Colors are a big part of my life. I was working as a freelance illustrator for quite a long time, so I do familiar with several terms of graphic design, especially about colors.
Cold tone. Warm tone. Complimentary colors. Opposite colors.
I loved how the combination of two or more colors could create a new one. How a little drop of a certain color could change the whole piece. Make it warmer, make it colder, do it in terracotta, what color associates with professionalism, which color expresses hospitality, what color should be used to highlight a clause in a sea of information, what layers of color could implicitly send the softest sense of urgency.
Colors are magical.
A wake-up call once came to me in the dead of a night.
It’s a busy night, it’s that month of the year when Moslems around the world woke up 1 or 2 hours before sunrise to cook and eat sahoor (early breakfast) to prepare themselves for the day’s fasting.
I should be sleeping that night, but I was not, so did my friends. It’s a co-housing place where I stayed at the moment (in Indonesia we called it rumah kos). I and a bunch of my university friends were up all night doing assignment. We decided to eat sahoor together before we could get back to our tasks.
Imagine the irony of when an alien feels more human than the human, and that’s what I’ve been thinking the whole time I’m reading The Humans by Matt Haig.
Anything can happen in a post-apocalyptic world. A mother might abandon her children. A pizza delivery guy might save a nation. Enemies might touch your heart, understand you in a way nobody else does. A mere comic book might be a cause of something big. A new religion might emerge, along with a band of people who called themselves ‘the light’, carrying a propaganda of a newfound prophet.
If you ever fantasized what life could be after the disappearance of civilization, a book titled Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel is a must-read.
Like sushi, love is best served raw.
That’s the thing that popped into my mind after I watched that movie Call Me by Your Name by Luca Guadagnino. It didn’t take long for me to read the book that inspired the movie–published in 2007, written by André Aciman. I am touched by every scene in the movie and I am mesmerized by Aciman’s exquisite writings.
The number of your age could be a burden. As the aging continues, as your hair slowly turned white, as your skin wrinkled over time, you are expected to be more balanced, more matured. At one point in your life, you are supposed to teach your youngster on how to hold their sh*ts together–which you did gracefully.
But what if that’s not the case?
I knew a guy, a middle-aged man, who still doesn’t know how to take care of himself even when his mustache turned gray and his teeth fallen out, thus, one of the things he couldn’t teach to the young people around him is how to hold your sh*ts together.
A boy once shared his theory of one irresistible quality a girl could have.
He’s my best friend at the time (we don’t interact that much anymore these days, not even a single like for a mere Facebook post). He had a crush on this one girl. It’s obvious that he liked the girl more than the girl liked him. He’s always waiting, always flirting, always throwing puns, showing wits, but the girl always chooses for another man in line. Their relationship is everything but a mutual love interest. So I think it’s safe to say that my friend was being friendzoned by the girl.
He knew it, and yet he loved the girl anyway.
Back in 2014, I went to a meet and greet event, held by one of the most prominent book publishers at the time. There are 3 novelists on stage, best known as the most prolific writers in the world of Indonesian pop literature–able to produce up to 3 books per year, supported by a strong fan base, their works are rather mainstream but fit into the most of book publisher’s target market. So, in short, they are the book publishers’ darlings.
None of the writers are my favorite.
Watched a movie with my niece sometime in the past. The movie is rather bland, a month later and I can’t even remember the title and the plot, but I remember the closing title’s song. I remember the female singer wish someone a bluebird in the spring, I remember the swing jazz-ish tune, combined with a flawless piano score. The lyrics stuck in my mind, got me searching for it the next day (because I can’t seem to forget about it and how beautiful for someone to wish a bluebird for anything? I’m a fool for random sweet things like that).
And apparently, that song that I heard in the theater is a rendition of Frank Sinatra’s famous song, “I Wish You Love”.
I and my taste for old song, my ears could pick it up anywhere.
What I like the most about a coming-of-age story is to see the growing up process of a human being. Exactly what I found in the book-turned-movie The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky.