an ode to george ferris.

august 30th.
dad's house.

her name is martha, she is an old friend of mine.
we went to the same elementary and junior high.
she listens to ok computer, while i listen to dirty.
she listens to bang gang, while i prefer sigur ros.

last night, we went to a carnival.
that was her first.
that was my umpteenth.
there were games, so many ones, but since we only had like 10 mins, we decided to take th most giant thing that our eyes catched for th very first time.

so there we were, sitting on top of th world, praying for that ferris wheel not to fall apart all of a sudden.

there were laughs.
there was a scare.
there were shouts.
there were (still) burdens.
there were stuffs that were hidden.

we both had fun.
we both shared smile.
we both hid things.
we both knew that we were hiding things.
things that i missed for not being together with karen.
things that she missed for not being together with her backdoor love.
things that we hoped for coming home, for laying in our embrace.
things that without which, we could only smile flatly.

we were unreasonably happy.
we might be liars.
we were pathetically lying.
we both sucked at lying.

there we were, spending 10 mins rounding some loops more.
there we were, in a cage numbered 06.
there we were, throwing our arms around something we were missing, yet we barely knew how we could miss it.
because if only we knew, we would grasp it tighter than we did.

this year, summer ended in july.

august 27th.

blakke's room.

Hi, my name is samsu. This is my very first posting. If it wasn’t for some chatty-kewl girl named, let’s say, P, I wouldn’t type any single letter here.

It was her that made me think: okay, writing won’t fully cure pains, yet it won’t hurt me either.

So, rather than pitying myself, I’d write instead.

What’s so pity about me?

Yeah, wish I could tell you. If you were me, you wouldn’t be able to separate between what’s so good about being me and what’s so not-good. I don’t know, here I am, having my first life crisis in my early twenty.

It was all started when I dated a girl named Karen back then. It had been two and a half years for us being together, as lovers, as best friends.

It has become a “had been”, started since last month.

We are still friends, though (hope the best ones, still); but lovers, we no longer are.

A flat relationship we had, she says.

This kind of relationship is defined as a relationship without fluctuated emotions, and emotions here are defined as a relationship without fights, without jealousy, without envies; as I’m told.

The time we were still together as lovers, linearly I also learned that people don’t have rights to own someone else’s life, to rule over someone else, to force something to each other; that people are masters of their own. That’s why I kept letting Karen to do anything she wanted, to be whoever she felt comfortable with, to be whenever she was happy at; to do things her heart told her to do.

I didn’t have to get jealous to some other guys who tried to steal her heart, since I always heard her saying about how much she loved me: that’s really relieving and comforting.

I realized that by doing that, I also had to be prepared to lose her, because there had always been possibilities that she would meet things that she couldn’t find in me.

She knew that I wouldn’t try to be a barrier for her when she wanted to find comforts in some other guys.

As for me, a relationship can be built by i-love-you-and-you-love-me-as-well, so by the time one of two can’t love each other anymore, then the relationship can no longer be said as a love-relationship.

I didn’t try to be careless; I just tried to show how much I care by appreciating her, someone I love’s, freedom.

That’s how I define love.

Haven’t I ever got jealous?

I have.

But I always try to ignore that thing since I think that that thing will lead into a possessive stuff.

Possessive sucks, I always believe that.

To love is to let go. I do believe that quote. I always prepared my self for the ‘let go’ part.

The problem is that I didn’t know how much it would take guts to let someone I love go, until I realized that Karen became bored of the so-she-called flat relationship that we’d been onto.

She was bored of the static of not being into fights, into jealousy, into envies, of being freed.

She might’ve felt like want to be held tighter.

She might’ve sickened of being freed.

Love me no more as a lover, that’s what a static relationship had been headed us, she said: we’re headed for destruction.

Screw it! I finally knew the torture a heart-break can give.

A pain that it causes.

Tears that it shed.

Laughs that it pretends.

More nights that it makes me stay awake.

Smiles that it pretends.

More days that it makes me keep on being who I not used to be.

More tears that it cries.

More “fucks” that it forces me to yell.

More the cure’s boys don’t cry’s that it plays.

Now I’m getting jealous, getting jea to those who are now having their chances to feel the awesomeness of being loved by her.

The thought of getting her love back is always crossed in mind, but I’m not sure that I’m ready for a change yet. A change from “the-way-how-I-express-love” to “the-way-how-I-suppose-to-do-it-the-way-she-wants”.

She is Karen. And, who knows, she might change my mind.