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As soon as we touched down at the Ngurah Rai airport, we were eavesdropping a conversation between two Malaysian females discussing their Balinese itenaries. It seemed that this was not their first time in Bali. That was when Naza and I decided to crash their party. It was a whole lot easier and cheaper to do so.

Therefore the four of us became acquainted and our trip became less touristic but more exploratory. Whatever it was, we knew that eventually we will end up at the Pasar Seni Sukawati to accommodate the girly, material desires of the two girls. It happened on our fourth day in Bali.

Quoting a travelblog somewhere, the two-storey Sukawati art market was a maze of alleyways with a massive array of artifacts, paintings, fabrics, clothing and basket ware; all crammed together so tight that it’s sometimes difficult to weave your way through it all.

I was getting hot and restless inside the market but I had to accompany the two girls since they were very nice to us for the past three days.

When things were getting from boring to extreme irksome, we came across a small, dark, gothic-like stall that sells kebayas; ONLY black kebayas. Gothic in the sense that the first thing on my mind at that time was not about black lipsticks, heavy eye shadows, pale-faced, suicidal, emo-core goth. The ridiculous combination that defined the stall’s gothic-ness to me at that time was like a Transylvanian dracula practicing voodoo in the Malay Archipelago. Yes, that was definitely a ridiculous description of an ambiance!

Anyway, the stall sells extremely cheap black kebayas. One standard kebaya was just around Rp 60,000. Back in 2005, that was what, RM15? RM20? That was the price before bargaining. And I was told by the two girls that the quality was quite decent. The girls started to become crazier than before. “Satu untuk Kak Chik, satu untuk Cik Su, satu untuk Mummy Yani, satu untuk Achik Fetty. Eh, Kak Dik dah kurus kan after going on a diet?”, they were counting the number of people they know that deserved to be given the black kebayas as souvenirs.

The stall owner was showing an expression of extreme shock, contradicting the customary capitalist doctrine of joyful expression in the prospect of massive profit. Hey, these girls are literally clearing your stock for that day!

I approached the guy selling the black kebayas and asked, “The kebayas here are very cheap. I wonder why.”.

He replied, with a touch of anxiousness in his voice, “These black kebayas are for funeral purposes. During our Hindu body cremation ceremony, female relatives will wear this type of black kebayas and mourn the dead.”

The girls stopped the ransacking of the black kebayas. Mouths were opened wide. A few kebayas dropped to the ground. Everyone was in silence. I managed to tuck a smirk somewhere during that breathing gap. Alas, the pause and awkwardness was short lived. “Ah, orang Malaysia bukan tau pun nih kebaya orang mati!”

The ransacking continued.

Too long has my life been lived in total dullness. Or that’s what I thought. Or maybe I was just being oddly apathetic. Ego crept inside every micro-inch of my brain cells telling me, “been there”, “done that”, “not interested”. With that in place, surely there’s no room for new excitements and anticipations. Hence, the dullness of my life. So that’s what I thought.

Routines were my greatest enemy and also my best friend. Passion was something I did as a note to myself that, “I’m the coolest dude in the world”. A note, just to myself and no one else. Then there was the, “I’m just another headcount among the other 6 billion souls in this world” mumbo jumbo. Imagine yourself saying out loud these two contradicting phrases at the same time. It can drive a person crazy. Well, nobody can literally do that anyway.

And money. Well, money can buy stuff. Everybody knows that.

Then recently came this pesky feeling of overwhelmness. Do take note that the overwhelmness in its own entity was a good thing, a great thing. No, a lovely thing. Pesky, in the sense that I became a dork because of it. I reacted idiotically in certain situations. I became clumsier with the words I spit out in conversations. I talked to myself more often than I should have. Hell, I even shaved my face more often than usual.

What’s with the whole dorkiness business? Is it because I’ve turned 30 today? But somebody told me that Johnny Depp during his late 20s stated in an interview that he can’t wait to turn 30. So, that should not be it. Yeah, you don’t have to remind me, I’m no Johnny!

Ah, the overwhelmness.

Lucky I realized that beyond the recent dorkiness, the overwhelmness has made me into a better person. A better person that can cancel out the first two paragraphs of this entry. Or maybe it’s because of the month of Ramadhan. People became temporarily better than usual during this holy month. No, I don’t think it’s because of that. Not to me because the goodness effect of this overwhelmness seemed permanent. I hope.

Something is behind all this. I wonder what. Or maybe I just want to enjoy it all without really looking for an answer.

I was bored one night and i told that to my laptop.

She said, “Let’s listen to some Radiohead”.

I said, “OK Computer”.