Grown up

There exist several reason why I write stuff in english despite of my nasty grammar. 

1. It has different flavor. There are peculiar expression that cannot be delivered with bahasa, nor I am articulated enough to say it properly. 

2. Sense of safety. Less people read it (might be my beloved ex (if she still alive (if does, God bless her soul (if God does (1) exist, and (2) give blessings)))).

3. I’ve been successfully being cognitively colonialized.

There are no justifiable reason for writing this post in 2.13 of monday morning. Only reason I have because I don’t feel like growing up. Before this, occupied with survival instinct to avoid being killed by hunger, I did not think much. Concept of maturation began to bug me only lately.

Selamat!

Untuk yang kemarin berulang tahun, selamat! Terima umur dan semoga panjang nafas. 

Teman saya ulang tahun. Saya hanya ingat kisaran minggu keempat di bulan Juni, tapi tanggalnya diberitakan oleh Facebook. 

Waktu pertama bertemu orang ini, saya sempat berfikir, "mukanya mirip banget sama Sardono." Ternyata doi memang masih ada hubungan darah. Orang ini kocak, walaupun cenderung jaim untuk menggantikan Dono. Apalagi selera humornya terlalu gelap di banyak kesempatan (berapa banyak sih, orang yang menangkap guyonan Monty Python dan Adult Swim?). Hebatnya, terlepas dari kecanggungan lawakannya dia masih mampu gonta-ganti pacar, walaupun move on nya lama bukan main. 

Cintah

Sekali-kali mbok nulis yang nyambung.

Anggapan saya tentang kata ini berubah dari waktu ke waktu. Dulu saya menganalogikan hal tersebut sebagai taruhan. Bermain hati seperti berjudi, dan jika beruntung ada tangan yang digenggam sebagai bentuk kemenangan, yang kalah makan ati berkuah air mata. Namun, sejatinya bermain asmara lebih cocok untuk dilihat sebagai perjudian di Las Vegas, bukan togel di kampung-kampung. The House always win.

Eggs

A french artist tried to hatch group of egg by sitting on them for 21-26 days.
It is reported that he only goes 30 minutes a day for meals or lavatory needs.
He had prepared his condition by living inside a rock for a week before.

My face when I reconsider my act.

On waiting

Some person picked up a pencil and done an astonishing drawings, some creates stanza out of thin air, while some used it to pierce another person's heart, literally. The differences are clear, that pencil, as much as other tool, is a transitional device for each thought. 

I am certain that I've wronged book's function most of the time. 

I've been a librarian for few months. Sometimes its puzzling, challenging, another time I'm bored to death and ended up pumping dopamine from youtube channels. In this moment, if "I" was a protagonist of a novel, this would be an end of status quo, thus revoking the circle of new quest. 

Of course, life isn't relied on any textbook.  

As I learned here, -if i really learned something, that I got tired of my old habit. 4 months ago, whenever faced by personal decision, ranged from finalizing a design, to even completing a simple paragraph, I would hesitate until someone showed me the process. My year of isolation has brought me bitter conviction about the world, that nothing particular should worthy of my interest.

Life's only a waiting of ensured death. Best to sit tight and having small talk before it comes. I felt satisfied with big picture, that my existence is a mere coincidence. Nothing worth being pursued. I started to believe that Godot is conception of death, unlike popular opinion of God or faithful entity. The second they met Godot, they would have ceased to be existed. 

It took me for a while that one thing gotten solid isn't that belief, its the cognitive habit. My habitual recess for example, is a residue of my routine "enjoying" state of waiting. Its printed on my pattern that waiting have its own intrinsic value. It's obscene, it has quality of freedom. Its excitement lies between the second of decision from being made. The only obvious idea is, that you have deliberate choice to valid or void your present doing. 

I believe at the time I'd like to push my luck and pissed off people as form of cynical belief. Plus the delusion, oh boy, no one is smarter than the one who knows he had power to choose. 

Like I said, I'm fed up. Apparently, afternoon existential crisis with subtle arrogance on the side are not healthy. 

I always scratching my head in confusion when I see this flip of perspective. It doesn't hard nor hurt to see outside the simulacra, but it much more easier to cave in like yesterday. Shadow on the cave are easier to perceive than the real tree, yet I have to beware to not flying too close to the sun, or I'll drown like a son of cunning craftsman.

As I moved forwards, I learned one of two (practical) things. 

Guilt is useless. Sin is only exist within guilt, ask Hamlet. The worst form sin is to be unfair to oneself, including self harm, be it mentally or physically. By stoicism, it is sin to be dysfunctional human being in relation to natural reason. Second, kindly stop trying to control everything. In more pragmatic words, stop caring at the moment if it would drain your mental stamina. There are so much to decide in a day, and few cigar in a day started to feel unworthy. 

By negating guilt, one's started to develop grit. Which is good, it made me started to like myself. People seems to looked better, without usual plastic humanism. Each person I know are on their own journey, and I bid good luck for them. I can now sincerely appreciates their struggle, for I have now reflecting on my own.

So about tools, I have been used book to justified my belief and overlooked some of its real value. The book has been my sidekick on waiting, my excuse, and poetic symbol of empty gaze after horizon. I have no more to extract from waiting, except that I was damaged from it and I have less knowledge than I thought I had. Yes, it's an example of useless guilt to bear right now. 

Tomorrow isn't any brighter than yesterday, except that there always something surprising in a day if I stick long enough in that small library. A serendipity between those shelves. 

At this moment I usually promised myself this or that. Such renewal vow after a relished confession, was ordinary pattern. I prefer stealing last line of American Psycho script.

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 there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself, no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing.

Yes, its a poor cockblocking choice of statement, and using a fragment out of its context are not clever. But nothing comes to my mind right now. I just felt that writing on this blog is one way to be less-unfair to myself.

Arrival (2016)

Full spoiler ahead.

Sci-fi have long history since (arguably) the epic saga of Gilgamesh, but by general consensus, it became popular due positivism spirit around 1800. Industrial revolution has brought us to another level of material manipulation, so to speak age of enlightenment has decorated humanity with glamorous futuristic possibilities. By this, early science fiction generally talks about machine [tools] and adventures [exploration] that depicted (notably) by Vernes's and Well's. It had particular amount of philosophical questions, but still focused on exploration that rooted on human curiosity about unknown universe. Recently, humanistic issue and nature of human thoughts has became more central in sci-fi theme.

From the creator of Enemy (2013) and Sicario (2015), Denis Villeneuve has been acknowledged for his artistic suspense and twisting narrative form. Both of his notable film has made its own name and portrayed his authenticity. It's somewhat refreshing to see popular movie that works as puzzle since Nolan's, with unbearable tension that resembles hitchcock's. Now, Arrival (2016) took place in sci-fi universe, which have its own risk of being pretentious and decorated by deus ex machina complexes.

The first hour was terrific. Louise and Ian (the best aryan linguist and astrophysic) were brought to alien spaceship that shaped like splinted coffee bean. Gravitational anomaly had made epic entrance from the start. Approaching the room, where the dialogue take place, is a reminder of Stalker sacred room where everything could happen. The barrier is a nice touch of separation, which work as mistery glass to keep audience at the edge of seat.

The process of dialogue also impressive. Alien and human exchanges language through combination of textual and gesture approach. Louise attempt to translates them also interesting, It’s satisfying to find another form of linguistic method.

As the film goes on, we are being haunted by fragmented memories of a kid. Some sly audience, whom familiar with this type of movie, or having known enemy, must by now aware of this Chekhov gun's technique. This is the axis, this will be back and completes the movie altogether. 

I almost hope that it isn’t true, but it happened.  

At first, we would consider that this fragment’s portrayed louise past. But, memento has teaches us that it's a mere trap (At this point, i would argue that watching movie with assumption is a banal move). 

Villeneuve's most interesting arsenal is using memory in perpetual motion. Like memento, we've first learned the story of kid in linear. The kid grown, then died by cancer. Then, on second layer we understand louise relationship with the husband (whom I thought was Gavin because of hint of divorce). It was repeated until I questioning myself, what’s its significance? 

At the point of synthesis (where louise handshaking the alien), it hits me that it’s not the past. Its hinted from Louise expression that isn’t a relief, plus her question about the identity of the kid. 

So it goes, said the tralfamadore. 
One of the best sentence I’ve ever came across in a literature.

For whom had watched, or better yet, read The slaughterhouse V, Arrival manifest the same idea. One of many thing that I respected from Vonnegut, is how he brought philosophical discourse of hegelian dialectic and Camus absurdism in a form of satirical science-fiction. 

Science fiction itself for me is a hard genre. Plotted wrong, you end up with robotic fables. A good science-fiction bear to questioning futuristic possibilities and spoke brave questions about moral architecture that one cannot endure to even imagine in planetary scale. Vonnegut told them with a poker face and cigarettes on one hand. 

Tralfamadore, is an alien species that created by Vonnegut, which perceive time differently from us. They see times as movement which enable them to grasp future and past objectively. What matter to Tralfamadore, is to sustain life of its own species without any unnecessary intervention. Individual choice or free will, being counted as unnecessary act. They are, in harsh word, are pure deterministic beings. 

Too bad that the movie tend to end in hurry. As the answer unfolding, we already know where it would go. Early problem regarding chaos, was solved with simplistic solution; collective cooperation, which had subgoal to portrait how barbaric and intolerant some country is. The rest of scene became flat, might as well as how Tralfamadore perceive life. 

A good puzzle movie tend to appear as modular object, where we could re-questioning the meaning and its part in detail. A colossal puzzle for me was primer, a huge superimposed timelines where you need to assemble multiple layers from a movie that only have 1 hour playtime. Arrival was a good puzzle, but not a great one. It has one answer, and being told plainly in the end. In a little cinema with few number of people watching with me, nobody clapping nor having question. The secret have been told, thus the value had been lost.