Talking about future, under rain, unreal. We shall have this toast again. Until later, let’s just keep those words.

Que Sera, Sera,

Whatever will be, will be

The future’s not ours, to see

Que Sera, Sera

What will be, will be.

I wish I have hair like Ritchie, a perfect cut bangs with nice curly short hair. I might be just an adopted child, but now I’ve married to some band geeks and starring a reality hit show by playing dumb.

I wish I have bigger brain, like Karp and Zuckenberg. So I can make a billion dollar by making something I was passionate about, drinking beer at panels, and having a dog that can make headline.

I wish I was Banks. I don’t care how fat and curvy I look like, I still fierce and amazing. I can wear wings, walking in Victoria’s Secret show and people cheer like I’m a rock star. Besides, I have transformed 15 (on the running to 16) pretty cute chicks to real models, by giving them contract with CoverGirl and Vogue.

I wish I was Tyler. I might have huge lips, but I’m a real rock star. I sing a soundtrack of one of the most remembered apocalypse movie ever made. Besides, I have a beautiful daughter and I’m now a judge on the most viewed TV show in the US. Seacrest introduced me, people sing my songs, and I still hit the highest note.

I wish I was Portman. So I can become a princess with weird white powdered face, weird thin red lipstick and still looks gorgeous. Bringing home Oscar by dancing along and bleed. And yeah, I’m having a degree in Harvard, not drools enough with Franco because I attend the same school.

But lately, I just wish for you. Because no matter how great other people are, you’re still showing me the way to realize how great ourselves are. Yeah, I just wish for you. So I can catch star and diving to the bottom of the ocean, seeing the Milky Way and technicolor corals. Happy enough to remember that thankful is the only thing we can count on to survive.

Melihat awan bergerak beriringan. Langit yang melarut, menjingga, berubah rupa, dan menghitam. Pencakar langit, pepohonan, Monas. Menyaksikan sekelebat hilir mudik, penumpang yang lalu lalang. Para perokok, pengangkut barang, penikmat Hokben. Para pekerja berlari di tangga dengan sepatu hak, menanti dan mengejar waktu. 180 menit dan masih akan berlanjut, untuk 206 menit selanjutnya.

Ketika menemukan keramaian dalam kesendirian dan (lagi-lagi) menyadari bahwa keluhan kita hanya sepersekian dari dunia. Terlalu tak penting untuk terucap, terlalu sia-sia untuk terpikir.

Gambir. 3 Maret 2011.

We’re misfits. You and me, just another dust on the constellation. Ordinary. Nobody wants us. Rejected. We belong on the highest rack. Forgotten. Always on sale, with the biggest discount. Misfits. We’re born to be one. And made for each other.