Atypical Wanderer

Do I consider myself a writer? Yes. Truthfully saying, I do. People who know me personally might think I am being cocky after being able to publish my debut book recently. But, frankly speaking, the title as a book writer (well, if some people even consider to call me that) is not that huge for me, maybe because I am not recognized that well by people in the industry as well as the public reader (maybe not just yet). I only consider myself as a real writer when I write in this blog. There are a few reasons I want to continue blogging after I had left this blog for quite some time. I want to ease all the monologues inside my head. I might not be a kind of person who is loud  on the outside but my head sometimes do have all sorts of things to talk about that my sleep gets distracted at times because I don't talk about it with others. So, the options are to talk about it aloud with anyone or anything, or to write them down. Considering I rarely share my thoughts verbally a...

Finally, I have managed to publicly release my debut book, co-written with my friend together with a small contribution from her sister. It is about a little more than two months now that the book is up on the market.  If you ask me how I feel, I feel more relieved than excited actually. I am relieved that the effort finally gets to the place as we have once dreamed of when we were still at school, to be in the writing and publication industry as well as at the hands of general people. I am also relieved that I am able to fulfill the promise I made to write a book with the same friend.  I can say that the feeling of me being able to publish a book equals to that of when I was graduating from my degree study. More relieved than excited. And nervous too. The thought of getting the scroll up on the stage made me nauseous. The only reasons I forced myself to attend the convocation were because my mom did not approve the idea of me being absence from my own convocat...

How can I not fall in love with the way she looks at him? I watched the movie first, quite long before I read the book. The movie was excellent. The novel was quite a let down at first because I read it with my own 24-year-old's voice when I should've used a five-year-old boy's instead. Silly me. Shouldn't have made the mistake after watching the movie.  Like most stories being made into movies, there are a few differences between the novel and the movie. However, I don't really mind that because the complexities are still there.  Reading this book, you can easily hate Ma, the mother of Jack, that had been kept captive by his kidnapper for as long as seven years. She occasionally had mood swings especially when she was treated at a hospital after she and Jack were finally saved by the police. She would easily become irritated when the doctor wanted to run a check-up on Jack; she would insist that there was nothing wrong with her son because she has taken a g...

Sometimes, we just crave for someone's presence. Someone who is still living or might not be. Someone who is near or far, or someone who is near but seems far or the other way around. The four best friends from high school or maybe that one friend from university. Or maybe a friend we might not know for years; maybe a week was just enough to make it feel like years of friendship because we just clicked but sadly both of us quietly faded away as no commonness tied us anymore.  Or maybe we just miss being in a  situation or a place. We might not miss the entirety of it. Maybe just the light feeling of wind through our hands, the dim rays from the sun, the scent of the newly cut grass, the sight of the long bridge from afar, the songs from our earphones.  Or maybe we just feel like we're missing some people or some things but we're not quite sure what they are. We want to cry but it doesn't feel right. But we choose to cry still. And I think this is one of the lonel...

One of my seniors asked me a few very elementary questions about English grammar, maybe about a week or two ago. As the questions were very simple, I could give her the answers almost right away.  But, you know what? I felt quite content afterwards. It was like my small wish had come true.  I had wished that my friends, especially ones older than me, to not feel embarrass to ask me anything, especially when it comes to English. No matter how basic the questions might be.  And when even there is only one person does not feel any kind of inferiority to do just that, I feel that I have somehow lived a part of my life right. 

Happy Birthday to Me! I know it is kind of late now to wish myself as I have a little more than half an hour until a new day arrives. But still, I want to. It feels good to be extra good to myself on this day. I think it has been about two years since I hid my birth date from all of my social media profiles. I decided that I couldn't totally rely on other people to make me feel special on the day I was born. There was this one year that my family, even my parents, didn't remember my birthday. I had to keep rationalising in my head; "Parents can forget too. They're just humans." So, I received no birthday wishes and of course, no celebration. I felt kind of down but I kept my mouth quiet. I wanted to be cool about it. However, needless to say, I felt quite hurt. Then when I was at the university, I secretly hoped for birthday wishes and surprises from my friends, especially from a friend that was very special to me. I kept having butterflies in my tummy un...

I know that kind of people. The kind that doesn't really talk much but can listen very well. They listen when others tell their problems to them but they themselves don't tell their problems to people. They want to but they can't. They have such a high standard of who can listen well to them , just as well as they can listen to others. They want to see themselves in other people.  They consider it as their strength. But it might be their flaw.

When one reads a good book, they would absolutely give the author the credit. However, when one watches a good movie or drama, often the credit is not rewarded to the scriptwriter first but rather to the casts or director. Without a well-crafted script, a story feels empty though with extraordinary performance by the actors and good directing by the director. I salute all the scripwriters that have produced a very high quality dramas and movies that have left me thinking that dramas and movies can do more than just entertaining. I thank you for the job well done. I wonder if I can write as creatively.

I just went to a bookstore a week ago and by chance saw this thick book of Shakespeare's work compilation. I thought I would like to buy it because the price is like really totally affordable. Like really totally affordable.  However, on second thought, I didn't think I should spend money on it because the thing is that Shakespeare sounds good only when other people, favourably with voices like that of Hugo Weaving, Benedict Cumberbatch, Colin Firth or John O'Hurley, read it to me. If I am to read his work again (I had to study Hamlet when I did my degree) all by myself, I think it is possible for me to have a double nosebleed. Another bummer is that the book is very heavy for me or even anyone to carry around everywhere. I mean, who carry around a book with like 700 pages++ for a bus ride? Isn't it better to make them into a few volumes but still with the same price? Since it is only reasonable to forget the whole thing about owning the book, shall I give mys...

"I'm ready to forgive you but forgetting is a harder fight." - Little Do You Know, Alex & Sierra Here it is about pain. People say that time will heal all wounds, all pain. Even Adele said that. Well, she said that people say that while she actually "ain't done much healing".   I actually doubt this statement. How can you be completely healed if the flesh is cut too deeply that you bleed too much? And even, to be back to how you used to be,  to how things as they once were before you are stabbed? People can expect you to be better after certain period of time. But, they cannot expect you to be exactly as you once were, especially the ones that have caused the pain. Because in the healing process, you might miss to pick up the pieces of yourselves that are shattered to very tiny pieces that they are almost impossible to be glued back. The pain might still be felt though the wound is getting better. Doubts might replace the trust you ha...