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Missed Connections.

Buenos Aires, Argentina.
Woman on Subte D, 11.30 am on Friday 7/12, got off on Facultad Medicina
Location: Capital

We shared a couple of stops together this afternoon on the tube. The subway was crowded and you were crammed next to the door and I was standing (awkwardly) in front of you. You have blondish/brownish hair and had a blue knapsack on. I have short brown hair and was holding a green umbrella, not that you should have noticed. Anyway, I had about four stops to say something–anything–but didn’t. If by some random act of God Almighty you find this, hello. I would love to hear from you.

***

Some people asked me where do I get the ideas for my stories or writings. Usually, I replied with, “Everywhere.” And it’s entirely true. Everything I have experienced in life and everyone I have crossed paths with will become a story, a poem, a novel, or a blog post. However, lately, I was drawn into Craigslist‘s Personals section to find story ideas.

The reason why I ended up on Craigslist is a different story altogether and it may appear somewhere in my next book (wink), but all in all, I am amazed by the sparks of inspiration I could get from the site!

These past few days, I got high just by reading Craigslist’s Missed Connections ads from different parts of the world. This section inside Personals carries ads from people who had the chance to connect with someone but did not act on it or did not act on it bold enough. Reading the ads reminded me of a Saturday when I spent 10 hours in Casa with Ollie, writing 50 poems each, around a similar theme: missed.

Craigslist’s Missed Connections has been my guilty pleasure, successfully keeping me up several nights in a row, curling in my bed with a cup of hot chocolate, clicking random cities, reading random ads, and being mellow. I have selected some of the most interesting ones in this post. Hopefully, they could spark some inspiration in you–not only to write a story, a poem, or whatever, but also to seize the moment, and to take that one chance in life: to live a life without what-ifs.

***

Singapore.
Malay Lady with Pink Lipstick Color on MRT towards Marina Bay
Location: MRT Bukit Batok – Yew Tee

Today afternoon around 4 pm, you were wearing a hijab and pink lipstick color and I was wearing blue. You boarded the MRT at Bukit Batok with your friend and I was sitting beside you. I fell asleep for a while but during the ride we looked at each other several times and I looked away because it was awkward. We both looked at each other when I finally alighted at Yew Tee. So if you happen to see this and want to make friends, just get back to me from here. Yeah?

Indian Lady on Bus 851 This Morning
Location: Bus 851

Our eyes met as I boarded Bus 851 this morning. I think we had a connection when we were glancing at each other repeatedly as you were waiting to alight at the bus stop at Little India station. I wish I had alighted with you just so I could introduce myself. Hope to see you again, or hear from you via email.

Barcelona, Spain.
Nice Conversation on L3 Line on Friday Night
Location: Diagonal station – L3 Line

It happened on the 26th of July, Friday evening around 10 pm. When I was at Diagonal metro station, I asked you if the L3 train stops at Liceu. You were very kind and helped me with a nice smile. We had a nice conversation on the train and you got off at Catalunya. While you speak very good English, you told me that you speak Italian and French better. I wanted to ask you for a drink but couldn’t since you were off to meet a friend. I regret that because that was my last day in Barcelona. You seem like a very cool person and I want to talk more. I never tried this, but I’m just hoping you will read this. I’m that Asian guy traveling from New York.

Beautiful American Girl I Should Have Spoken To
Location: The metro

You were one of three American (or maybe Canadian) girls I stepped onto the metro with at Ciutadella – Vila Olimpica. We all got off at Passeig de Gracia. The entire ride I could not stop looking at you, and I noticed that your eyes, similarly, kept finding me. I was hoping we would both end up on the next train together, but you and your friends left the station and I was left on the other side of the crowd walking towards L3. I doubt you will ever read this, but, if so, I just wanted to tell you here (because I was too slow to tell you there) that you are genuinely the most beautiful human being I’ve ever laid eyes upon, and that, if it would be at all possible, I would not hesitate to fly to whatever American city you live in just to buy you dinner one night.

Santorini, Greece.
California Girls on the Bus to Oia
Location: Santorini

We talked briefly on the way to Oia yesterday. I’m the German guy with the T.C. Boyle book. Get in touch in case you read this, would be nice.

Rome, Italy.
We met on Omegle.
Location: Rome

Tell me what game we played: we had gone through three songs, the first one I showed you was blurred lines. You were 23, I was 19. Theory, dude, I hope you find me.

Paris, France.
Antoine Virolleau
Location: Joinville-le-Pont

I asked you for help at a metro station in Paris on July 13th. We both got off the train at Joinville-le-Pont and chatted a bit. You said I was the first person from Texas you had ever met. We said we would try to go together to the Eiffel Tower to see the Bastille Day fireworks the following day. I wasn’t able to get in touch with you because I could not find you on Facebook!

Asked You About Iced Tea
Location: St-Ouen Flea Market

You were working at a cafe in the back section part of the flea market. You gave me the recipe for the delicious homemade iced tea. You were so nice and had such a sweet smile. I saw you while you went on break and we both smiled and waved. I’d love to stay in contact. Long shot. Worth the try?

You Were 60 Something and You Were So Pretty!
Location: Paris

I was in the rain on my way back to Paris when I saw you get into the wagon, I think at Veneux-les-Sablons. You were 60-ish, so gorgeous, a perfect figure that could put the 20 something to shame. Your face was simply a sublime image of a Greek statue. The jeans you wore fit you just so perfectly. You kept looking out the window and I kept looking at you. I have your face imprinted in my mind. Your eyes, your lips, your body, your style… will I ever be able to see you? Meet you? Who knows… I am trying and will surely meet you. You had something in you, something so magnetic that kept pulling me towards you. Well, a lot of women could do that, but you were so special. Really, I would like to cycle with you somewhere around Fontainableu or around Paris. Sit with you, look at you, maybe share a cigarette and some conversation. Contact me, please!

Melbourne, Australia.
I Couldn’t Believe It. There You Were.
Location: Airport

K,

There I was sitting in the wrong gate at the wrong terminal at 7 am chowing down on McDonalds, when you walked past wearing your school sweater. It took me 30 seconds of being frozen to jump up and try to catch you up, but you had disappeared into the crowd. Long way from London… but it’s a small world. I hope your adventure is everything you hoped it would be!

G.

Blackburn Train 3.45 pm Today
Location: Spencer Street

You are around 50. You got on at Spencer Street, two handbags and you were wearing a brown coat which you seductively unbuttoned. Short brown hair. The sexiest legs I’ve ever seen. You were reading some stuff on employment contracts, which you were organizing in a folder. I was the young guy sitting opposite. Love to meet you.

SriLankan Stripper
Location: The Men’s Gallery, Melbourne

I met you at The Men’s Gallery. Every girl that approached me, I told them I wasn’t interested. Then, I saw you. I sat down in front of you straight away. I got a lap dance and we started talking about meditation and spiritual things. I fell in love. You told me you lived in Melbourne, close to me. I said, “I don’t usually do this, but would you like to grab a coffee?” You told me you had a boyfriend. I wore a clam shell around my neck. I am tall and wear glasses. For some reason, I think I met you for a reason. I am not sure why. I still would love to have a coffee with you.

Cairo, Egypt
June 24 Flight
Location: Cairo

We started chatting on the flight to Cairo, but I guess you couldn’t continue as you had your family with you. I couldn’t help being attracted to you, though. So please contact me if you ever read this.

Johannesburg, South Africa.
Der Salem KLM Flight
Location: Johannesburg

To the nice man who let me read his newspaper and carried my luggage into the terminal: you are a real gentleman. Thank you so very much even if it is somewhat after the fact.

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
US Airways Flight 800 on Friday, July 12
Location: Rio de Janeiro

We met on our flight from Charlotte, NC, to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil–on US Airways Flight 800 on Friday, July 12, 2013. I was traveling for work, you were going back to Brazil for a month vacation. We both live in NYC. I gave you my number but I never got yours. I really want to get in touch with you. Please write back or call/message me.

Beijing, China.
Your Name is Shane
Location: SFO Airport

Hey.

We talked at the airport on July 7th, when Asiana crushed at SFO airport and our plan got cancelled and delayed. I wore a Cal shirt and you thought I was from Berkeley. You worked in an IT company at San Jose. I don’t know if you can see this… but I had really good time talking to you. But I guess you didn’t feel the same way, otherwise you would’ve asked my number. You were going to Beijing as I was, and I guess you would have been back to the States now.

Istanbul, Turkey.
Flight From Hong Kong to Istanbul
Location: Istanbul

We spoke briefly, and I was hoping to see you at baggage claim but never did. I know there is no chance of you reading this, but I thought what the hell. I’m here for a few days and would love to hang out. Anyway, if you read this, tell me the color of the jacket you were wearing, and let’s chat!

Montreal, Canada.
You Passed Me on Bannentyne Street in Verdun
Location: Verdun

Tonight at 9:50 pm, you passed me. Then you turned into Ave Desmachais. You were a white mature man. You were so sexy! I was walking behind you 🙂

Cute Guy at McDonalds, Late Breakfast
Location: Masson and Iberville

Cute guy, this morning at McDonalds you came back to the counter for a missing McMuffin. You winked at me when I smiled at you. By the time I got my food and sat near you, you were done and getting up. You were wearing black shorts and a black top. Wish I could have figured out how to say hi 🙂 Maybe a coffee or drink later?

The Shortest Train Ride
Location: Train from Vendome

The moment you spoke to me, I melted. Your soft English accent. You asked me if I knew how the ticket machine worked. Unfortunately, I was there with my mother and felt awkward, but lent you $6 for the ticket since you only had American money. We rode the train and you sat next to me. We talked about a lot of things. I learned that you were originally from London, now living in New York, working for a magazine. You were on your way to visit your grandfather at a hospital in St. Anne de Bellevue on Saturday and then you were off to a wedding on Sunday. I was in awe of your beauty and would steal glances whenever I could so as not to be a complete creep and stare at you. I wanted to talk to you more but was to shy to ask for your number. I regret that. I keep wishing that train ride was just a little longer, Mia 🙁

San Fransisco, US.
Bag Didn’t Blow Up
Location: Gate 80

It was just a bag of dirty socks and laundry apparently. I thought you were super cute and I wish(ed) you luck on your law career before you walked off to Gate 89 to Dulles. I regretted not being able to talk to you longer, it seemed we had a natural flow there for a moment. If you want any contacts in the bay, feel free to email me back here, and we can meet up in the future. Thanks, Stephanie.

Griffin.

I Got A Parking Ticket
Location: Oakland Lake Merritt/Grand

I was standing outside my car, frustrated at my parking ticket which happened to be WRONG. I noticed a few people standing outside their cars as well, looked over at you and we made EYE CONTACT. I don’t think I held in my excited smirk to well.

You shouted over the noisy traffic. “Did you get a ticket?”
Me, “What?”
“Did you get a ticket?”
Me, “Yeah!”
You told me you once got one that you didn’t deserve either.

I went back to my business of taking pictures of the ‘scene’ and you walked north down 19th St. with what looked like a bag of laundry and said, “Well, have a good day!”

You were parked with a small red SUV, you have curly hair, khaki pants, dirtied white shoes, a backpack, and I mentioned bag of laundry.

Rooftop Metropolitan Mus. of Art on 8-3-13, Around 7-8 PM
Location: Upper East Side, 5th Avenue at E82nd St.

I was sitting on a wooden bench on the right, alone, rimless spectacles, blue shirt. You have been standing 3-4 meters away, together with your mother (?), blond hair, wearing a white-gray/black-stripped top and gray Adidas sneakers. We had eye contact for 2-3 times, lasting multiple seconds. We smiled at each other, and I loved your smile! You two went away. Later, we met again near the bar when I was strolling around. Wanted to say hello to you, but then you were gone and I could not find you again. This was between 7-8 pm on 8-3-13 (Metropolitan Museum of Art, rooftop). Still thinking of you. Please get in touch with me. Hope you will read this.

New York, US.
I Rejected You, You Rejected Me Back
Location: New York

We met last week. I had too much to drink, which is unlike me. I enjoyed kissing you and from the bit of talking we did, we seemed to have some things in common and I liked your personality. I left abruptly–I was a bit embarrassed and thought it best to go home. I didn’t mean to tease you or reject you, I just had too much to drink. After a few days, I found you online and sent a friend request. I was hoping to see you again, kiss you again, and let you meet the real me. I should have said this in a message then, but I felt awkward. If you rejected my request because you’re not interested, I understand. But if hearing any of this changes your mind, send me a friend request. That night we met, I stupidly said, “If we’re meant to meet again, we’ll meet again.” I’d like to meet you again, if you’d like to.

Clark Street 2/3 Violinist 6 pm Yesterday
Location: Brooklyn Heights

You were playing the most beautiful reel as I passed you on my way to catch the 2/3. We made eye contact, I grinned like a teenager, and went on my way, and kept listening to you play as I walked down the stairs. I’m a musician, too. The playing was so beautiful that I made my way back up the stairs and put a dollar into your violin case. I wanted to leave my phone number, too, but there was something sacrosanct about the beauty of what you were playing that I didn’t want to ruin it.

So I just left the dollar, which was definitely not enough. I’m a poor musician, though. You MUST have a girlfriend or wife, as handsome as you are. But even if you are married, well… real recognizes real. You’re a beautiful musician. And if this somehow finds you and you happen to be single, which is not likely, my name is Abby. And I was wearing a strapless long leopard print dress. I’m an opera singer who now has a massive crush on a violinist whose name I will probably never know.

Dublin, Ireland.
Missed Connection on Flight from Dublin to JFK
Location: Dublin

This is completely out of the ordinary for me, but I thought ‘why not’. This is a long shot, but just in case, I am throwing this out there, otherwise I would wonder ‘what if’. I was on Delta Flight 198 with you from Dublin to JFK on July 18th. I thought you were very attractive and tried to begin a conversation with you about the book you were reading, “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell”. As you were leaving you asked me if I was in Dublin often, and I replied ‘no’. The truth is I can go to Dublin whenever I wish. If you are interested and happen to come across this posting, please reply and include what I was wearing and how many little milks you had in your tea 😉 This way I know it is really you replying. I hope this finds you.

***

Distance is not so much
like walking a thousand miles
or being separated
by concrete blocks.
Distance is like
when we caught each other’s eyes
on a crowded train
and looked another way,
pretending to be interested
in electric poles.

(one of the poems I wrote with my friend, Ollie, in Casa)

hanny
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What’s the best piece of advice you have ever received?

“If I came to think about it again today and calculated it mathematically, I would say no way. No way I could ever send all my kids to school,” said the cab driver.

It was another rainy afternoon I spent in the backseat of a Jakarta cab. The clock was ticking away, the rain kept on pouring, the car horns around me were blaring madly, and still, 20 minutes later, the traffic didn’t move. Fortunately, having spent 12 years commuting, I have familiarized myself with Jakarta’s hellish traffic jam—to the point that it doesn’t really bug me anymore (the fact that I don’t drive my own car helps).

So there were times when I would just watch the traffic in silence; sit cross-legged, close my eyes, and meditate; sing along to the songs being played on the radio, or take a short nap. There were also times when I would play stupid games on my iPhone, text-flirt with a guy I like via WhatsApp, or have a chat with the cab driver.

***

I didn’t remember how our conversation began that afternoon. I guessed I was casually asking if the driver had kids—and how they were doing with their education. “I have three kids, and alhamdulillah, they are all in school,” he said. A tinge of pride was clearly audible in his voice when he added that the oldest one was about to graduate from university.

“Until today, I still can’t believe it. It’s such a blessing from God that my kids can pursue their education,” he continued, turning down the volume of the radio. “There were times when I counted the money I got from driving this cab, and logically, it was not enough to send my kids to school—not to mention sending my daughter to university. But I always believed that God would help me and show me the way. So I prayed to God. I prayed for my family, for my kids, for myself, for us to be safe and healthy, for my kids to be able to go to school. And then I went back to work and just work as hard as I could, knowing that God had listened to my prayers.”

And then he laughed. “The funny thing was that actually, I didn’t get more money. But my daughter got a very good grade and could go to university on a full scholarship. At other times, some relatives suddenly gave us some money. When I wasn’t driving (the cab), someone gave me a job to drive an ojek (motorcycle taxi), thus I could get another source of income. A neighbor asked my wife to help out with cooking or washing.”

“Somehow, we always found ourselves having enough money. Such a blessing from God. I am so grateful. I am not rich, but everything I have, everything that God has given me, is enough.”

The cab driver had just given me the best advice ever about living life.

***

I had heard about The Secret when the book came out. I didn’t buy or read the book, though. To be honest, I had just watched The Secret movie on YouTube two months ago. When I watched the movie, it confirmed my belief that The Secret is a concept that has grown within me since I was a little kid. The concept is linked to the way we practice our spiritual beliefs.

I remembered how my mom always said, “Go get wudhu (ablution). Shalat. Pray to God. Ask God to help you. Tell God what you want.” Now I realized that this is the process when we’re sending our wishes to the Universe. And when we pray, we need to believe that God is the Almighty. We need to have faith (imaan). The Secret tells us to believe that the Universe is abundant and it will grant our wishes if we only believe.

The Secret also tells us to be specific with our wishes and to wish only goodness. How many of us, during our elementary school days, have heard jokes or stories about why we need to be specific about what we ask in our prayers? For example, about someone who wants to ‘light up the world’ and end up being a huge candle instead of an inspiring country leader? “Do not pray for bad things to be cast upon others,” my grandmother used to say. “It will be reflected back upon you.” (Jangan doain orang yang jelek-jelek. Nanti malah kamu yang kena.).

The bible said it perfectly as well: “But I say to you who hear, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. To one who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from one who takes away your cloak do not withhold your tunic either. Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods do not demand them back. And as you wish that others would do to you, do so to them.”

The Secret also tells us about being thankful for what we have now. About the importance of gratitude. Interestingly, there are five aspects of a prayer in Sufism, and guess what? The first aspect of prayer according to Sufism is, indeed: gratitude.

We’ve been too familiar with the phrase Ora et Labora as a student. Prayer and work. Similarly, The Secret tells us that we need to do something instead of just sitting around waiting for the magic to happen. We need to make an effort to get closer to our heart’s desires.

And then we need to let them go.

Do not doubt the Universe and keep asking why we haven’t seen anything happening yet. We need to believe that the Universe will bring us what we want (or even better) when the time is right. This is the concept of pasrah. Surrendering completely to the hands of God when you’ve done all your best. (Interestingly, I found an article about a missionary who changed his name into Pasrah Karso or Surrendered Will, so I guess this concept is acceptable in different religions).

And so my crash course about The Secret was delivered one rainy afternoon, by an amazing cab driver.

***

Came to think about it, I was curious. What’s the best piece of advice others have ever received so far? Who gave them this advice, if they still remember? And so I have collected some great advice received by my friends in different parts of the world:

AULIA HALIMATUSSADIAH, INDONESIA. Businesswoman, start-up founder, author of more than 30 books.

That nobody can hurt me without my consent. My former boss told me this after I broke up with a long-time boyfriend. I put the quote as my laptop’s wallpaper for quite some time. Can finally understand the whole meaning two years ago. Now, I can master my own emotion. It’s a life-changing quote.

SAMANTHA BARRY, UNITED KINGDOM. Editor-in-Chief GLAMOUR magazine.

The best advice I ever got is to surround yourself with people that support you. It’s only in my 20’s that I realized the value of having a core group of friends who are your cheerleaders. Yes, we are there for each other in sad times, but for me when the people in your life support and encourage you, there is not a whole lot that you can’s achieve.

BINA SHAH, PAKISTAN. Internationally acclaimed writer.

I have received so much wonderful advice in my life from so many people it’s impossible to really pinpoint one piece. However I will tell you about a book that changed my life, and the advice contained in it: Napoleon Hill’s The Power of Positive Thinking. Any advice from any person I knew that said the same thing he said in that book was just reinforcement for what I learned from that book: that your positive mental attitude (PMA) was the most important factor in determining whether you could be successful in life and whether you could help other people, and also whether you would be a pleasure to be around or a disaster for everyone else in your life!

ASTRID SCHWARZ, SOUTH AFRICA. Visual artist.

“Dream Big”. These words may not be a sentence representing that of a strand of pearls {in that the words are just two, and not many} but they have added to a solid foundation of following a dream that began from very small beginnings. My big sister, now living in New York, has been telling me, to, in one way or another “Dream Big” from a young age. It was only in 2012, on a visit to NYC that she said the actual phrase to me “Dream Big”. It struck a chord, and has evolved into “Dream Big and then Dream Bigger”. I always go back to the phrase, it walks hand in hand with being persistent and active in building my dream, and so the words are no longer just a phrase, but they entail a beautiful element of simplicity that in turn encourages and uplifts me as I grow my dream.

GEETANJALI KAUL, INDIA. A talented blogger, a wife, a mom of two kids.

You know, as far as advice go, I follow many. And collectively they changed my life and made it better. To begin with, my dad always said ‘Aim High’ and I followed that in every field of life. Then as I got married he said, ‘Never differentiate between relatives of your husband and your own.’ Truly this helped a lot. It would never be your mother or my mother, it would just be your mother. Let them guess and ask whose mother! Then a friend of mine told me as I got married, ‘If you are upset with him do tell him.’ Men do not get to know that you are upset and they would be enjoying and you would be sulking. So say it out loud. Lately, my mentor taught me to smile through all that happens and there is nothing you cannot find if you really want to, which denotes basically: where there is a will there is a way!

NILA TANZIL, INDONESIA. Founder of Rainbow Reading Garden, Social Worker.

“Life is about balance. When we receive, we also need to give. Don’t always look up. Look down, because there are still a lot of people out there who are not as lucky as we are, and they need our help.” That’s the advice from my mother, Yuriah Tanzil. I always remember it. Thus, when I got my own salary, I helped a child in need. That’s my way to give back. It makes my life balance. Another one is from my friend, Henri Ismail. He said, “We only live once. If you want to do something in life, then go and do it. Otherwise, you’re a loser.” This advice makes me pursue the things I have always dreamed of. I don’t want to be called a loser by myself.

***

What about you? What’s the best piece of advice you have received so far? Who gave you this advice, and how did the advice change your life?

hanny
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My Saturday with Mishka.

“The tragedy is not that you’re gonna die this way,” my mother had said to me once, “it’s that you live this way.”
[The Long Run by Mishka Shubaly.]

I fall for words. Words of all kinds. Flirty texts. Random questions. Stupid remarks. Silly emoticons. I fall for words so much, to the extent that I once agreed to meet a guy I had known online without even knowing how he actually looked like. He wrote nice emails and texts. That was all I know, and that was enough. Later on, he realized that he had not sent me his picture.

“What kind of girl agreed to go on a date with a guy she doesn’t know the look of?” he asked, laughing.

“An open-minded girl,” I replied. “And, anyway, who said that it was a date?”

“Ouch. You got me!”

So, we met over coffee one afternoon. And he turned out to be very pleasant and nice–just the way I pictured him through his words. We had a great conversation. And banters. And we laughed a lot. Oh, and as a bonus, he was actually quite handsome. Thus, don’t blame me if I continue to fall for words. My experience tells me that it’s 95% accurate.

So, yes. I judge people from the way they write (including the type of font they choose). I fall for their writing style, their choice of words, their inner voice, the way they place the right punctuation marks, as well as the wonderful feeling of reading those sentences out loud and thinking about how smart or funny or dark or interesting or intriguing the writer must be.

I also fall for Mishka Shubaly this way.

***

About a month ago, when I was browsing the Internet, I stumbled upon a mention of a writer I’ve never heard of before: Mishka Shubaly. I was intrigued by one particular article about him in Huffington Post, written by Cynthia Ellis. Cynthia’s words got me in an instant. Soon enough, I had been reading reviews about Mishka’s works all over the Net. Then I just knew by heart that I have to read them! Excited, I went to Amazon to purchase Mishka’s Kindle Singles–and devastated when a message appeared on my computer screen, stating that his works were not available for sale in my country.

Brokenhearted, I went to Twitter and told the world my sufferings, mentioning Mishka. I was so surprised when he sent me a direct message a while after! He didn’t know me. I was merely a stranger. But he was asking for my email address so that he could send me a draft of his story. I cried happily. I have learned many times in life, that you can get what you want if you only ask.

When The Long Run landed on my inbox, I cherished it like my secret treasure. Soon, I was immersed in the story of how Mishka climbed out from his ‘shit hole’–that was full of drugs and booze–and tried to ‘run’ his life back on track. I read the story 4 to 5 times in a row, slowly, tracing each word, each sentence, finding new details here and there every time. I read some parts out loud–and someone else’s life, more than 10,000 miles away from here, slipped from my lips. I fall in love with Mishka’s voice. The rising emotion as I delved further into the story. The way he sounded so bare and brutally honest, so strong and yet so vulnerable.

I’d never had to get through a breakup without that tireless listener, that bottomless well of comfort, that sympathetic devil: alcohol. I didn’t start drinking and I didn’t stop running, but I did start wearing sunglasses on my long runs, twenty-one miles over five bridges in Brooklyn, Manhattan and Queens, so the people I passed couldn’t tell that I was crying.
[The Long Run by Mishka Shubaly.]

The Long Run was a dark story. But Mishka didn’t inject depressing sobs as much as he laughed it all off–the way one should when looking back. The ability to laugh at ourselves is healthy. Because then we put ourselves not as a victim, but as a survivor. We’ve gone through that, we’ve passed, we’ve survived. Our past will always linger somewhere underneath our layers, but now it’s going to be more of a deep and reflective ha-ha story instead of a dreary suicidal tale.

The next few days after reading The Long Run, I was organizing my thoughts to shoot Mishka an email about his story and how it had affected me–both as a person and as a writer. But before I even had the chance to do so, I clicked the blue dot on my Twitter’s DM button one cloudy Saturday morning and found a message from Mishka.

***

“I can’t believe I’m talking to you right now,” I typed. “This is so effing absurd, but one of the coolest things ever!”

I was perched on a comfy couch in Casa, Kemang–my favorite place in town to read and write or have a lovely chat with my besties. That Saturday, it was raining heavily outside, and I was glued to my computer screen, talking to Mishka.

“One time, a cab driver told me. Everyone has to work, but you can choose who you are working for. I work for me. He was so right,” Mishka replied when I asked him what was the best advice he had ever received in life so far. “I started working for me, too. Toughest boss I’ve ever had! But I reap the rewards, not some fat old white man in a suit. Funny to get great life advice from a cab driver, huh? Or unsurprising. I often find that people working the front lines of humanity know the most.”

(I didn’t tell Mishka–yet, that one of my greatest life advice also came from a cab driver in Jakarta’s hellish traffic jam. But I’ll save that story for the next post)

“How does it feel to write something as… honest?” I asked Mishka. When I read The Long Run, I got nervous imagining how different people who were being featured in the story would react to it–and to him. “Do you struggle in the middle of writing it? Like how much should you put out and how much should you hold?”

“Writing the Kindle Singles is always exhausting,” said Mishka. “I try to write them like I’m writing a private diary that no one will see. Then, before I can stop myself, I send it to my editor. And then it goes out to the world and I have to deal with the consequences. It can cause me a lot of anxiety, heartache, worry… but the end result is worth it. I’d rather have people hate me for being honest than love me for being something I’m not. I’m a flawed human being with a lot of bad habits and foolish tendencies with lots of poor decisions and ugly shit in my past. I think that’s something a lot of people relate to.”

He was right (and it was funny he said that because a few days ago I had just written a piece about dealing with our pasts).

***

The Long Run is indeed a story about struggling with addiction–but it is more than that. Mishka’s addictions to drugs and alcohol is our addiction to a certain guy. To political power. To a branded bag. To be skinny. To a lighter skin-tone. To self-pity. To wealth. To the Internet. To an unresolved love affair. To a past.

We’re all dealing with our own addictions. We’re carrying these things inside, hiding it like a well-kept secret–so that no one will find out. Every day, we’re all trying to run away from something that anchors us down, and run towards the freedom to be who we truly are.

Humor is all a matter of perspective. You watch Homer Simpson hit his head and it’s funny, but when it happens to you, it’s supposed to be a tragedy? Nah, I think it’s funny either way.
[Mishka Shubaly.]

***

“We need to find a way so I can buy the rest of your stories,” I told Mishka. “I can pay through PayPal if you have a PayPal account.”

“Please just email me some popcorns as payment,” replied Mishka. And so, I did.

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UPDATE, Jul 17, 2013: And Mishka shared this on his Facebook Page. Isn’t he just the sweetest? :’)

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We Are Made of Memories.

Maybe it’s true, that our past doesn’t define us. But inevitably, our past will always be a part of our present; and our future. It’s something that will always stay within us, for the better or worse. And this is definitely alright–as long as we have no regret.

We have made mistakes, or done things we are not proud of. We have been hurt badly. We failed many times. We thought we could not move on–that it was impossible to feel alright ever again. However, surprisingly, we always see ourselves eventually moving on, just because. For some it takes months, for some it takes years. Maybe we will be able to move on when we have stopped fighting the past and decided to make peace with it instead. Knowing that it’s alright to forgive without forgetting–as long as we can choose wisely the things we’d want to remember. We choose to remember the lessons instead of carrying around the pain. We choose to remember the feeling of recovering instead of the feeling of despair.

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In the end, we are made of memories. Good ones, bad ones, uplifting ones, embarrassing ones. And all our lives, we have also left pieces of memories inside those we’ve crossed paths with–some of them might have long gone and forgotten, some will always feel close to our hearts. We will never be sure about how things will turn out, about whether we’re going to make a courageous bold move instead of another stupid mistake. So, let’s just don’t think about it too much. For the time being, these are the only things we can do: being present in the now, seizing the moments before they pass us by, and collecting memories. Loads and loads of memories worth remembering.

Because memories are what we all made of, and we are still going to carry them with us for many many years to come.

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Don’t Think That Love Should Be Permanent.

I remembered one sunny afternoon in Delhi’s Khan Market. I was inside a small bookstore–looking for some Hindi poetry books for Ollie. The room was packed with books, starting from the floor all the way to the ceiling. Books were stacked here and there. I needed to walk very carefully to avoid collapsing those book piles. Once and a while, I climbed into a wooden bench to see the titles on the upper shelves. I was rummaging through some Hindi poetry books when I found a pink book that caught my attention instantly. OSHO was written in big letters on the cover.

Ollie was the one who introduced me to Osho’s works a few months back–and I had tried to look for his works in English bookstores in Indonesia to no avail. That afternoon, the universe guided me to find Osho’s book and the title was: BEING IN LOVE. I spent my days in India reading this book–mostly during my 6-hour ride from Delhi to Agra. I wished I found this book sooner, but I guessed everything falls into place when the time is right. When I am ready.

Here’s a beautiful excerpt from the book that I’d like to share with you:

Love cannot be learned, it cannot be cultivated. The cultivated love will not be love at all. When you learn something, it means something comes from the outside; it is not an inner growth. And love has to be your inner growth if it is to be authentic and real.

Love is not a learning but a growth. What is needed on your part is not to learn the ways of love but to unlearn the ways of un-love. The hindrances have to be removed, the obstacles have to be destroyed—then love is your natural, spontaneous being. Once the obstacles are removed, the rocks thrown out of the way, the flow starts. It is already there—hidden behind many rocks, but the spring of love is already there. It is your very being.

Love is a breeze.

Don’t think that love has to be permanent, and it will make your love life more beautiful because you will know that today you are together, and tomorrow perhaps you will have to part. 

Love comes like a fresh, fragrant breeze into your home, fills it with freshness and fragrance, remains as long as existence allows it, and then moves out. You should not try to close all your doors, or the same fresh breeze will become absolutely stale. In life, everything is changing and change is beautiful; it gives you more and more experience, more and more awareness, more and more maturity.

The capacity to be alone is the capacity to love. It may look paradoxical to you, but it is not. It is an existential truth: only those people who are capable of being alone are capable of love, of sharing, of going into the deepest core of the other person—without possessing the other, without becoming dependent on the other, without reducing the other into a thing, and without becoming addicted to the other. They allow the other absolute freedom, because they know that if the other leaves, they will be as happy as they are now. Their happiness cannot be taken by the other, because it is not given by the other.

Namaste.

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On How I Stay Happy All The Time.

I was having my cup of Papuan coffee this afternoon when a friend texted me. “How do you stay happy all the time?” she asked. I replied immediately with: “I don’t.”

***

And I am telling her the truth. I don’t stay happy all the time—whatever that means. I am still a human being, after all. In fact, I cried under the shower two days ago—when anger consumed me in such a short burst. On the bus ride to the office this morning, I got really pissed when a mother asked her kid to just-throw-the-trash-into-the-floor. A few months ago, I got heartbroken and I went into my pathetic mode for a while.

I do get sad. And mad. And bitchy, sometimes.

However, I always remember something a friend told me once: “It’s okay to be sad. Or mad. Feel it. Recognize that feeling. Accept it. You don’t have to fight it. But don’t indulge yourself in it, either.”

And I learn to do just that. When I’m sad, I’ll cry. But when my tears stop falling, I stop. I know I am still sad inside. I can recognize the pain—as if something has been taken away from me, causing that empty feeling—lurching somewhere above my stomach. So I let myself be sad.

But there are other things I can do when I’m sad apart from keeping crying or punching my pillow or feeling sorry for myself (or not taking a shower all day long). I can write a blog. I can read a good book. I can go out with some friends and have a good laugh with them. I can bake a cake. I can watch some cheesy teenage movies. These are no fancy things, just some random things I enjoy doing. Normally, I won’t even notice how these simple things make me happy and lift up my mood. But sadness makes me appreciate happiness more. It’s a reminder for me to be grateful for life’s simple pleasures.

When the desire to stay miserable creeps in, I remind myself not to indulge in it. I refuse to go back into my bed and just stay there thinking about all the bad things that have caused me this sadness, replaying the hurtful scenes over and over again. I do other things that will make me happy instead: go for a short walk at the Botanical Garden, treat myself two bowls of my favorite chicken noodle (with loads of chili), go on a photo-hunting, write poems, sing stupid songs in a karaoke place, browse over cute kitten pictures…

I told my friend just that, and she said she had heard it all. She had read books about it. “But I find it so hard not to indulge myself in sadness,” she said. “It’s not that easy.”

At that moment, I remembered asking her a few weeks ago about the things she enjoys doing.
“Singing!” she replied. “I have always wanted to take a vocal lesson!”
“Then do it!” I smiled. “Now you have the time and money to do that, so why not? Do the things that will make you happy.”

As I recalled that episode, I texted her back: “Hey, anyway, what about that vocal lesson? Have you enrolled in one?”

She replied with: “No. Not yet.”

***

I wish there’s a simpler way to do this—but I’m afraid there isn’t. I know that for some people out there, this may sound too harsh; or it may appear that I oversimplify the problem—but sometimes, to get out of sadness, the first thing you need to do is wanting to get out of it. And then start climbing out.

***

“If we focus only on happiness, we’re neglecting the richness of the full emotional spectrum–and we’re overlooking the fact that you couldn’t make sense of happiness if you didn’t know sadness. The loss gives you access to a wonderful array of very real human experiences, especially the connection between people. Sadness is tinged with an incredibly profound depth of appreciation of life. You’re acutely aware of what’s important. A lot of the things that preoccupied me before seem rather trite and superficial now. Now, I’m much more connected to the little things. I’m much more profoundly moved by music. A walk in the evening just seems like a gift.”

Chris Skellett, When Happiness Is Not Enough

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Hi. I'm HANNY
I am an Indonesian writer/artist/illustrator and stationery web shop owner (Cafe Analog) based in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. I love facilitating writing/creative workshops and retreats, especially when they are tied to self-exploration and self-expression. In Indonesian, 'beradadisini' means being here. So, here I am, documenting life—one word at a time.

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