Aliens Do Exist

I have this cousin named Callista. She is a month younger than I am and lives in Jakarta with her parents over the summer while going to Malaysia for the college months. We're roughly the same height, same weight. Both of us have straight, white teeth. The similarities stop there.

Over the summer, she helps her mom at the office from Monday to Saturday, 8am - 6pm. On Sundays, she goes to the temple to pray, do charity work, and whatnot. On her evenings, when she isn't doing her summer homework, she goes out for a night with her boyfriend, with whom she has not yet shared her first kiss. I think they go to the mall, maybe watch a movie or grab a bite to eat. They couple comes back around 9 or 10pm.

Her room is small, but tidy. The stuffed animals and blankets lie neatly arranged amongst her pillows while her books are stacked (alphabetically, I suspect) in rows underneath her little television set. On the wall facing the bed, 4 New Year's Resolutions are posted on a clean sheet of paper. They read: Get in shape (though she already is), Focus on my studies (though she already does), Get a job (aside from her other one), and Do my best (whatever that means.) Next to her bed is a fold-out wooden plank that she uses as a humble study desk (among other uses.)

She wears color-enhanced contacts so that the artificial amber in her eyes bring out the cute spread of freckles sprinkled across her nose and the apples of her cheeks. Other than that ornamental blemish, her skin is smooth and clear. Whenever she goes out, she is dressed in a carefully prepared outfit that both modestly covers her body and shows off just enough to turn heads. As she takes her even, dainty steps through the streets, her long, wavy hair curls over her shoulders, swaying and bouncing with a life of its own.

She can cook, clean, sew, mend, what have you. When she talks, little children obey the commands issued in that sweet, demure voice. She is a natural-born leader and a natural-born caretaker. She is not two-faced. She does not lie. She does not even masturbate. She has no trouble making friends because everyone likes her from the first moment she smiles and extends her hand. Not a single adult has ever complained about her. She never fights with her parents (really?), and my mom and dad think her lovely and well-behaved. She does what she is told and does not ask questions. She does not shout. But she cries most beautifully and emotionally, letting tears slide down her cheeks in polished rows. She is genuine, she is nice, and she wants to marry someone of her own ethnicity. She is indescribable.

A few nights ago, I was eating with her and a few other friends at the dinner table, scarfing down the last remnants of our meal because we were given only 25 minutes to eat. With 5 minutes to go, I had given up trying to have a healthy, well-paced meal days before and was now idly arranging individual rice grains to form the shape of a certain phallic symbol on my plate. Callista glanced at my unfinished food, wrinkled hernose just ever-so-slightly, and ventured, "You are going to eat your food, right?" I paused and looked up at her. "You should finish it," she added, cocking her head to the side like my mother and grandmother always do whenever they want me to do something. For a moment I stared, too surprised to respond, and at last said, "Sure, of course." She smiled, nodded her head in agreement, and got up to put her dishes away. As soon as she left, I grabbed a handful of rice, flung it over the table, and rose out of my chair to leave without saying a word.

Her name is Callista Roesli, and she gave me this absolutely appalled expression when I told her that the only thing I haven't done yet is sex. In literary terms, we are each other's foil. In laymen's terms, she is everything I will never be.

Sigh... @___@

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Back From The Dead

Okay so I just went to a six-day camp that aims at making teenagers into better people, i.e. make you feel utter remorse for ever being born into this world to make your parents suffer and buy shit for you. Tada. Oh yeah, and they teach us study skills (because I SOOO needed them right?) Anyway, besides the fact that they gave us thirty minutes to eat, 10 minutes to shower, and four hours of sleep every night (on average >_>), I still managed to make a good number of cool friends so my week wasn't entirely wasted.

And turns out a lot of Indonesian/Chinese/What-Have-You Asians do indeed like the Strange Whitewashed Asian from America. Go figure XD

So yes, after I got back from Bandung last night, I crashed for twelve hours (not kiiidddding) and woke up. And now I'm waiting for my pizza delivery. And I still have to wake up at 7 tomorrow for work. Sigh. Maybe I do want to go back to Super-Teen Camp (yes that is the name, NOT KIDDING XD) after all...at least I could socialize with people my age.

One more thing: I'm picking up Indonesian every day. I suspect that eventually I will go native.

What I Do in My Free Time

http://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/161181

It is cute. Watch, people.

Recently I've Been Wondering...

I have this fantasy. Or, I did.

The summer after our freshmen year of college, the both of us decide to stay home and take a temporary job. You most likely work in some trendy young setting, and hopefully I'm not stuck waitressing again. Through various contacts with old high school buddies, you and I find out that we are but a half hour drive away from each other. A week later, you call me, and I answer with my nonchalant voice, the same way I’ve been taking your phone calls ever since I met you. Hey, how’s it going? Would you like to go out for lunch, you say. Oh, sure, I reply. I haven’t seen you for so long. Of course. Where do you want to meet? The Thai place? Harvest Moon? Or—dare I say it—the café inside Barnes and Noble?

In the end, the meeting place doesn’t matter. It is completely inconsequential. We meet somewhere at some time on some day, and I see you wearing something and you see me wearing something, and soon afterwards, we’re talking. We’re finally face-to-face, and we’re chatting about everything and nothing. I discover that you haven’t forgotten any of my high school crushes, and you’re pleased to hear that I still remember the time we threw Kraft’s cheese out a car window onto the windshield of some guy’s car. I feel great. I haven’t met with anyone from school except you, and I’m hoping you feel the same way. I keep thinking that it’s such a relief that you haven’t forgotten me.

In life’s subtle way of pushing the plot forward, we begin to meet for lunch once a week in Rome, at a different place each time. We look forward to it, partly because our jobs are so boring and partly because we always have something to talk about. I like this routine. I’m used to this routine.

Weeks pass. Months pass.

And just like that, we’re at our last lunch date. I’m slurping soup, and you’re holding a sandwich with a strange look on your face. I know what you’re thinking. Me too, me too. I feel the same. I say it first. It’s the last lunch date. It’s almost the end of the summer. Why don’t we meet this Friday night for movies? Your place, my place—it doesn’t matter. Stunned, you recover quickly and say, sure, let’s do that. What do you want to watch? I wave my hand. Oh, something funny. How about [insert title]? You’re always going on and on about that movie, and I never get around to watching it.

Fast forward to Friday night. We’re in the middle of the film, and I’m sitting in your living room, my glance alternating between the screen and the empty glass of beer in your hand. Mine is too. You gesture to my drink and ask if I want another from the fridge. Sure. You stand up and walk away, leaving me to my thoughts. I’m getting doubts. Maybe I shouldn’t have another. I can’t handle alcohol. I should definitely back off. My mind changed, I wander into the kitchen where I almost run into you and the fresh, unopened can of Bud Light. I notice two things. One: I’m not drunk as I think I am. Two: I had regular beer the first time, not Bud Light. I laugh and say, what? You think I can’t handle another regular? You grin and say yes. I make a face. You make one back. We start laughing for no good reason, and my eyes run all over you, taking in everything from your messy, sandy hair to your thin polo shirt that always, always, hangs on your shoulders so that you look anorexic. Which isn’t true. Is still not true?

To make sure, I kiss you. I don’t know where that reasoning came from, but there it is. And so now we’re kissing and you’re cupping my face, and I’m pulling and tugging your shirt because it’s so soft and loose and the both of us have no idea what happened to that can of beer. We don’t ask questions. We don’t say a word.

And it’s lovely. So lovely.

/fantasy

Story of My Life

"We're all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness- and call it love."

Thank you for the quote, dude.

Painkillers Are a Girl's Best Friend

Have you ever had a migraine? No, not the little twinge of pain you feel for all of two seconds. A proper, honest-to-god migraine. The kind you wake up in the morning with: a low, steady drumbeat in the back of your head that throbs when you make any sudden movements. It’s the migraine that plants itself right in the middle of your brain for the entire day. You never see it coming the night before (it isn’t known for giving out warning signs anyway.)

And when you do suddenly jerk your head to the side, the shockwaves that result are strong enough to be felt all the way down to the tips of your toes. You reel back, dizzy and disoriented, for several seconds (maybe even a minute) because the pounding refuses to stop even after you’ve brought your whole body to a standstill. Your breathing evens out and slows down as your fingers gingerly touch your forehead where an immense pressure pushes against your eyeballs.

A sigh of relief escapes you when at last the aftermath fades and you are left with that constant buh-bum rhythm in the background. And yes, today I had that sort of migraine.

Baliiiii

Oh nooooo I'm leaving Bali ;_; Alright alright it's okay I guess >__> I've had my fun, and now it's time to find my...job. URGH. This may be the shortest post on my blog that I've made so far O_o I have nothing else to say other than: I'm considering shaving my head. Yes, it's that hot here.

Later.

Engrish in Indonesia (INSIDE JOKES HURRAH)

1. Doonkin' Donuts

2. Surpreese

3. Chuchumberrrs

4. Sui Dim Gai Au!

5. Again?!

~~

The food here is wonderful, and I'm getting darker by the day. YESSSSSS.

runningrunningrunning

I will now announce that starting from today my postage will be very erratic seeing as how I will not have steady access to the interwebs for the next two months. Urgh. Anyway, expect maybe one post a week from me (and that's if I'm lucky.) In any case, I am sticky, sweaty, tired, and dirty from the heat and humidity in Indonesia. And I still have not met anyone interesting. However, I noticed when I got back to the hotel tonight that my skin is slightly darker. Huzzah, I am slowly but surely tanning.

Signing out, people. I haven't slept in over 48 hours. Stupid plane rides @____@