cockaigne™

Let’s see, I know some of my friends don’t believe in new years resolution (I don’t either!). In fact, I don’t even know what it means. Albeit, I came up with one. This year, my alphabet song just turned a little bit harder to sing (you know, with "y grecque" and all). And a, b, c, is no longer as easy as un, deux, trois. If those aren’t enough hints to state that I learned French, la langue d’amour, then I’m just going to say it: I learned French. Yes, learning French is definitely (one of) the good way(s) of exercising those tongue muscles. A tongue twister from the get-go, now I can say "voulez-vous coucher avec moi?" like it’s the most romantic thing to say =D

I wouldn’t say no to an invitation for a taste of escargot or foie gras, though =P

This year, I landed a job. I’m officially in the rat race, racing as hard as I can with the rest of the racing rats. It’s too early to say much about the job because I think I haven’t reach the interesting part yet (if any). The keyboard is always a powerful tool to release any excitement or discontentment, so I believe there will be more to come on this subject.

Our family moved into a new house! Finally, a new room for moi to stack my things up and collect new dust! I need some creative chaos in my life. I’m becoming less and less productive with my writing. I miss my prolific self =P

Anyways, those are some of the things that highlighted my year, this passing 2007. Other than some recurring leaps of faith and an occasional mental breakdown (which are bound to happen for many many years to come), in general, it was a good year. Hopefully, it was a good year for all of you too. Happy new year guys! =)

‘Work’ is the big word that comes right after ‘graduation’. Although they are not in correct alphabetical order, the proximity is amazing in terms of awareness. Tell me how many of you in your last years of college are often asked, "Where do you want to work after you graduated?" Some of you who read my previous posts may think that I am fixated with my state of unemployment because I can’t seem to get over the fact that I am unemployed (I may not be anymore within a couple of days, but I tend to think of it as a punishment instead of revelation). Yes, a punishment after all the privileges that I have received, like a bill on your dining table after you’ve had (what you thought was) the best juicy slice of steak — pardon my metaphor and my choice of menu, I’m not a vegetarian and I think everyone should eat meat for health’s sake. Okay, I have to go back to my senses now.

‘Work’ is a big word in my dictionary right now because it comes with an unabridged definition and implications that puts ‘workers’ on one side and ‘beggars’ on the other. An irony in view of the fact that people are used to be beggars living off the compassion of others. And here I am writing this post and risking myself of sounding like a complete loser just to show you the facts. I, for example, have been a beggar all my life living in the mercy of my parents for money, food, and shelter. I should have nothing to worry about, right? Wrong. It is not how the world works  and I would be disregarding the human capacity to develop a sense of compassion and independence if I say that I want to be a beggar all my life. At some point I want to be able to give instead of to take and to take care of instead of being taken care of. Considering the family’s financial situation right now, I find the idea gratifying. But that’s another story.

‘Work’ is a small word that makes us feel big–it also makes millionaires. But every now and then I get so confused on what kind of activities can be considered as working. A few weeks ago I talked to an old friend of mine–by old, I mean age–a well-known doctor who likes to challenge my idealism. He always encourage me to use my capacity as a psychology student to help others. Every time it is always the same conversation. But this time I was asked whether I want to use my knowledge to help people by getting down and dirty or I would rather sit in a comfortable office and wear a necktie. The latter would more likely be considered working (not to mention agreeable by most people, especially in my family) than the former, although the workload may be bigger in the former in terms of mind and energy used. I really envy people who believe that they can contribute something for the world by doing something for themselves. I just hope that those who are working their way to fame and fortune don’t forget to start doing something for others. And as for the doctor’s question, I couldn’t answer it.

I told you they were just a bunch of random thoughts.

The invaders came in multiple waves of armies each consisting of different numbers, sizes, and destructive powers. They arrived early in the morning only to left the defeated land owner in the evening. When they came, they came with a smile on their faces and received nothing but a warm welcome.

After several standard protocols, the troops started to spread around to launch their mission. First, they attacked the food supply. Of course the food and water supply are always the first to go in this kind of attack. It is the first step of getting the natives’ attention that their land is being invaded. Like an army of resilient ants, one by one the troops relocated the food supply while the host keep adding more food without realizing their own stock depleting. Slowly but sure.

But the food supply takeover will then seemed like a silent act compared to what the invaders are about to do. The battle that will happen next was a battle of the mind. It circled around ideas, values, and status.

"I just bought this new gadget," said a leader to the rest of the pack.
"My baby is only a few months old," an introductory line by a commander about a new member of his infantry.
"I’ve landed on a good place," said a proud young soldier on his achievements.

Statements will then lead to questions of comparisons* aimed at other members. And as the mental attack continued, the self-esteem was constantly bombarded. A sense of unworthiness started to develop. The weapon of mass destruction was launched and has hit the target.

I am standing on a ground where a great battle had taken place. The little devils had left their stains and footsteps all over the earth’s floor. The kitchen is a hell hole as if the devil himself had came in and turned it into his playground. It will take an eternity for the mortal souls to clean the mess up. In less than a day the peaceful earth had changed dramatically into a land of chaos and weariness.

Miraculously, I have survived another Eid.

Until now I still do not understand the point of writing a journal. I have been doing it, although not regularly, since I was in junior high. I have not produced any valuable writings because the only valuable thing in my journal is the key to the lock. Ofcourse, as I grow older I started to develop a sense of trust to my surroundings, and learned that I can write what I feel without having to worry anyone in the house would read it. Hence, I get rid of the lock. Then again, I think anyone in my house already quite understand not to provoke my wrath by trespassing my privacy.

Back to the journal. I examined my writing and tried to categorize the contents by positive and negative contents. It turned out that I have more negative contents in it. What I mean by negative contents are writings that include my expression of dislike or dissatisfaction toward anything or anyone (including myself). Where did that take me? That took me to realize that my not-so-little green journal has turned into a little black book, and I do not like the fact. I have had enough negativity written all over my face (and my blogs!). As much as I like sarcasm and use it to cope with my everyday life just because I find a sense of humor in the irony, I do not want my personal record to be only about bad experience and whining about the cruel world. Sure there is no rainbow hanging outside my window everyday to greet me when I wake up, and no sugar and spice and everything nice to add to the formula of my perfect day. But my utopian thinking always believe that there must be some goodness left in this world and I must have missed it.

Maybe there is no point in writing a journal afterall. But at least it is a way of reflecting to oneself because a mirror does not always work — I tend to always flatter myself when using it.

Now what the hell am I talking about? Apparently, me and this girl has something in common. Remember one of the episodes in Friends, the one when Joey meets his hand twin? Well, she is my scar twin! We are not exactly twins, we just happened to share a certain very particular feature: a scar.

Now about the scar. I got mine when I was in elementary school. That afternoon, I was sitting in my classroom in the madrasah (refer to Marhaban ya Ramadhan if you are wondering what I am doing in a madrasah) doing classroom stuff. At some point I dropped my pencil and tried to prevent it from falling to the floor. Reflexively, I closed my thighs in order to catch the pencil on my lap. But unfortunately it fell horizontally, making a bridge from one thigh to another. What happened later was a result of involuntary movement that we call reflex which sometimes lead to a false measure of strength: the sharp point of the pencil was then stuck in my inner left thigh through my pants. I was so freaked out anticipating a flow of blood will come out soon and a biting pain will emerge after the startle. But there was not any. The sharp point of the pencil seemed to be left inside but I was grateful that there was no blood and immediately gotten over it. I was wearing a pair of trousers so it was at home that I finally got the chance to look over my wound. In short, I survived to write this post and share you my story — meanwhile I still can’t understand why there were no blood.

The scar is now just a tiny transparent dot in my inner left thigh. I assume the dot was left there by the sharp point of the pencil. I thought through time it will disappear by itself. You know, because your body will try to get rid of any foreign object that is not supposed to be there. That is why ear piercings sometimes closed itself because the cells renewed and objects like earrings are not soupposed to get in the way — that and other medical explanations that are not the purpose of this post.

About the girl, she has the same scar in the same place with the same cause. We cannot go far as to switching identities, just as far as laughing about what a funny coincidence it was when we first realized it. I mean, what are the odds that you will have a scar twin?