1) This is not a critique of Indonesian romance. It is just my observation reaction.
2) I hardly ever write about my own emotions, so this is a bit of an experiment for me.


Having returned from a rather forced but spontaneous observation of the happenings of Malam Minggu on Gadjah Mada, in a moment of quiet and long-awaited isolation, I thought about what I have observed of romance in my new home (that of others, not my own). I thought it made up of shyness and a great deal of formality, and at the same time a giddy hurriedness in "falling in love." I understood but lamented that a word as sweetly sincere and full of meaning could be used so recklessly. Sayang. Pitiful and beloved. Those who love are fragile and at the mercy of the beloved, their hearts in the teeth of another, living with a constant heaviness in their chest and a translucent rock in the pit of their stomaches. I remembered those who were pitiful within my own grasp, and realize that I myself claim to have "forgotten" the sick pain of being pitiful. I imagined that shared pitifulness might be the substance of love. Mutual vulnerability and protection. The possibility of being gutted by another, but the trust that the beloved realize their capacity to wound and wouldn't.

Words by CPom
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Written on 2010-04-25 at 02:40

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To look at love from the outside is to see a chemical imbalance of the mind but...to be in love is to see the enchanted forest and the trees, at least that's my take on it...
:-) Nick.