Tuesday, December 8, 2015



What feels even more bewildering, to see sincerity is washed away, with dust and wind, with rain and tears, with felony and ignorance. What would you desire even more, when sincerity isn't never worth; the sincere of sacrificial, the sincere of love, the sincere of friendship, were never meant anything. The hardest question is that, where I went wrong, when I did nothing wrong. When I acted how I asked to, when I hoped with your expectation, when I grew with your wishes, when I basically wanted to be what you wanted. 

Why does sincerity ruin your soul? when it was so good, so kind, so innocent, so sinless. When it ends in vain, when sincerity is forgotten, what was all the good for? Where is the universe to be asked why, where is the horizon to explain how, where are people to apologize, and where is self to realize?

Saturday, December 5, 2015

By Christopher Jobson
It's been a while since my very last intention to write. I've always wanted to write, but some things seemed quite more important than writing recently. So now, no, I've always come to my stagnation where I just stop, and make more things seem more important than what I had wanted to do. This is my writing.

No, we're not in love, we're not swimming in the ocean and kissing when the yellow sky turns red. I don't know whether I'm angry or hopeless, but I'm pretty sad I don't seem to get enough of you. I planned to begin my driving lesson again, as I have just got my driving license today, since Indonesian polices take bribes. But I planned to drive again, so I could ride with you, into the sunset, stop at night, let the journey be my writings.

How do I pull myself into this infatuation, when I'm afraid to even step on the beach, to touch the water, afraid of cold and mad waves. You didn't hold my hand. You wouldn't care. Simple things, simple words, bible phrase, and your philosophy books, can't ever succeed to make you want to understand. 

I have been in love before.
Not it ended well.
But it felt, distinctive.