It's almost a year since the last time I posted some unreasonable crap. I've found my new sandbox so. Yes. I've got diarrhea today. My tummy hurts. Like. Oh my God.
lorelei, lorelie
lorelei, lorelie
angst I’d never sing of love, if it does not exist.
Up until now, I, Kim Kibum—had sworn to myself that I never believe in love.
Little Kibum learned how to lie; how to keep pretending over anything. Twelve years ago; when he was seven and old enough to encode the fundamental fact that life wasn’t all about sunshine and flowers (and Disney, he thought, was the biggest liar ever for making those stupid happily-ever-after fairytales), he began lying.
Home and parents. First victims. Being the only child was probably the last thing he ever asked to God. The overly-high expectations, hard pressures—how Kibum wished to turn into superhuman or just idiotic type one, instead. Not that he wasn’t gifted with brilliant brain (he was even majoring English); but everyone had their limits. And when his hands started trembling, shivering, shaky to the death (I’m exhausted, save me, save me) at least home would promise some comforts. But it never did. It was so hellish that it could torn him away with fake smiley-face plastered on his mom’s, unpleasant low mumbles from his dad, anything.
Where is the love, the love, the love.
So the curtain opened. The stage was ready; and his dialogue would flow (Hi Mom, hello Dad, I am fine). Steady like river, yet heavy like copper.
Friends, school, girls—fuck them all. Teachers sucked. His life was no more than blue sad—cheesy—film. Plain grey. Sure, leaves are green and sometimes red or yellow on fucking frigid winter; sky is blue, though everything flashed on his mind would simply mean black and white. And so, Kibum stopped believing. He got his time wasted by building fences around his tiny-mini heart; guarding it perfectly.
Keep a straight face, a comfortable distance.
But Kim Jonghyun succeeded knocking those down.
Kibum wasn’t really sure how it worked on him. He just entered Minho’s main ballroom (the blasting music, the deafening speakers, everybody danced, sang, laughed) while a pair of eyes were directed on him. There was something—chemistry, name it, and suddenly they both exchanged smiles, giggles, nervous laughter. When Jonghyun fished a way to him, Kibum knew he had already trapped under the spell; he couldn’t climb up, he had lost. He found no way out.
The worse part? He couldn’t practically lie again.
They ended up ignoring the party somewhere out there, sitting on and old, dusky sofa in Minho’s private library. Taking seats, didn’t bother to talk further. What topics. Weather forecast. Earthquake. Tsunamis. Disasters. Corruptors. Traitors. Liars.
Minutes had passed.
You know something? Jonghyun leaned backward, flinging his brown bangs confidently. You are gorgeous.
Kibum stuffed his hands into his pockets, holding back a smile, muttering, Thank you. I know I am.
Oh, could it get any girlier than this.
And you know, I have a girlfriend. She’s so pretty, my Sekyung. Jonghyun added.
Kibum mentally stated, poking out his hands. As expected. Why don’t you go back to her side? She’s looking for you right now, perhaps.
Their fingers brushed slightly.
Jonghyun grabbed Kibum’s hand this time, made him feel overwhelmed and unstable. Kibum stiffened a bit, constantly questioning his mind, asking why why I can’t lie, don’t go, don’t go, stay, stay forever.
The older boy grasped it tighter without putting on a single glance on Kibum. I already have Sekyung, he repeated.
Kibum nodded solemnly. One step closer. Yes you do. Forever and always.
Then there they were, only an inch apart; hand-in-hand, parted with messy silence mixing with some crowds. Alone and prominent.
Call them drunkees, call it insane, whatever—of course Kibum didn’t want to be such backstabber (though he didn’t even have any idea who Sekyung was); Jonghyun wasn’t his from the very start.
Oh really. Somebody out there please tell him why their hands fitted like they were meant to be together or give him a rational explanation about how their heartbeats played on the same harmony, then.
Jonghyun rolled his head and it landed on Kibum’s shoulder. Squeezing their hands (I’ll never let go, what should I do, why it feels so wrong yet simultaneously right, fuck I don’t know, Kibum—I don’t know), his voice squeaked;
I have her, and she’s beautiful. But you too.
La la lie, Kibum. La la la lie.
Yes, she better be. No, she must be much more gorgeous than me. Finally, he made up lying.
As if on cue, Kibum could only follow Jonghyun, their heads met. Closing eyes, they fell into ponds of dreams. And the fingers stayed linking, sticking, leaving invisible fingertips on each palms, drawing clueless words.
I’ve got a tight grip on reality
but I can’t let go of what’s in front of me here
I know you’re leaving in the morning, when you wake up
leave me with some kind of proofs it’s not a dream
God, if this is only a one night stand dream; so be it.
Up until now I had sworn to myself
that I’m content with loneliness
Kibum had promised—when he woke up later, brows furrowed with confusion as he stared down on Jonghyun who was sleeping peacefully beside him (the party had ended; like Kibum cared)—the poker face would back to the place it belonged. What are they? Acquaintances. Who is Kim Jonghyun? Nobody.
(No, Kim Jonghyun is some kind of bastard who holds his heart and hangs it up to the high, high sky—close to the moon and sun and stars until Kibum can’t pick it back.)
And that was how Kibum’s world worked. He examined the other’s features expertly, carefully; hair, eyes, chapped lips, arms and short legs, before giving off one last bitter smile, fixed Jonghyun’s jacket and went on.
Kibum never looked back. Because the mask was now on, while the lies kept coming and gone.
Because none of it was ever worth the risk
But you are the only exception,
You are the only exception
It was the first time he knew what love was. It was the first time he recognized that Jonghyun’s hair was auburn, not brown, how his puppy eyes dimmed and sparkling and Kibum found sea of stars and it was total dark, his skin was a bit tan, and all hues were there. But it was also the last time he let his guard shattered astronomically in front of somebody else.
I gotta emphasize the most fundamental fact: I'm glad those five sparkling boys coming over here (hello there, gantengs, enjoy tropic-ish indonesia and floody jakarta? :p) despite another fact that I have such bad luck so seeing them becomes something miraculously miracle (read: aka impossible dream) -- between reality and fiction, nevertheless, we're (I am) so close with them, and not being able to see them in person kinda makes me a bit dissapoint.
Thank God I can proudly say--I could stay rational during those chaos. All I wanna say is just keep healthy, do not force yourself too much, guys. See you next time :)
assumptions
PG-13
various pairings You need to spell it out.
i.
Key (being The Almighty Key, he is) is always known as bumpy-jumpy, but somewhat seems to distant himself from the other members (I’m just trying to keep sane enough; I live with those bunches of idiots for ungodly hours, thank you, he retorts. No offense). In some past interviews, he did even say the members were not his families, not his closest friends, they were just, plainly, members. Damn that kissable lips which could spit out random thoughts (and surely, cruel words) without noticing the way Taemin flinches, a low sigh from Minho (a perfect ignorance is bliss action), Jonghyun tightens his fist—holding back his soon-to-be-exploded anger.
And Onew completely drowns in silence. But he understands.
Jonghyun clenches his teeth, while Taemin plasters a confused face. What is it now.
Onew approaches Key right away after recording sessions. Key’s there, sitting two meters apart from the three—as if saying those boys are contaminated with germs by the looks. Or stuffs like that. Off-make-up face. Nonchalant gaze. Still no smile.
Maybe they did something stupid and it annoyed him. Maybe he got over fight. Maybe he is just tired. Maybe they’re practically not a family, of the entire years they’ve been together. Maybes.
Onew doesn’t need maybes. All he needs is an efficient solve.
There is a lengthy, comfortless silence filled by the sound of gossiping noonas, flick-click Minho’s PSP by the time Onew reaches where Key is.
“Need someone to talk?”
Key peers over. The leader quirks an eyebrow, waiting for answers.
Key takes Onew’s delicate, puffy hands, and nods. They walk, holding hands.
It is what a leader supposed to do. Right?
--
ii.
“We made it, hyung!” Taemin runs, shouting all the way, “We made it! We win the main prize—damn this quiz show is too easy, piece of cake—we did it!”
The youngest of the group runs toward Minho, stretching his arm. Generally, Minho’s barely laugh. He does smiling most of the times, in a way that makes every girls in the world would die from heart-attack (okay, that is quite exaggerating), but it’s no more than a thin line curving, fitting perfectly on his lips. Who knows; ask the concept, ask the management, they told him to do so. To stay cool, being an Ice Prince. Minho knows he gets nothing to choose except obeying the rules.
But when Taemin moves closer, laughing breathlessly, Minho breaks the spell. He grins hugely, almost dorky, his doe eyes stun amazingly. He catches Taemin, hugs back and spins him. The fangirls start ooh-ing, wondering what is happening between them. Choi Minho never burst like that.
Say it because of his over-competitive self, or he’s enjoying the six digits that blinking through the big screen too much, or it could be—it because of Taemin.
He wins. Taemin hugs him happily. He should be happy.
Right?
--
iii.
“Wow,” Jonghyun chortled, “third times lucky. We win again.”
Key sniffs, pulling his trade-mark smirk again. “Happy now?”
Somehow Jonghyun doesn’t seem satisfied this time. Instead, he looks nervous while flinging the reward upside down. A bit similar to Jinki when the leader makes constipated face. “Of course I am. But actually, I have to do something if we win. I’ve promised.”
“Do what? Sprinting around SM office in nothing but briefs?” Key snaps out.
Jonghyun doesn’t bother to give the answer; he tilts his head, jerk back, bringing a simple peck to the boy’s high cheekbone. “I have to do this.” he grins.
Key stops talking, stops thinking. He’s too busy counting how many minutes more until they back to the dorm so he can skin Jonghyun alive. It’s a valuable payment for him. Best friends don’t kiss each other. A best friend Kibum shall have doesn’t give him flutter feelings and butterflies flying in his stomach. A best friend can’t make him feels like a thirteen-years-old in a crush.
Right?
--
OMAKE
Onew : Okay, you lost the bet, Jjong. Because of my gentle affections, they like Onkey better. I found about 500 Onkey fanfictions.
Jjong : No hyung. You look pitiful, that’s why they wrote Onkey. Besides, Jongkey fanfictions are way too cool to compare with. They’re professionals.
Taemin : Nononono, you guys—lookie there? As far as I can see, only fanfictions tagged 2min which appear recently on the sites. It means I am the winner. Good job, Minho-hyung!
Minho : I don’t swing that way, oh God. Taemin, you start becoming like them. It’s horrible.
Key : GREAT. SO THIS IS A GAME, HUH? AND I’M THE GIRL, I ALWAYS BE. DO YOU GUYS WANNA DIE?!
Jjong : Easy, Momma. It’s fun, it’s just fan service. It’s not like you and I are really dating and, you know, do things like what they wrote—
Minho : Are you PMS-ing again, Key?
Key : YOU GUYS ARE GROSS. STAY AWAY FROM THE BEDROOM. SLEEP OUTSIDE—I DON’T EVEN CARE, JUST DIE FROM PNEUMONIA OR ANYTHING, BBANGKUS.
Well, I'm practically saying that to myself--I've got none to be blamed. Seriously. This fucking annoying THIRD GRADE OF SENIOR HIGH SCHOOL PERIOD is killing me. Anytime soon, I'm sure. I was drowning myself in sea of books, tons of papers and hellish numbers, and the teachers, exams; damn-damn-damn I'm so fucking tired. I am fed up. I need some rest. No, an obvious and lots of rest.
I've no longer hooked up with him, but when I saw his name, and his surprising status just now, there's a huge knot knocking my whole heart down. I have nothing but its pieces here. I need and want to cry. I do.
Guh. What I really need right now is just shutting my mouth up.
He spinned his half-empty cup absent-mindedly, focusing on his daydreams, jumping and interguing. Sometimes he’d lean back lazily, other times with hands cupping around his beautiful face. The cafe he’s in would soon be closed, he knew it (since, well, it’s near 11 P.M—the tick sound seemed to move faster, though). Taking another sip, he threw his eyes away outside.
A man in black suit came after him. “Go home, Kibum.” He said hurriedly.
“Five minutes more,” Kibum rejected, send Minho ‘let me do as I please’ glare, “I’m a regular anyway.”
“It’s getting late. And dark.”
“What do you think city lights are for?”
“He won’t come, just give it up.” Minho sighed. “Kibum, please.”
“I stay.”
Minho wouldn’t dare doing any preventage actions or retort Kibum back—he would definitely lose, anyway. Despite the facts that he and Kibum had always been together (childhood – teen memorandum), and his perfection in every single thing Minho did; Kibum was still, beyond compare in arguments. And Minho could never beat that up. So he patted his shoulder comfortingly, losing for another round, then he dissappeared out of nowhere.
All Kibum wanted to do was waiting. He looked up, stare at his watch. 11 p.m.
Where are you? Kibum entertwined his fingers. Wishing in wishpers. You promised. You’d see me.
11.05.
He didn’t show up. The person Kibum was waiting for broke the vow. The tenth times in a decade.
It was cold, sleepless night. Kibum stared non-cahalantly, at nothing particular. Another strike, huh? He thought, let out a single blow escaped his lungs. He was used to it—he tried God-knows-how-many-times with several methods—hot milk, pills or even hypnotic, but it just never worked. He’d wake up on the next morning with black hole below his cheshire eyes, pale and fragile and weak.
It was totally sucks.
It’s not something new, he said to himself. Now he got to do something, at least to help him spending times. To wasted some times. So he climbed down from his bed, careful enough to not woke the others up. Following his natural umma sense; Kibum also made sure everything was under control—everyone was asleep. Next thing he knew, he couldn’t find Jonghyun on his usual place.
Kibum rubbed his eyes, sighed. That brat.
He stepped out and soon he felt chilly air toying him; unsteady, even, unsteady, even. He tilted his head, deciding he did not need any scarf or jacket at all, he was inside and it was more than enough to embrace him with warmth.
But Kibum couldn’t stand to figure out where this cool breeze did come from. He remembered locking the doors and windows—
—he saw Jonghyun.
Yeah, Kibum rolled his eyes, who else.
“It’s weird,” said Kibum, paused his steps when he reached Jonghyun, “you never told me you’re having insomnia too.”
“I’m not. It’s kind of rare case.” Jonghyun chuckled, “perhaps God wants me to stay awake so you can find me here.”
Cheesy as always. Kibum snorted hearing an unexpected state from him. “Excuse me? You aren’t lost or something. Wait, don’t tell me—are you drunk?” he shrieked in horror.
“There’s no way in hell I’d go drunk. If Sooman-sunbaenim ever find out, he’ll kick my ass for sure.” Jonghyun shot back.
The two remained silent, sinking into their deepest thoughts. Kibum sneaked a glance to the blonde, wondering what was wrong with him. Not to mention he cared or something; it was just—awkward. Jonghyun is always a talkative one, mood-swasher in the group. Kibum might be blatant in speaking, but sometimes the raven is an expert secret-keeper, best at pretending; while this man, namely Kim Jonghyun appreciates honesty more than anything. His passions, feelings and all that are reflected through his eyes, voice, pitch and gesture. He is just as subtle as neon sign. He can’t practically lie.
Truthfully, Kibum hated Jonghyun for some reasons. For being so goddamn lucky all the time, for being honest in every single way, for acting touch and put all the girls into shame when it comes to sensitivity.
He didn’t even know why they became friends on the first place.
Perhaps it wasn’t too hard for Kibum to keep pretending—that he envied Jonghyun so bad, lying over anything.
Lied about his feelings.
The blonde yawned. “Gonna back to sleep, I guess. See if Onew-hyung has already claimed my territory.”
Kibum blinked when Jonghyun grabbed his hand along as he left. He stood still, gave the blonde questioning look.
“What?” Jonghyun giggled, tickling their fingers. He grinned sheepishly. “Did I do something wrong?”
Childish as always.
“Smirk again and I’ll punch you. Right on the face.” Kibum smirked back.
He still hated Jonghyun no matter what (you never knew this fact, indeed—Kibum is a master at pretending, after all), he hated the way he grinned and how tight he held his hand.
But at least tonight he found out; once, having insomnia wasn’t that bad.
I still trapped in this shitty city--and it pissed me off, like fuck. Since I don't have any idea what to do--and the last thing comes to my mind is making fanfic draft over and over again--thanks God for my brilliant brain, where I keep most of my suspicious ideas--and it turns out to be like this:
(oh, and it's SHINee again. with a bit jongkey hints)
So Jonghyun is a suicidal (his unfortunate, he fail), Kibum has problem in getting along with people and is a born-with-wings creature, Jinki always get recognize as Taemin according to his mom's insanity, Taemin's just a half living soul who is trying so hard to save a little happiness in the corner of Jinki's heart, his brother, and Minho can see everything. Just everything; people's dreams, ghosts, spirits, atmospheres and hopes. Jonghyun becomes one of birds, Kibum dies when his dreams come to an end, Taemin disappears, Jinki goes home while Minho turns out to be the only one staying, sees the whole story happening around.
I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY. I LOVE JONGKEY.
it's just. yeah. can't help it. jongkey = marvelous. that's all. so sweet so romantic, foolish yet stupid all the time. 0 Comments
36th Post
I know I'm definitely normal; I'm not a fujoshi nor yaoi fans.
But why do I kinda feel like Jongkey is astoundingly awesome? I mean; sometimes I'm questioning myself about it--they do show some skinships at any moments, people calls them best friends ever, and though I don't want to believe that (I resist to believe, to be exact)--they sort of, em, have reassurance to be called beyond besties.
I'm not such crybaby (but I'll be like one too when it comes to sad movies), but things turning so differently in a glance. I feel so powerless right now. Weak. A hole called 'hopeless' is trapping me--tie me with invisible chains, so tight I cannot move or breathe. I don't have any passion in writing stuffs. I questioned it because with those excuses, my fingers still move, dance happily upon the keyboard, typing these garbage.
You might don’t know who I am—yes, indeed, I did either, I did not know you personally—I only see you beyond the stage, standing still yet shine so bright over the lights. You don’t even know whether I live or not. It strange, you know, but what will be, will just be. As the title said;
Lee Jinki, I’ve dreamed about you. So—damn—many times.
Rather saying this is such weirdo, I prefer to call it miracle.
I remembered well—your presence still lingers in my mind, though you were just fantasy-soul, floating-wishes deep down inside, overly high-dreams or whatsoever—you felt so real. Too real to be trusted, too sweet to be true, too hard to be pursued. In my dreams we were best friends and lover, you told me secrets as I whispered back to you, we shared our little worlds—exchanging feelings only by gazes, smiles, touches. We were holding hands, tightly, squeezed it sometimes, scared likely to lost each other. I could embrace the warmth coming along with your hugs; you pulled me into your chest, and suddenly I felt so fragile and small—and being in your arms was very calming. You were a perfection. You were just… everything.
Lee Jinki, you’ve been corrupting my mind like smokes filling smoker’s lungs. Damn, I said to myself, it was a dream. No more.
As I held your hands and you were holding mine, we ran over the grass—let the wind swept away our gloom only in a sway. You told me silly jokes, all that gag actions then you admit that you are clumsy, that you don’t deserve me. What the hell, I said, I thought, it supposed to be my line, Jinki. You’re just too adorable, too bright, too precious to be disclaimed as mine and mine only. There, you laughed joyously, making the sun lose its confidence because your smile is much brighter than anything.
Thus, I remained myself God-knows how many times—it wasn’t real. You weren’t real, and it pissed me off.
And you disappear, nowhere to be found. So this is the way you left me, I know. Not even a single goodbye given, not bye-bye waves, nothing. Poof, and everything is back to the reality. Anyway, you are just a dream, should be ended up like this. Sooner or later. I knew it—I noticed it, but I chose to deny it.
Back to the world I’m living in, there’s no more you—no more your shining smiles brighten my days, no more hasty-toned laughs, no more lullabies accompanied my bedtime. We are foreigners. Unlabelled.
Would you wait? I begged to the empty spaces which used to be yours—I heard your voice, you said—no, you hissed by the air, I will, if only you could find me. I yelled, Where?
Your shadow pointed to your heart. To my heart. That, is the end of my dreams.
Lee Jinki, you were such a dream—and you succeed in making me being such a dreamer.
..the pathetic--cheesy one, because I always dream even when I know it can’t be true.
----
This is one-sided feeling—while everybody loves you, maybe some of them in the same way as mine.
I ain't gonna use English this time--it's tiring and I'm not in my mood to post anything, by the way. But here I go, again, writing randomly, indeed, in English. There were three boys sabotating my room (they just showed like 'poof' last night and my Mom told me that I got to move--"They'll face the university entrance examinations, so would you please, without any complains, lend your room for 3 days?", she said, and all I did as I heard those words was dazed in amusing way yet 'unbelievable' face.
Which it means, I couldn't watch any vitamins (read; those amazing Korean boys) for about... 3 days or so. More or less. Poor me. Anyway, one of them is my brother and I don't mind sharing my room with him, but by any chance, I can't do what I'm willing to do freely anymore--see, I always wear shorts and you-can-see-my-armpit shirts.
It pissed me off. What the.
Plus, right now, the net-speed is kinda freakin' SLOW. :/
Goes to my dream. I know I'm a freak, HUGE fans of those pretty boys, and I personally can't help it. I was just seeing at their pics, their videos and their stuffs--and whoos, bibbidi-bobbidi-boo I fell in love with them. Once I admit it, it stuck with me, corrupting my mind with fabulous yet impossible fantasies hahaha--hash. And sometimes, it brought away, coming along in my dream.
I think it's normal for having you know, kinda hopes, that you are NOT you. You're imagining that you're someone else, creating 'her' own personality. Like a barbie doll, you can choose where 'she' lived, her activity, every single thing. You may dressed 'her' in any ways you like, make 'her' do what you wouldn't be able to do. Well, either did I.
I always thought I was someone named Sherry. LOL, I wanna share this characters but not now. Let's find a right time to talk about her.
Oh, back--I've dreamed about them many times. Like, when Junho from 2PM appeared inside, introducing me to the world as his wife (wow) and Wooyoung as my big brother (wow). Other--Nichkhun, yeah, that Thai Prince-wink vending machine--showed as my classmates and there was a ghost asked me to help her confessing her love to Nichkhun (wew) and lastly, last night, I dreamed being Onew's girlfriend and we were dating, JUST TWO OF US in cinema. He held my hand and--and, and, and, better not to tell further or else, shawol would be mad at me. It's just dream, DREAM. Peace.
Maybe it's just because recently I've been addicted to Lee Jinki, with his adorable voice and joyous personality, that tofu succeed making me melting hahaha :D
Now I understand perfectly why Jung Juri likes him.
I said I would try to post as many as possible, but the truth is, I can't stay online anytime anywhere (well, yeah, it becomes affordable if Vanyol bring her laptop). Oh, and again and again school has been hectic--those homeworks, papers, report of research, somehow I started to feel so gross.
Well, so what had happen to me lately?
Nothing changed.
I'm kinda addicted with 2PM-SHINee-Henry-HSJ (it's not a big news anyway--I've already told you about it thousand times) and suddenly I remembered Jaebeom. The Lead-ja. The best lead-ja ever, even for the 2PM themselves or the fans.
Post edisi ini--entahlah, mungkin karena aku sedang keranjingan membaca novel terjemahan atau apa, tapi kadang-kadang aku ingin menulis dengan gaya seperti ini.
---
Tema pokok hari ini adalah; tentang kekurangan. Orang bijak selalu berkata, "Sebaik-baik seseorang adalah mereka yang mampu menghargai diri sendiri dan mau mengakui kekurangannya."
Dan kupikir; terkadang SANGAT PERLU mengakui kekurangan dan JUJUR terhadapnya.
Penilaian objektif memang datang dari orang lain, hei, tapi coba tebak--kalau soal kekurangan, kukira aku masih bisa menilai diriku sendiri. Manusia tidak ada yang sempurna, kau tahu, yang ada--manusia hanya mampu mencoba untuk menjadi sesempurna mungkin, sekuatnya.
So these are the list >>
1. Cuek (dalam hal-hal tertentu--dan dalam hal tertentu lainnya, aku bisa jadi SANGAT PEDULI) Apakah ini sifat genetis? Sepertinya tidak. Atavisme? Hm, mari kita lihat. Nenek dan kakekku sama sekali bukan tipe orang yang bisa membiarkan orang lain kesusahan. Ayahku sangat, sangat, protektif terhadap anak-anaknya. Ibuku cerewet. Well, kupikir itu sudah cukup membuktikan bahwa sifat yang kumiliki murni anugerah dari-Nya, dan... those facts don't matter.
2. (Agak) Jorok
Kalau yang satu ini, aku benar-benar yakin 100%--ini sifat genetis, alias turunan dari ibuku (beliau bahkan mengakuinya sendiri--sumpah, aku tidak bohong)--untuk ukuran perempuan, aku termasuk jorok. Hanya kadarnya bisa dikategorikan belum parah-parah amat, sih. Setidak-tidaknya aku menunjukkan ke-jorok-anku HANYA di rumah. Aku tidak mengupil di jalan atau apa, please. Paling-paling hanya lupa mengembalikan handuk ke jemuran 3 hari berturut-turut sebelum akhirnya ibuku berteriak dari bawah, "Ke mana semua handuk-handuk yang kubeli?"
Aku jadi berpikir ulang. Benarkah itu termasuk.. jorok? Kupikir aku cuma teledor.
3. Pintar Berbohong
Aku kembali mempertanyakannya--apakah ini termasuk kekuranganku? Maksudku--tidak selalu kebohongan itu diartikan sebagai sesuatu berkonotasi negatif--tergantung penggunaannya. Sebuah kebohongan kecil mampu menyelamatkan banyak orang. Dan aku mempercayainya. Coba saja deh.
4. Pelupa
Semua manusia pasti punya saat-saat di mana kemampuan sel otak mereka untuk menyimpan data-data berkurang. Hanya saja, dalam kasusku--frekuensinya terjadi lebih banyak. Aku begitu cepat mendengarkan sesuatu, menangkapnya, menyimpannya di otakku untuk kemudian menguap tiba-tiba. Ini menyusahkan, terutama bagi orang-orang terdekatku.
5. Tidak mudah berpaling (in this case, I mean--love) Mendapat julukan playgirl, bagiku, lebih baik daripada punya pribadi macam ini--sulit melepaskan diri dari bayang-bayang orang lain. Serius nih, tapi aku termasuk tipe yang setia, dan bahkan meskipun orang itu sama sekali tak ingat aku, peduli setan denganku malah, aku akan tetap menyukainya. Tunggu dulu.
Setelah kupikir, mendapat julukan playgirl juga tak ada untungnya.
6. Sangat suka bishounen MASA BODOH DENGAN YANG SATU INI. Memangnya kenapa? Itu jelas-jelas urusan pribadiku. Sejauh ini tak ada lelaki yang mampu membuat aku berpikir hot, cute, cool, and awesome at the same time. Oh, satu keburukan yang kudapat dari sini; seleraku terhadap laki-laki jadi terlalu tinggi. Maaf. ------ 0 Comments
28th Post
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Here. I. Go. Again.
Ada berita apa hari ini?
Jawabannya: nggak ada yang penting.
Dua hari lalu aku flashback ulang--hasil-hasil video waktu ex-bandku manggung, latian bareng di studio. Guess what? Damn, damn, damn, begitu liat orang itu--I lost control. Really. Felt like I was burst into tears, and I was trying sooo hard not to cry, at least not in front of my friends. I was being so unreasonable, and for God's sake, NIGA MIBDA. I hate it so much--getting irritable without knowing the reason why.
Sampe sekarang aku masih heran. Sebetulnya seberapa kuat sih pengaruh dia atasku? Bahkan sampe sekarang pun--setelah berbulan-bulan nggak bertatap muka, apalagi berkomunikasi dengan cara apapun, aku nggak pernah merasa kangen atau hal-hal semacem itu. Tapi hanya dengan liat fotonya, liat dia dari balik lensa kamera, atau video--seems like my heartbeat getting faster.
Can you feel my heartbeat?
The heart that you stepped all over and left is still beating And it's beating for you
No matter how hard I try to forget
No matter how many new people I meet
Why do i keep thinking of only you when I turn around?
I don't want to do this anymore, I want to stop
No matter how many times I try and try to stop myself,
it's no use My heart is broken.. why?
Why do I keep doing such foolish things
I know in my head, but why is my heart rebelling
I'm holding on to you and can't let go
It still feels like you're next to me
I can't believe in farewell
No matter who i meet, i can't open up one part of my heart and I keep your place empty
There's no reason for you to come back, but why do I keep thinking that you might come back?
Why isn't my heart listening?
Listen to my heartbeat (it's beating for you)
Listen to my heartbeat (it's waiting for you)
Don't i know that it's over, I don't understand why i'm like this
Listen to my heartbeat (it's beating for you)
Listen to my heartbeat (it's waiting for you)
It still hurts thinking of you I think of you every time my heart beats
I have to forget, I have to forget in order to live
I have to erase it, if I don't, I'll die
Stop trying to get him back, he ain't coming He's gone, gotta be moving on
He left, he won't come back, he doesn't think of you.
He doesn't know that I'm waiting for him, he's doing well
He already forgot about me, totally erased me.
Why can't I do that?
Listen to my heartbeat (it's beating for you)
Listen to my heartbeat (it's waiting for you)
My heart is beating faster and faster...
---Heartbeat, 2PM. Then,
Does somebody know how to cure this pain?
---
Yah, itu cuma sebagian kecil dari berbagai cerita di liburan ini. Oh, aku baru aja balik dari liburan keluarga bersama-sama kawan sepermainan ke Dieng, Wonosobo, Purbalingga. Awalnya sih nggak begitu excited--tapi kadang harus aku akui, aku juga butuh liburan di alam luar, nggak cuma aku habisin di sekolah (rapat, dsb) atau di depan kompie (well, I'm doing this right now). Ahaha.
