Room number 60

Another dream recap.


It was a drawing exam.
In a class that looked just like my classes back in the elementary school.

We used crayon. We scratched like crazy.
The time was unmercifully limited. And running out.

I drew something so big and so badly proportioned and awfully calculated that I need additional paper to draw on.

“But there’s no blank drawing paper left,” the teacher said. And he didn’t even try to seek for another paper. He was rather indifferent.

I panicked.

But then a college friend I just recently get acquainted to handed me his drawing paper.

“You can draw on the back side,” he said.

And so I did.

The time is up. I collected my drawing (and my friend’s) to the front.

After I got out of the class, I just remembered that I forgot to staple (or sellotape) my two separate drawings.

I just wasted one’s kindness with my foolishness.


I reached my dorm, was going to take a bath.

But the electricity was on shortage, so we couldn’t use the shower.

I decided to use a teaspoon to dip the water in order to take the bath

And so did other girls

But there was this girl who borrowed my bathroom, and insisted on using the shower
It apparently was on, functioning properly
And we felt so foolish, wondering why didn’t we try to turn it on

It took awhile for her to take bath. But then it got a little too much awhile. And then too much.
Too long that we wondered what on earth took her that long.

And we knocked on the door. There was no answer.
We knocked harder. Still no answer.

We knocked like crazy.
We screamed for the dorm’s guardian to brought us the spare key.
He couldn’t find it.
We eventually smashed the door.

Room number 60 was not exactly a room.
Its door led directly to a bathroom. But what we found in it startled us more.

The girl was lying on the floor, with face downward, inert. Electrocuted. 
Her long black hair moving in rhythm, according to the flow of water emerging from the shower.
We smelled odour of burnt things. There was burn marks on the glimpse of her face that was visible to our eyes without turning back her corpse. From which the red thick blood kept dripping
and dripping
and dripping…….

dissolving with the flowing water…..


Woken up, I was terrified.
For 60 is the number of my dorm room.


One of few that I could remember so clearly

It’s rather rarely I could remember my dream. It tends to perish within minutes after I wake up. Now that I can recall, guess writing it down wouldn’t be too much of an exaggeration.


I was lying on the bed, there were three of us.
I, my female friend, and a priest.
I forgot what we’re doing back then but then I got so sexually aroused.

And then we stopped, because I and my friend sort of having appointment to attend.
A meeting with another friend.
But I texted the priest, “Do you have other things to do? Mind if I stay with you?”
He replied so nicely that I decided to stay.

My friend fully aware of my intention, said nothing and proceeded going to the house of my other friend

I waited until we (I and the priest) have the moment of two but then there came bunch of guess: a nuclear family consists of a dad, a mom, and two kids. I didn’t know the spouse but those two kids are the sisters of my other female friend. And she was there, too, but apparently not the child of the spouse.

They were having a talk with the priest and by turn borrowing his bathroom to take a bath
They were dressing for some kind of party or invitation they were obligated to attend

And there was an incredibly massive boy who’s having a liposuction and then dropped his sack of fat in the room.
And then left.

I waited and I waited and I waited until we have a moment of two. But people came and went, entering the room turn by turn

So I decided to tell him, despite we were not alone at that moment: there was a girl sitting on the bed.

Before that, I texted my bf: asking the permission for being promiscuous.
He accepted.

And then I told the priest,
“You realise I don’t have any feeling for you, don’t you? I’m just curious of you.”

He seemed neither shocked nor irritated. He asked me to sit on the chair, facing him. He put his hands on the table, making a gesture like a prayer, though his eyes were staring at me.

“Do you know what Sarasvati’s been going through before she acquired the title ‘Goddess of Knowledge’?”

I shook my head.

“She swam by the sea, obligated to seek for A*(SA(Hjkajhsdka when she found………….”

And right at that moment I immersed into the water, swimming between field of algae,
seeking for something,

And I found some sort of fabric that was hardened due to being damped by salty water (?).

On it there was a writing:

“Sex is just a blanket…………………….”

There was other sentence that followed but I couldn’t recall.
All I can remember is that it made me feel ashamed, terribly terribly bad of my former intention.

And I was forgiven.


Fun fact:

Didn’t know anything about Sarasvati besides her being Goddess of Knowledge. Found out that she’s well associated with water and river just now.


It was yesterday.

I arranged a runaway.

Far from having tremendous amount of wishes and presents,
For I rarely invest wishes in others’
Receive only from those who are closest,
yet I was happy anyway.


just like I prefer my wedding to be

I prefer a quiet, quiet one

Momentary, solitary

Such sacredness any crowd and any hype surprises, pretentious smiles would fail to serve







(sort of not finished yet but oh well)

October 20th, 2012

Of Schizophrenic

There were more than 10 person in that room.

They gathered, seated on the floor, forming a circle.
All of their eyes was fixed upon one person,
whose countenance was the fiercest in the room.

His lips, which was embroidered with black thick mustache on the upper, then opened up:

“You,” he said while pointing on one of them with the gesture of up-righting his chin.
“Cite the first 10 things that come up in your mind.”

The girl chosen then enunciate 10 words.
That represent things. Physical things.
Halted a bit in the process, due to her thinking what else to be said.
But else, nothing distinguishable.

The man nodded a little.
“Still sane.”

As their eyes widen in curiosity, wondering what might his intention be,
he continued,

“There has been a study, using the very method I’m testing you just now.

It is said, that the way you answer that question determines your mental condition.

Normal person tend to enunciate things that somehow classifiable.

Like you, you’re still normal, fortunately.

(laughters all around)

Whilst, there are persons who enunciate things that are random, unclassifiable, and between which there is no correlation at all.

Such fashion somehow indicates
that the person most likely is suffering from schizophrenia.”







…Somewhere in that room, beneath the not startled countenances of them all,
an individual renders to be agitated.
Dare not at all
question herself the very same question the man stated



Though the idea
tickled her a little




Of Principle and Shame

Pernah ada suatu masa
Kala kami bertukar aksara
Bertukar pesan, bertukar kesan
Seorang rekan kemudian menitipkan kata
Bahwa saya, menurutnya, adalah

“Orang paling berprinsip yang pernah gue kenal.”


Kini saya tidak bisa tidak bertanya:
Akankah di telinga saya yang dua
Dari mulut yang persis sama
kata yang serupa kan terngiang
Jika ia lihat saya yang sekarang?




It is disturbing. It is perturbing.
That, sometimes, people’s mind and intentions appear to be so apparent to me.
Emerge so clearly.
Contrary to words emitted from their contorted mouth.
Distorted principles.
Hidden intentions.

Agitated, I am. Emotionally.
I wish I could be indifferent. To that inconsistency.
Accepting it as a way we, human, are normally socially engaged.
Accepting that we thus essentially are actors.
That dramaturgy theory.
Making up faces as masks, not as genuinely reflection of what’s beneath.
All in smoke and mirrors.

I wish I could.
Apparently I could not.

I’m disturbed. I find it repugnant.
Ugly, hideous, loathsome creature. Insincere human is.

Now I wish I were not this cynical. I wish I did not have this quality of being thoroughly observant.
Unfortunately I have. Too much in intensity, I might say.

And the most terrible thing I could think out of this.
Is the fact that I am part of them.
Enforced to interact the way they do.
Entrapped in this cultural way of surviving.
Getting used to it.

I am becoming part of something that I detest.

Isn’t that the utmost horrific thing one could ever imagine happening to oneself?

Losing oneself,
subconsciously dissolving into a system you’ve been hating…….