Rizkimulia

Some of my earliest memories are tied to books. I don’t remember specific titles from kindergarten, but I remember the feeling. Sitting still while my mind went somewhere else. Even then, reading felt less like a hobby and more like a doorway. I didn’t know how to explain it, only that words could carry weight far beyond the page. As I grew older, I didn’t gravitate toward easy or comforting books. I was drawn to writers like Fyodor Dostoevsky. His work doesn’t offer neat lessons or optimism wrapped in clean sentences. It deals with doubt, guilt, faith, cruelty, compassion, and the contradictions inside people. Reading him forced me to slow down and sit with discomfort. It taught me that understanding people is harder than judging them, and far more important. Reading wasn’t the only thing that shaped how I pay attention to the world. I’ve loved football since I was seven years old, and I’ve supported Manchester United for as long as I can remember. The beginning was almost stupidly si...

The Ease of Mastery Watching Seinfeld now feels oddly refreshing, especially given how old it is. The year of release shows, the pacing is different, the world is smaller, but none of that weighs it down. If anything, it makes the show feel lighter. There’s no urgency to impress, no visible strain to be meaningful. It just exists, calmly confident in what it’s doing. What makes Seinfeld feel almost magical is how close it stays to everyday life. Not the dramatic parts, but the trivial ones people usually ignore or edit out. Minor annoyances. Social awkwardness. Petty logic. The show doesn’t inflate these moments into big statements. It simply places them under a microscope and lets their absurdity reveal itself. The humor feels natural because it’s already there in real life. The craft is invisible, and that’s the achievement. Nothing looks forced. The dialogue snaps without sounding rehearsed. The situations feel inevitable rather than constructed. You can tell the show is care...

  The Slow Violence of Becoming Revisiting  Breaking Bad  after time has passed doesn’t feel like nostalgia. It feels like recognition. The details fade, but the pattern doesn’t: bad decisions don’t explode, they accumulate. Quietly. Patiently. Like debt. Nobody starts out wanting to be destructive. The characters chase reasonable things, the kinds of words that sound clean when you say them out loud: stability, dignity, safety, respect. But those words rot over time. Dignity becomes pride. Safety becomes control. Recognition turns into domination. The shift is so gradual that it doesn’t feel like a turn, just like “what has to happen next.” Walt doesn’t wake up one day and choose to become a villain. He simply stands still at the wrong moment, like when he lets Jane die, and learns the most dangerous lesson possible: the world didn’t end. After that, every compromise becomes easier to repeat. What makes it disturbing is how competent everyone is. Intelligence doesn’t...

  Watching  Inglourious Basterds Without Moral Shelter The first time I watched  Inglourious Basterds , the feeling was already heavy before anything truly violent happened. Doom and gloom sit in the opening scene, especially through Hans Landa. Even before you understand who he is, you feel it. Something is wrong, and it’s not loud about it. Landa is intelligent, polite, and strangely silly. He smiles too much. He talks too easily. That silliness makes him more frightening, not less. It signals comfort. Control. He doesn’t rush because he doesn’t need to. He enjoys the conversation. Every question sounds casual, but none of them are. Every word is a test. The fear in that scene isn’t explosive. It’s suffocating. You’re trapped in the room with the characters, aware that intelligence itself has become the weapon. Violence hasn’t happened yet, but it already feels inevitable. And that inevitability is the horror. After that scene, the movie becomes more disturbing, not bec...

Growing Up With  Stranger Things I’ve been waiting for  Stranger Things  season by season, year by year. That waiting matters. It’s not a show I binged in a weekend and forgot. I grew with it. And so did the cast. When the series started, they were kids. Awkward, loud, reckless kids. Now they’re adults, both on screen and in real life. Watching them change felt strange in a good way. It felt familiar. Like looking at old photos of yourself and realizing you didn’t notice the growth while it was happening. We aged together, just at slightly different speeds. Each season feels more confident than the last. The world expands, the stakes rise, and the storytelling becomes tighter. It doesn’t rely only on nostalgia or spectacle. It earns its escalation. The show seems to understand that growing older means fear changes shape. It becomes quieter, heavier, and harder to name. One thing that always stood out to me is how the monsters are created. They don’t feel random. There’s a...