduct with anyone. There was a female vampire he briefly kissed once, but he wasn’t in love with her. He stayed a virgin till he married Bella. He would die for her. And I would exactly do the same thing: waiting for the one.
If, in the end, life grants me no man, I will still be who I am today. Believing that I only have one shot to love the man who loves me for a lifetime. No second chances. There’s no other life. This is all we have. Our hearts will know that we are made for each other. When we finally meet after one thousand years, the world around us disappears. Only you and I.
Saturday, January 21, 2012, 3:20 PM
Tags: chastity, Cody Lambert, dream man, Edward Cullen, fictional idealization, made for each other, the one, true love
Questions and Assumptions
Posted by Amel Anniza | Filed under Virtually Speaking
Why do I still get unsolicited sex propositions on Okcupid even after I wrote this on my essay?
Why? Have Internet men gone illiterately mad? You do realize that I have all the power to take a screenshot of your insane message, with your Okcupid username on it, and then publish the whole drama on my public blog to defame you, don’t you?
Whether you’re twenty, or sixty, I am NOT interested in having sex with any stranger. Or anyone, for that matter. The only sex I’ll be having is when I’m married to the man — IF that elusive man exists somewhere. I will never change my mind. Not a chance. All of you are simply wasting my time. And yours. Quit sending me irrelevant or improper emails.
The only reason I get that red button on my Okcupid profile, saying “Replies very selectively”, is this. All of these stupid men! I really hate to appear like an arrogant bitch who only responds to an exclusive few. I’m not like that. I hope I’m not. And I’m not trying to be difficult. But I don’t find anything intriguing in the mails I received thus far. No reason to reply in earnest. Let’s just agree that I’m too lazy to write to anything that is not at least poetic, or creative. There. Laziness. Sue me.
Also keep in mind that I am looking for a very specific type of man: a rockstar poet, an artist.
What’s so hard about being respectfully sane on the Internet, anyway? Cause you don’t speak to me directly, it’s okay to write inappropriate remarks? If you meet me offline, in person, there is no way you have the guts to say all that indecency. Never. I’ll be too intimidating for your cowardly advances. You won’t even have the courage to talk to me. I look scary as Hell.
And you know what? Enough with the name-calling. I don’t care if you think I’m childish, unrealistic, weird, emo, too serious, crazy, unhappy, impossible, or whatever prejudicial label your petty mind can spill. I don’t want to hear your biased opinion on who I am. You don’t know me. At all. Just stop trolling, all of you.
There’s nothing more unappealing than a man who doesn’t know how to refine his words into something digestible for a woman’s sensitivity. The art of communication matters most.
Saturday, January 21, 2012, 12:42 PM
Tags: anonymity, idiot attractant, illiterate madness, incessant whining, men, Okcupid, overtly sexual message, replies very selectively, unsolicited sex
Torturous, Mysterious
Posted by Amel Anniza | Filed under Heavenly Haven
The brevity of my torturous sleep was offensive. I didn’t know what went wrong, but I just couldn’t force my drowsy brain to rest. That was probably less than an hour. So I showered. Trying to get rid of the irritating itch all over my body. Like an allergy. Sometimes I wake with this mysterious discomfort all over me. Irrational itching on my skin. Like my bed were trying to burn me alive. It forbids me to sleep. Even when I am sleepy. Odd. Like a hex. Dizzy spells and all. Possibly psychosomatic. I wouldn’t know.
I thought of finding something to alleviate my abstract disaster. Anything instant. I thought of seeing Glee. The free movie site just uploaded the latest January 2012 episode. Wasn’t there earlier this afternoon. And it was the best one I’ve seen so far. Truly enjoyed the songs. Found my most favorite: “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face”. So, so, so haunting! The scene was about the girls’ suggesting the perfect song for Will’s marriage proposal to Emma. The most heartbreaking love song. Poetic and moving.
And… another older but also enthralling stunt from the Glee cast, this one is from Blaine, Kurt’s gay partner, singing “Somewhere Only We Know”. Kurt went back to his old high school, and Blaine sang him a musical farewell. Blaine is a better singer than Kurt, I must say. He has strong, vibrant melody. It is very ill-informed to think that Glee transformed good songs bad. It makes them better. Brilliantly better. With much more vigor in it. I’m glad I decided to check the show out. Do remember that I devalue TV to the point of avoiding it since 2002. Ten years. But I love Glee. Pure bliss.
Even when I am awake with nothing particularly intriguing to do now, at least I could delight in late night entertainment of quality vocal performances.
January 21, 2012, 1:17 AM
Tags: brilliance, entertainment, Glee, musicals, review, songs, video
Time-Warping Kitten Molester
Posted by Amel Anniza | Filed under Heavenly Haven
Isn’t Bela the cutest kitten? I so wish he were mine.
Admit it! You want to go back to March 2007 and kidnap Bela when he looked exactly like the tiny Christmas present in this photo. I would carry him in my bag everywhere: to work, to the mall. Take a million webcam pictures with him and post them on my blog. What a wonderful life.
Today, the white stubby-tailed kitten played on my bed. He also slept here all night the last time, when it was raining outside probably. Curling on my side. So comforting. We slept and woke together! Like having a cuddly furry baby. I love it when kittens hop onto my bed to sleep next to me thinking I’m their mother. Snuggling, attacking my nose, and chewing on my hair. Mysterious why some love to nibble on my hair, endlessly, around thirty minutes till they get tired and then sleep. Or run outside. Strange. But endearing.
The rightful owners of that chubby whitish kitten, the twin maggots, call him Motor. No joke. From motorcycle. Maybe the kitten sleeps under my dad’s scooter or something. The twins have the most horrible taste for naming things. I want to name the kittens with Indonesian food names, like Lumpia and Bakwan. Food names sound much cuter for pets. The whitish kitten (I refuse to call him Motor, of course) should be called Ubi, which means sweet potato. Rofi said ubi reminds him of old grandfathers who love to eat sweet potatoes. See what I mean? Twisted analogy.
I’ll take photos with Ubi the next time he’s on my bed.
Friday, January 20, 2012, 9:07 PM
Bela
Tags: crazy cat lady, cute, kittens, names, photos, twin nephews
Developing a Chronic Pattern, Yet?
Posted by Amel Anniza | Filed under Impaired Contact with Reality
No, really. Not another one of my gay-guy crush. After Darren Hayes (who is bisexual, mind you, since he was married to his high-school girlfriend Colby). And that kid I knew from school, who used to be so infatuated with me when we were classmates, but then turned gay in college. Now… Kurt Hummel from Glee.
Ooooohhhhh, he is such a doll! My greatest weakness is cuteness. Kittens, dolls, people who look like dolls. Kurt. With pinchable rosy cheeks. Falsetto vocal. Super-stylish clothes. The arrogance. And that perfect poise. He stands out among the rest. Literally shining confidence and magnitudes of attitude. You just notice him. He’s radiant.
If people tell you that I simply fall for gay guys so that it would seem tragic and never end happily… well, that’s very wrong. Kurt is so similar to Darren. The great vocal quality, the eye-catching Willy Wonka outfits. I love, love men in fashion. Like those artsy design majors. We create our own signature looks. And this clearly shows delicacy. Aesthetic visuals thrill me most. Colors and defiance. The grudge to refuse conformity. How can I resist men in military coats? One who can sing? Seriously. Drop-dead gorgeous.
It started with a Rihanna song, “Take a Bow”, on a local Jakartan radio that I streamed on the net. Turned out the Glee cast sang it better. I saw more videos of their covers and began to feel immense curiosity. The show was confusing for the pilot episode, but afterward it gets entertainingly hilarious. Funny, clever lines. Insults. The songs and dance performances are spectacular.
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Internet geeks kept writing how Glee made good songs sound bad. I completely disagree. The actors/singers are very professional. Lea Michele has a most beautifully enchanting vocal. Chris Colfer, who plays Kurt, wouldn’t win two Golden Globe awards if his act were that stupid. They’re awesome.
Yeah, the story line can become too Disneyfied with happy endings and teary friendship. Dull. Repetitive. But it pays to view the tunes. Powerful, pleasing tunes. You won’t regret it. Take it from me. I loathe TV. Even movies. Any motion pictures, actually. Videos, too. I dislike closely following tapes of moving things. Words are better. But Glee is addictive enough that I kept playing more installments in the past three days. On the second day, the moment I woke up, I couldn’t wait to watch the next part! Silly.
Most of all, I have the chance to see Colfer’s unforgettable portrayal of Kurt. Best ever. He’s so young and so talented. Everyone should try to achieve that much. Enviable and inspiring.
Friday, January 20, 2012, 6:26 PM
Chris Colfer
Tags: aesthetic, Chris Colfer, fashion, gay crush, Glee, Kurt Hummel, men, musicals, review, TV shows
Turning Pain into Fun
Posted by Amel Anniza | Filed under Impaired Contact with Reality
Three posts a day. I promised myself this month I must complete that self-imposed challenge. Last month, it was only two per day. But since I only accepted to teach TWO full day this January (Hell-yeah, no more rowdy elementary school brats), I thought I have enough time to waste in prose and poetry.
I’m not addicted or anything. It just feels most rewarding when I am able to complete a poem or story that I adore. Beats the wonder of falling in imaginary love, or even talking to Steven. Or whatever. Even when I can only revere 60% of all the stuff I wrote, I still think it’s my calling. What I do best. And I won’t trade the job with anything else. Writing is my true love, after all. That is exactly why I want to write with no financial compensation for a while, to see if I really can stick to a non-directional routine.
With the money I have saved, I can survive six to twelve months. Living on a prayer. Exploring what chaos I can endure. Experimenting with more forms, diverging from my typical style and conventions. Dissecting layer after layer. Solidifying a more diverse portfolio, which I might use to apply for that unnecessary MFA in creative writing. I kept saying I still need to upgrade my fiction, but it really is an excuse for not applying. Maybe I am too attached to my parents that I can’t bear to be away from them.
Whichever it is, I don’t care. I still can write and polish my skills without some fancy academic degree, anyway. All on my own. That’s what matters most to me. The chance and self-determination to advance. Personal enjoyment to do what I want.
Five more pieces to publish before midnight. There are always those poetry drafts… I can find some resolutions for them. Not instantly, but faster than starting anew. In the past three days, I’ve been slacking watching Glee. Yup, that high-school musical TV show. I just love vocals so much. But not writing enough will make me hate myself. Five more to go!
Friday, January 20, 2012, 5:04 PM
Cupcake author
Tags: best job in the world, challenge, emotional rewards, labor of love, the perfect plan, true love, writing
League of Lonesomeness
Posted by Amel Anniza | Filed under The Craft
Writing gods and goddesses, from 2006 to 2012:
(In chronological order, with the first of his/her most influential work for me.)
DH Lawrence — “Elemental”
Dorothy Parker — “General Review of the Sex Situation”
Sylvia Plath — “Lady Lazarus”
Anne Sexton — “Her Kind”
Darren Hayes — “Neverland”
Emily Dickinson — “If I Can Stop One Heart from Breaking”
Oscar Wilde — “The Happy Prince”
Jill Alexander Essbaum — “Poem”
TS Eliot — Four Quartets
Sadly, I am unable to match these authors’ brilliance. My writing is both mediocre and unseasoned. Horribly experimental. Confused. Childish. Sounding suicidal has been with me since 1999. I just kept it a secret till reading Plath. She made suicide sound so unbelievably cool. At least in writing. Parker taught me that scathing wit. Sexton her witchcraft. Hayes his vindictive heartache. Wilde that prettified, highly-stylized diction. Essbaum her lyric. Eliot his ponderous inclination. Dickinson her choppy dashes. Lawrence his outrageous erotica.
The anger is genuine: I am so mad at everyone. My brutality is most likely a derivative substance of all those serial-killer novels I read from 1994 through 2002. Or, those traditional medieval fairy tales, where living creatures were constantly mutilated in honeyed murders. I am intrigued by deviant behaviors. That was why I wanted to study criminal behaviors in psychology major. Now that I can freely exploit them in my writing, everything tastes better.
So, you see, I have nothing new to offer. I am merely a borrower. A bad imitation of every other name. If someone offers me generous compliment, I shall question her judgment for life. Distance me from your unsought optimism. Impartial criticism is much more constructive.
January 19, 2012, 9:49 PM
Tags: authors, creative writing, moods, poets, songwriters, suicide, tone, writers, writing influences
