Empty

I spend a lot of time, trying to fill myself up with things I think will make me feel whole. The problem is, in my search of identity and belonging, I'm starting to feel like I am limiting myself. It is what I want, yet at the same time, I rebel against the idea. I don't want to be limited.

I'm starting to believe that my search for stability and identity is futile. I've lived in the chaos far too long to be comfortable with anything else. And in a way, I'm grateful. My live is messy, sure, and makes no sense. But it's eye-opening in it's uncertainty, and made me think about a lot of things I probably never would've considered if my life was a bit more... 'normal'.

When I see myself living the life I dream of, I see myself wandering and flitting from one place to another, opening myself up to the world and what it has to offer as I explore and deepen my understanding of it. But in order to do that, I need to be empty. I need to be neutral, an empty vessel, people can pour a piece of themselves into. I need to be an nonthreatening outsider who simply wants to observe and passively experience the lives of others, listen to their stories, be a part of their world without affecting it.

I want to be everything and nothing at once. 

Which makes sense, considering how empty I've become.

Here's to trying to fill myself up.

--Karin Novelia, idk.

Family Traditions

I like to describe my family as an eclectic bunch. I come from a Chinese background, though our traditions have significantly diluted over the course of my childhood. I think that mainly has to do with the fact that I was born and raised in the Philippines for the first 9 years of my life, and that meant me and my immediate family lived quite a distance away from my extended and inherently more Chinese family.

The majority of Filipinos who inhabit the Philippines aren't Chinese, which means that Chinese related holidays weren't nationally celebrated. I do remember however, as a child, how I would sometimes miss a day or two of school to fly back to Indonesia with my family to visit our relatives. We visited their houses and had dinner together and received the somewhat obligatory ang pao. And, being a typical little kid, I cared little for the red packets and the money inside them.

Over the years these annual visits to my elder relatives ceased, mostly due to time and costs restraints of travelling back and forth so often. Though we moved away from those Chinese traditions, and adopted a more liberal way of thinking, my parents have always gone out of their way to remind us of a few important lessons, or rather shared beliefs that I still continue to carry with me.

Growing up, my parents pretty much left me and my siblings to our devices. We moved back to Indonesia from the Philippines, when I was just 9 years old, and I didn't speak a lick of Bahasa Indonesia. That made adjusting to this brand new life, in this strange and foreign land, all the more difficult and terrifying. My parents basically just threw me into this new life and told me to figure things out as best I could.

This kinda makes them sound like horrible parents, but no, they were far from it. My parents were always open to listen to our concerns, and even though they let me and my siblings be independent, they were always ready to help and support us in anyway that they can. They're parenting style is something I started referring to as granting us "responsible freedom".

They encouraged me to make my own decisions and to go for anything that I wanted to do or felt like I needed to pursue, as long as I use the freedom they give me responsibly and not do anything immoral or betray their trust in any way.

And that's pretty awesome (though also terrifying because half the time I feel like I don't know what I'm doing with my life and I'm 100% accountable for everything I do).

My parents spent a lot of time telling me and my siblings stories about their own childhood and how "back in the day" life was significantly different from how it is today, but the lessons they taught me were also universal.

My mother lost her father at the tender age of 18, and whenever she tells me this or whenever she talks about her father, I get a sense of how strong of a woman she really is. She is a very religious person, being a Christian, and has always tried to nurture that same kind of faith in me and my siblings. From her and her equally religious family, I have learned that sometimes terrible things happen in your life, most of which you have no control over. What you do have control over, is how you choose to react to it, and with some faith and hope, you can overcome anything.

For reasons I would rather not elaborate here on this blog, I am somewhat estranged with my father's side of the family. Some actions were done which caused some tension and it's tough, trying to cut off someone who is both a beloved yet somewhat toxic influence to your life. But my father takes this all in his stride, and don't worry, steps are being taken to mend things, but my father has ultimately taught me that sometimes people will be mean to you, but that doesn't mean you should treat their meanness with the same kind of volatile hatred.

In the end, my parents are the two most trustworthy people I know, and I come to them time and time again when I need advice on making important decisions like whether or not I should take this scholarship to study in Singapore, or should I take A-Levels or the IBDP. As much as I value their opinions and listen intently to their advice, they never push their ideals onto me. The decision is mine and mine alone to make. My parents are just along for the ride to provide care and support.

Do I wish I more in touch with my Chinese roots? Yes. Having lived in so many different places (Philippines to Indonesia and now Singapore) I guess I've always felt like I had no place I felt rooted to. But in a way, this has given me the chance to be more open-minded to the world around me, and I definitely have my parents to thank for allowing the freedom to explore and see the world the way I came to learn to see it.

I guess that's all for this post then.

--Karin Novelia, Using Her Freedom Responsibly

Valid.

The tricky thing about self-restraint is that no one sees how much effort you put into controlling yourself but you. It's really frustrating since people can only really see how far you can be pushed when you've reached your limit and self-destruct. Even then they may not be able to see it. And by then, it's too late to take anything back and it definitely won't be a pretty sight.

I have realized that our lives happen within ourselves. External forces may conspire and cause things to happen to us, but our lives become things that we process inwardly into words and images, thoughts and feelings. And all of this, all that we think, all that feel and all that we... imagine... are things that only we can see and it's not easy to share our inner musings with someone and have them truly understand.

Regardless of that fact, we still try. We try to put into words all that goes on inside our heads and share what we feel with other people. And there are moments when that other person does understand. And moments like those are almost magical, because two disparate, and possibly very different minds, have found common ground. Two people, in this random and erratic world, have made a connection.

On the other hand, there are those moments when, in trying to connect, words fail you or prejudice and preconceptions get in the way of bridging that gap of understanding. And those moments are terrifying, especially when you have put yourself in such a vulnerable position by opening up, because not only do you feel like you are being misjudged, you also realize that the other person, the person who somehow made you feel comfortable enough to trust them, doesn't understand you as much as you believed they would.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that friends and family always have to be on the same page. But when the other person not only doesn't understand what you're trying to say but also makes no attempt to try to do so, that is where certain lines may be crossed. It is in those instances that some people may decide to show a severe lack of empathy and (perhaps very unintentionally) belittle your opinions and invalidate your feelings.

I am the type of person who is very much stuck in her own head. It's up in the clouds, and no matter how hard I try to anchor it back down to earth, my thoughts simply spiral out of control and escape me. They venture into the darkest places and my mind is not the prettiest place to be.

I don't know. I guess one flaw of mine is that I tend to open up too easily and to the wrong people, perhaps out of the belief that doing so and being understood, will make me feel less insane. Because I certainly have been feeling a bit mental, lately.

It's just all in your head.

I cannot tell you how many times I have heard that sentence in these past 2 years alone and hearing it again just a few days ago was just a bit more than I could take. Here I was, pouring out everything about something that I struggle with so, so much, already feeling like I am fuckin' crazy and to be told that, it just... it just doesn't leave a good taste in your mouth.

There is a reason why people find it hard to open up. The last thing you should tell them is that their feelings are invalid.

By telling someone that it's all in their head you are not only dismissing their thoughts and feelings, you are also rendering them insignificant and unreasonable. It is important to realize that even though you may strongly see it that way, the other person who is sharing their inner demons with you, thinks those demons are very, very real, even if they end up being merely shadows on the wall.

I will admit though, that there are times when I just let my imagination get carried away and let my thoughts run away from me and I end up seeing things that aren't really there, and giving significance and meaning to things that are, in the end, quite meaningless.

It's like when someone you have a crush on suddenly texts you out of the blue and you wonder does he like me? ohmygod what if he does and with every LOL and smiley face that he sends, that sentiment somehow becomes more true, even when in reality, it isn't. And that's a perfectly normal thing to do.

It is perfectly normal for us to project what we wish for and what we desire onto the things that actually happen to us in real life. It is perfectly normal to hope that life has something good in store for us, to believe that good things will happen in our lives and that we deserve them.

Something HAS to happen for you, right. There has to be this grand masterplan behind everything, a major plot, a movie-like storyline.

Well, reality is all that we have and really, nothing very dramatic happens in real life.

As I read these words -- these tweets -- I can't help but feel that someone is using my biggest fear against me and driving it like knives into my heart. My biggest fear that one day I will wake up, horribly disillusioned with life (already been there, sort of, to be honest) and have this crippling realization that everything good and meaningful in my life has all been a lie, all been a story I made up in my head.

Mundane and flat and much less interesting than in movies, and of course life also lacks glamourized stories or events or feelings but yeah.

I mean, a lot of people are living just fine without any of these problems so why are you making them exist when they can not?

Is that what I'm doing? Am I rewriting the actual story of my life into some sort of movie? Am I seizing every little moment and spinning it into its own dramatic tale by giving it meaning and a deep, underlying purpose? Am I exaggerating things, making my own problems and giving myself my own tragic backstory so I feel less... dull?

Maybe I am. But maybe that also doesn't matter.

I have to disagree with these words, because I refuse to believe that mundane and boring is all there is to life. Even if maybe that is all there is to it, I refuse to stop hoping for more, I refuse to stop reaching out for something bigger than me.

I have spent so many years now envisioning this amazing life that I am going to build for myself. Maybe my standards are too high, but life has so far left me bitterly disappointed. And I can't stand feeling like my life doesn't have meaning. So I project. I reach. I cut myself to remind myself that I can still bleed.

As I said, life happens within ourselves. And if we fail to react to life naturally and let ourselves experience it inwardly, we fail to find any significance. Even if that significance is something that comes from somewhere that's all in your head, it still is something we believe and we find meaningful and it doesn't matter if no one else agrees or sees it that way.

The worse thing about all this is that I actually believed it. I actually believed that what I was experiencing and feeling and all that happened really was all in my head. There is only one thing worse than listening to people doubt your sanity and that's listening to yourself having those same doubts.

I guess, sometimes, having everything happen exclusively in my head is necessary. It is necessary to save myself from the mundane, and to save myself from that tiny little voice in my head.

And really, sometimes we all twist reality into something more palatable, twist it to suit our own fantasies, because it's one way of getting by. It is one way for me to push away that cold, sinking feeling of numbness that resides within the hole in my chest.

Maybe I am overly dramatic, and maybe I am fucking insane, but you know what, I don't see anything wrong with that. Being this way is a reminder that I am invested in my life, and I care enough to hope for things to happen and to attribute some meaning to the seemingly ordinary. If you live life without going through the motions and letting yourself feel what you want to feel, and without acknowledging the things that mean something to you, then mundane and flat really is all you are ever going to get. And I know that I will never give up on my life having yet found that meaning.

Some days that is a comforting thought that helps me get through the day.

And maybe life isn't like the movies. But when you think about it, movies essentially are dramatizations of real life, no matter how closely they try to resemble it. That doesn't make the messages they send and the emotions that they evoke any less valid.

If I have learned anything in my 2 years in Singapore, 2 years which have been filled with so many great highs and terrible lows that I don't even know whether I'm grateful for them or not, I've learned that what you think and what you feel are yours and they are entirely, completely and 100% valid no matter what other people say.

It is only healthy for you to acknowledge that this is how you feel and to sort through those emotions no matter how broken or messed up they seem. And you shouldn't try to sweep everything under rug by trying to convince yourself that what you feel is stupid and telling yourself that you should not feel this way, because that would only be detrimental to your sanity. The last thing you want to do is to really believe that it is. All. In. Your. Head.

It becomes more uplifting in a way, after doubting yourself so much and thinking this is as good as it'll ever get, to finally reach a point where those feelings of numbness give way to optimism and hope because then you really convince yourself that things will get better, life will work itself out and life has something amazing in store for you.

But right now, I'm finding it hard to convince myself of that. Maybe I really am just this messed up and maybe that's all I'll ever be.

I don't know.

I. Don't. Know.

-- Karin Novelia, Desperate For Some Validation

[P.S. thank you for reading. Not that anyone actually reads this blog. I hope that you managed to benefit from what I was trying to say, minus all the angst and the fact that I probably stopped making sense like 10 paragraphs ago. Don't worry, I'll feel better soon. I always do. But for now I need to sort through this. I need to let go of this. I need to let go of this person. As much as I don't want to. But that's another story. I promise that more happier posts will come. Cheers.]

A Dusty Hello

I've always felt... divided all these years. Out of sync, as a person.

 

It's like physically, I was in one place, my heart in another and my mind, my imagination were somewhere else entirely.

 

But now I am actually, like, literally divided. I study and stay in Singapore now, and have to spend my holidays back home in Indonesia. And it feels weird, being unable to stay in one place without thinking about the other. It's like living two separate lives.

 

That's an interesting way of putting it. "Separate".

 

Have you gone -- returned -- to a place you were fond of or met up with someone who you haven't seen in ages? And don't you ever feel like in that moment, it's like two parts of you seem to collide in a cataclysmic crash? The new you and the old you.

 

I found myself in a weird situation. I went back to my alma mater on Friday to chat with the Principal and for once I didn't even try to avoid the place. Too many memories, I would justify to myself. But I found myself walking through those halls, through that field and I just felt so damned overwhelmed.

 

Then came the scary thought.

 

God I wished I stayed.

 

I pause. I allow the taught to linger and sink in. Then I panic. I feel scared but mostly confused.

 

This was the first time I ever felt like coming back to my... old (?) life. But my continuing interactions with this so called old life made me understand why.

 

Right after this stint at my old school, I went to an dear friend's sweet seventeen party. Sweet seventeens in Indonesia are kind of a big deal. It's like a huge coming-of-age moment where you are now legal, you can get your Citizen's ID, drive even vote. And for girls, right, it's usually marked by this fancy party that you throw lots of money on. The works, like a rented out hotel ballroom, a buffet, you hire celebrity MCs and performers. It's crazy. And I was about to attend my first one.

 

But this experience was a bit more... grounding than the school one. I found myself in a room with people who I was familiar with but who I also felt like I didn't know at all. I know their names, their faces. Some have changed, some stayed pretty much the same. They were few faces too, new people who I didn't happen to have the chance of meeting, reminders that everyone else had gotten on with their lives while I was gone.

 

And worst of all, my best friend was in the center of it all. Gorgeous, more beautiful than I've ever seen her before. But she's grown, she's matured. She outgrew her awkwardness and she was stunning, smiling the whole night. Happy, but I feel so detached from it all, so detached from her.

 

I suck at keeping in touch. Especially with the people who remind me of who I was, simply because, well I don't really want to.

 

The heaviness of the night was quickly remedied by the best part of these parties: a dance 'till drop sort of deal, complete with DJ and all. Imagine dimmed lights, colorful glow sticks and the kinds of flickering lights they use for those freeze frame effects.

 

It was... amazing. To lose yourself, even for just a little bit on the dance floor. Letting everything out, moving like there's no tomorrow, singing at the top of your lungs. The thrill, the sweat, the heat. It was the best kind of high.

 

But then the night was over and my thoughts seemed to settle.

 

I realized I was mistaken. I didn't and probably will never wish I had stayed. What I wanted was to come back. And though that was a bit more confusing, I came to the understanding that as much as I have fault with my old life, it had so much potential to be so good.

 

But not then. Not when I was who I was.

 

With me, now? That's a different story. I'm different. I'm better, and it feels like such a wasted opportunity, experiencing my old life as the new me.

 

I've always but who I am in question. When I think I've found the answer, all I end up with are these Paper Girls. These facades, these personas. I can't tell if they're the real me. And the more I eliminate them, the list of who I really am is getting uglier by the second.

 

Maybe I'm a much more horrible person than I will ever care to admit.

 

But I refuse to believe that's all I am. I believe that I'm not so much finding myself but more defining. And it hasn't been easy, trying to find the better version of me who is truly the best.

 

It's December, and as I usher in this final month of what has been a bang up year, I've decided to really try and rediscover myself. Reintroduce myself, to the world, if you will.

 

And so as I stop running away from my past, running away from me, really, it's like picking up where I left of, the person I left behind, left to rot on a shelf... here's to dusting it off, here's to wiping away all the dirt.

 

And here's to reintroducing myself to world, with an rusted, awkward and dusty...

 

... Hello.

 

--Karin Novelia, Out to Define Herself

 

Better Versions

Hey, hello, um, hi!

 

... Damn. I really am rusty with this thing.

 

It's been a good month or so since my last post, and that wasn't exactly a happy one either.

 

If I am being honest here, or at least as honest as I usually try to be on this blog, I fell into a bit of funk by the time I got back from the June holidays.

 

I was, for lack of a better term, depressed.

 

Now, I've had inklings of this feeling creep on me before and they were never this bad. They were fleeting, at best, only temporary.

 

But this time... this time was different.

 

It was the kind of depression that was stifling, crippling. It really inhibited my ability to fully function and emote. It was scary. Really scary. And in the midst of my lacking emotions, I found that in my struggles to actually feel something I was lashing out, holding on to the pettiest feeling of irritation and anger, simply because they were there, they were accessible, they were the easiest thing to hold on to.

 

Long story short, I was a bitch for quite a while. There was damage done, some of which is still apparent, but hopefully can be patched over. Sometimes, it seems like it's irreparable. I guess that's my own fault.

 

Good news, though, I'm getting better. One main reason I think lead to the depression getting so bad was my initial refusal to acknowledge it. Although I said it was crippling and limited my ability to function, I could still push on. Keep Calm and Carry On as the Brits say. It made me incredibly guilty to even think about calling what I felt 'depression' because I know that other people have it a lot worse, other people can barely get out bed, other people have better reasons to be depressed. What was I doing? All I was being was ungrateful.

 

This change however, when I came across an article on the Internet. It was entitled Walking Depression and it described exactly what I was feeling, and perhaps what I knew all along but found no justification to properly acknowledge.

 

Walking depression is the type of depression that most people might face at some point in there live. It's the kind of dissatisfaction that makes it just a little bit harder to get out of bed. But you get up anyway. It's the kind of sadness that makes your days a little less brighter. But you go on and study and work and be productive anyway. Being functional is all fine and dandy but what's the point if you feel so unhappy?

 

Disillusioned. That was a word I attributed a lot to this, um, phase. It was like I was pushed, head first, into an empty swimming pool called reality, one that called that I be practical and let myself die a bit inside to 'succeed'. I wasn't really functioning. I wasn't really living. I was... trudging. That was another word that seemed so apt. I was being a soldier, keeping my head down, shoulders hunched, carrying on with no complaints.

 

Thank God that's over with.

 

You might be asking, what changed then? Well, acknowledging that I was unhappy was a nice first step. It gave me this sense of clarity and determination to find some way to fix it. So I set aside my pride, put down my armor. I apologized to people who needed to know how sorry I was. I tried looking out for more silver linings. I stopped being so hard on myself and occasionally let myself feel. I realized that I've been blowing a lot of responsibilities off -- and though it was too late to fix that, it was never to late for redemption. I reminded myself of the things that I love and why I do things that people may not approve of just because they think that having different priorities somehow makes me less of a person than them. The end goal wasn't necessarily to feel happy -- just okay enough to see the point in everything again.

 

I've been a bit interested in matters of the mind, and if you take the more scientific approach, how the brain works. Psychology and psychiatry are apparently two entirely separate fields. A recent article my tuition teacher gave me was even on anxiety. I've just finished a book entitled Hector and the Search for Happiness which talked about well, happiness, the way we perceive and process it in our brains.

 

I tend to say that I'm just a messed-up, giant ball of neuroses and perhaps that's true. Though from what I read, I don't fit neatly into one category. I have the faults of both ends of the spectrum apparently. I even came across a Tumblr post which nicely describes it.

 

So yeah. I think I just really needed to get this off my chest.

 

But, please tune in very soon as I'll definitely be posting some more positive posts :)

 

Look out for my OBS post and my latest initiative, something like a Learning Journal (sounds lame, but give me some time to think of something catchy). I'm trying my hardest not to lose interest in studies, but studying never really appealed to me. Learning, however, does. And I find that most of the time, I'm digesting things but not really processing them and spitting out some thoughts. Hopefully this Learning Journal will help me not only to express myself but to keep my interest burning strong. It of course won't be limited to what I learn in school. It could be about anything really, from what I thought about a TV show, a movie to classical music, the arts like Vincent van Gogh. The works. Mind you, this Journal will basically be a puke space of creativity, so don't expect any coherence of thought that I don't really have time to do anyway.

 

I really think I'm in a good place now. OBS, which was this outdoor camping course, was uplifting (but more about that later) and strengthened my resolve to be someone people can look up to. I once said that every time I looked into the mirror, I didn't really like who I saw -- this Paper Girl who was flimsy, thin and fake.

 

That Girl's gone. Maybe not completely, but I'm getting there.

 

And now, when I look in the mirror, I see a sincere smile, a slight glint in my eyes. I see a better version of me.

 

Let's hope there's only more good things to come.

 

Thanks for reading!

 

--Karin Novelia, Feeling So Better After a Long Time

The Stories, They All Sound the Same (Off The Grid: Day 10)

My brain is seething. I'm bubbling with hundreds of new ideas. They just keep welling up.
 

Perhaps it's possible to control thoughts to a certain extent, but to stop thinking is asking too much. My head is teeming with beguiling notions, I'm not able to fix them before they're ousted by new thoughts. I can't keep them apart.
 

I'm rarely able to remember my thoughts. Before I manage to dwell on one of my inspirations, it generally melts into an even better idea, but this, too, is so fickle of character that I struggle to save it from the constant volcanic stream of new ideas...
 

I read the opening paragraphs of Jostein Gardner's The Ringmaster's Daughter and my mind instantly recalls the dozens of notebooks filled with half-baked ideas, the pages and pages of synopses, each unique and pertaining to a specific story, typed up on my laptop.

I throw a glance at my window, to make sure Jostein Gardner isn't somehow keeping an eye on me. I feel vulnerable, exposed. Like someone decided to write about me on paper.  I feel a strange relation to his character who as you can probably tell, is something of a writer.

Then I think of every other fictional aspiring writer I've seen/read and realize I'm probably just a mass of their quirks and idiosyncrasies. I'm a collection of writer stereotypes. Except maybe for that whole childhood trauma aspect...

This "writer" brought to life in The Ringmaster's Daughter is named Petter, and I do share his pain. Whenever I let my brain roam too far it just starts churning, spitting out ideas and stories. I can write out a synopsis fairly easy. My ideas usually start out being so abstract -- a random scene here, a piece of dialogue there. I can expand it, detail it, to as long as 4-5 pages, at best. When I try to expand it even further, that's when I fumble with the words.

I suppose I lack the focus to write a novel. Like Petter, I also lack patience and soundness of mind. Sitting still in front of a desk can be unnerving. More often then not it feels like a waste of time, it's frustrating and tedious. No sooner after I begin typing, my mind is racing farther ahead. My hands may be set on writing down one scene, yet my brain is already working on another.

There's one aspect where I Petter and I differ. I'm unshakeable on my becoming a writer, despite the difficulties. Petter however, doesn't see the point. He has no intention of becoming a writer. He finds it a shame though, when his ideas are left untouched. That's when he comes up with a strange business idea. He'll sell his ideas, make his living out of it. Sell ideas and stories to aspiring writers who find themselves with nothing to say.

Little Petter Spider becomes the cure for the dreaded writer's block, weaving his own web of manipulation.
 

At last I've decided what I want to be. I shall continue doing what I've always done, but from now on I'll make a living out of it. I don't feel the need to be famous, that's an important consideration, but I could still become extremely rich.
 

Petter starts out as a very precocious child. He learns to talk and read and write before the age of four. He's quiet and in his head. He's creative, definitely. But he is also pretty damaged.

When he starts to decide to sell his ideas, through this ominous platform he dubs "Writer's Aid", it's a dubious trade. Petter cherished anonimity above everything, and although what he's trying to sell is something that's in demand in the writing community, he knows there's a risk. A risk of getting caught, being mistrusted and hunted down.

He pays attention to make his clients feel exclusive to his services when they're not. He builds up their trust, makes them believe he'll never spill the beans. Little Petter Spider catches his victims within his web with promises not to eat them. All the while he thinks he's doing them -- and himself -- a great service.

And I strangely found myself agreeing with him. That what he's doing is almost justified.

It's interesting to see into Petter's psyche. Although he was quiet and unsociable as a child, he grew up to be quite the people person. He's amiable, able to carry a conversation. But at times he simply uses that to his advantage. Every writer, editor, friend is merely an expansion of his network. A business opportunity, or a casual relationship to make him feel less lonely when he wants company. Some might call him a sociopath.

The result of this casual approach to relationships leads him to trouble, as we find out in the final chapters of the book.

He has pretty eccentric views. Jostein Gardner is known for being philisophical in his writings, and seeing some views from Petter sets the mind going. The thing about Petter is that he's a story-teller. And so projects these view in short stories he tells throughout the course of the novel.

All in all, I loved The Ringmaster's Daughter. It's thought-provoking and insightful, with a touch of fantasy. Some might find the material a bit heavy, but it's worth the read. Petter is a complex character, the kind reader's would love to unravel as they read. The plot was original, cohesive. A must-read really, for writers.

(My name was eerily mentioned in the book, which was just unnerving and let's hope not foretelling)

There's one specific aspect of the story which I find interesting. While selling in Writer's Aid, Petter made sure he never sold the same idea twice, to prevent suspicion. But as the book came to the end, ironically, I realized there were parallels spreading throughout the entire thing. I began to see how a short story told when he was older happened to correspond to things that happened to him as kid, and vice versa, a story he told when he was younger strangely related to something that happened later in his life.

A coincidence? Maybe. But then again, maybe not.

There's a huge debate in the writing world on whether or not anything anyone comes up is really "original" at all. Like Sherlock Holmes once said, "There is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done before."

Somewhere out there, someone's falling for their best friend. Someone is cheating on someone they love. A little kid is chasing their dream. Someone's getting married, getting divorced. Someone's celebrating a birthday, going to a concert. Someone's fighting for what they believe in. Someone's moving to another country. Someone's taking a leap of faith.

It's a weird thing when you think about. But it's undeniable too. They may differ in the details, but when you strip down the stories, they all sound the same.

And that makes me wonder whether I have anything worth saying at all.

--Karin Novelia, Just Bursting With Ideas

Off The Grid: Day 9

What is guilt but the emotional manisfestations of our regrets? My impending move sure has let a few of those resurface. I can't help but look back at all that has happened. All the people I've met and spent time with. All the problems I had to deal with.

There are things that everyone wish they could change. Words they wish they could take back, things they wish they could undo.

Those feelings of guilt can't change all that. At a certain point, it's neccessary to feel guilty. It makes you aware of your mistakes and keeps you from repeating them. 

But guilt can also be a paralytic. We blame ourselves too much that we wallow in our shame and self-pity. We feel so ashamed that we don't have the nerve to even talk about. We keep it to ourselves, piling within our hearts until it's blocked out all things positive.

Mr Chan, who teaches at SJI (Saint Joseph's Institution, the male half of the scholarship deal) gave the boys some early homework and I gladly checked it out myself. He directed us towards the BBC podcasts (the link here) called "60 second idea to improvee the world" specifically, the entitled "Guilty Blue Ribbon Moment".

A Jordanian writer named Fadia Faqir presents this idea: What if every morning, when you're feeling guilty, you'd tie a blue ribbon around your wrist/neck and leave the house wearing it? I find it compelling that this idea comes from a writer who lives in a restricted country, where some issues are even considered taboo to bring up.

This presents a new way of expressing guilt. You let it known without really saying it aloud yourself. People would obviously be aware of the blue ribbon. Whether they acknowledged or ignored it would be their decision.

But that's the thing about guilt. We prefer it to be ignored, left in the darkest corners of our mind. The one thing that's harder than letting yourself make a mistake, is admitting doing so.

But is ignoring the guilt really going to help? As hard as it is to talk about things that make us feel ashamed, this paradigm that we need to talk about things, might help normalise and eradicate those feelings. We'll see that everyone has does feelings, that everyone feels ashamed about something. And in the end, that might make us feel that we have nothing to be ashamed about at all.

Mr Chan posed some interesting questions for us to think about, making us think about things we feel guilty about. Moving to another country itself poses some interesting regrets. When I look back on my years here in Indonesia, I feel the need to compare them to my years in the Philippines. When I moved from there to Indonesia, I felt like I had to let go of the golden years. When I think about leaving Indonesia now I kinda feel... relieved.

Like I'm just getting out of a 5-year prison sentence.

Okay, I know that sounds a bit... extreme. But my time here wasn't really the best. In a way, I guess I should feel grateful. Adversity only makes you stronger right?

But the time constraints, create a different problem. I'd really like to leave with a clean slate. Get the red out of my ledger, as a special-skill-set agent once said. I'm leaving in 2 weeks. And that really doesn't feel like a lot of time. There are things to prepare, goodbyes that will ultimately be said. And perhaps, closure that needs to be felt, but I might not have the time to find.

Hmm...

There's also this other type of guilt. Guilt that we inflict upon ourselves when really, it's not even our fault. Fadia shared an experience of having a family member assaulted due to racial discrimination. She wasn't involved in the assault, the way she talks about makes me think she wasn't even there to witness it. But to a certain level, she felt guilty. She felt like she could've, should've done something about it.

There's one truth I know that terrifies me. There are just some things that are beyond your control. And even when the bad things that happen are the results of other people's doing, you still blame yourself. Because you know you're the only thing that you can fully control, and you know better than to blame everything else. This all strangely relates to a story between a boy, a girl and the blatant abuse of the Twitter site.

On another, more solemn note, I heard news today about a friend of a fellow scholar passing away due to cancer. I pray that her soul now finds peace and offer my condolences to those left behind.

Even when you barely know the person, a death will always make you reevaluate your life. This person's situation reminds of this movie called Third Star.

It stars Benedict Cumberbatch (who is known for his portrayal of Sherlock Holmes) as James, a cancer-ridden man with only a few months to live. In light of that recent realization, he decides to set off on a trip with his mates to his most favorite place in the world, Barafundle Bay.

The movie is poignant, moving and also revolves around the topic of 'guilt'. A guilt of a life not lived to the fullest. A guilt of not having enough time to say goodbye.

Things became all the more heart-breaking when (spoiler alert) James walked into the bay waters with no intention of coming back. And it wasn't because he lost hope. The past few days showed him that life is truly something beautiful. He didn't want the cancer to take his life, take away his freedom of choice. He wanted to beat the cancer. And he was ready to say goodbye.

Sadness is an inevitable thing. Everyone experiences it at some point in there lives. Sometimes I go looking for it, sadistic as that may seem. I see it as a thing that needs to be found, to be felt and understood. Only then can we value true happiness, when we dare to dive into that sadness.

But like James in those waters of Barafundle Bay, it is a choice of our own making whether or not we let ourselves drown.

Just some food for thought. Thanks for reading.

--Karin Novelia

The Lives That We Lead (Off The Grid: Day 5)

If I should have a daughter

Instead of “Mom”

She’s gonna call me “Point B”

Because that way, she knows

That no matter what happens

At least she can always find her way to me

The first opening lines of this TED talk leave me somewhat transfixed. Clever. And poetic, very poetic.

I stumbled through the archives of TED talks one morning, looking for something to inspire me. Not so much to change my life entirely, but one that at least helps me get through the day. I’m drawn to the talk done by Sarah Kay. The still that serves as the video’s thumbnail is stunning. You can see that she’s in the middle of a spirited performance. There’s this sparkle in her eyes, this radiance from her face.

And the term “spoken word poet” piqued my interest.

Spoken word poetry, as Sarah describes it, is the love child between poetry and theatre. It’s about writing poetry that cannot sit still on paper. It demands to be read aloud, performed. And unlike written poetry where the people who reads it feels something amazing in a private and personal level, spoken word creates connections in the moment it is spoken and heard and seen, bridging the performer and the audience.

When I meet you, in that moment

I’m no longer a part of your future

I start quickly becoming part of your past

But in that instant, I get to share your present

And you, you get to share mine.

And that is the greatest present of all

It becomes apparent that stories and words are a huge part of Sarah’s life. I am amazed by how much I can relate to her. How we share such similar sentiments, share a love of words and stories. We see the world as one giant playground, one endless stage. In another talk entitled “How many lives can you live?” Sarah explores what you can do in a lifetime. Like me, she believed that she would get to do amazing things. Things that depended not on terms of ‘if’ but simply ‘when’.

“My Mom says that when people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, my typical response was princess-ballerina-astronaut. What she doesn’t understand is that I wasn’t trying to invent some combined super profession, I was listing things I thought I was gonna get to be.” -- Sarah Kay on her childhood dreams

Feeling like you have all the time in the world makes the horrible realization that you don’t all the more jarring. It’s scary to think that you only get one shot, only get to do a fraction of the things you want to experience. Because dammit I’ve just discovered how wonderful life can be and I want to spent every single moment feeling that way. 

I want her to look at the world

Through the underside of a glass-bottom boat

To look through a microscope at the galaxies

That exists on the pinpoint of a human mind

Sarah imparts a few words of wisdom, something that I guess I knew a long time ago but didn’t fully accept or understand until now. There is a way we can live multiple lives. Perhaps not personally, not through our own eyes but through the eyes of other people. And there is a tool that can help achieve that: stories. That’s why I open a book and read. I want to experience those stories — other people’s stories and catch a glimpse of what life is like from the other side.

That’s why connections are so important. That’s why story-telling is so important. It’s this sharing of experience and knowledge that can shape you as a person, and perhaps to an extent, shape the world. I’m not so good with interacting with people. Not because I don’t like them. As much as I like spending time on my own, I do like spending time with other people too and I have never purposefully tried to avoid that. Maybe I shy away from it — hey, that’s just my awkwardness shining through.

As much as I enjoy talking about things like TV, movies, music, I can’t shake the feeling that everyone has their guard up. I have trouble getting into what’s real. Not that I expect it to be easy, I just didn’t think it’d be this hard, to hear and be heard. It almost sounds impossible.

But I see the impossible every day

Impossible is trying to connect in this world

Trying to hold onto others while things are blowing up around you

Knowing that while you’re speaking

They aren’t just waiting for their turn to talk – they hear you.

They feel exactly what you feel, at the same time you feel it

It’s what I strive for every time I open my mouth —

That impossible connection

There are two kinds of stories: stories that we experience second-hand, stories that we hear from other people. And then there are stories that we write. Stories that only we can tell because we’re the only one in this universe who sees the world the way we do. And that’s something I keep in mind, every time I pick up a pen or sit in front of a keyboard, fingers poised ready to write.

I may not be sure that I’m saying what I want to say with the best words possible but I do feel that I have something worth saying. Something that comes from me — from my mind, my heart. That’s why being a journalist sounded like the perfect dream. Not only could I go out and enjoy the world, I could write it all down too. Not only did I get to tell my own stories, I could go out and listen, go looking for other people’s. And hopefully, with enough patience and skill, I could help them share their stories.

I may not get it right the first time. I might find pain and sorrow and heartache and find myself unable to find the right words to say. But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.

There’ll be days like this my momma said…

… When your boots will fill with rain

And you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment

And those are the days you have all the more reason to say thank you

Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way

The ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline

No matter how many times it’s sent away

If at this point in this essay, I’ve sounded a bit too pretentious for you to hear me out, then watch the videos and listen to Sarah Kay. She is a much more talented story-teller than I am and I can only hope to come close to what she’s doing with her life.

This world can seem big and so, so scary. And things tend to go in a way that you never planned and never expected to happen. But never give into that nagging feeling that you’re too small to matter. You might see someone, someone who’s famous and talented and brilliant and although you admire them, you feel yourself shrink away, feel insecure just by comparison.

There’s really nothing to compare in the first place. Sure, someone else may look like they’re living the perfect life, but that’s their life, their story. And you have one of your own, one that’s just waiting to unfold.

Don’t give up. Just keep on trying, keep on striving to be someone better, someone like those people you looked up to in the first place. Someone you know you can be.

You will put the wind in win some, lose some

You will put the star in starting over and over.

And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute

Be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life

It may not seem like we can do much in one lifetime. But think about what we can do together through the lives that we lead. Lives that intersect and feed of one another’s energies, hopes and dreams. Lives that demand to be lived, listened to, appreciated and shared.

The life I’m leading has been a pretty confusing one so far. It’s a life that’s been revolving around words, stories and connections. And even as I write this imperfect essay, struggling to find the words I realize how much those words have given me, how much they’ve taught me.

A few closing words taken from Sarah:

This isn’t my first time here. This isn’t my last time here.

These aren’t the last words I’ll share.

But just in case, I’m trying my hardest

To get it right this time around.

Thanks for reading.

--Karin Novelia. And yes, on a scale of one to over trusting, I am pretty damn naïve.

*The quotes above may not be taken from the same poem/video
1). The lines in blue are from Sarah Kay's poem "Point B" and red is "Hiroshima" which can be heard here
2). The quote in green is from her talk "How many lives can you live?" posted here

Both Ends of the Same Spectrum

Recently, I read a really insightful book called Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking written by Susan Cain.

(Coincidentally, the only reason I know about the book was because she was the first person I watched on TED, a conference where people discuss ideas. It's pretty cool, so if you feel like being inspired visit the TED website here).

The book is psychological non-fiction, based on Susan's intensive research about human temperament, mostly focusing on the terms introvert and extrovert. Susan has observed that there's a phenomenon she's called the Extrovert Ideal where the outgoing, loud, gregarious types are more favored over the cautious and contemplating.

In this modern age of media and competitiveness, there's sort of this need to 'self-promote'. You need to show off all your good qualities, so people can see them. People won't really take the time to find out what's lying underneathe, you know? And I get why that is. But the "Extrovert Ideal" as Susan explains can also be a double-edged sword.

Now, just to be clear, this book does not glorify introverts and belittle extroverts in anyway. In fact, Susan discusses the pros and cons of each side of the spectrum, and adresses the fact that there is a sense of favoritism leaning towards extrovertism, making the benefits of introvertism feel overlooked, challenging us to rethink our paradigms and shift them into a more open-minded direction.

This isn't really a book review. I'm not going into detail about what Susan Cain wrote, I just want to share my own thoughts on the subject, focusing on the introvert side. (I do think it's a really good book, so satisfy your curiosity and read it for yourself!)

Labels can be a bit of a scary thing, especially when there are negative connotations attached to them. So as I read Quiet I was excited and apprehensive at the same time. I felt like I could relate to the book. Susan shares so many experiences, stories she gathered from other people, some she experienced herself, about people just like me (quiet, reserved, the-always-stuck-in-their-heads type). And in each of those experiences there's this feeling that being that way (which for us is simply being ourselves naturally) is something that's discouraged, frowned upon.

There were times in the book when I smiled and thought Hey, I'm just like that! and times when I frowned and wondered Is that how people see me?

The problem is, that statistically one half to one third of the world's population are introverts. Like that quiet, smart kid that's sitting in you class ace-ing tests? They're probably an introvert. And you know what? They're probably getting bullied and made fun of too.

And that's really heartbreaking. Sure, they may be quiet, but being quiet doesn't mean someone isn't brilliant. They might have a hard time getting their ideas out there, or making sure their voice is heard, but that might be because there's never anyone around who's willing to listen.

People like that usually think before they speak. They have inhibitions which may seem like a disadvantage, but sometimes that cautiousness comes in handy in avoiding possible mishaps. But it is also does quiet thinkers who have a lot to contribute in the world. Think Vincent van Gogh and Albert Einstein. They didn't have their Eureka! moments at a pool party, hanging with the gang and socializing. They retreated into their minds and simply thought about things. You may not hear much during the process, but once introverts are sure with what they have, you can bet that the product of their thoughts is pretty damn amazing.

  

One aspect of the book that unnerved me was the fact that temperament is almost something genetic. The way you were born (like how sensitive you brain system is) can deeply influence how your basic instincts and personality is. I suppose some people can call that a relief. I am the way I am because of genetics. But it also seems to chuck our whole 'free will' philosophy out of the window. Like what if I don't want to be an introvert? Why can't I be peppy and loud and outgoing like others are? Because of genetics?

The book clearly underlined that though there is a acknowledgable scientific foundation to the formation of temperament, a lot of other variables such as the way you grew up, your environment, and yes, your choices will add up to who you are.

Lesson: No matter what anyone says, you can change yourself for the better.

Another heart-breaking point was seeing how people who were introverts at heart, had to become pseudo-extroverts, just to fall into the mold of the Extrovert Ideal. I do realize that being quiet all the time, doesn't do you any more good than talking too much does. There are times when you need to stand up and speak your mind, so others can hear what your thinking. There are also times when you need to step back and think, because charging ahead might cause you to crash.

But if you constantly have to go out and do something which doesn't come naturally to you, without letting anyone see your other side than isn't that the same as pretending? Lying to yourself, not being who you really are?

The problem is that introverts are being shamed into acting like extroverts. Some people feel like being quiet, means that there's something wrong with you, so does who naturally are, question themselves, try too hard to change. Some are even see as depressed or retarded, in need of therapy or medication.

Typical for human beings to see the different and outside-of-the-norm as mental illness, huh?

Some people think I'm quiet. Okay, I won't deny that because that's true. But when people use that against me and label me as 'anti-social' or 'arrogant' by jumping to conclusions it... It doesn't feel great. I feel like I'm being judged before I'm even presenting myself, and my instinct to that is to pull back, shy away...

And that's just really frustrating. Because I know that I'm not always what people make me out to be. I am so much more than they think or see. I can be loud, I can be weird, and I can be soooo lively around other people. But only if I feel comfortable with them, which might take a while.

It's sad to think that most people don't bother to look past those first impressions.

Which one was I then? Introvert or extrovert? Of course, noone can be a pure introvert or extrovert.

I can honestly admit I've been having a bit of an identity crisis lately for the past few years. It's like everytime I wake up I have an idea of who I want to be today. The cheery up-beat me that's gonna enjoy school and learning like she used to. Then there are the days I can't help but be the quiet, thoughtful me who over analyzes everything and can never seem to feel good about herself.

I think of myself as a walking mass of contradictions. There are a lot times when I confuse myself. I'm not really sure which of those sides are the real me. Sometimes I convince myself "All of those sides are you" and just confuse myself even more. But can a person really be so optimistic and brooding at the same time? Can a person really be so impulsive and cautious?

I've come to realize that I don't really feel the need to pick a side. I am sometimes one or the other and sometimes I can be both ends of the spectrum.

So here's what I think. Labels like introverts and extroverts, can be useful. They can help us understand who we are a little bit better so we can live our lives in way that's compliments that. But if you jump to conclusions and just tack them on so carelessly, then that my friends, is called prejudice.

So don't assume you know everything about someone. We are very, very complicated and cannot be summed up by a few trivial words. People are complex, so much bigger on the inside.

Even though you might be one over the other, just remember that basically we all exist on that same spectrum. Deep down, we are all the same.

Right now, I can't think of any other word that best describes collectively who I am other than this: me.

I. Am. Me.

One of a kind. And so are you.

So no matter how alienated you feel, no matter how different the world perceive you just remind yourself: I am me and noone else. Noone else can be me.

And believe me when I say, you can be so damn brilliant.

Thanks for reading!

-- Karin Novelia, Being the Best Me I Can Be

The Essence of Dreams (A Book Review of The Night Circus)

*May contain slight spoilers

What are dreams but mere ideas? Ideas that take up a life of their own, growing in proportions, intensity, detail. The are the fruit of imagination, the culmination of what our subconscious mind ponders on. But the experience of a dream -- in our heads, or even in our sleep -- can't stand true in reality. Like two sides of the same coin, they are distinctively different, yet sometimes impossible to discern.

The Night Circus, a novel written by Erin Morgernstern brilliantly blurs the line between dreams and reality. It is a story about magic, a game and the attraction between two magicians caught in the middle of it all: Celia Bowen and Marco Alisdair, two proteges of two very different magicians.

Celia is the daughter of Hector Bowen, who passes his powers off as simple illusions, perfoming magic tricks in stages across a number of countries as Prospero the Enchanter. Celia comes to him unexpectedly, dropped off to him after her mother had committed suicide. He sees potential in her abilities straight away. He believe magic is something you are born with, a natural talent for those who are lucky enough to possess it. His methods are unorthodox, sometimes cruel in training her. He comes across as a very uncompassionate father.

Marco is taken under the wing of a Mr. Alexander, the enigmatic type of character, whose past and last name remains quite undisclosed to the reader. He believes magic is something that can be taught, and pushes Marco to read and practice in solitude albeit in very luxurious conditions.

The two master magicians, being 'close friends', make a bet; a dangerous one they have made before and are willing to make again. They will pit their pupils against one another, in a clash of magic, to see who is better.

And so Le Cirque de Revěs is born. Being translated as The Circus of Dreams it "opens at nightfall" and "closes at dawn". Here, Celia and Marco use their magic to build the most impossible attractions. From a circus tent that holds a maze of clouds you can climb and jump on, a carousel of creatures that fly through the stars, what they create elicits awe and disbelieve from the circus-goers -- all of which are oblivious to the existence of magic.

What I love most about the book is Erin Morgenstern's very descriptive style of writing. All the magical details that come to make her creations of the impossible are fully conveyed to the reader. The book is beautifully written and jumps at the senses, from sights to smells, even tastes. It's the little things, the tiniest of details that really sticks into your mind, enhances the experience of immersing yourself in the prose that you feel like you're going through it all yourself.

Closing the book, feels like waking up from a dream. You know that it could never happen, but your heart aches and wishes that it could be somehow true.

Plot-wise, I think it was just perfect. I've heard some people complain about that the pacing is too slow, the story isn't that clever or well thought-out. But that's what makes The Night Circus so different from other books. People like a cinematic, action-packed, high-paced stories that tackles you. But The Night Circus creeps up on you, it's a story that is expansive and spans through many lives and many years that it cannot be told in a matter of days, and the sense of mystery and surprising revelations add to the tale's depth.

Some people have also been disappointed or felt misled at the term 'duel'. They thought of Harry-Potter-likes duels where spells fly and things erupt into chaos. What they got though, was more of an duel of the mind. They're creativity and innovation skills are being tested not their strength. The rules of the duel are arbitrary and has one twist -- it doesn't end until one of them dies.

Then here are sub-plots, which introduce characters as enchanting and wondrous as The Circus itself, gives them a decent story, a sense of involvement and influence in the main plot that no character Erin has created can really be called 'minor'. There's the creative director of the Circus' design, the fashionista that coordinates the acts costumes, a clockmaker who makes the centerpiece item and even a child that sneaks into the circus grounds. The magic of the Circus touches them, drives some insane. All these characters are affected by Celia's and Marco's actions and are simply a delight to read about.

I rate the book at 4.5/5 stars. There were some parts of the story that did seem tedious, but I was already caught in its spell to think much about it. In a nutshell, The Night Circus is a gem of a novel. It's style is descriptive and magical. It may be slow, but that doesn't mean its a bad book. If you have the patience to unravel the story and undergo the experience, reading The Night Circus will possibly be the best thing you've ever done.

Magic is something we can all relate to. It's something that we want to see in our lives, some even crave a semblance of its power. We may not have magic wands or spellbooks filled with curses to cast, but we each have a little bit of magic in us. We have the power to magically imagine, to create things with our minds.

So don't ever stop dreaming. As harsh as reality might seem, there are some dreams that really do come true.

And if reality does get a bit too hard to handle, know that the gates of Le Cirque de Revěs are always open for you to explore.

'Till the next post!

-- Karin Novelia, Restless Rěveur

One in The Same

Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same -- All At Once by The Fray

Everyone at some point in their lives knows what it's like to lose yourself in your dreams. To immerse yourself so deeply in your delusion and fantasies that it's easy to lose touch with reality. One day you decide that simple imaginings aren't enough. You want your dreams to be real.

Getting to that point, the point where your dreams actually do come true isn't easy. But that's the problem with people these days. They always want the easy way out.

Maybe this will sound self-praising, but I've been there. I've tried to do things the hard way, actually put in the work. And it was absolutely crushing when you stop and realize that you are the only one who truly cares, that still cares about this thing you've put your heart and soul into because for once you thought Hey, I'm actually doing something with my life!

Disappointment and failure tend to bring out the worst in people. It makes them bitter, jaded and trust me, I know. It is through that sadness that we react by trying to find something to hold on to, that last flickering flame of hope.

We wish things weren't so hard, but let's face it, they are.

I've happily spent my extended holiday in my own little bubble. Having these days off while my Dad, brother and sister still have to go to work and school inevitably gets me stuck at home, which can be suffocating sometimes (the boredom can settle in pretty fast) but it gives me a chance to sort of recuperate and reevaluate my life.

Perhaps an example might help. People who may be classified as 'hopeless' romantics have this hopeful mind-set: "Someday I'm gonna meet The One. The one person who will accept me and love just the way I am. Who will make me feel good and amaing and see perfection in my flaws. That person will remind me that I am worth loving."

Don't get me wrong. It's a lovely sentiment, but people can cling to it like it's the only option. Like all you have to do is wait and it will come to you. And it seems tempting that way, it seems easier.

Sometimes life demands more than that. More than a mere desire, more than just hope.

I mean think about it. While you're sitting there dreaming of The One have you ever stopped to think that you are The One for someone, somewhere out there? That maybe, just maybe, while you're keeping both eyes open so you won't miss The One, you weren't able to be that for someone who could've been the love of your life?

What I'm trying to say is, there are certain paradigms which aren't wrong (not at all) but can become blinding when people look at things one-sidedly. It's okay to dream and have hope and sort of let the world conspire to help you, but you can't expect that to keep on happening on its own.

Instead of wishing to meet the perfect person for you to fall in love with, why don't you shake things up a little today and try to be that perfect person, be someone who is worth loving?

Instead of sulking around and wishing people would be more understanding towards you, why don't you try being more understanding towards other people?

Life is all about perspective. It isn't wrong to see things in a certain way, to see things your own way. But as I've come to understand more and more, taking a new spin things will definitely surprise you.

I've been becoming quite productive this holiday. I've pledged to become more athletic and I can really feel the effects. I feel far more energetic and have some decent stamina. I've taken to swimming which is waaaay relaxing (though for some reason I haven't lost any weight :|) I'm also planning on taking a nice long jog tomorrow morning, like when it's still a bit dark out and just beautifully calm, with a nice playlist to keep me company and just, you know, take in the sights, breath in the air.

I've also been happily channeling my inner geek this holiday too. Blame the Avengers movie (WHICH WAS AWESOMELY EPIC, by the way) for fanning the flames but I've always believed in Superheroes! :)

Now if I can only find a decent comic-book store nearby...

Movie-hysteria has also set in. Actually having time to have an uninterrupted movie marathon turns out to be overwhelming. Where do the world do I even start? But I have found a few visual gems so expect some reviews soon :)

Then of course... there's writing. It's been a love-hate relationship between me and my craft so far. I can think out main concepts and draw them out but when it comes to writing the actual story, I basically am at a lost of words and go asdfghjkl;!

It's a bit pain-staking but I'm getting there, overcoming my writer's block.

Graduation's coming soon. I'd figure I'd be all sappy and nostalgic with the inevitable goodbyes to come but this time, I'm actually readily accepting of the future. Hopefully that's a good thing, so let's just call it progress.

Freedom's just around the corner for everyone (though yes, I have had an early start) so I'll just jump the gun and wish you all a very happy holiday!

And as always, thanks for reading!

-- Happily on Holiday, Karin Novelia :)

Who You Love, Who You Fight For and Who You Are

One aspect of human nature, which I find slightly disturbing, is our constant habit of labeling things. Not in a Sheldon Cooper like obsessive-compulsive way of labelling inanimate objects, but labeling human beings in mostly prejudicial ways.

You look at someone and start forming your opinions. You might notice their excessive body fat and assume they're lazy, insecure. You might make fun of them. You might joke around and call someone a name, in a way so ignorant that you may not realize that you're saying something that really hits home.

"I was called a faggot. I was called a homo, a queer. It was scary going into that building realizing these kids were taunting me with a word that was so close to the truth." -- Ryan Kendall in "8".

Homosexuality has been a controversial topic for years now, being the highlight of court battles, the basis for criminal sanctions and fuel for the discriminative flames of schoolyard bullies or even narrow-minded adults. The fact that the taunts thrown at them (in rude and inexcusable ways) are actually true, can only send someone over the edge, make them question who they are.

The quote above is taken from a legal-drama play called "8" which I found on Tumblr and watched on Youtube (a link to the video here). It is based off the transcripts of the trial that opposed Proposition 8, a ballot-initiative in California that banned same-sex marriage rights to citizens who were already enjoying them. It was absolutely captivating, with a live-streamed reading by a star-studded cast whose mere voice acting and subtle body language did justice to the true emotional essence that drove the historic trial to victory.

Personally, in Indonesia, you don't hear much about LGBT trials or cases. The majority of Indonesia (being Muslims) are highly religious, and it is based on those religious beliefs that homosexuality is considered wrong, in some provinces even, a crime. There is a lack of activity on the LGBT rights front, but I'm speaking from personal experience that there is at least one homosexual person in this country, and I bet that in reality there is much, much more.

What does homosexuality have to do with legal rights? Well, in most legal constitutions, the group homosexuals aren't explicitly addressed. Perhaps in a world where we all are open-minded and unfamiliar with the concept discrimination, homosexuality would not even be an issue. But it is, mostly because it is widely unaccepted in society. So, a chism has emerged from both sides of the story: people who, gay or otherwise, support LGBTs and people who don't. The people who don't accept homosexuality are finding ways to supress it, deeming it wrong and susceptible to harassment.

You ocassionaly hear someone being beaten because of their sexual orientation. Being called a freak, a faggot, far too many times that it causes them to take their own life. It's the cases like these, the discrimination and the harassment, that has pushed people to take a stand. To tell people that this is not okay and homosexuals do not deserve to be treated like that. The law is a indisputable concept developed by man which protects and creates order. Where else should these matters be taken to other than court?

Proposition 8 focuses on marriage, and it really gets you thinking. What makes gay people so different from heterosexuals? What makes them abnormal? What gives us the right to deprive them from a life of love? The Prop 8 trial focused on the definition of marriage and that it strictly had to be between a man and a woman.

Those words and definitions are man-made concepts. We're human, we make assumptions, make mistakes. Whose to say that we are not mistaken with our ideas that marriage can't be homosexual? Who can tell whether or not it will change the very core of society? Are we so arrogant to carve these paradigms into stone, without considering that change is bound to happen? In the play you'll see the defendants (the defenders of Proposition 8) have a hard time delivering their argument. Same-sex marriages or relationships are not doing any harm.

"It's not about who you're attracted to, it's who you fall in love with." -- Holly Holiday from Glee on sexuality.

Have you ever fallen in love? I, myself, don't think I have yet. How would you feel if someone told you that your love is something wrong? That this relationship that makes you feel good about yourself, makes you feel complete, is an abomination to nature and is publicly admonished? What can you even do when falling in love is something out of your control?

Love is something inspiring. And it's in my opinion that homosexual love, is the most inspiring of all. Despite all the negativity, the bigotry, these two people deemed by society as freaks or mentally-ill, come out and truly be themselves, express their love for each other in a way that is pure, touching and in the end, enduring.

I know that homosexuality is a very touchy issue, but I feel that I had to write this post on it just to let people know where I stand with it (being open-mindedly opinionated as I promised). I know that many people might not agree with me (just seeing gay couples on TV makes most of my friends disgusted).

So this is what I think -- no, this is what I believe. Homosexuality is okay. It doesn't make them any less better than heterosexuals. They are confident in who they are and we shouldn't ask them to change their ways, or pretend to be something they're not. We should not make it seem like they should be condemned, we need to make sure that they feel accepted and happy, like every human being has a right to be. They're human. Just like me and you. They might seem different, but they're not wrong.

Most might find homosexuals to be scary or feel it makes them uncomfortable, and you know what, that's okay too. We've spent most of lives seeing opposite-sex couples that same-sex ones seem foreign to us, outside of the norm. But do not ever let that fear or prejudice become an excuse for degrading a person's dignity. Do not ever make someone feel worthless when they are simply being who they are.

I don't care if your straight, gay, transgender or bi. Live the life you want to live. Love who you want to love. Marry who you want to marry. Be who you want to be.

Who you love might determine your sexuality. But your sexuality doesn't determine who you are as a person. No matter who it is, who you love will ultimately become who you fight for. Who you fight for, in the name of love, determines who you are. And that makes you human.

So take my advice. Don't hate. Be human.

I find that I get really emotional when it comes to this topic, so emotional that it clouds my heads and hinders me from fully conveying my feelings on the matter. I just hope that I make sense in what I've written, though I'll admit that I am no expert in the historic or legal or politic aspects of homosexuality rights. I'm just a person who thinks that discrimination is wrong, and urge you all to think the same.

Thanks for reading.

--Dreaming of a World Free of Hate, Karin Novelia