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Smells like Adventure

12 Oct

I’m obsessed with smells. No news. Everybody knows that. And because I’m obsessed with smells, I can’t stop talking about it like it was some spanking news. That’s why it’s called obsession, na?

Just 10 minutes ago, I was sitting in the garden crushing a fresh bay leaf and kept sniffing it again and again. Quote from Jake: “all right, stop doing that. you might as well stand up and run around the tree”. I swear, I did consider his sarcastic suggestion. But then the sun set and the chill creeped in the air and I decided to go to our room and write a blog.

Not about bay leaves. Thank God!.

About the smell of adventure.

I get bored if I stay in one place for too long. I do. I’m constantly on the moves. Sometimes, my move is just as lame as going to the next town for a day. Other times, I grow gigantic balls and go off for a mission either on a bike or on the most dangerous local bus you can find to be in the middle of no-where, with no information or research whatsoever. It’s the thrill of not knowing what’s ahead that gives me immense excitement. I moved to England in that exact thrill.

Ok, admit, it was hard. It can hardly get more predictable than England. It’s England, for god sake: the rain, the grey sky, more rain, the systematic way of things, more bloody rain, the boring way of things, and moooore rain god damn it, the oh-thought-i-was-smart-with-my-dry-humour-no-you’re-just-being-rude-you-dumb-ass way of things, etc. etc..

But I tried. Everytime people asked me if I was ready, I was like “errmm… yaah”. That basically meant “no, but why would I tell you that”.  Fact is, I was slowly bringing myself into that thrill of having no expectation by not thinking about it. I just sort of let it happen. I did not plan anything. I did not do tons of research. Ok, I did google where to do salsa in freaking Cornwall (that was it, I swear!). I wasn’t even bothered looking for jobs. Hell, I wasn’t even bothered thinking about jobs. Whatever was waiting for me around the corner of my life, I did not give a crap about it.

So when I finally had a teary goodbye to my family at the airport, went through the security check and walked toward the boarding gate, reality all of the sudden poped up. “I have no idea what’s next”. All in my head was ridiculous fun time I had before I left and nothing about England. I was blank and confused. But then I took one step into the air-bridge, and I smelled it.

The smell of adventure.

I don’t know what it was. Plastic smell of the bridge plus clean fabric from passengers’ clothes and luggage plus purified air through the vent and abit of disinfectant spray may be? God I hope it’s not just disinfectant spray. My smell of adventure will then be so pathetic. But that exact smell when you step in an air bridge was what sparked the flame of desire for extravagant missions in me. And that flame exploded into a gigantic fire when I stepped in the plane and the flight-attendent with two and a half tons of make-ups on her face smiled at me then said “Welcome aboard!”

Holy crap!!!!!

I couldn’t help a massive beam on my face.

Here it comes.

Another adventure.

This one with an open ending.

I didn’t care I was moving to England (this time for muuuch longer than the last and to make it more appealing, I was going to live in Cornwall. Not even Bath. Cornwall! Exactly! Seven freaking hour on the train to go to London if I ever want to catch Red Hot Chili Peppers at the O2 Theatre). I didn’t care if I was moving anywhere else.  Who cares about destination. A move, an unknown ending, that was just more than enough.

I generally don’t like the sound of “settling down”. It sounds old. It sounds … finished. I have one place I call home, knowing that I can always come back and that, gives me the freedom to fly.

So here I am, spreading my wings flying high. (Although, don’t think I’ve ever landed since I was born.)

I might touch the sun and get burnt to shit. But hey, at least I’ll make a fireball in the sky intead of a pile of rotten dirt on the ground. That wouldn’t smell nice. At all.

18th Sep 2011

18 Sep

I feel lost.

The boat I’m steering is now floating in a grey ocean, moving in very confused directions by confused waves. I don’t know how to proceed.

The light breeze that was once with me has gone. I still dance I still eat I still read I still write I still cry I still breath; but my heart is heavy and my soul is troubled.

Hanoi doesn’t help. Hanoi and its grey clouds. Its beautiful rain. Its sad green trees. Its coffee houses. Its friends. Its love. Its blood and bones. Its heartache and worries.

My room is filled up with stuff that I’m gonna or not gonna take with me. I carry “Wolf Totem” around with me and read a few pages with a blank mind every now and then. I give my loved ones attention as much as I can at times and hide in my room at others. I had been too comfortable knowing that they were just 2 hours away. I had been too comfortable living on my own. Now everything is changing and time is rushing and I’m lost. How do you show so much love and worries within such a short period of time and not freaking yourself out having to deal with so much emotions? How do you persuade yourself that the total freedom you had was just a temporary illusion and it doesn’t mean that’s how you want to live your life?

I

just

want

to

sit

down

and

cry.

Who says the world we’re living in really exists?

11 Sep

I’ve recently taken into liking the word “reverie”. Beyond its beautiful meaning, the more I say it, the more I love the way “rie” come out slowly and linger so close to your front teeth before hanging like a frail puff of cloud in cold air. I guess that’s what reverie is – a frail puff of cloud in cold air.

Transparent.

Light.

Yet, undissovable.

Sounds like life itself?

Friends from your Past Life

30 Aug

I was looking at the “people you may know” list that facebook gave me (in case you’re wondering, no, I did not find anyone I know) and before I clicked away, I saw this “find friends from different parts of your life” texts. But of course, at 5am in the morning, my weary eyes and random mind combined have made my brain translated it into “find friends from a different/past life”. For a second, I thought: “Wicked!”. But as lame-ly spiritual as I am, I’m still normal enough to know facebook developers are not that insane yet. On a side note, I wish they were.

Nevertheless, my mistake still got me thinking how it would be to find somebody you know from a different or/and your past life. Or/And because it depends on what you would choose. I define a different life is your life in a different universe. To believe in this, you’d have to believe in metaverse theory. Past life, however, is only acceptable if you believe in Samsara. So you can be either a science head or a spiritual soul … or you can be both, I guess. For the sake of the randomness of this post, being written at early hour in the morning, after an all-nighter and an unnecessary full breakfast, let’s just assume that different life and past life are both exist. How would it be to meet somebody you know from those lives?

I’ve always believed that we are all connected to each other somehow, the same way we’re connected to the earth, the trees, the rocks, the sun, the universe. We share the same Big Soul. We’re made from the same materials. The whole universe is made from the same materials. The whole universe came from one cauldron. We.Were all born from the stars. But of course, the connection is stronger and more recognisable with certain people because we happen to cross each other’s life, get to know each other, understand each other, and even fall in love with each other. Would a personal connection be strong enough to alert us even after we’ve crossed the border between universes, or we’ve been reborn? My guess is it would.

Go ahead, call me crazy. I told a friend today about the strange feeling when you meet someone,  think nothing of that person more than any others you’ve met along your life; and one day you randomly dream about being really close with that person and yes it can happen because it’s a freaking dream, then you wake up and completely forget about your dream, then you happen to meet that someone again and your heart jumps and air disappears from your lungs and you ask yourself why does it feel like I’m in love while I know I am actually not, then you figure out you must have fallen in love with this person in one of your dreams. Sounds strange? Well, it happens. The weird thing is that heart-jump and air-out-of-lung feeling doesn’t last. Because it’s not the result of anything real. It bases on your wonderful dream world. It’s an echo of mystical whispers that you hear when you’re sleeping. My idea: it would be exactly the same when you meet a friend from your past/different life. You will have that strangely strong emotion that you have no idea where the hell it comes from. It is there, in your emotional reaction and physical response, but it doesn’t make any sense because your memory simply can’t recall the connection you have with that person.

So what’s next? Nothing’s next. Because like I said this is a completely and utterly random post that serves no purpose whatsoever. I’m sorry if you expected something profound or philosophical by the end of this post. All I can say is past or different, that somebody has nothing to do with us in this life. Whatever emotion they bring, it belongs to another world.  What really matters is what emotion they can bring to us now, this time, in this world. Because at the end, we only have this one life to remember, to hate and to love. All the others, if they exist, do not belong to us of who we are today.

So, there you go. My babbling about absolute non-sense stuff has started with crooked vision and ended with who-gives-a-crap.

Have a nice day!.

Never Seem To Go…

18 Aug

I have lying around in bed for the last two hours. Two hours ago, I texted him, told him I’d try to get an early nite. It’s 2am now and I’m still wide awake. I’ve done all that I can: I listened to Norah Jones; I wrapped myself in the newly washed blanket and breathed in the fresh linen smell that I’ve always loved; I counted the tiny light pink flowers printed on the new bed cover that the landlord put on for me while I was away; I sat in half-lotus position, ran my fingers through the ancient “impermanence” script carved on the inside of my ankle like a casual ritual before going into mediation, I watched my breath going in and out, I even saw the energy flow running like mad inside me, I managed to slow them down… then I gave up.

Something is awake. It’s not me. It is something instinctive and basic and so ancient that has been surviving through millions of years of evolution, existing before my own existence and will forever be there after the Armageddon of the whole universe. No, I can’t see it, let alone calling its name. I can feel it though: rough and untamed like a wild wind from the west in the middle of a still summer noon, when even the sun itself is not moving. I surrendered.

It is there.

I opened my eyes, touched the “impermanence” script again and exhaled. I sat in the dark, watched it crawl all over me, get in between my very cells, cover my fingers and hold them tight with a loving force, and finally melt into my skin and bones. Now that I carry it within every breath I take, it suddenly becomes warm and gentle. Its edges are still sharp enough to leave a few deep cuts where it goes, but the pain is almost enjoyable. I am a few kilos heavier. I’m now held to earth with a strange and powerful ancient force the way a very light balloon is held to the ground with a rough rock tied to its string.

I unplugged my laptop, put it next to me on the bed and turned on Joni Mitchell. I like doing that sometimes: having the music right next to me instead of having it filled up the space with a quality stereo system. Then the music is broken. Then the music is real. Then the music is personal.

She is speaking to me, pulling all the strings that connect to sadness in my soul and body. She covers them with sparkling blue dust. Her vulnerability shakes me.

I want to put a soft kiss on the corner of her lips, where time and love have drawn a downward line.

I want somebody to put a soft kiss on the corner of my lips, where vulnerability has made it curve into a half-smile.

I awoke today and found the frost perched on the town
It hovered in a frozen sky, then it gobbled summer down
When the sun turns traitor cold
And shivering trees are standing in a naked row
I get the urge for going but I never seem to go

(Urge for Going – Joni Mitchell)

Something random

10 Aug

We were in the middle of the most crowded bar in town.

The music was loud.

The guys were hitting on my friend hardcore. Understandable. She was, I think, the hottest girl in the whole place.

I danced. I gave her a smile every now and then. I danced like the world did not exist. My body was hot and my mind was cold. My thoughts drifted from one to another, too fast to even know what they were. I could only catch a glimpse of their trace: something in a sad turquoise shade, bubbling like it had been heated under some deep surface for a while.

Then she appeared. She was wearing a sky blue maxi dress. I didn’t see her shoes but I guessed she was wearing flat cos I had to bend down pretty far to hug her. Her necklace was a simple and elegant string of blue stone beads, hugging tight around her neck. I looked at her, and thought to myself: “Blue. How beautiful!”. I kissed her on the lips. I rarely meet her. We don’t even talk on facebook. Somehow, we always kiss on the lips whenever we bump into each other. A comfortable, friendly kiss.

She asked me about my trip, asked me if it was in fact delayed. Then she hugged me. Stroked my hair. Kissed me.  Then she said “I know, babe. I know. You know you just have to do it, right?”

I almost broke into tears. Me. Felt like crying. In the middle of the most crowded bar in town. At almost 3 am in the morning. While the guys around were hitting on my other friend. While everybody else around was busy in all different kinds of trading: kiss, touch, phone number, drinks, hope for a shag, etc., etc.. I. Almost broke into tears.

I stood up, took one third of a second to catch up with the beats, and started dancing again.

Things are where they should be

9 Aug

He was shocked when I told him I got a new tattoo on the hairline at the side of my neck.

“my wife has a tattoo on her head … takin me a sec to get over it”

That was his reaction. Word by word.

.

I’ve been thinking about this “Flow” tatt for a long time, same with when I got others done, I took my time to fall in love with the idea, nurture it  before having it done permanently on my skin. I know I do alot of random things out of spontaneity, but getting a tatt is not one of them.

You all know what flow mean, or rather, what it means to me. It is now standing proudly, beautifully, intricately on my neck, near my smart head; and yes, there’s a reason for it. While flow is what we should all aim for, I don’t think we can always achieve it. My idea: it is our supposedly smart brain that keeps us from flowing freely. What we call logics, reasons, inferences are sometimes simply barriers to a wider horizon and greater experiences. I’m not going against logic. Trust me, I’m one of the biggest nerds you can find. But like I said once: “Sometimes, experience can be obsolete and doing the right thing is  determined solely by unknow the knowns“.

Our hearts always want to flow. It knows where it want to go. If you have a good heart, it will always tell you the right thing. You just have to listen to it closely. It takes time. It does. It takes an aweful lot of time and immense love and heart-breaking patience and painful practice to really listen closely and not get fooled by all background noises you hear around you everyday. But once you heard it, it will never fail you. Even if you follow it and stumble into sadness, lovesick, loneliness, or even the worst of all emotions: desperation, I believe that’s because you need to, because it’s the right time for you to go through something negative. It’s just the other side of the coin, isn’t it. Life is not all flowers.

I do use my head alittle too much sometimes. Even though I love the world with all the generosity I can gather with pieces of my once broken heart, I know that I’ve never let myself go a hundred percent.  (There goes my secret!). There has always been a layer of invisible protection skin that seperate me from this beautiful but chaos world. As much as I want to tear it off and dive myself into the fantastic tangled mess of the world, I stand firm on my ground with a “no, thanks” smile on my face.

I want that to change. I want my smart brain to flow with my heart and not holding me back. My “Impermanance” flowers on my ankle have reminded everytime I mediate, everytime I walk that I need to keep moving, keep walking because things change with or without me realising that or not. And I did exactly just that. I’ve given up expection and learnt to let go even while I was falling in love. It was scary. I still am scared now, sometimes. It’s not easy to take in then let go and let things pass by your life as easy as streams of pure water in an early monsoon. But hey, I trusted my heart. I need my brain to trust it too. So just let it flow, baby.

Let it flow.

Sand

25 Jul

10pm. I’m still in the office. Nothing that’s worth anything has been done all day.

My mind doesn’t stay still. Small thoughts that are too insignificant to form even half an idea chase after each other in my head, twirling like grains of sand in the last wind before sunset when the desert is at its utmost silent moments.

Confusion creeped in. Last night. Then disappointment and anger ripped my veins. I could hear it, the crackin sound they made tore the thick night into crumbling pieces. It was hard to breath. And before I knew it, I was drowning in my own sparkling tears.

Drought.

I don’t feel a hint of moist in the air. Sand is blankly rude. It runs freely everywhere, scratching smooth and soft surfaces, leaving them callous and exposed. Vulnerability conquers.

Surprisingly, I find myself in an almost serene anaesthetized state. I stare emotionlessly at scratches that are visually becoming opened wounds. I walk pass seduction that are warm and tempting. I type meaningless documents that will bring me meaningless money that serves nothing but my ego.

Almost 11pm. I’m still in the office. Deserted. Sandy. Wounded. Blank. Which way did the camel go?

I want a good fuck.

Or a stab.

The last moment before sunset stays forever. I want the night to come.

Tranquillity

4 Jul

I’m feeling rather reckless these days.

Just now, it took me 5 mins to pick up a piece of food. And I just ashed on my keyboard (the keyboard is fine, thank you for your concern…. hallelujah to the silicone cover).

May be I’m tired. I’ve been working from 6am till 6pm for 7 days straight. I’ve been going out dancing till early hour in the morning for 7 days straight . Things are not going well. I can tell. My fingers are trembling and it’s hard to write down my thoughts. I should be sleeping, but I am not. I find myself grabbing bits of stirring sleep in the car, in between things I have to do. Never a proper sleep. I’ve lost 4kgs. My lungs are burning from smoking abit too much. And my eyes are empty.

May be I need sex. Awesome sex.

May be I just need to pack my bag and go.

A week ago I was sitting in half-lotus position, closed eyes and topless by a white lotus pond in the middle of nowhere for my friend to take some photos. She was happy with the shot. What she didn’t know was I was happy being a model, first time in a long time. I don’t like being infront of the camera. I’m shit with striking good poses. I can’t bring myself to look sexy or good by intention. I prefer acting like a nut. But a week ago, I was happy.

As soon as I took my top off, faced the pond, closed my eyes and felt the early sun kissing my bare skin, I drifted into this immense empty warm space. For a brief moment, I felt it again – the wholeness of the universe embraced my body and soul with its most gentle love and tender arms. My existence blurred. Its edges transformed into transparent electric blue clouds and slowly dissolved, leaving my self unprotected and free. That self was so light and thin that sunlight can just blow in and make its tiny pieces flew up like fairy dust, rised and merged into one with streams of magic flowing in the air. There was no me. There was just tranquillity.

I do try to meditate every so often. Unlike what people often have in mind for me as a little carefree hippy who always takes things easy, tranquillity state don’t come easy. At times (and quite often), I found myself sitting still for half an hour trying everything I could to talk my mind into peace and still failed miserably. But whenever I’m in the sun when nothing but nature around me, all I need to do is close my eyes, take one breath and peace would seep in my veins as quiet and naturally as a long lost love.

I was suprised when I saw the photos my friend took during the trip. I was beautiful, the kind of beauty that always put a smile on my face whenever I see it around. Careless, troubleless, serene, at peace.

So may be, all I need to do now is put my ciggy out, get through this busy time then pack my bag and go.

To peace.

P.S: Millions of thanks to Chou for capturing magic moments.

A good act is a Good act.

16 May

After alot of thinking back and forth about what good it actually does for animal when we rescue them and they get attached to us and then they are moved to a better environment, I’ve decided that yes I am a fool for doing that and No a good act is a Good act and I won’t give up.

I just need to tweak things a little bit, like instead of having them as pets when we absolutely can’t provide them with what they need,  we will still rescue animal and move them to a rescue centre as soon as we have a chance, or better yet, call the rescue centre to rescue them. See, now sometimes all you need is a little tweak and life is a wholelot better.

A good act is a Good act. Buddha would never say that. To him there’s no good or bad. Well, I don’t care. Doesn’t matter how much I adore the guy and how much of a Buddhism culture I grew up in, I was never a proper Buddhist. I just bare as am and as real and as full of shit as life that we see with our mortal eyes. So I do count good and bad and doing good things is in my list of giving back to Mother Nature for having me born.

The hard part is defining good and bad. Grey area is always massive while black and white  barely exist at edges. I’d say you just have to go with your guts and give it a little tweak every now and then. Trust me, you’ll make horrid mistakes and because you’re a good little human who often think for others you’ll take most of the consequences on yourself. But it’s ok. You did your best and that positive energy is now  shared and spreaded and it will lead to something good eventually. The Universe has its own mystical way and I believe sometimes all it needs is good intention and a try from us.

So what if our pets had to say goodbye to us. So what if my friend’s turtle is now in Japan exposing to high radiation while  hanging out with a bunch of school kids. May be the rescue and giving up of one turtle is all that the Universe required to bring happiness to hundreds of kids after the destructive tsunami.

So when  you think you’re doing something good, just go for it. Try Your Best and Leave The Rest for the Universe to Decide.

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