the truth is.

1. i don't joke. i am only impulsive. i have nothing against clowns though. except for the fact that they scared the shit out of me. other than that, i'm good.

2. lady gaga terrifies me.

3. i have, more than once, dreamed of marrying jude law. or maybe those were day-dreams. whatever.

4. i don't get why people are so gung-ho about vampires. the only vampire for me that carries the true epitome of superior is tom cruise's lestad. vampires burnt in sunlight (cool!). they don't glitter, edward (duh!).

5. bantering is an ultimate euphoric drug for me. it's an addiction.

6. i want to bungee-jump once before i die. once is enough to brag to my spoiled grandkids.

7. chewing gums disgusts me. it leads to disgusting practice of leaving gums under the chairs. and how the hell would it cleanse your mouth when you just swallow the bacteria with your saliva. beats me.

8. i am a narcissist.

a woman. i am.

we are complicated. we are demanding. and most of the time, we have no idea what we want, and so we left it for you to figure it out for us. sometimes, or rather seldom, we do know what we want, but then we changed our mind like five seconds later, and changed it back the next five, and so on. see, we are indecisive people. but that's only because there are hundreds of thousands of things that we want in life, so much so that we don't even know what we really want out of those numbers. there would also be times when we get confused between things that we want and things that we need. i mean are prada shoes a desire or need? on the surface, it might seem like we simply want it to satisfy our addiction of walking in public wearing the most sought after pair of shoes. but if you look between the heels (read: shopaholic version of reading between the lines) you might be able to see the essential of owning the shoes, as essential as having water sources on the earth. you see, we need the shoes to boost our self-esteem, we need them to assert self-control of our surrounding, we need them to remind ourselves that even if our boss is an asshole, our boyfriend cheated on us, we still have one thing to hold on to - the prada shoes. i mean it's a jungle out there. you can't expect them to let you set up a tent and rest. you have to defend that tent, build traps, and use fireguns if you have to. in a nutshell, we might just need the shoes more than we want them, right?

we also said things we don't mean. you do too, but we did it as a habit. means we did it thousand times more frequent than you do. we're borne with it, with this tendency to say things the opposite of what we really mean. i'm also clueless as to how this habit started to reside in us, it's like it's hereditary, genetics or something. we women passed this tradition from civilisations ago, and it's still strong as ever. like a silent vow that cannot be broken. so when you asked stupid things like, "are you mad at me?" and was answered by "no" or "of course not", all you have to do is to break down the code into the opposite, which says "the hell i am, you bloody bastard". but of course, this is just an example of the most common scenarios between a clueless man and his anger-suppresive girlfriend. but under some odd circumstances, there are times when a "no" really means no. for instance, "can i smoke in here?" and her "no" most undoubtedly means no. i know it's quite tricky, isn't it? but don't worry, as time goes by, you just might be able to differentiate between the artificial "no" and the realistic "no". practice makes perfect. you can start by dissecting the replies you got from your family members, like sisters or mother. when you have built your confidence level, you can move on to your girlfriend. get the picture?

most of all, we prefer to be your last love than your first love. it's always nice to be your first love, but it's better to be your last. we would not give a damn of who your first love really is, or how magnificent and truly worshippable she is. all we care about is the fact that you chose to love us the last, means you're giving us the privilege of growing old with you, of bickering and fighting and then making up everyday for the rest of your life, to raise a family together and to be the one that when people asked, you would refer us as "my wife". that's all that matters for us. really. see how different you are with us? it means the world to you to be our first love. because no woman, i mean not one of us women ever forget our first love. it might fade away for some but never really went away. it stayed. permanently, like writings engraved on tombstone. people might not go to graveyards often, but their loved ones were never forgotten. so we do get why being our first love is damn important to you. you get to be a part of our lives for as long as we live. no matter how painful that would be for us. but honestly, we much prefer to be your last love. so when you have us by your side, and you want to keep it that way, please try your very best, the best that you can possibly do, to refrain from talking about your exes. try focusing on the present and you just might not lose us. or easier, don't talk about other women at all when you're with us, not even our sister or our best friend, let alone your friends who happened to be a woman. talking is one thing, complimenting is another. nope, that wouldn't do as well. we're hypersensitive, we're delusional, and we have insecure issues. but hey don't blame us, you guys are allowed to have four of us legally, and we...well we're not. so yeah that's pretty much covered the jealousy issue we have as well. we are actually very sensible creatures, once you decipher us accurately. and meticulously. and patiently.

amidst knowing all these, believe it or not, you'll fall in love with us nonetheless. because having us around to fight with, is bearable than not having us at all. and vice versa. so just fall in love, because everyone has equal chance to be miserable, if they want to. brace yourself to embrace us. you probably wind up happier than being alone. and for the miserable part, it comes with the package. ^^;

i don't know men.

i don't really know men. all those years living with a father and two older brothers did nothing to accentuate my knowledge on men. dad prefers to keep things to himself, and i never questioned any of his wisdom and principles. that's just the way things are at home, i suppose. with along, he likes to poke his nose into my business only if it added points to his business as well. and all embarrassing stuffs i did as a kid, he remembers them all. and i mean all. he said that was essential for his survival in the old days, to remind him of how lucky he is for not being the one to commit the shameful act. so much for brotherly act. my angah, on the contrary, preserves gold in his mouth. he barely speaks a word a day. to hear him cough is enough to be claimed as a lifetime glory. he would rather shut himself in his room and play ps2 instead of making small talks with us. but at least i would say he's making improvement now; you can actually hear his footsteps in the house. that's gotta take some guts, i tell you. and so that's the only thing i knew about men. and to be frank, that wasn't much.

as a kid, mum did not allow any of us girls to play outside. she said the dog would bite us, the postman would kidnap us, the neighbours would torture us in a slow and painful death, the cars would run us over, and all the crappy things that crappy siblings like us crappily believe. seriously, mum should really audition for desperate housewives kinda role. and terri hatcher could kiss her acting career goodbye. so that was how my child years passed me by; my playpen was within the four walls of my house. school years was not much different. i didn't have many guy friends. i wasn't the bubbly type, and who am i kidding, i only played with my dolls and had no human contact beyond my sibling relationship. my social skills sucked. wait i mean suck. they still are by the way. childhood experience can be psychologically threatening to our future peeps. take note of that. to top it all off, my brothers were the first two in the sibling line up, so due to the age gap, you could say we definitely did not hit it off right. at that tender age, i don't know why boys like to make fun of girls, i don't know why boys like to make girls cry, i don't know why boys chased girls literally, i don't know why boys checked their hair in the mirror every two seconds, i don't know why boys could be so mean one time and so nice the next, i don't know why boys like to play hide and seek only with certain girls, i don't know why boys teased a girl when everyone was looking but gave her flowers when no one was looking. i don't know boys.

but probably, there were few men in my life who impressively leave a mark. impressive because i have an extremely bad memory and would suck at being a CSI team member. some of them liked to watch the stars for some unknown reason, they loved football more than the ball loves them, they definitely liked pretty girls, they called their mum 'mummy' as irritating as it sounds, they wanted to have their girlfriend as their bestfriend, they had a huge ego the size of an european circus, their bad hair day equals to everyday, they had zero sense of style even though they seriously believes they had, they adopted almost every girl in the school as their sisters, they gossiped about their friend's ex-girlfriend's boyfriend with the same enthusiasm as playing football, they borrowed people's stuffs and only returned them once broken, they apologized to people by scrawling sorry words on their desks, they're nocturnal creatures, they never finished homework, they skipped classes as a weekly routine, they wanted to have a fairytale tragic love story but with happy ending somewhere between winter sonata or kal ho naa ho, they promised to never leave their first love as long as she needs them, and some of them even married their first love.

i don't really know men. i don't know why they did the things they did, and why is it sometimes they hurt the ones they love when they have the choice not to. why do they hurt the most those whom they love the most? i don't know men. do you?

love is...incomplete with absence.

i miss it.
i miss your jagged scrawl on my desk.
i miss the scent of your cologne.
i miss the warmth of my hand inside yours.
i miss your crinkled eyes when you smile.
i miss your stupid jokes.
i miss your mismatched clothes.
i miss your late night phone calls.
i miss your birthday presents.
i miss it.
i miss your seat next to me on the bus.
i miss our never-ending arguments.
i miss our camping trips.
i miss the way my heart beats when you near.
i miss pretending to look away when you look at me.
i miss when you borrowed my stuffs and only returned them when they were broken.
i miss when you copied my homework in class.
i miss when you hid my gym clothes.
i miss it.
i miss when you gossiped about your best friend's ex-girlfriend's boyfriend.
i miss your scowl when i ignored you.
i miss your messy hair.
i miss the scar on your left arm.
i miss your italics handwriting.
i miss the notes you passed in class.
i miss your comments on silly mistakes i made in exam papers.
i miss to help you with your tie.
i miss it.

and i'm trying to unmiss it all.
which hurts more than missing itself.

no one sees beauty the way we do.

untitled. yet.

when was the last time you held someone's hand and felt their cold sensation spreading through your warm skin, up to your chilling bones, to every inch of your numb-beating heart? the time when you felt this strong need, this throbbing pain to protect that person from anything, everything that could harm him? and to swear time after time to never leave him behind, what more to forget him.

and how many times have you broken those promises?

as i'm typing this, letter by letter, i felt myself shrinking in size, so small until the keyboard looked so huge and magnanimous. as big as the emotions bundled up inside, so tight that it suffocated my lungs, that i forced myself to stay awake; eyes wide enough in case the feelings burst out and shattered into million tiny pieces. you see, i've no sellotape to glue them back piece by piece, and besides it'll take too much of my time. every minute counts, especially when you have only one story to boast.

this is not my story. i wish it were, since most top-sellers happened to be the true story of the pathetic and melodramatic life of the writer, most probably about someone's death. and how they miraculously lived to tell the heart-wrenching story. corny, but profitable.

i, for once, did not write for money.

i knew it. i knew you were hoping i would type that one sacred and purity-based line above. sorry to snap you out of your la-la land, no offense. i can just imagine how you would look with that so contempt expression plus that naiviety that i couldn't help to try my luck. truth be told, everyone lives their lives always for the wrong reason. always. men married women for beauty. kindness is a bonus. women married men for security. love is a bonus. writers write for money. passion is a bonus. you read for pressure. pleasure is a bonus.

again, this is not my story. you can stop reading now if you felt that i am offending or insulting your intelligence by writing such insolent words with no inclination whatsoever about the hardships that you have to face, like washing 2-year-old Timothy's napkins to save cost, or hiding your car keys from your teenage son until you forgot where the brilliant secret hideout really is and ended up giving birth to Timothy's little brother in the garage and feeling not so brilliant anymore.

or you can read this just to kill time and wait for that jerk boyfriend of yours to finish his football practice and pick you up from the mall. and if you found this story to be totally lame, you can always hit his head with the laptop. never throw away a story. good or not, keep it. it might come handy someday. so hit him hard. but not hard enough to cause him into a coma. brain hemorrhage no. memory lost maybe. epilepsy yes. it's easier to cure and less chance getting sued by his poor parents.

this is a story. just is.

***

ish xde mood plop nk taip..ngantuk haaiiiih...;)

*momentum hilang tetibe2 sbb certain someone yg persistently popped his face into my mind. eeekk..*

TO BE CONTINUED. OR NOT.

rain rain go away.

i am just missing you.
but then you are living your life so good without me.
so i'll let you go.
so please go.
and never come back.
hate this feeling.