The Bro Who Never Says 'I love you'

"... Dad can't never learn that we are all adults now, can't you see that, Cil?
Just like me, the memory I have in my head when I think of you is just when you were little. So when mom was busy with something, she would put you on the sofa and told me to keep an eye on you so you wouldn't roll and tumble down on the floor... hahaha... really. That's the thing I remember when I think of you.
But now you are all grown up,
and getting married.
It feels surreal..."

A chunk of email from my big brother, who always calls me 'Cil' as in short for 'little'.

Funny he remembers me that way, I remember him playing the role of a big evil giant and chasing me and my friends around when we played in the yard. The person who tied the blanket around me neck as a cape and told me to run around being superman. Then he's made me a sword when I told him I want to be a kungfu master.
He's my saviour when it comes to guys. Put senses into my head. Diverted me from being a whiny, prissy little princess I could have been & told me to kick back the six graders who bullied me at school. He was the one who held me and said it's okay to not be the top three in the class, he was in the bottom three in his class and he was doing fine. He said all sort of politically incorrect advice, but without him, I wouldn't be the person I am to day.

He put the reason behind so many decisions in my life.

He's my hero.

The big angry evil giant in the yard.

I was washing my hands in the restroom when I glanced at the mirror and saw the reflection of my hair.
Black hair, black shiny hair
... and I saw a strand of gray hair there.
At least I thought I saw one.
I tried to look closer but couldn't so I decided that I should grab my hair on that spot and run back to my desk and ask my coworker who was sitting right next to me and also my best friend in the office to look into it, find the darn thing and plug it out.
So with one hand up above my head,... grabbing a small group of hair strands up in the air, while the other hand pushed the door open, I walked out of the ladies room when,... of course,
Yes of course,
the DBA of the company came out of the men's room and saw me holding my hair up in the air.
Nice.
Can't get geekier pose than that.
These things seems like, only happen to me.
So I dropped my hair. Smiled. And said: "Hi, Rob".
And he gentlemanlikely smiled back and said "Hi, Bluecactus."
Then ever so coolly I walked away cursing inside.
Stupid gray hair.

Monologue in Supermarkets

Another friend is leaving me. Leaving the country.
I sank myself in my chair by the wide open window facing the dark blue sky.
Michael Franks.
Light breeze.
Half eaten doughnut.
I should feel at ease. Tonight is, after all, a gorgeous night.
Yet, I'm anxious. I start to fear the prospect of living here.
Friends left, one by one.
Loneliness.
I never thought I would ever fear loneliness. I 99.99% of the time always enjoy some solitude.
But I guess, I'm more afraid of the long term effect on it: wandering in the supermarket talking to myself. Like some people do. My roommate and I have concluded that they had lost their mind because they were lonely, and got nobody to talk to, hence, the monologue.
Sad...

Cold feet I'm not.
I'm just questioning of why there are so many negative notes on marriage. So many warnings and bad jokes about it.
Like someone said to me years ago: There's nothing better that you'll find after marriage about your spouse. Everything will go downhill after that.
Or, men, you can never trust them. You have to be careful.
Or, marriage is a lot of work.
Or, Over the years, your husband will break your heart. Over and over again. You'll see.
In four weddings a funeral, the boy didn't marry the girl even though they lived happily ever after.
Juliet died, Romeo took the poison, then darn it! She's back to life.
Seems like the more I see it, the more I feel like there's always the twist at the end.
Whatever happen to sleeping beauty after she got married to her prince?
We'd never know if she'd get along with the in-laws. If she gained a lot of weight and the prince went for someone younger and slimmer.

I don't doubt my boyfriend, in fact I do believe that he is the one. If there is such thing as the one. But then again everybody who set foot in a church or mosque or temple or marriage court or reception building.... wherever they held the ceremony, most likely have the same belief as I do that the person standing (or kneeling) next to them is the one.
Yet,... Tom divorced Nicole, J-Lo dumped Ben and Nelson Mandela is a widower.
I was told by my boyfriend that he read that the highest percentage of divorce reason falls under: financial problem.
I thought: really? I thought it'll be for something more obvious like infidelity,... or STD (which lead to the suspicion to infidelity anyway). Because that would be the most painful heart aching scenario, I would thought. But, maybe then most people would rather got STD than being poor.

Now, why would I still getting married after all this rambling?
Being a sceptical one once myself, I do wonder.
And I don't have an answer.
But I'll be damn if I don't try, jump down, dive and test the water.
Like the rest of the fools in love.
Because for every commotion like J-Lo and Ben, there's a Charles and Camilla.
Even when the rest of the world glare at them, I don't think they care.
And, they live happily ever after.
Then I shall, live up to the possibility that I will too live happily ever after, with better fashion sense, hairdo and without stealing someone else's husband.

Amen...

Today I went to my boyfriend's sister's house for her birthday party.
She is married to an American guy, and she invited her friends, who mainly are married to American guys.
Actually... to be honest, the only women in the party with Asian dates/spouses are: me and my boyfriend's mom, which made the party interesting actually, because most of the American guys don't speak Indonesian and the ladies were talking in mixed language, Indonesian and English.
I sat there amongst them, strangely feeling deeply intrigued.
I observed the language and tried to dissect the sentences, how much the English was used and how much the Indonesian. Then I tried to think if English only was enough to make the sentences make sense to those who don't speak Indonesian.
Interesting. The guys did seem to understand by the nod here and there.

Although, one of the American men actually lived in Jakarta for almost 10 years. That one guy spoke Indonesian, good one, with slang words, saying "Nggak" instead of "tidak".
Then, I don't know who started first, those American guys started talking about their experience in Indonesia.
Some of the guys have actually been to more places than I am, an Indonesian citizen. one has been to basically everywhere in Indonesia, including the island outside of Java.

He was comparing experience with another guy who's been to Ujung Pandang. He mentioned sitting by the sea shore in pure darkness and just consumed by the little lights of fisherman boat. He bought a boat and went to the sea. He talked about the air, the breeze, the street vendors. How he learned about the different sounds of the passing food vendors and guessed what they were selling.
Took a becak ride and felt so bad for the becak guy. The other guy even offered to take turns to pedal the becak (I kid you not).
How he snorkeled in glass clear Bunaken sea.
How he loves Jakarta, every single section offeres something that is totally different.
Indonesia is muggy, hot, humid, but it is much alive.
It is a very lively place.
They laughed, they talked and they were being very passionate, warm hearted with their memories, just like talking about a hometown. How they bought 'ikat' fabric directly from and old lady whose hand were tainted by natural indigo. Then they visited Jepara and were in awe with the wood works. How one of them learned how to love durian (It took several try), and still couldn't stand jengkol.

The more they talked the more I missed home.
And for the gazillion times, I feel sad about all the things I need to sacrifice to be here.
And there, right there, he said, his home is Indonesia, "That's my kampung".
I just smiled, but think "Dude, ... I feel you, man... I totally know what you mean."
And the homesickness crept in.

Wives and Lovers

Get this:

Day after day,
There are girls at the office,
And men will always be men.
Don't send him off
With your hair still in curlers.
You may not see him again.

For wives should always be lovers, too.
Run to his arms the moment he comes home to you.
He's almost here.

That is a chunk of lyric from 'Wives and Lovers'.
1963.
I wonder really, what's up with that lyric. And that part about men will be men, is very discouraging for someone who is getting married, like... me.
If that is a song coming out today, women will beat the heck out of the composer.

And who is the composer, one might ask.
He is the one and only Burt Bacharach.
Ironic, actually, because I love his music so much, he's like demi-God for me. Don't know him? Well I bet you know these:
The Look of Love
Do you know the way to San Jose
Close to You
Walk on By
I say a Little Prayer
Raindrops keep falling on my head
Alfie (yes, also the soundtrack of that movie about that good for nothing playboy)
and the list goes on.

Another question was, how did his wife treat him after the release of that song?
I, myself, might:
A. Put curlers everytime he's around just to annoy him
B. Give him the spare key so he can open his own door.
C. Put on make up and find another guy
D. Find a job and flirt with other men
E. Divorce him and get half of whatever he is worth
F. Pull that 'girls will be girls' stunt (cat-fight his face off)

I greet my boyfriend without make up, let alone a dress and I also demand a hug (sometimes).

So Burt, you're talented and loaded, but if we're living in the same era and I'm some hot shot big somebody that you have a crush on, I'd still going to have to say no way Jose.