Mt. Kencana (2016)

I have found true love in this emergency, dangerous, time. I have been torn in between, in pieces, out of my flesh and my own mind.

Never thought that I would find a way back. He has been very merciful ever since I could draw my first breath. He has always been near and it was me the one that got away. And I am very much thankful that He, in His infinite kindness, leads me to the right place.

I have found the form of true love. The very essence of it is wonder, kindness, mercy, love, fear, hope, and faith. The very ingredients of a believer.

Everybody must have been on the verge of dying, at least once in their lifetime, including when the grim reaper is knocking on their door. I forgot to turn on the light in this darkest hour but He reached down to me saying, “O child, the believer you are, this is how you should have lived your life. “

This is His will. There is no other way. The only way, the sole answer.

I have been thinking that one thing that had kept me away from expiry was to have that love, fear, and hope. The very ingredients of the believer, the one who holds the true faith, as a person who believes in one God, His messengers, the Holy Qur’an, the angels, the day of Judgment (the reckoning), and the Qada and Qadar.

To tell the truth, I feel ashamed that at such moment, this dark hour, I can actually, evidently, feel His present, the love, the gift. All my life, I have been bestowed in great wonders, with infinite supply of love and mercy. But why would I come to Him covered in blood and guts, salt and tears, begging for an easy walkthrough, as if my life has always been mine all along. Because it was never ever.

I am glad that He never ever abandons me after all this time, the hardest time of my life. I said that I want to find a way back and He showed me how, as simple as tracing down the line of one’s hand. Although for me, it almost feel like on the edge of dying–I’ve never been dying, anyway, so yea.

I wish you, friends, the people, would find a way to your true love, our Creator, our Benefactor, to collect the ingredients as a believer, to gain a closer advance to Him each day. And I pray that He shall lead you in such a path that will make you a true believer as well, it does not really have to be walking down my way, but our life has never been ours anyway.

I am still in the abyss. But I am not alone, never.

When I have this fears aching and clawing my core, then I shall whisper: “I have the Almighty with me. And He’s greater than all of them.



source: Aji Tata I. (location: Mt. Argopuro, 2015)

Currently listening to ♫♪ Coldplay – Yellow (it is beautiful, I want to appreciate this kind of feeling everyday)

Obviously, I want to save myself.

I insist to resist from the destructive spectrum.

To some extend, I feel so immersed and worn out by my own thoughts and feelings. Subsequently, I am accustomed to this. I did not adapt, no, I was just coping. Funny thing, it is as if I lost my grasp on myself, perhaps the reality I should live in.

I have detached myself from this world, the feelings of other people, created amounts of barriers from the outside, become obtuse to the purpose of life. There is flaw in the system and I am no longer surprised in the bargaining for the price of being okay. It takes one little white pill, good materials to read, and interesting problems or matters to take in.

It just occurred to me, after watching this notorious psychological thriller television series Hannibal—I highly recommend this, though, motivates me to take on medicinal field— that I may have to delve into my own head and feelings. It somehow reinforced and kind of cemented the moral and value set that I have carried all my life. Being an INFJ, this moral sets are very important for me to function, simultaneously to take action into consideration. And at the same time, it took and tried to furnish them, in dubious way.

I know that it is important to explore one’s own feelings as much I refuse and do not want to, at the end of the day, I have to. Like an obligation to put a bandage on the wounds. Probably I might be pulling at the scabs later for petty reasons, but one can always yearn to feel better.

I know  that people have already begun to pick up their knowledge regarding my conditions yet I still adamant with my opinions that they may lack the need to put an action for whatever motivations they have, as much as participation they regard onto me. Maybe, arguably, I want them to take a good care of me, to look, to understand, for ay other human being it could be one of the most valuable thing they could hold on to. At least, they show gave me some insights on these matters, and I know it is true, because I can see myself in that.

And, yes, I know it does seem childish of me. But, what people have to acknowledge as well is that there are people who have this gift to empathize other people’s feelings, to mirror theirs, and to some point assume their point of view as valid reasoning. I do not claim that I do but I know as an emotional person from the start, I have the skills to empathize with others that it is sometimes getting hard for me to reflect and assume them. It can be sickening because I can feel their pain, as well as any other feelings, of course. And, surely, arguably, many people also have the similar set of skills.

But what I want to point out is that in my social circles, the place where I live in, is somehow where the people who lack those cares and skills. I do not blame them, it was a gift that was some human being born with the same as another talent and ability/disability the nature and nurture had bestowed upon us. Yet, here is where my defense mechanism even getting higher. Like building up some kind of forts. An outside barrier because perhaps to some extend I want to ignore their feelings and welfare because it may cost mine, I may recollect their pieces though the strong will to empathize and reach out to help feels righteous, somewhere between the line I feel far-fetched up. Like Bilbo said, like butter scarping on too many bread.

I have put forth my prayers to God so he would reach down His hand. Yes, I really need the help. It would only take divine intervention to keep me up, at this point. I felt so different, it maybe a great degradation of who I used to be. Though, I also feel free. Who I was and used to be is like myself being put into a cage, restrained, confined. Now, it is as if I could soar high, restless, to pursue anything I ever wanted. And, yes, I am still afraid to let go because I am worried and afraid as shit but what choice do I have?

I am only 7 credits away from getting Bachelor of Engineering. I have been weighing to apply on medical education should I drop out or ever managed to graduate. I also want to take philosophy. Or just go dormant and write any shit inside my head. I know that I still confused but at the end of the day, I have to let go.

I do not know what kind of epiphany this is but I feel the need to trackback to the point where I have been searching for God. I may not actually try my best to know and understand Him, perhaps even from the start. I thought that I already have, getting closer and closer as He would run to His creation. Perhaps it is only a wrongful justification to make me accept my condition, an effort to alter the truth to cope. But I wish I could tell how uncomfortable it is for being under my skin when I am unstable.

I am impatient, the time keeps on going, even running, rushing through, and I may chase down the train on foot in order to get better. But, then again, what chance do I have? This would not be that comfortable and unsophisticated journey to go on because I am still crawling. I feel like I could stop to take the medicine but when it is not okay, then I am not. It came back. I dirge.

I wanted to shatter the teacup and reverse the time, would I ever be able to?

I cannot quite grasp what I have been rooted in, where these all have come from, the base of the shenanigans I had to deal with, it seems so far away yet threatening, it may not real, only inside my head, but it was there. Perhaps it was just burst of my confined feelings that I have been keeping on for so long, it could be anger, sorrow, hatred, vengeance, the evil, the compassionate, self-righteous, struggle, confusion, a great fighting against, what? Things, lots of things.

I do not want to map down my own thoughts and feelings because it makes me insecure and uncomfortable, I do not want to think much of it because it stings, I need to occupy my head with anything but those, I want to surround myself with anything and anyone but those. Does not mean that I do not want any interference. I can see that my psychologist is trying to push me to go back to function, at least, as a student, it is her duty for now. The question is how could I ever move toward being a model student if I could barely function as a human being? Seeing the psychiatrist may give a little relieve when I am upset, for awhile.

But, generally, the therapy does not really work on me. Except for the medicine, it put me off. My thinking has gone slower, I eat only little, for the outcome price of not so much in explosive state and less trembling hand.

I am starting to consider if that was the case, perhaps I should cut off the medicine as well as my goddamn business with the whole world I live in. Life is unbearably boring when I could barely chew the matters I am interested with. Like, disappear completely and trying not to ever be found anymore, and create my own world and people. It would be much therapeutic for me.

It is where I bring my hatred and vengeance of the world and people that lack the effort to empathize back to life everytime I wake up simultaneously for being grateful that I am still given the chance to make amend of the shit I messed up with, cultivate them throughout the day, down to the struggle to tackle them back into the pit of forgiveness as an obligation of human being according to how I function through the set of moral value I had kept so far. It is as if it goes on day by day, it is tiring indeed, but it is not I the sole perpetrator of this current event.

Yes, I hold the feelings, feeding them up, culminate it, and put it down before I go to sleep or surrender into deep slumber. I have the anticipation, counteract, realisation of my reasoning, thoughts, and feelings. It is my participation on this battle against me and the world and the people. But it would never a battle hence the other side had never taken the participation as well. They had these thoughts of anticipation, counteract, and realisation of how I might be, through series of events, even though they barely executed of these, merely standing still, but it was, as much as it was, a participation.

Do not try to deny that. Being ignorant, as it was claimed, was a participation. If they possessed all above things aforementioned.

Is this your kind of participation against me, to bring me down, and drown me up?

Because, to be honest, as my psychologst had drawn some conlusion that I have been getting better as well as my reasoning and perception should be, I still do not understand of whatever it is that going on inside head of yours. For me, it is still a battle against me and the world and the people that lack the effort to empathize. Not only to me, but people like me, to anyone.

I know I can, I have done my part since I can remember. I know that I am expecting something in return, a little piece of consideration, but what breaks my heart the most is the blissful ignorance those people and the world hold up to other people and the world they live in, not only to me. The abandonement feelings that emerge inside of me came from the unrequited expectations, I could take that I am pretty okay with that no matter how shitty it felt like, but how could you treat the world and other people like that?

I am done with my observation that getting out to take another glimpse makes me cringe more. It is safer to hide inside my room because it is less hurting. Call me a drama queen, but as I told you I have been an emotional person even to begin with, as very receptive to others and inwardly, it has always been personal, for someone like me.

If it has never occured to you, then congratulations that you never know anything about me at all. But remember, though you did not see it, I put effort to know and understand the world and the people I used to live in before. Is this an accusation? Yes. Do you abandon the people and matters that does not fit on your behalf and benefits?

You tell me.

God, please help me in this journey to come back to You, reach down to me, and hold me back into Your graceful arms.


credit: S. Pasthika

Yesterday I went to see the psychiatrist.

We talked like more than an hour or so. Not much, let’s say just the introduction, my physical conditions so far, how I have been feeling, since when it started, scratching the problems like pulling the scabs off your skin. She was a doctor specialized in psychiatry, also the lecturer of the faculty of medicine in my university.

In the end she prescribed an anti-depressant along with something to treat any ulcer disease or diarrhea that might be caused by the drugs, the side-effects. I asked her, what should I do if get those feelings of not being able to attend the class? Previously, I had failed miserably to handle that, short breaths, erratic heartbeat. I was prescribed an Alprazolam. A friend of mine mentioned that the drugs could be so-addictive like, she had gone through that before. Well, I don’t have the foggiest idea, she is my doctor, and I don’t believe she would be so reckless in giving me shit right? Besides, the Xanax (that’s how Americans call them) could only be consumed conditionally. When such attacks are attacking me.

A psychologist, last week, taught me how to control my breath and, to some extend, my rapid heartbeat. Not my tremor hands, I still have it, even while I’m typing this; it occurs occasionally, without a warning, on and off. And as long as I can control my physical condition upon those attacks, I don’t have to take the Xanax, which I’m currently scared to be obliged to. I have made my own research, the effects are supposed to be temporary, lasting only for couple of hours, but the drugs could be habit-forming. Maybe due to its short-term effect, people tend to take more, in order to take control of themselves, that’s where the addiction may lead to.

I took the anti-depressant, Fridep Sertraline 50mg this morning, well not so, it was around 1am, I kind of fell asleep the other day and woke up in the middle of the night. Then I took the Omeprazole after breakfast to anticipate any kind of these side effects that I’m starting to get into my stomach. I cannot really say much, but I feel a tad bit weirder than before: drowsy like my head was heavy, my mind was slightly foggy, and my mind was lagging. I was watching some movies to waste the time, you name it, and I could barely chew the English subtitle.

Do I still feel murderous? Well, in that case, like throwing tantrum, shouting abuse, yes sometimes I do. When thoughts are beginning to form, the ones that disturb me. It was either sad or angry, other than I feel just empty. After having little chit-chat to some people around my room, I know that the smile I put on like pieces of clothes did not reach my eyes, neither any elation brushing my conscience. Lucky me, and the others, I’m quick at catching my feelings and thoughts, so when I feel that overwhelming emotions are engulfing me like some kind of great floods, I shall make an escape, or to the least, close my mouth shut for I were to open it, I surely would hurt other people; with words. I’m glad I don’t feel the urge to lay a hand to anyone.

I know that I feel better when I’m outside this room, to walk down the road, inhaling the wind that blows, the petrichor, the chlorophyll on the epidermis of the leaves, the soil tinted in subtle acidic carbon, because it is just good to bath under the sun. But I don’t want to see the other people staring, whatever they have in mind, mostly and specifically the people I know. Well, it’s not easy to elaborate what I have in mind since I’m not particularly on the right head, that my logic probably and arguably may differ from you, but let’s just say that it is all in my head.

Whatever it is, if it is something going in your mind, it is harder to fight more than your body demands. In fact, you can never kill an idea once it’s planted. How could fight the cancerous thoughts which basically eating your mind and you could not really distinguish which one was the right thing to do, at the moment you’re not in control. In short, you are not quite you.

So, if we happen to deal some shit together, I may beg your pardon.

Today, just awhile ago, I think I let go. For now, being alone is the best that I can afford to. Seeing people, I will try to handle that, maybe tomorrow or last week, I will endeavour attend the classes anyway. Of whom do I let go? The people I thought have the slightest care of other people. The ones that have the bigger pictures in their head they forget to scrutinize their surroundings, the ones that have the great tendency that their business is always as matter of death even if and/or they’re not dying; the ones that barely know the price of being okay.

What would I go through this kind of hell? I just want to be okay.

Had I never read about God, trying to comprehend His Words, to get to know him, had I never been a believer, someone you may call as having the faith, I would have thought that death was a gift. Because you’re just tired, body and soul. Every fucking aspect in your life, even your prayer, is mechanical, somewhat, someway. Yet, I still repeating these words: O Allah, please don’t leave me.

And oftenly, at night, it is just so hard to go to bed. I’m scared that I wont be able to wake up the next morning that I’ll tire myself more, trying to stay awake until my eyes surrender and I lay down, lulling to slumber.

I don’t know whether I have to feel better about this, when I was asked by them, the psychologist and psychiatrist, do I have any close friends, then I said no I don’t (I feel insecure to share any private matters of my life with anyone, moreover, I’ve been pretty a secretive person from the start)—at least, to share with. And when people, as matter of fact, do not make any fuss when I literally disappear from their lives, I should know better that I don’t really have anything to loose from the start. What if anybody who had the thought that they’ve got friends and at the end of the day they don’t make any effort to look after them even though they know perfectly well that their fella has problems, in needs of help.

What I hate about the feelings now that swimming inside my chest is that it is as if they are robbing something in me. They were the people who taught and helped me to be the good person, firm believer, I used to be, in my normal state. And for that, I’m grateful for everything, I wouldn’t trade them for anything, for I fight my way in this world to get a piece of land in Heaven—the Paradise, the very reason that I still have the will to stay alive, would be nothing to loose; I’d be as pissed to anyone who said that the afterlife does not exist when they find out that it does.

I just can’t believe, don’t understand, how on earth they have the heart and the guts to do this to anyone they call as sisters—brothers? I’m tired of the people who can’t be true with their on words, now they all seem hollow and meaningless. The only truth lies within His hands and I shouldn’t be the one to judge. It’s a sin to abandon your own brothers and I certainly will never do so. If people only know the slightest impact they have on the other people perhaps they would not be so reckless in words and actions, to take matter to the heart and brain, to have more sensitivity, more kindness, soft-hearted, and a mind as strong as steel.

I believe if I ever get through all this alive, I’ll be as strong as fucking steel, although the brittle ones. I would never be the same, even your body keep the scars, it has flesh memory. What about the mind?

I know, it was just me so fucking angry being left alone and ignored, but due to all respect, in any moral code, rule department, what would you do when other people abandon the other? In some cases, their friends, the ones they call brothers, sisters.

An irony, I feel more safe around strangers, in public.

I never know that price of being okay is so steep. And so, this is ho it feels like to fight on your own. You were born alone, thus you shall die alone. What would I so worry about?

Allah will reach out His hand to me, He shall never leave. Never doubt that.



I went out today. Yes, it’s Tuesday and I feel like I want to remember this quiet historical day yea

Because I went out—it took a whole of world wide web though—to college, to the secretariat room. I met people, friends. I had an appointment with a certain pal. Months ago she told me that she was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Until today she said that the psychiatrist did never diagnose her that way; she put the label on herself.

I do not want to forget this particular Tuesday because I had made a progress, or so I thought. I immediately went back after having meals together. I was elated, for the first time, since almost like weeks—months.

At first, I was hesitant to see her just because. I knew that I could handle it, everything. I knew I could be strong, God would never leave because I was just too precious for Him; never doubt that He loves. I don’t think that He forgets me, nor banishes or gives me any cold gaze.

Maybe it was I who went away. I feel degraded still more, with great vengeance. Swearing and cursing felt good on my tongue as if it were made so. The prayers almost mechanic even though I knew it very well, in my heart, how to do it right: the takbir to salaam. The reciting of ayat felt empty and hollow, it barely scratched my soul just like happiness would deny me these days. The feelings were crushing me more than I could ever remember, it was far more hurtful when you could distinguish what was right and wrong yet you still condemned yourself the ruin. You did not know why, you just did.

The devil inside of me whispered, at this very moment, maybe it was because if I hurt myself then I could God as well, my parents, my friends, so I could inflict them with my pain, so they would never leave me, so they would reach out on me their hands. I do not want them to escape this. That I do not want to be alone even if physically I do. God is inside the veins, in the very heart of me; yet, here I am.

Right now, I feel the need to capture every feeling and moment of today because it is critical to me. I want to seek the way out of this.

She said that perhaps I should try the psychiatrist since she never went to any therapist before. I do not want the drugs, I should never want to depend my life on them. I’m not such a nut case.

But, I know, maybe, I am.

So I got a contact of this particular psychiatrist from my mentor. I contacted her. She said I should contact her again tomorrow to make an appointment. Now I do not really know what to do: I insist that I am not a nutcase. That was also what my friend had felt, back then, when she went to a doctor when she got sick, physically and mentally.

I feel like I continue on to dwell, keep on saying that I shall put an on this, yet after weeks—months barely did anything nor even lifted a finger, then should not I seek another help? Maybe God had intended this way of life—had written this on the parchment of fate thousands years ago. Please, make me strong. I know that I am. If I am not, then this record would be a permanent mark on my path, a perpetual excuse for every single problem I have.

To the people who keep on complaining, mentioning, that they are enduring a depression: dude, you do not know. You do not freaking know. I am breaking into pieces, emotionally, inwardly, mentally. I preserve to keep my physical health on dwelling to rigorous training: run, jog, healthy food. Because I know, I have seen it—her, my friend, she was torn. As I was never weak but fatigue does break the strongest. I was elated a few moments ago, but now when I am alone, the laughter was only knocking on my door.

We had chat, my friend and I. We laughed. I feel better than okay. I did not tell her everything, it would kill me. And I would not take myself getting killed TWICE since I had to see the psychiatrist if we ever made the deal. I thought it was only our way of coping, the self-defense mechanism to survive, was it not? I had forgotten moments and strings of memories so I could stay alive and snatch the life away, but when I had to remember, when the data leaked, I was torn again. To put it simple, I do not want to remember.

My oversleep came back again, it has been two days. I do not know, I am still afraid of getting to bed; on the other hand I still have to make the motivational letter on that youth camp. I cannot comprehend why I made the deal, was it a mistake? Whatever, I thought that maybe it could be some kind of refreshment.

I told my friend that I despise those people that I used to be happy to hang around with.


Because they did not look up for me. I was kind of sure, that, perhaps, at least, one of them knew, if not exactly, of what happened to me. They read my journal, they knew I had been missing for weeks, from our social circles. Was it because it was holiday and people just needed a freaking moment to take breath so they decided to look away? I told her that since I could not make myself to reach at them, I wrote this, I posted stuff on my social media, so they would know. On the other side, I was adamant to show the world that I am okay, with capital O; I put my lipstick on, I updated my Path and Twitter on my daily/weekly activity, so just I would seem normal. Is not that what any other young girls do, the normal ones?

I guess I do not really know what I want. If I want the world to turn away on me, to see that I am okay, why would I strive for their attention? Pray, God knows better.

Maybe they just do not have the essentials: care, thoughts. Perhaps what we had shared, in words (simple chatter, posting on social media, of course) and laughter did not mean as much to them as to I. That dandy matter of ‘my dear friend, I ask of you, to seek out for me if thou doth not see me in heaven’. That I could not comprehend. Utter bullshit. At this very moment I could care deeply of others just because I do not want anyone to feel of what I feel. Because it is horrible, terrible. There is a profound dysfunction in my life, a disorder. Even feeling okay would mean half of the world.

I was pretty astonished at first. There were seven billions of human beings in this planet called Earth and I found one person, out of the others, who were like me; we had been dancing the similar damn shoes. No, I do not know exactly what she had been through, what kind of shit she had to endure, but I am able to understand. There are more than a thousand students in our faculty, from our batch, and I found her, who had come to me, told me a tale that seemed like a gory story, a bedtime stories gone awry; it was because you do not want to get any piece of this shit.

You would not believe the number of OUR friends who had this condition, the worse case. No, maybe I am just like a piece of cake, a cup of tea. Not the whole cake, nor the teapot and boiling water.

And from a thousand, there were none who came for our rescue. It was a freaking irony, a mere tragedy. What would we do if the sick did not find each other? Should we build up a league of nut case, the alliance of mentally unstable? It is damn hilarious in a sad sad way. But I pity that people, scorn, yes, perhaps, slightly, for a while, I hope.

Do not you dare to put on any words like: “OH! I’m on a goddamn depression, can’t you see it? I’m suffering!”  “I’m going crazy, what should I do?” “I feel like to die, I’m depressed!”. Stop exaggerating if you do not know a piece of this shit.

And you know what? In my case, any reasonable and logic sentences would not work on me. So there would not be any use should you ask me to come to you and tell. If I have been behaving strangely, like a real pain in the arse, all silent and bursting in full wrath or vengeance all of a sudden, please do forgive me. That is one of the reason why I manage to avoid people when I do not feel like it; I feel like a ticking bomb waiting to be detonated and dropped. And secondly, I dislike any questions when I do not desire it so that kind of set me off too. Thirdly, I do not feel like seeing anyone that would cause me any pain, you know, the trigger.

Yes, I am on top of selfishness at the time. Also, keep in mind, I still can be a wonderful buddy to chat with, share things, talk about stuff, goofing around, well when I feel like it. The problem is, you and I just cannot point out when. Usually I can, sometimes.

I am not a nutcase. Sometimes, I am. I do not want to put any labels on, do I?


credits: Aji Tata I.

I was bleeding, like literally. Well, still am. Since this Thursday.

I had read it could be from severe stress and exhaustion, or else. I could not really tell which one.

The last time I had problems with my digestion system, twice, and received different medicines which did not indicate what was the cause of my condition. And this time I was bleeding, not heavily, only small amount less than five milliliters, perhaps less than three.

It didn’t hurt, though. I was not on my period either, just got it two weeks ago.

Now, I wonder whether the stress had gone too far, again. I hope it did not. Well, I presume that it never really went away, not for a single day. We can say that every human being deals with some certain amount of stress for a period of time in their life, on some occasion. What I’m pretty curious was had the amount of stress that I had the obligation to endure been increased?

Yesterday, I was in the bathroom, trying not to think much of everything since it would do no further good when you got any idea by meditating while taking a dump, or pee. I mean, it would not be quite insightful nor inspiring, Idk. Yet, that time, I was wondering, list of questions were rushing inside my head like the beck gushing through the stony stones.

I’m currently reading The Art of War by Sun Tzu. And I think we could be mutually agree that life without an enemy threatening to stain your future would be less challenging. Moriarty did mention that every fairy tale needs the old-fashioned villain; the bad guy. The necessary evil, to the least.

But then, I thought, who was the real enemy of this life? Life is not a fairy tale, it’s a whole level different from movie, not the play or even books. I have said that, life is either too simple or too complicated and sophisticated to be compared to any stories combined, let alone the movies.

Who was the real enemy? The devil himself? Were it the wrongdoers? Were it evils which lurking behind the blurry greyish of line? Was it something we do and do not on the other hand? Was it something that we had clearly defined within moral department? Was it supposed to be like a specter, going through our peripheral vision, to feel it at the tip of our fingers, whispering eerie words and shush into the ears?

In The Art of War, it was said if we know who we really are as well of the enemies then we can secure victories. And if only we know ourselves but not the enemy, you would be less likely to achieve glory. And if you do not know yourselves nor the enemy facing you, then most likely you would succumb to defeat.

I was bitter, a bit, for a while. For all I know the purpose of the creation of me myself and I is to devote my life on good-deeds-paved road track, to be His faithful servant, to obey His command. Yet, what about the enemy? I should want to conquer all the obstacles and secure the victory. And the victory was laid bare behind the curtain, made of being dying. One only can know the afterlife if he has the chance to meet the grim reaper, if the death bids you a Hello from the right hand then most certainly that is your eternal glory. And, here, I’m not really sure that I want to know, I’m not even ready to send greeting card to the angel of death.

There is the enemy, he would not let me pass. He would not let me be good. He would not let me be what I want to be, what I should be, what I could be, what I would be. He pulled me back and through, put a chain, into restrain, so I would not be anywhere. In this place, called the dark abyss of anonymity.

What if the real enemy was buried deep inside within? Like the demons beneath the road. Wearing the robes of the angel, vivid and bright, all white, the smoothest fabric you could ever touch.

To tell you the truth, neither do I know.


credits: S. Pasthika

At Wednesday last week, my heart went all erratic, as if it would burst out of my ribcage, pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. And my hands were trembling. I did notice that it was the left one that went crackling in tremor, the right one was not that…bad. I don’t know why.

I continue on painfully tedious routines. I simply jeopardized my sleep patterns, asleep at afternoon until nearly midnight, then wake up again until the next noon. It went for several days, from two weeks ago until last week, there was not any significant patterns. It happened again this week, not in regular. But basically, it was a simple oversleep. Actually, I don’t want to address these symptoms as another episode of depression, worries, fears, anxieties, whatsoever.

To be honest, I struggle to get out of my mind, that would put the triggers. I purchased nearly half a dozen of novels—the vintage classic ones: The Importance of Being Earnest and Other Plays by Wilde, The Art of War by Sun Tzu, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Man in the Iron Mask by Dumas, The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes by Doyle. Also still have lots on my bookshelf—kidding, on my floor, actually—to be finished off. I maintain to dwell on morning jog twice a week, put a timing, four kilometers in thirty minutes at minimum of times. I downloaded movies in high rating, the ones that received good reviews. I flipped through articles or anything similar.

By the way, I had managed me myself and I to open my SIAK account—that particular place which would display all of your sins committed in the past in the forms of grades and GPA. I got mine 3.65 out of 4. SUPRISING, ISN’T IT? Yea, I nearly could believe that. I checked twice, though, and turned out it was true. Yet, I did not fill up the EDOM questionnaire in lieu to view your actual grades. I don’t have the heart to. I mean, I can’t put myself to look at those blank lines where Seminar, Thesis, and Kerja Praktik are still empty. Waiting to be filled out.

It was as if written in the canvas of life, in the stars, in the constellations, et cetera, et cetera. Was that really some kind of sign? My dark humour side did mention that perhaps it was meant as a joke.

I intended to drop out of college, on my last term, just because. I would not make a good engineer, a proper one. I hate engineering even though I could swallow every single thing those people shove up my face. Hell, you could just read the books, be done with it, you received the grades, the accumulation of your painful struggle as a university student. Does it make anyone different? I could be smarter than anyone on our batch, but no I don’t want to. I don’t like them engineering, what was the point anyway.

Well, Kevin said, the point was there was no point at all.

I could be the most diligent student, I had been dancing those shoes on my high school time. And you know what? Engineering seems like trivial errands for me. Only knowing I don’t know what I want to be. In that case, life can be less exciting, less challenging, lacks the purposes and the point.

People said, just come to me if you need any help. The truth is, how could you help other people? Consolations and sugar-coated words would not bring peace to some people. Some are not the easy ones to deal with, something is wrong within their system. Some are petrified they can barely make a move. Some carry an erratic heart with trembling hands while their thoughts are rushing alow and aloft, while the silence might be killing them. The façade was the superficial one, the ripples were at the bottom of the lake.

Why are you keep saying (on social media, of course) to keep the faith, to pursue what’s worth to, to spread good words, to never give up, to keep the chin high? While, between those interval, you give up on us? Who do you think you are? Are you trying to play dandy?

Well, dude, get a life. I understand people better even at my conditions. Because at some point I want to help them though I cannot give my best.

Sometimes it was terrifying to go to bed, what if I would never make it when the sun came out the next day? I strived to stay awake until slumberness swept me off. I exhaled a heavy relieve sigh when I opened my eyes, realizing it was a brand new day to make up for everything. But, no, not really. I went back to my routines: read the books, watch the movies, find anything worth my attention on the internet, attend the morning jog when it was Wednesday or Sunday.

It was tedious, yet had kept me at bay.

It’s getting to the last January, and I’m still here, not moving anywhere. The duties are waiting for me, sending shivers down my spine. And my heart goes erratic once again, all sparkles and burning.


East Java, Mt. Argopuro

Well, guess what? Since I can’t really put anything on my social media account, so I’m just gonna pour a heavy and dense rain into this.

That’s why I can barely stand people. Ink and papers have the patience. I think it’s critical for me to be heard, listened to. To be understood, at least, for a small portion.

In this world, where I re-frame the wall and floor, even though it is only mere black and white, I assure you I’m the whole universe of it, the axis which it strives to rotate every single day. Maybe in the other part of the world, I could be just a tiny dot amongst the chaos.

No, there is no door nor windows. So I could be safe just inside far far away from the harms.

But for the pen, ink, and papers, I’m their world. The universe.

How convenient for the people, ignorance such a bliss.

To tell you truth, I’m fighting my own freaking battle here. Don’t just throw everything on my face, because if I’m on my normal state I could ask for a minute so we could take a seat, side by side, and have a bloody conversation. No, at this very current situation, I cannot do that.

What I realize, even the slightest ripple, that trigger, can cause an erratic heartbeat to me. I thought it had been blown away, gone baby bloody gone. I’ve been developing this particular self-coping mechanism to put aside all of the trash; I watch videos and movies, writing and reading things. Basically, running away. Sometimes they did help. Until I stumbled into postings, photos, chats, which contained something that, you know, triggered me.

That kinda set me off. Got upset. So I chose to get away, getting immersed into other activities just to occupy my mind.

The pro side, I’m trying to go back to my perseverance. I run for three to four km, keeping up with half an hour of time. Twice a week. It felt above good.

No, baby, I don’t want to get drown even though you’ll let me down. This is not a comfort zone, it’s a depressed zone! And you’re welcome to it.

I’m starting to think to get myself a psychiatrist. Idk, should I?

I’m only 7 credits (SKS) away from being a Bachelor of Engineering thus I shall break the hell loose from ALL OF THESE SHENANIGANS CALLED ENGINEERING.

Could you tell the differences, if you have troubled yourself to venture my blog? From my old writings?


I curse. I try to avoid that anywhere I’m on cyberworld. Including real, ofc. Tell you what? It felt good too. And I’m starting to despise the friends I used to like to hang around with, their behaviours, their words, from chats to simple postings. I can feel that I’m getting away from God, there is great lump in my throat, a burden which is larger-than-life on my shoulders, because something in me, my conscience, can determine between right and wrong.

Yes, this is wrong. I’m deteriorating like a roller coaster falling down from the sky. It’s degrading. Again, what can I do?

Like, on the phase-changing state.

I’m the water that got boiled up up and away, getting evaporated in the air, blown blown away. Gone baby gone by the heat, the rush of everything yea

No no, stop talking about sharing and making postings about taking care of everyone, day reminder, or any other craps. Because baby, if you don’t even lift a finger when your friends are falling down, to pieces, then what are you?

By the way, it’s not solely academic problems. If you peel off an onion, it will reveal in the form of layers, they brought you to tears, make you want to scrap on your eyes even though you can’t, it’ll make it worse.

And do you know, what’s the good side about being me? I get to know life a tad bit better and in another way of thinking, gotten rid off the blissful ignorance, in a kind of harsh way.

If I only ever make it out alive though.

Since I thought that there were not many people who visited my blog, so I decided to write it down here. Getting them out of your chest. It wouldn’t hurt anyone if you smash the keyboards with all your might, right? No, kidding, my laptop is one of my best buddy.

I wish to say something to you. Why are you so busy trying to save yourselves, putting efforts in greater good, spreading enormous amount of reminders, while some people are not able to reach out their hands asking for help? Now, I’ve learnt that when it came to problematic mental health, some people can barely deal with logic and reasons. No, you don’t know. Because you’ve never been in OUR shoes and dance around with it.

Do you even try to?

I’m scared, worried, afraid. Do you know what is more pathetic? Maybe you’re afraid too,  of life, of everything as well as I am, or simply don’t bother to care.

Luckily, there are seven millions people in this planet called Earth. So, I can safely say, that the world has not crumbled. Yet. Too many probabilities, there could be the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I’m gonna write down the most current quote which caught my eyes, from American Psycho:

…there is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there. It is hard for me to make sense on any given level. Myself is fabricated, an aberration. I am a noncontingent human being. My personality is sketchy and unformed, my heartlessness goes deep and is persistent. My conscience, my pity, my hopes disappeared a long time ago (probably at Harvard) if they ever did exist. There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it, I have now surpassed. I still, though, hold on to one single bleak truth: no one is safe, nothing is redeemed. Yet I am blameless. Each model of human behavior must be assumed to have some validity. Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do? My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this—and I have, countless times, in just about every act I’ve committed—and coming face-to-face with these truths, there is no catharsis. I gain no deeper knowledge about myself, no new understanding can be extracted from my telling. There has been no reason for me to tell you any of this. This confession has meant nothing…

P.S: Even while writing this, I still bother to be a grammar Nazi lol.