When I started my blog a year ago, my intention was to start writing again – regularly – because this is what I have done many years ago, actively. Somehow I stopped doing it (for leisure, because I wrote probably almost zillions of pages for my master’s degree assignments). Just like when I stopped playing piano, suddenly I didn’t feel the urge to write anymore. Maybe because I was busy writing articles, I didn’t want to write anything else anymore. Maybe because I was busy drawing and sketching. Maybe because I was just plain busy. Or maybe because I got lazy.
Writing had been my life since I was in elementary school. I remember I made poems – terrible, childish ones! – and sent them to the school library, completed with pictures of mountains, trees, and so on. The librarian then put my poems on what we call “majalah dinding”, which made me so proud of myself for weeks.
That’s my first experience of having my thoughts read by other people.
During my junior and especially senior high, it’s not only a hobby, it’s also my profession. My mom was a journalist and writer herself, and I saw her articles and stories on newspaper almost everyday. Not to mention that she was a TV anchor for a local TV station. My dad had his Healthy Q&A spot on a local sundays newspaper. Although they’re almost never got paid for that, they’re stick to their routines, at least for a very long time. And somehow it was infectious. I wrote, diligently. My short stories were mostly in the art section (maybe because I ever mentioned Ophelia and they didn’t understand what or who it was, they thought I was so sophisticated!).
In college I was active in the student magazine. I managed to get Architecture Department had weekly magazines as well, although it lasted only for few months (almost noone was helping me!).
I love writing. I feel I can express myself better with writing. I throw my anger, frustration, love, passion, hate, lust, boredom, all the emotional feelings, on my writings. Or I throw somebody else’s feeling on it, if I feel I can put myself on his/her shoes. And there is something I still stick to.
I never lie on my writing.
On my blog, I write about myself, or other people, and the stories went on just like what they were. Exaggeration, sure, of course. You need spice and garnish to make your dish taste and look tempting, but you don’t put chili to make it sweet. So when I mentioned the story about my bad hair day, I wasn’t making it up. It did happen. Rocky did think I was having a bad hair day (and yes, I still don’t forgive him for that! Rocky, if you read this, you owe me a cuppa, dahlingz!). ADD girl does exists. I do hate Kingkong movie. And yes, there was a guy who came to my house crying over his ex, bringing a knife when I was in high school. There was a wedding which the bride forgot to invite me. There was an upsetting moment when I went back to Surabaya and my friends were too busy for me. There was a very good friend who was having an affair with a married guy whom I still care about but disagree with what she’s been doing.
All my stories are true. All my feelings are true.
When I mentioned a guy, it is a guy. When I said wedding, it was a wedding, not a kid’s birthday party with Ronald McDonalds. When I said he was crying, I meant it, with full sound effects, a red face and snorts, not only tears running down his cheeks. When I said it’s a cappuccino, damn it is a cappuccino. It can be in a mug, in a cup, or even in a wine glass. But if it’s Starbucks, it can’t be Coffee Bean or Illy.
You see what I mean? I can present it in a different package, wrap it with a stripes paper and put a pink bow on it, but the essence is still the same.
All truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
So help me God.