it is mad to write about the past. these past few days i have been writing about my 10-day holiday in jkt, and it does feel weird; it's like my memories are accumulating, it's like the one i am experiencing right now will not be real if i fail to pin it down. and then, there is the one that has long passed--its off-white rims fraying, slowburning with each day it passes by. and eventually, time consumes the whole surface of the neatly weaved, erratically entwined fabric of events, people and places..

sometimes i feel that my thoughts are too foreign to communicate with, and i am afraid that these ripples of thoughts will sometimes freeze, just like yesterday. their unblunted, razor-sharp edges may etch lines on whoever tries to come close. are my writings like cages, selfishly impounding this bulk of ever-changing thoughts and events? but i feel like, that is the only way…to keep a record of what i am doing and thinking. people have weighed a heavy importance on physical, real evidence and i do not blame them, for i am almost always in that opinion as well; but i think, since i do not do and write everything very swiftly, very quickly, very efficiently, i should cut myself a break, slice a chocolate cake with sugar icing and lots of whipped cream, sit back, and worry less about the passage of time. should i then let time pass me by like a liquid, instead of congealing it everyday? i do remember, vaguely, of certain things that were once so vivid, and to keep a record with just the optimum clarity is important to me not only because i want to keep all those warm details, but also because, i want to see for myself how i have come to accept whatever that has happened in the past. time is not cyclical, time is not linear, then what is the concept of time, it's not a matter of whether you believe in time travel, it is about something else….something that i have yet to find out, something i have always been writing about.

can you love yourself when you hate your age? my age, it never stays still, and this is perhaps the reason why i do not want to stay still as well. age is a traitor, age may leave you behind if you are too still. and you choose what age you want to live in, sometimes. people may judge you based on this; the gap between your ideal age and your real age. it can be a solid weapon for them to sink you into the state of private guilt and misery. if you want to live in an age that you haven't tried living in, people are going to have opinions. if you want to live in an age that you have tried living in, people are going to have opinions too. it is useless to think about all that, so is trying to convince them that you are fully content with what you have in hands. but in the end you are the one who decides what kind of wrapping you want to envelope yourself in.

i think eighteen is a good number, but i could not resist the temptation of living in the age of seventeen or sixteen again, to be honest; and this makes me feel horrible. to be ricocheting between the past and the present, when you have some objective in mind to accomplish in the future. time is a terrible thing, really. but in memories passage of time has always seemed to blur effusively, "it seems like it just happened yesterday…"

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