perhaps it is not very right to sum up every 2011-thing only once a year because it's a lot of things, really. by the end of the year most details gathered and accumulated would be those from late 2011: internet reading habit, change of blog direction, internship, meeting new people, making new friends, losing new friends, losing old friends, losing contact with old friends, internship, new year's eve party, etc; making them more 2011 than the earlier parts of 2011, if that makes sense. january to june seemed like someone's distant dream that had never happened before.
recalling what a whole year had been like is a little like heartbreak—tiniest details will seep into the sheets of time as words are written over, previously carried like flower seeds by the wind which kindly blows an old soul into them. and then you remember that they did happen. these details are genuine, thrown from the past and time-traveled. although maybe details are a little too sentimental. although maybe we do not want such selective, dramatic, all-consuming clarity. although maybe details aren't as important; but then i remind myself that details are probably the only thing that could prevent the past from fleeting off, from absolute extinction. (if a tree falls and no one is there to hear it does it make a sound? if something happens and no one is there to recall it does it really happen?)
observed with details i now have to say i went through 2011 days with bare amount, minimum level of enthusiasm; the first few months spent mainly in bed, gaining extreme familiarity with the house, the humble neighborhood i was/am still living in, going to library everyday, alone, reading while spooning up some mango pudding to make love to my mouth—good solitary times, i was very happy, although guilty for the low, unyouthful productivity. but now i realized that was a very important part of the year, of my life even; rekindled love towards reading and writing, voluntarily, easily, as natural as other already incorporated daily chores. one day i would stay up reading martin page's how i became stupid and couldn't stop, another day i slacked my way through eugenides' the virgin suicides, which i really loved, although i was still at the stage where every maudlin, mildly piercing thing would stick onto me for the longest time and produced some of the purest emotions—manifested in liquid drops rolling down my cheeks, and i found myself now embracing those feelings. those times when reading did move me felt very beautiful.
i read a lot of palahniuks too during that holiday, which might not be as moving but were immensely enjoyable. sensational, which was why a lot of interested friends gravitated towards me whenever we were meeting—towards my story about a mother who puts needles, screws, each kind of harmful materials into her cooking so that people will eat very slowly, watch each of their chews, making them pay attention to the food and no matter how much better her neighbor's cooking is in comparison, this mother's never pales. and after telling stories, after reading and eating and going out to buy some warm snacks occasionally i would hit the bed and have empty dreams. reading books did not offer me much intelligence but it left the door to the world out there ajar, i guess, in which all sorts of reveries lived; colorful and bleak and vivid and blinding and motionless dreams.
and then i went to college.
very fussy at first; every previous education-related move had always been planned carefully—target decided, which school i wanted to spend my next few years in, seemed like a very grand investment. and then i had no idea where to go to after my o levels. in january the lady who handed my o's certificate said to me, beaming, wow, you've got good result; and i thought it was just because i went to an average neighborhood school. knew i really tried hard but felt like, perhaps i could've done better, typical slightly-hardworking-but-not-so-schoolgirl mentality. and i sank thinking maybe it's just that i am probably not smarter than anyone else, what should i do? (is what i should do what i want to do.) i wanted to do arts/design, joined portfolio camp (basic drawing, 3D drawing), liked it but the path seemed to just end there. so i applied to a few polytechnics for some more relatively conventional courses but spending another three years to just get a diploma made me reconsider my decision a lot. i had already been a few years behind my ex-classmates in jakarta so i decided to take a brave leap and applied for an overseas degree in a private institution. i gave in to a certain standard inside me which said that i should try everything and it is okay to take a path not commonly preferred. i managed to escape the peer pressure that said i should spend another two years in a JC and go to a public university. and i guess age was quite an issue. it still is and i still feel like time is very precious and if i was not certain whether i would be happy during my two years in JC i better not waste time anymore.
avissa nanda rayhan nadine fidhya aghnia anindya syanadia, not everyone was in the picture
might be the most visible aspect of my life that had received most exposure and knowledge throughout the year. some really stayed, and it was not because of anything that i knew; which ignited some bewilderment still. it did not feel like any disturbance though; i refused to constantly squat my life by the gutter trying to figure things out. things are just there when i stop looking and these names of friends were exactly like that, always there—and it was not like we quickly clicked, had same interests, were on exactly the same wavelength or whatever, surprisingly; these friends were near because of something else. i let others to drift in and drift out and i still had some energy to welcome people in or let people out. there were also new friends i found myself diligently investing time and attention in. it's easy with me, if i want you to stay and you don't want to it's fine, but probably i'll still watch over you—because if i insist on your stay that must mean i've learnt a great deal about a lot of things from you, which i hope you do not mind. but if you feel any burden in this situation you are always free to voice it to me. i am okay dealing with a lack of reciprocity, it feels like a part of growing up. maybe it will tire me out in the end but now i do not see any regret at the end of the road yet.
sometimes i just feel like writing things out. sometimes i do not know what i am writing about. maybe someday i will do. maybe that is why i finished writing all things 2011 here. i have not much expectations of 2012 (still don't get '2012 be good to me,' sounds like a plea for some pitiful mercy), except that i will turn 19, which is slightly disappointing, because i thought i would be young forever. it's a lie if i say age is just a number. age carries the weight not only of expectations but of a lot things else. i used to be proud of being young, felt like being young was the only thing that set me apart. but growing is important too. i used to wonder when i was in my early teenage years, what else would i be figuring out in the next few years? what else is there? at that time i could not see all the big things that lurk in future, their back to my teenage self concealing their existence. now i know that there are still things to be figured out, all the knowledge i have now would not even be able to sustain a sproutbean's life.
what i learnt:
firstly, now i know that even not trying is considered a try because sometimes things are just right there when you are not looking. i'm not trying to say that giving up is the only way, but maybe you need some good kick-ass mighty amount of rest. cut yourself some slack, not pity.
secondly, saying 'it's okay' does not always mean an effort to justify your wrongdoing. sometimes it really is okay. sometimes you can kick someone's ass and get away with it. sometimes you need to be nasty. sometimes you need to admit that you do certain things to look 'cool'/'badass', like drinking whisky when hanging out with guys (via madison's hate post) or wearing androgynous clothes sexy crisp white shirt with effortless hairdo or chewing gum when there's nothing to say. and then you begin to understand that it is really okay because the voice inside you only cares whether you care about being happy at all about yourself. sometimes the words don't have to be right because you have all the rights to not be right. and then you realize that regrets don't teach you a thing but learning plus failure do, and you realize that life is short. you realize that life is not like a pretty woman because when you stop and think and speak of life's beauty to it it does not stop and say thank you to you. and you don't have to say you're welcome. and life goes on.