To join the morning ritual of commoners…

News flash: I found myself a steady job!

Yup. That’s right. After two years of earning a living as a freelancer…now finally I tied myself to an establishment. Thus the revolutionist comes home.

This is actually my second month. I’ve got to tell you…it’s so so hard to change two years of working habit to another. It used to be waking up with sunlight awash all over the room. Now, when I woke up, the sun barely blinking yonder east (it’s obviously an exagerration but bear with me).

Also my caffeine habit starts to flourish in a manner I’ve never expected before. I need my daily shot lest I become a living dead working for a paycheck. Never ever that happened before. Coffee was always a liquid of fun and enjoyment, never a necessity.

Waking, working and slouching till the sun rises? Adieu to that…

Drive wherever I want, whenever I want? We went separate way…

And so, the question is…what the hell was I thinking?!

But am happy now I’ve chosen this path. Somehow, everything became much more…defined. Certain doubts were answered and I’m thankful. Met a lot of new people, cool people. Encounter a few new absurdities. It’s delightful. Changing one’s life is never an easy task I know. But really, the process is not all that bad. I might enjoy this. We shall see where this path will take me.

Still, I will forever hates the traffic.

Now, back to work.

Quitter…

How to become one? Easy, just start something and stop halfwa

Days of Cinematic Adventures a.k.a JiFFest 2008

Starting today, for the next five days I will be joining the throng of thousands of Jakartarians lining up to the doors of theaters across town. Yes, the tenth Jakarta International Film Festival’s finally here.

Although I couldn’t call myself a avid movie buff, I always enjoyed watching movies. They let me tap into another world, another reality without me having to try hard. Unlike reading a book, you are spared from having to build your own theater of mind (which was why I like reading books better). They are…how to put it…packaged imagination. Of course we are talking about good movies here, because the bad ones, well…they tend to make me want to run back to my own reality instead.

And so, film festivals, like JiFFest, present an excellent opportunity for me to tap and enjoy dozens of realities from around the world, with reasonable price too!

Thus, be on the look out! For tomorrow, and the days after, I will walk into the theaters, sitting comfortably as the lights dim and let myself be whisked away to faraway places for two hours or so. And maybe, those faraway places delight me so, that I’ll be compelled to share them to all of you. I have one already in mind but that’s for next post.

See you at the screening!

At night, I rant

One of the bliss of being nocturnal is listening to bossa nova in the dark while sipping a glass of southern comfort. Ah, heavenly.

Of course I can only do that when there are no deadlines hanging above. Even then, I still love working at night better than when the sun arrogantly shines. At night I can rest assured no one will bother me. No sound other than the music playing and the occasional muffled sound of mice partying up on the roof.

At night I can be alone.

A friend once told me, one of the sign of introvert-ness is being able to be alone hours on end. Well, maybe I’m an introvert afterall. No matter. Being introvert or extrovert or even pervert have nothing to do with me loving the darkness that engulfs me, caress me in velvety warmth and majestic silence.

In silence I can dream.

As the bell stroke the twelfth time, that’s when my mind soars. Above the clouds, across continents and through someone’s bathroom window. This feeling of freedom is nothing less than ecstasy. It’s like finding out that you’ve won lottery, like the first time you lose your virginity (can there be a second time?), like the third pass of mary jane from a friend.

Only trouble is, in the dark I can’t see the letters on the keyboard. That sucks.

Mmmm…

Actually, I don’t really have anything important to write today. It’s just that, right at this very moment, I have in my hand, a glass of vanilla ice cream, and let me tell you it’s oh so very good!

That’s all. Now let me get back to my ice cream.

A Place Un-Cared For

Oh look at that . . . my last entry was months ago.

It’s so typical of me, you know. Create something and then let it go. Well, a dear friend told me not so long ago, that I’m a person who’s unable to really care for anything. I didn’t put much thought into it.

Okay, I lied.

I did put some thought in it but not as much as I should. You see, I always consider myself as a person with quite a dose of creativity. A creator. I elate myself by conjuring stuffs out of my right brain. As they materializes, I play with them for awhile then walk away. It’s that one time process that I love, but tell me not to do it again. If that reflects what my friend said about me then yes, she’s right (I forgot to mention that my dearest friend here is always known to be right about anything).

Trouble is, and I realized this, that one character of mine is not exactly mandatory to success. Meaning, I must get rid of it or at least tone it down. How? Well, maybe I can start by taking care of this blog more often. Open myself and pour it on digital form. Maybe afterward I can move to even bigger things.

Maybe.

Adieu to Rolla?

For those who are close to me, they will certainly knows who I am talking about. For those who don’t, well, Rolla is my car. A battered down (at least from the outside . . . and uh, also from the inside) 1991 Toyota Corolla formerly belonged to my grandmother (yes, I’m driving my grandma’s car. Now shut it!). The only way you’ll know that it’s a deep metallic blue painted is by reading the registration paper. Otherwise, you’ll say that it’s black, grey, or as seriously described by a friend of mine, the color of “Bandeng Asap” (smoked milkfish, an Indonesian delicacy).

Despite it’s visually challenged looks and old age, Rolla still runs very well (Yes Aldi, I hear you. Now hush and let me finish). As I was saying, Rolla still runs very well thanks to countless trips to the shops and countless visits from the her ‘doctor’. Compared to her younger sister, my mom’s car,  a 1994 Mitsubishi Lancer GLXi, her engine, clutches, suspension and overall driving comfort still feels a whole lot better. Don’t ask about the speed and acceleration comparison though. I can still taste the dusts on my lips.

I love this car. I may not shown it much but I do. It’s practically my personal mobile time capsule, having witnessed a lot of things in my life. If you’re a CSI expert, you might uncovers a secret or two, among other (probably living) things, inside Rolla.

But now, alas, the price of fuel has gone up again. *Cry of anguish*

As I dug deeper into the darkest crevices of my wallet to pay for fuel, I began to have evil thoughts. A ghostly form resembling a glimmering, brand new scooter hung before my sleepless eyes. This weary brain often stole moments of deep calculation. Numbers are fighting againts numbers. Dark forbidding questions rose one after another. “How much can I save by riding motorcycles instead?” How much will it take to buy one?” If I sell Ro . . . it (I’m careful not to name names here), would I get enough and more?” These question haunts my dreamless slumber. Oh the agony of confusion and stinginess.

I know, most probably I won’t ever sell Rolla. But the fact that I’m thinking about it goes to show how big the problem I’m facing right now. The way I see it, if I want to rode with Rolla still, I have to cut my other spending significantly. Either that or I find another means of income *my spider-sense warns me of someone preparing to kick my ass*

Oh well. Guess before I make any decision, I’d better bring Rolla to the car wash first. Such a demanding partner she is.

12 May 2008

Do you remember what you were doing ten years ago today?

Me, I remember waking up late. I remember lounging around reading comics. I remember turning on the TV just because it’s too quiet in the house. I remember . . . vaguely . . . of hearing the news.

I remember feeling confused. I remember feeling something like anger and I don’t know what else swirling inside me. Mostly, I remember feeling scared. And so they dwell still, those feelings, for days after.

Today, again I turned on the TV. So far, there’s a story about a celebrity couple in some kind of trouble, a famous presenter facing some legal problems, a student protest turned riot in Makassar, and another news about the aforementioned celebrity couple.

I turned the TV off and went back to my work. These deadlines are killing me.

 

 

On May 12th, 1998, four students fell after uniformed men opens fire at a peaceful demonstration protesting the massive price rises of essentials products and fuel. The ensuing chaos leads to a widespread riot in Jakarta. Thousands of buildings, houses and shops were razed and burned. More than 1000 people died.

For The Love of Reading

I don’t know since when, but I always have this dream of building the world’s largest library. A place where you can find every title, every manuscript known to man. From a short poem by a love sick 18th century poet to an inch thick autobiography of a forgotten artist, shadow-written by an obscure writer whose novels will change the world . . . if published. But most importantly, it will be a haven for all who love to read. A sanctuary for a reader, who leafs every pages of a book feeling utmost joy. Following every word not by eyes but by heart. And I’ll be sitting there with them.

Lovely dream. Well, of course, realizing that dream might be a bit too difficult. Unless for some reason Old Bill gave me 20% of his share . . . No? No. Still, someday I’m going to have my own library. At the very least, I want my kids to have a chance of exploring the world of words and find the beauty that was laid bare before me years ago.

Oh, before things got too serious, I just saw an anime series yesterday, called “Library War”. Years in the future Japanese government let out an act of media enhancement, by heavily controlling information for public, including confiscating books deemed harmful for the society. At the same time they also have an act giving libraries freedom of protecting information in their possesion. So basically, it’s about two government bodies fighting over books. Interesting concept, with equal share of comedy and drama. I’m looking forward for the next episodes.

Surreal? Surrealist? Surreyalist?!

Choosing a name for a blog turned out to be not as easy as ruling the world.

That’s because I wanted this blog to be my definitive blog. The ultimate faucet of my generally mediocre (I’m being humble here, of course) train of thoughts. So naturally I have to came up with a name that reflects who I really am and the things I will post. It also have to strike a strong impression to all who see, creating a vision of grandeur. Something that gloriously outshone everything else.

I came up with “reysaroso”.

Wow! . . . . . . Okay, have we other options?

It’s not that the name is a bad one. No, not at all. It is the obvious choice for a personal blog title, so it’s completely all right. It’s just, well, like I said I wanted something different for my blog. I mean, come on! This is ME I’m talking about. I’m no ordinary person. I’m Groucho Marx minus the moustache! The world bows before my immeasurable wittiness! I can’t have a blog titled with something so plain as my name! (Umm . . . ah nevermind). Thus the search continued.

Several days and options later (theamazingrey, holycowitsrey, reyandhissidekickbooboo), as I sat in front of my computer, weary from work and lack of sleep, I came upon a revelation. There, fleeting in and out of consciousness, I became wary of my surroundings. Colors swam before my eyes. All’s blurry. I felt light-headed. “This is it!”, I thought, “This is the answer I have been looking for! It’s either that of I smoked one too many joint.” That moment, I realized that much of my life, my being, revolves around the world of dreams. A world of detachment. Of imagination and wishful thinkings. Of vision and stolen ideas. A world, a life where everything is so . . . so . . . surreal! Yes! And I, the sole ruler of this world, am the surrealist. Rey, The Surrealist! In short, The Surreyalist.

Now, in a world where many people chose stupid, pretentious, dunno-what-it-means-but-it-sounds-cool titles for their blog, I’m proud to say that I have a name that really represents myself and my blog so truthfully and honestly. From this day onward, The Surreyalist opens it’s pages to the world.