Words

healing

grow

i finally had my first hooping class yesterday. needless to say, this circular, magical thing gave me the most intense connection i’ve ever experienced with the hoop, with other people and with myself. i’ve learnt a lot from various tutorials on the internet, but they’re just not quite like this. i’m really grateful for the amount of online tutorials available, if it wasn’t for them, i wouldn’t know how great this thing is. but personally, it was the presence of others, their live energy and our interaction that worth beyond my personal interest. “we all come here to have fun, so don’t judge yourselves.”

i took the initiation class, so sure i had to start from the very basic of rolling the hoop with my hips and working together to find the rhythm, but there were also something new i discovered. it was very repetitive, but never the same. i think that’s the fundamental thing about what tiana zoumer called the pointless art. her words remind me that there’s really no rush for progression,  there will always be an infinite amount of flow to any direction, “fuck the best idea of myself”.

then there was also this magical moment of hinging between consciousness and unconsciousness, of being in control of everything, yet letting everything loose at the same time. that was the time i was fully connected with myself, and it opened myself to any possibility. i was positive beyond anything. i was fully conscious of my potentiality. i no longer doubt.

i went home right away and sang all the happy songs with my heart. i careless of how i sound. i sang all the happy songs happily. i grow and grow and grow, because i’m alive.

antara rabu dan kamis, selalu ada malam; melebihi sore, mendahului pagi.

dia yang memancar tapi tak terlihat, menembus sosok kehidupan tanpa bias.

lalu tiap tetesan jatuh, tak kenal arah atau sudut; ingin kembali pulang

                                                                             ditulis tujuh bulan yang lalu

Aside

puspa sea night

IMG_0837    IMG_0669

it’s right. and it’s alright. i’m one insecure being. we all are. we lament for our own affair sometimes; not to be egoistic, just to be human. i’m truly sorry for those affected by the shootings and the killings. and how people die unreasonably. sometimes i forget how lucky i am for my heart still beats today–even though my other part might be obsolete–that i lament for my own inferiority.

my angst and anxiety previously said, “let the past own you if you wish to, but don’t let it mingle with the present.”

i don’t understand how one could be drifted into something one did not take part of. i still cannot make sense of it; it is not fair. perhaps i don’t have the courage to face it. i lost count on how many times i’ve reassured myself that this is the way life works: peace ends everything, while tensions of opposition keep life going.. is this what life demands of us? some kind of ignorance to move on, and get out of whatever issues we face in order to survive.

i’m confuse. i wish things are as easy as a saying.. or maybe not. i don’t know what to say anymore. i don’t know where to stand. i wish i could be independent and stand on my own, but there is no freedom if there is no restriction. boundary gives birth to alternate, otherwise it’s the limit. i fully understand the worst thing rational do is to distinguish one from another; to emphasize differences in order to oppress the link inheritance to life. but i don’t buy it. i still cannot accept what i’m drifted into. i’m going to let those voice of angst and anxiety sit in my mind for a while.

for the first time, thank god it’s weekend.

wither

Aside

ImageI guess it all started a few days ago after watching the documentary Born into Brothels about a group of young children growing up in the red light district in India. I found it wonderful seeing Zana Briski teaching them how to see the world, one of which is through photography. And even more wonderful, I also learned a lot as an audience. I have admitted for a while that this is, by far, the most unproductive semester I’ve had, but I remained unmoved until I watched these young children enthusiastically bringing their camera everywhere and capturing such contrasting life. Their smiles move me. So I decided from now on, I will do so. Each day, where ever I go, I will have my camera.

Image

Day 1. These are the greenhouse in my campus, my other campus actually. I only have one class here, but I wish I have more. The atmosphere here is a lot better than studying next to a busy street in downtown. This morning, I was picturing my day one photograph to be the sunset on the beautiful river outside the campus, but there is just something about this greenhouse that made me approaching it. And so these are day 1 photographs. Image

Although I said each day, this won’t be a 365 days project however. I know my limit. Speaking of another wonderful-ness, that is exactly how i feel about seeing the world after a long time. I haven’t done any flaneurie, my camera has been collecting dust, i haven’t picked up my musical instrument, let alone clicking garage band, the canvases remain plain and this blog was pretty much hibernating.

I was literally living by the book. Just like the two gentlemen of Verona, quoting such and such authors for their great words that are actually outside my living experience. Not that they are wrong, or that I discourage anyone from reading books. Books are great sources, indeed. But life is way too valuable to be missed.

I really like this semester. I’ve never had this kind of joy from studying at university. Yes, I know I cried last week for having a horrible time writing an essay, but exploring the idea itself is more than pleasurable. Although I’ve read so many articles ranging from reality television and our superficial life, to the environmental pragmatists and deep ecology, and all the way to the more abstract and hard-to-be-read articles that overlap cinema critics and philosophy, they more or less resonate the same thing. And I’ve learned so much from them. Yet, having read Braidotti’s nomadic theory, it might actually seem like an irony if I stay drown behind the book. I’m completely aware that I’m still attached with the notion of “living by the book” but I guess I just have to accept it for a while, before I fully explore the world. In the mean time, “a day a picture” kind of project will help me ease the moment by giving splashes of colours in between this black and white frame.

living by the book

Aside

It’s been quite a long time since I wander around here. I dragged my step out of the room feeling heavy in my heart, feeling as if the air would attack me with terror in less than a second. I went down the narrow exit staircase as I always did with other people lining up to go down. It was so narrow, that it left only another shoulder width for others to go up–half shoulder on the left, half on the right. We couldn’t past. Around and around we turned down to the left, and left, and left, and left.. and the fourth floored room seemed so far away.

I didn’t reach level one, I didn’t need to. The big entrance was on the second level, the one leading to the green open space and somber sky. I could see it was about to fall and I could walk no longer. Holding my phase behind the guy with big curly hair and flannel shirt, that was the only thing I dared to attempt. Before I knew, I sheltered myself under the empty grey building, I’d rather passed each time.

Where are you just now? I’d rather utter my half-emptied self, but I guess I have to lie to myself for the next chaotic, hopefully, days. Pretending as if I don’t…I miss you.

But damn seriously, where were we? I thought I knew everything about this, I trusted my perspective more than anything, thinking that it was a whole complete picture. But guess what, I could not even see what’s standing in front of me, if it were too close, or why I even went back in the first place? … Went back? Really? Did I really go back with memory? Is that what it referred to? At least Claire Denis seems to emphasize traversing, perhaps it is. Memory does not come from the past, for we don’t walk in a straight line. We sense it presently, but neither it is present in the moment.
I’m lost
still

Potentially (it means nothing for you)