Oxymoron of the Day
The doctor prescribed this for my incessant cough: Fluimucil--dry syrup.
Saturday, January 31, 2004
Friday, January 30, 2004
It Happened Again!
When I was waiting for my turn to see the doctor, I saw a young boy with his mother. Ohkay, so what's the big deal? I just stared mutely at the TV. Lousy telenovela was on.
The boy started to talk loudly. His mother hushed him. I didn't flinch.
Then the boy walked to my direction. Looking at me, smiling boldly, saying, "Pip... pip... pip."
I had no idea what he meant, so I just sat there, eyes still on the screen.
He approached me, still smiling, pointing to his shoes. "Pip-pip-pip-pip," he exclaimed in a loud voice. I glanced at him, I raising my eyebrows. What? Some kind of secret code? I frowned. He got nearer and nearer, inch by inch... his right hand aimed at me.
"Dear, it's our turn to see the doctor," his mother called him. He looked so disappointed. Yet he still managed to wave and flash me a radiant smile.
So I'm still a child magnet after all. Oh well.
When I was waiting for my turn to see the doctor, I saw a young boy with his mother. Ohkay, so what's the big deal? I just stared mutely at the TV. Lousy telenovela was on.
The boy started to talk loudly. His mother hushed him. I didn't flinch.
Then the boy walked to my direction. Looking at me, smiling boldly, saying, "Pip... pip... pip."
I had no idea what he meant, so I just sat there, eyes still on the screen.
He approached me, still smiling, pointing to his shoes. "Pip-pip-pip-pip," he exclaimed in a loud voice. I glanced at him, I raising my eyebrows. What? Some kind of secret code? I frowned. He got nearer and nearer, inch by inch... his right hand aimed at me.
"Dear, it's our turn to see the doctor," his mother called him. He looked so disappointed. Yet he still managed to wave and flash me a radiant smile.
So I'm still a child magnet after all. Oh well.
Have I Changed?
I last took The Ultimate Personality Test on Emode two and a half years ago. I was a Lethal Weapon. I took the same test some minutes ago and the result really shocked me. Now I'm a Chosen One? So I took the test again and the result was still the same. Oh well...
Primadonna Angela, you're a Chosen One!
Your personality is actually determined by two personality sub-types - your primary, or dominant sub-type, and your secondary sub-type. You are a Chosen One which means you are a Golden / Seeker Your primary sub-type is defined by "Golden" characteristics and your secondary sub-type is defined by "Seeker" characteristics.
That means you're warm, giving, knowing, and patient. Chances are you're not afraid to actively pursue your goals and dreams. As if all that weren't enough, you pretty much set the standard for emotional health by being filled with positive feelings and energy.
My previous result (taken in 2001)
You're a Lethal Weapon. That means you're open-minded, enthusiastic, and popular. Chances are you might even break the rules sometimes. You're motivated and serious, and you always jump at the chance to take on a new project. Innovation and abstract thinking are your strengths.
Well, the good thing is, my compatibility with isman has risen up! Friendship 69%, Love 73%, Work 46%, Enemy 48%. Well, the enemy percentage hasn't changed though...
I last took The Ultimate Personality Test on Emode two and a half years ago. I was a Lethal Weapon. I took the same test some minutes ago and the result really shocked me. Now I'm a Chosen One? So I took the test again and the result was still the same. Oh well...
Primadonna Angela, you're a Chosen One!
Your personality is actually determined by two personality sub-types - your primary, or dominant sub-type, and your secondary sub-type. You are a Chosen One which means you are a Golden / Seeker Your primary sub-type is defined by "Golden" characteristics and your secondary sub-type is defined by "Seeker" characteristics.
That means you're warm, giving, knowing, and patient. Chances are you're not afraid to actively pursue your goals and dreams. As if all that weren't enough, you pretty much set the standard for emotional health by being filled with positive feelings and energy.
My previous result (taken in 2001)
You're a Lethal Weapon. That means you're open-minded, enthusiastic, and popular. Chances are you might even break the rules sometimes. You're motivated and serious, and you always jump at the chance to take on a new project. Innovation and abstract thinking are your strengths.
Well, the good thing is, my compatibility with isman has risen up! Friendship 69%, Love 73%, Work 46%, Enemy 48%. Well, the enemy percentage hasn't changed though...
Questions and Answers
I love questions. Especially about yours truly. I am the type who likes to write a response to mails with many questions. (What's your name? Have you ever missed school because of rain? Stuff like that!) I haven't got that kind of mail for a while, so I chose emode. I have taken plenty of tests in this site. There are always new ones. Sometimes I like to take the tests again.
I took a couple of tests this morning. One is, the wedding date predictor. According to emode
YOU WILL BE MARRIED BY: Saturday, September 9, 2006
Hah!
I also took a test titled What's Your Cat's Type? in this site. The result is...
Primadonna Angela, your cat's a Mugger
Talk about mugging for the camera! That's right, your cat's a natural-born showoff with a wild independent streak. How else would they end up being the center of attention so often? And really, what could be more endearing than a furry little friend who steals the show — whether you're home alone, or hosting a dinner party?
Now, why doesn't that surprise me?
Took another test at this site. Have already taken it some time ago, but who knows? Maybe I've changed. Turned out I haven't. I'm still a healer.
The Healer
You are a rare individual. Idealistic almost to a fault, the Healer is known for his or her selfless and caring nature. Oftentimes a quiet sort, you have a hidden passion for life that no one else can understand. You want to -- and you can -- make such a difference in this world. The question you often find yourself asking is, "Why can't other people see this side of me?" Unfortunately, that's just your nature. Lots of people (who you may resent) go out seeking attention, but you'd rather have it come to you. That doesn't always happen because its just not a perfect world.
People who don't know you might first think "boring" when speaking with you. You know better, though -- even if you are tempted to believe them at times. To those that know better, you can be an incredibly special friend. Seek out these kinds of people and you'll find life to be much richer -- let the others miss out on the hidden treasure that is you.
Throughout your life, you may face an awkward internal fight between good and bad. Your desire to do right is balanced by an equally-powerful need to avoid wrong. Everyone makes bad decisions -- that's just a part of life. But when you do something you know is wrong, that stupid conscience of yours makes you feel terrible. Oh, the horrors of being a Healer.
By the way, if you're interested in taking the test, you can add me in your friends list (shiraishi_tenshi@BANISHSPAMyahoo.com). Then we can compare the results!
I love questions. Especially about yours truly. I am the type who likes to write a response to mails with many questions. (What's your name? Have you ever missed school because of rain? Stuff like that!) I haven't got that kind of mail for a while, so I chose emode. I have taken plenty of tests in this site. There are always new ones. Sometimes I like to take the tests again.
I took a couple of tests this morning. One is, the wedding date predictor. According to emode
YOU WILL BE MARRIED BY: Saturday, September 9, 2006
Hah!
I also took a test titled What's Your Cat's Type? in this site. The result is...
Primadonna Angela, your cat's a Mugger
Talk about mugging for the camera! That's right, your cat's a natural-born showoff with a wild independent streak. How else would they end up being the center of attention so often? And really, what could be more endearing than a furry little friend who steals the show — whether you're home alone, or hosting a dinner party?
Now, why doesn't that surprise me?
Took another test at this site. Have already taken it some time ago, but who knows? Maybe I've changed. Turned out I haven't. I'm still a healer.
The Healer
You are a rare individual. Idealistic almost to a fault, the Healer is known for his or her selfless and caring nature. Oftentimes a quiet sort, you have a hidden passion for life that no one else can understand. You want to -- and you can -- make such a difference in this world. The question you often find yourself asking is, "Why can't other people see this side of me?" Unfortunately, that's just your nature. Lots of people (who you may resent) go out seeking attention, but you'd rather have it come to you. That doesn't always happen because its just not a perfect world.
People who don't know you might first think "boring" when speaking with you. You know better, though -- even if you are tempted to believe them at times. To those that know better, you can be an incredibly special friend. Seek out these kinds of people and you'll find life to be much richer -- let the others miss out on the hidden treasure that is you.
Throughout your life, you may face an awkward internal fight between good and bad. Your desire to do right is balanced by an equally-powerful need to avoid wrong. Everyone makes bad decisions -- that's just a part of life. But when you do something you know is wrong, that stupid conscience of yours makes you feel terrible. Oh, the horrors of being a Healer.
By the way, if you're interested in taking the test, you can add me in your friends list (shiraishi_tenshi@BANISHSPAMyahoo.com). Then we can compare the results!
Thursday, January 29, 2004
What I Want for Valentine
I know what I want for Valentine. And I've told Quisalas about it. I want numerous pots and fertilizers. For I want to plant some vervain, peppermint, sage, and probably, rosemary as well. I want to plant echinacea too in the future. That way I do not need to rely on dried herbs and capsules to improve my health or cast some spells.
What do you want for Valentine?
I know what I want for Valentine. And I've told Quisalas about it. I want numerous pots and fertilizers. For I want to plant some vervain, peppermint, sage, and probably, rosemary as well. I want to plant echinacea too in the future. That way I do not need to rely on dried herbs and capsules to improve my health or cast some spells.
What do you want for Valentine?
Starry, Starry Night...
My mother and I just found out two days ago that the song Starry, Starry Night (Vincent) was composed in remembrance of Vincent Van Gogh. Groban said so in his concert. It makes sense, then, for the song tells about palettes and hues and paints.
I like impressionism. And Van Gogh's paintings do impress me. I can actually feel the frustration and melancholic thoughts in his works. For he was not famous at all when he was alive. He had to die first before people started acknowledging him as a talented painter.
It saddens me. Some people have to die first before they can be famous.
Sylvia Plath was a reputable poetess and writer. She was well-known when she was alive, but not quite. After she committed suicide, thanks to her husband's unfaithfulness, she became extremely famous. Ironically her husband, Ted Hughes (also a poet) got rich because of her writings.
There's also Emily Dickinson. After her death her relative found hundreds (maybe even thousands?) of her poems tucked safely in her room. They were published and, of course, she became famous. Her poems appear to be simple, childlike, and sweet, yet they are actually deep.
Plath pleaded for someone to "mouth her". She has many people mouthing her, me included. But who'll mouth me? Do I have to die first? Will I be content living to the fullest to the old age, without people praising and loving my works? Will I die happily, knowing my writings have inspired no one? Morbid thoughts... maybe that's what you get after reading too much of Edgar Allan Poe's and Edogawa Rampo's works.
My mother and I just found out two days ago that the song Starry, Starry Night (Vincent) was composed in remembrance of Vincent Van Gogh. Groban said so in his concert. It makes sense, then, for the song tells about palettes and hues and paints.
I like impressionism. And Van Gogh's paintings do impress me. I can actually feel the frustration and melancholic thoughts in his works. For he was not famous at all when he was alive. He had to die first before people started acknowledging him as a talented painter.
It saddens me. Some people have to die first before they can be famous.
Sylvia Plath was a reputable poetess and writer. She was well-known when she was alive, but not quite. After she committed suicide, thanks to her husband's unfaithfulness, she became extremely famous. Ironically her husband, Ted Hughes (also a poet) got rich because of her writings.
There's also Emily Dickinson. After her death her relative found hundreds (maybe even thousands?) of her poems tucked safely in her room. They were published and, of course, she became famous. Her poems appear to be simple, childlike, and sweet, yet they are actually deep.
Plath pleaded for someone to "mouth her". She has many people mouthing her, me included. But who'll mouth me? Do I have to die first? Will I be content living to the fullest to the old age, without people praising and loving my works? Will I die happily, knowing my writings have inspired no one? Morbid thoughts... maybe that's what you get after reading too much of Edgar Allan Poe's and Edogawa Rampo's works.
Live in Love
It doesn't take much to touch my heart. Perhaps many of us want to be loved and cared for. Appreciated and thought of. And of course, to me, it is always nice to know that a special someone thinks well of you. That is why I always try to show the world that I care so much for my loved ones. Many times the ones I love seem to take me for granted. It's their call. It's my choice to be hurt and all that knowing some just don't care back. But it's okay. I just want to live in love.
That is why I love Valentines, birthdays, anniversaries, any kinds of events that allow me to share loving words and moments with my loved ones. I don't know why but they tend to be less suspicious if I shower them with love during these events. I wonder sometimes, why is it hard to tell the world that you have no ulterior motives? That you are sincere? Can't you be nice without people suspecting that you are trying to gain something from them? Maybe too many people in this world only care and love if need be. A sad thought.
It doesn't take much to touch my heart. Perhaps many of us want to be loved and cared for. Appreciated and thought of. And of course, to me, it is always nice to know that a special someone thinks well of you. That is why I always try to show the world that I care so much for my loved ones. Many times the ones I love seem to take me for granted. It's their call. It's my choice to be hurt and all that knowing some just don't care back. But it's okay. I just want to live in love.
That is why I love Valentines, birthdays, anniversaries, any kinds of events that allow me to share loving words and moments with my loved ones. I don't know why but they tend to be less suspicious if I shower them with love during these events. I wonder sometimes, why is it hard to tell the world that you have no ulterior motives? That you are sincere? Can't you be nice without people suspecting that you are trying to gain something from them? Maybe too many people in this world only care and love if need be. A sad thought.
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
When I'm Not Feeling Well...
When I'm not feeling well, I try to remember fond memories. I open my jewelry boxes to admire my silver and stones. I hug dolls that remind me of my loved ones. I roam the house looking for memorable things.
Now that I am ill, I deliberately wear Pierrot pyjamas that Nyachan gave me. The cheerful color, red, adds warmth to my body. I played with the ornamentation Andi gave me on my birthday. The sight of two small penguins in them makes me smile. I hug my owl doll, Duo, tight, wishing someone faraway that I miss think of me, too.
My partner is away for a company business trip. And it annoys me so for not being able to find my wedding ring. I know it is here somewhere, but where? My tired mind cannot function well. So I caress the pendant and necklace he gave me when he proposed. I look at our wedding pictures, feeling soothed to see our smiling faces together. It gives me courage to face the annoying illness.
When I'm not feeling well, I try to remember fond memories. I open my jewelry boxes to admire my silver and stones. I hug dolls that remind me of my loved ones. I roam the house looking for memorable things.
Now that I am ill, I deliberately wear Pierrot pyjamas that Nyachan gave me. The cheerful color, red, adds warmth to my body. I played with the ornamentation Andi gave me on my birthday. The sight of two small penguins in them makes me smile. I hug my owl doll, Duo, tight, wishing someone faraway that I miss think of me, too.
My partner is away for a company business trip. And it annoys me so for not being able to find my wedding ring. I know it is here somewhere, but where? My tired mind cannot function well. So I caress the pendant and necklace he gave me when he proposed. I look at our wedding pictures, feeling soothed to see our smiling faces together. It gives me courage to face the annoying illness.
War Movies, Nightmares, and Illnesses
Never, I repeat, never ever watch war movies when you're not feeling well! Or you might end up having nightmares about them.
I felt feverish yesterday. Well I still do but I hope I'm recovering. Yet I forced myself to go out with my parents 'cause I wanted to buy a present for my niece, isman's sister's daughter. (her birthday is today) I sneezed most of the time. Water kept pouring from my nose and eyes. My throat felt like burning. When I arrived at my parents' I wanted to rest right away. Yet I was tempted. My youngest brother told me he had acquired several interesting DVDs. At first he played Josh Groban's Live in Concert, which was nice. Groban's voice was superb as usual and it did help me soothe my wretchedness a bit. And then my brother played Full Metal Jacket. It was an old movie (made in 1987) about the Marines and Vietnam war. Not surprisingly, it involved full metal jacket, guns, deranged people, shootings, people getting killed, fire, blood, stuff like that.
After this movie my brother played one of my favorite, Breakfast At Tiffany's. But the damage had already been done.
Last night I dreamt about exercising in an army camp, forced to run and do other physical stunts, being yelled at by superior commanders. The soundtrack was Josh Groban's To Where You Are. So strange.
So now I force myself to be awake, gobbling fruits and cereal. I'll try every herbal remedy available to be healthy. Yesterday I have drunk cups of peppermint tea which helped to alleviate my fever, echinaea pill to boost my immunity, hot nutricious soup. I meditated and prayed, visualizing healing colors around me. I put several drops of lavender oil on my pillow. Today I'll try raw minced garlic with honey (for the sore throat), echinaea pills, ginger tea. No more war movies. I'll concentrate listening to Josh Groban's songs and reading cheerful books instead.
Never, I repeat, never ever watch war movies when you're not feeling well! Or you might end up having nightmares about them.
I felt feverish yesterday. Well I still do but I hope I'm recovering. Yet I forced myself to go out with my parents 'cause I wanted to buy a present for my niece, isman's sister's daughter. (her birthday is today) I sneezed most of the time. Water kept pouring from my nose and eyes. My throat felt like burning. When I arrived at my parents' I wanted to rest right away. Yet I was tempted. My youngest brother told me he had acquired several interesting DVDs. At first he played Josh Groban's Live in Concert, which was nice. Groban's voice was superb as usual and it did help me soothe my wretchedness a bit. And then my brother played Full Metal Jacket. It was an old movie (made in 1987) about the Marines and Vietnam war. Not surprisingly, it involved full metal jacket, guns, deranged people, shootings, people getting killed, fire, blood, stuff like that.
After this movie my brother played one of my favorite, Breakfast At Tiffany's. But the damage had already been done.
Last night I dreamt about exercising in an army camp, forced to run and do other physical stunts, being yelled at by superior commanders. The soundtrack was Josh Groban's To Where You Are. So strange.
So now I force myself to be awake, gobbling fruits and cereal. I'll try every herbal remedy available to be healthy. Yesterday I have drunk cups of peppermint tea which helped to alleviate my fever, echinaea pill to boost my immunity, hot nutricious soup. I meditated and prayed, visualizing healing colors around me. I put several drops of lavender oil on my pillow. Today I'll try raw minced garlic with honey (for the sore throat), echinaea pills, ginger tea. No more war movies. I'll concentrate listening to Josh Groban's songs and reading cheerful books instead.
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
More About Games
I have written that one of my favorites is Neverwinter Nights. I am familiar with the terrains, customs, and people. (having Campaign Setting for Forgotten Realms book really helps) The game has plenty of tough enemies so you should prepare yourself with lots of healing kits, healing spells, potions, amulets, charms, and the like. I could choose the hard way like Andi did, painstakingly increasing his level and ability one by one. I prefer shortcuts, so I use cheats. Within seconds I could reach the highest level possible. I am invincible, for I play in God mode.
However isman likes to make fun of me because I often get lost. This game has maps and compass but still, I often find myself wandering in unknown terrain, calling my youngest bro for help, "Deeeek, what is this place? I'm lost!" My partner always says, "Come on, you're supposed to be a god, and yet you lose your way easily? What kind of god is that?" Thankfully my twin bro comes to my rescue, saying, "Well, in Dragonlance, they have Fizban the Fabulous, you know. He's Paladine, the strongest god of good, yet he always gets lost and forgets his spells." So I smile at him smugly, saying, "I am that kind of god!" He sometimes sneers and asks, "Oh yeah? And gods are supposed to be half-breeds or elves?" (I love elves and half-elves) To this I always reply, "Tanis Half-Elven is handsome!" He cannot say anything else. When the name Tanthalas or Tanis is mentioned, I am as adamant and stubborn as I can be.
It annoys me sometimes, being lost in a game. Once I was hooked to Dungeon Siege. After several levels and chapters I arrived in a murky swamp. Ohkay, so the game provided a compass. Still I got lost. I asked my brothers for help, in vain. So I just stopped playing it.
A son of mine, David, once asked me to play PS2 together with him. I told him I was not good at it. Still he asked me to try. We played, I do not know what it was, some kind of strategy-fighting game like Romance of the Three Kingdoms, perhaps. Pretty soon I got lost and started beating up several officers. Dave just stared at me blankly, saying, "Euh, okaasan, that's our own generals and soldiers."
However, when it comes to returning home or finding where the cars are parked, I am extremely good. As good as the homing pigeon, perhaps. I know which directions to take, how many steps, how many blocks.
Maybe I should treat the games as my homes.
I have written that one of my favorites is Neverwinter Nights. I am familiar with the terrains, customs, and people. (having Campaign Setting for Forgotten Realms book really helps) The game has plenty of tough enemies so you should prepare yourself with lots of healing kits, healing spells, potions, amulets, charms, and the like. I could choose the hard way like Andi did, painstakingly increasing his level and ability one by one. I prefer shortcuts, so I use cheats. Within seconds I could reach the highest level possible. I am invincible, for I play in God mode.
However isman likes to make fun of me because I often get lost. This game has maps and compass but still, I often find myself wandering in unknown terrain, calling my youngest bro for help, "Deeeek, what is this place? I'm lost!" My partner always says, "Come on, you're supposed to be a god, and yet you lose your way easily? What kind of god is that?" Thankfully my twin bro comes to my rescue, saying, "Well, in Dragonlance, they have Fizban the Fabulous, you know. He's Paladine, the strongest god of good, yet he always gets lost and forgets his spells." So I smile at him smugly, saying, "I am that kind of god!" He sometimes sneers and asks, "Oh yeah? And gods are supposed to be half-breeds or elves?" (I love elves and half-elves) To this I always reply, "Tanis Half-Elven is handsome!" He cannot say anything else. When the name Tanthalas or Tanis is mentioned, I am as adamant and stubborn as I can be.
It annoys me sometimes, being lost in a game. Once I was hooked to Dungeon Siege. After several levels and chapters I arrived in a murky swamp. Ohkay, so the game provided a compass. Still I got lost. I asked my brothers for help, in vain. So I just stopped playing it.
A son of mine, David, once asked me to play PS2 together with him. I told him I was not good at it. Still he asked me to try. We played, I do not know what it was, some kind of strategy-fighting game like Romance of the Three Kingdoms, perhaps. Pretty soon I got lost and started beating up several officers. Dave just stared at me blankly, saying, "Euh, okaasan, that's our own generals and soldiers."
However, when it comes to returning home or finding where the cars are parked, I am extremely good. As good as the homing pigeon, perhaps. I know which directions to take, how many steps, how many blocks.
Maybe I should treat the games as my homes.
Monday, January 26, 2004
Common Courtesy
I can be very meticulous. Critical, judgmental, and hard to please at times. I am the type who scolds people openly for smoking in public, or at least, fan the smoke to the smokers' direction. I am also the type who picks up other people's rubbish on their feet, abusing them with words whenever I feel hostile. I am the type who asks, "Why? Why oh why did they do this? Didn't they think of others?" when people do things that endanger or at least, disturb others.
During the journey on train, I couldn't help but thinking that many people don't share the same thoughts. I was raised to be... I don't know the exact word, maybe, responsible? Most of the time I obey rules (if they make sense to me, that is). I make sure not to burden or disturb others. When I'm in the crowd, I set my Naralasa (my cell phone, by the way) on vibrate mode. I make sure to go to the toilet when the train is moving. Whenever I drive (and that's not often) I try to be extra careful.
It makes me angry and annoyed to note that many people do not seem to think of others. Oh true, true, they care a lot about what others might think of them. My partner once marveled how people-conscious humans can be. Once when he was about to go to a mosque on Friday noon, it rained heavily. He waited for a while but it kept pouring. There were two guys nearby. He never met them before. One of the guys became agitated. He had to say something.
Back to the journey. I noted to my horror that many people actually chose the time when the train stopped to go to the toilets. Even a three-year-old kid (the same girl who searched her mother's hair for fleas) nudged her mother, saying, "Ma, the train's stop. A good time for you to go to the toilet!" Who put that idea into her head? She couldn't have the idea (the train's stop = time to go to the loo) on her own. I am highly suspicious of her mother and grandmother, but I have no proof...
So that time I asked him, "Is it common courtesy to go to the toilet when the train's moving?" Quisalas said that it was, they even put signs on the toilets saying "Please do not use when the train stops" or something to that effect. For those of you who are not familiar with toilets in trains, well, how should I put it? The trains will not collect the human refuse. There is a hole on the toilet. I leave the rest to your imagination.
Then I wonder why do people do this thing? Oh sure it must be quite a hassle going to the loo when the train is moving. Movements, jolts, and the like. Yet, can't they read? Don't they have common sense or courtesy?
Also the people who max their cell phone volume in public places. I'm quite certain that these people need to have their ears checked. When we were queueing in front of the counter, a guy next to us seemed to be oblivious to an annoying sound. I exclaimed loudly, saying, now, whose cell phone is ringing? Other people checked their phones but theirs didn't ring. Finally it dawned on this guy that it was his. After a while it rang again and it took him many precious seconds before picking it up. The third time, he didn't hear it again. So I told him that his phone was ringing. At first he didn't believe me, but when he found out that it was true, he looked at me as if wanting to say, "How did you know?" I felt like shouting, "Because it rang so loudly, dammit!"
The worst kind is the ones who deliberately let their cell phones play a midi for a long time before picking them up. Usually teenagers and young adults do this. Perhaps they think it is a cool thing to do. While I strongly feel that these people deserve to be shot.
And oh, let's not forget the reckless drivers who endanger people's lives. Swerving here and there, expecting others to slow down or move to avoid collision. It's perfectly OK if they want to jeopardize their lives, yet why do they have to drag other people into their mess? Isn't it common courtesy? Or perhaps it is me who protest too much?
Or could it be that common courtesy never exists at all? Maybe it's a myth. And I'm a firm believer.
My partner told me that people ought to build cars with two or three missiles. With the state of many drivers in big cities nowadays, I think I'm going to use them all on the first hour I drive.
I can be very meticulous. Critical, judgmental, and hard to please at times. I am the type who scolds people openly for smoking in public, or at least, fan the smoke to the smokers' direction. I am also the type who picks up other people's rubbish on their feet, abusing them with words whenever I feel hostile. I am the type who asks, "Why? Why oh why did they do this? Didn't they think of others?" when people do things that endanger or at least, disturb others.
During the journey on train, I couldn't help but thinking that many people don't share the same thoughts. I was raised to be... I don't know the exact word, maybe, responsible? Most of the time I obey rules (if they make sense to me, that is). I make sure not to burden or disturb others. When I'm in the crowd, I set my Naralasa (my cell phone, by the way) on vibrate mode. I make sure to go to the toilet when the train is moving. Whenever I drive (and that's not often) I try to be extra careful.
It makes me angry and annoyed to note that many people do not seem to think of others. Oh true, true, they care a lot about what others might think of them. My partner once marveled how people-conscious humans can be. Once when he was about to go to a mosque on Friday noon, it rained heavily. He waited for a while but it kept pouring. There were two guys nearby. He never met them before. One of the guys became agitated. He had to say something.
First Guy: Ah, it rains.I wonder, why did they need to justify their act? Why bother? It is as if they felt bad if a guy they didn't know would think of them in a negative way. Why should they care?
Second guy: Yeah. I think we might get sick if we try to go to the mosque.
First guy: You're right. The rain's so heavy. But we have to pray...
Second guy: Maybe we can pray from here? I mean, it's not that far from the mosque.
First guy: Good idea! (pious expression on his face)
Back to the journey. I noted to my horror that many people actually chose the time when the train stopped to go to the toilets. Even a three-year-old kid (the same girl who searched her mother's hair for fleas) nudged her mother, saying, "Ma, the train's stop. A good time for you to go to the toilet!" Who put that idea into her head? She couldn't have the idea (the train's stop = time to go to the loo) on her own. I am highly suspicious of her mother and grandmother, but I have no proof...
So that time I asked him, "Is it common courtesy to go to the toilet when the train's moving?" Quisalas said that it was, they even put signs on the toilets saying "Please do not use when the train stops" or something to that effect. For those of you who are not familiar with toilets in trains, well, how should I put it? The trains will not collect the human refuse. There is a hole on the toilet. I leave the rest to your imagination.
Then I wonder why do people do this thing? Oh sure it must be quite a hassle going to the loo when the train is moving. Movements, jolts, and the like. Yet, can't they read? Don't they have common sense or courtesy?
Also the people who max their cell phone volume in public places. I'm quite certain that these people need to have their ears checked. When we were queueing in front of the counter, a guy next to us seemed to be oblivious to an annoying sound. I exclaimed loudly, saying, now, whose cell phone is ringing? Other people checked their phones but theirs didn't ring. Finally it dawned on this guy that it was his. After a while it rang again and it took him many precious seconds before picking it up. The third time, he didn't hear it again. So I told him that his phone was ringing. At first he didn't believe me, but when he found out that it was true, he looked at me as if wanting to say, "How did you know?" I felt like shouting, "Because it rang so loudly, dammit!"
The worst kind is the ones who deliberately let their cell phones play a midi for a long time before picking them up. Usually teenagers and young adults do this. Perhaps they think it is a cool thing to do. While I strongly feel that these people deserve to be shot.
And oh, let's not forget the reckless drivers who endanger people's lives. Swerving here and there, expecting others to slow down or move to avoid collision. It's perfectly OK if they want to jeopardize their lives, yet why do they have to drag other people into their mess? Isn't it common courtesy? Or perhaps it is me who protest too much?
Or could it be that common courtesy never exists at all? Maybe it's a myth. And I'm a firm believer.
My partner told me that people ought to build cars with two or three missiles. With the state of many drivers in big cities nowadays, I think I'm going to use them all on the first hour I drive.
Everything Happens for A Reason
So people say. I'm inclined to agree. Especially after what happened yesterday.
According to the original plan, I should be returning to Bandung alone (by train) because isman had to be in Jakarta on Monday, meeting clients.
However, the trip was suddenly cancelled till Wednesday. This sudden change disturbed isman because I had already got a Parahyangan ticket for 17.20 pm, but he hadn't. And by that time (Friday afternoon) it was too late. All return tickets to Bandung was already out for Sunday.
On Sunday, we decided it would be best to return to Bandung together, with isman buying a standing ticket. We arrived at around 15.30. The line for business class was already packed. Fortunately the counter for executive class was still empty. So we stood there, hoping we could exchange the lone ticket for a ticket for two. Minutes passed by. We started to realize something wrong was happening. They were still selling the tickets (standing ones, by the way) for 15.50 train. It was 16.00 pm.
Some people asked the security officers and the ladies behind the counter. From their conversations we gleaned an information. There was a problem with the rails, causing havoc and delays. Many people asked why the trains weren't leaving. It was about 16.30 and the train scheduled for 14.40 (or was it 14.50?) had not left yet. The train for 17.20 pm from Jakarta had not even left Bandung.
Several cancelled their tickets. We still stood there. For a while we were tempted to queue for Argo Gede train because it was scheduled to leave at around 18.00 pm.
Then around 17.25 pm, the counter was open. The lady asked whether we were interested in executive seats for 13.50 pm train. There were three available. We asked if we could exchange the lone ticket for two tickets. She said it was okay. So we paid her for one and hurriedly went upstairs. The train would depart at 18.00 pm.
We arrived in Bandung about 22.35 pm. My parents were already there. They told me that the 17.20 pm train had not left Jakarta yet.
Supposing my partner was to be in Jakarta on Monday, I'd be going to Bandung alone. Since I already had the ticket, I wouldn't queue in front of the counter. I'd be forced to wait in the station for many long hours. Maybe I'd arrive in Bandung at dawn. By myself. What a chilling thought.
It was quite a tiring experience yet exciting as well. We were still able to laugh and smile seeing people around us. For instance, there were a girl about three or four years old, her mother, and her grandmother near to our seats.
So people say. I'm inclined to agree. Especially after what happened yesterday.
According to the original plan, I should be returning to Bandung alone (by train) because isman had to be in Jakarta on Monday, meeting clients.
However, the trip was suddenly cancelled till Wednesday. This sudden change disturbed isman because I had already got a Parahyangan ticket for 17.20 pm, but he hadn't. And by that time (Friday afternoon) it was too late. All return tickets to Bandung was already out for Sunday.
On Sunday, we decided it would be best to return to Bandung together, with isman buying a standing ticket. We arrived at around 15.30. The line for business class was already packed. Fortunately the counter for executive class was still empty. So we stood there, hoping we could exchange the lone ticket for a ticket for two. Minutes passed by. We started to realize something wrong was happening. They were still selling the tickets (standing ones, by the way) for 15.50 train. It was 16.00 pm.
Some people asked the security officers and the ladies behind the counter. From their conversations we gleaned an information. There was a problem with the rails, causing havoc and delays. Many people asked why the trains weren't leaving. It was about 16.30 and the train scheduled for 14.40 (or was it 14.50?) had not left yet. The train for 17.20 pm from Jakarta had not even left Bandung.
Several cancelled their tickets. We still stood there. For a while we were tempted to queue for Argo Gede train because it was scheduled to leave at around 18.00 pm.
Then around 17.25 pm, the counter was open. The lady asked whether we were interested in executive seats for 13.50 pm train. There were three available. We asked if we could exchange the lone ticket for two tickets. She said it was okay. So we paid her for one and hurriedly went upstairs. The train would depart at 18.00 pm.
We arrived in Bandung about 22.35 pm. My parents were already there. They told me that the 17.20 pm train had not left Jakarta yet.
Supposing my partner was to be in Jakarta on Monday, I'd be going to Bandung alone. Since I already had the ticket, I wouldn't queue in front of the counter. I'd be forced to wait in the station for many long hours. Maybe I'd arrive in Bandung at dawn. By myself. What a chilling thought.
It was quite a tiring experience yet exciting as well. We were still able to laugh and smile seeing people around us. For instance, there were a girl about three or four years old, her mother, and her grandmother near to our seats.
Girl: You know that monkeys search each other for fleas. (rummaging through her mother's hair)
Mother: (ignoring her)
Girl: But Ma, how come you don't have any?
My partner and me: (giggling)
Update About Haj
Finally my parents didn't make it. At the last moment Depag chickened out and cancelled most of the fabricated passports. (Some say they're afraid the press would find out about this.) They offered a choice, if my parents wanted to obtain their passports, they had to pay US$ 2,600 per passport. Then somehow they lowered the price till it reached US $ 1,600. Needless to say my parents refused.
Note: If and only if they did obtain passports, the pictures on them would be theirs HOWEVER the name wouldn't.
Funny thing, there was this man complaining loudly to the travel agent because he couldn't go this year. He said, "Allah knows my intention, so that's okay. I am not ashamed. But how am I going to face my fellows in the village? I've already made a farewell party and bought souvenirs for them!" Later on my parents found out that he was so pissed because he wanted to pray in the Holy Land to have a wife. He already has three, by the way.
Finally my parents didn't make it. At the last moment Depag chickened out and cancelled most of the fabricated passports. (Some say they're afraid the press would find out about this.) They offered a choice, if my parents wanted to obtain their passports, they had to pay US$ 2,600 per passport. Then somehow they lowered the price till it reached US $ 1,600. Needless to say my parents refused.
Note: If and only if they did obtain passports, the pictures on them would be theirs HOWEVER the name wouldn't.
Funny thing, there was this man complaining loudly to the travel agent because he couldn't go this year. He said, "Allah knows my intention, so that's okay. I am not ashamed. But how am I going to face my fellows in the village? I've already made a farewell party and bought souvenirs for them!" Later on my parents found out that he was so pissed because he wanted to pray in the Holy Land to have a wife. He already has three, by the way.
Friday, January 23, 2004
I'm Stressed, No, Overwhelmed
My father had nothing to do. At least, that's what my youngest bro said. He painstakingly took video of the cats frolicking under the sun (my father that is, not my brother). He added music and texts. It came out quite grand, but of course none of his children were willing to admit it.
My mother ate more and more sweets, ignoring the fact that she's diabetic.
Maybe they're trying to combat stress.
Satria, my youngest bro, on the other hand, likes to make others feel stressed. His favorite pastime is to annoy Popox when Popox is sleeping. He likes to nag people with a few words in monotone. It works for everybody except me, 'cause I have the ultimate way to stop him from being annoying. Just tickle him.
My partner and I are going to Jakarta this weekend and I am stressed already. Or perhaps the appropriate word would be overwhelmed. There are so many things to pack! And I'm not a good packer like my father, who could slip thirty-three books in his luggage easily, and still be able to add many layers of clothings and Godknowswhatelse. I just put things randomly, trying to fit them. I usually succeed, but I'll encounter a problem called "unpacking". Then hells will break loose.
My father had nothing to do. At least, that's what my youngest bro said. He painstakingly took video of the cats frolicking under the sun (my father that is, not my brother). He added music and texts. It came out quite grand, but of course none of his children were willing to admit it.
My mother ate more and more sweets, ignoring the fact that she's diabetic.
Maybe they're trying to combat stress.
Satria, my youngest bro, on the other hand, likes to make others feel stressed. His favorite pastime is to annoy Popox when Popox is sleeping. He likes to nag people with a few words in monotone. It works for everybody except me, 'cause I have the ultimate way to stop him from being annoying. Just tickle him.
My partner and I are going to Jakarta this weekend and I am stressed already. Or perhaps the appropriate word would be overwhelmed. There are so many things to pack! And I'm not a good packer like my father, who could slip thirty-three books in his luggage easily, and still be able to add many layers of clothings and Godknowswhatelse. I just put things randomly, trying to fit them. I usually succeed, but I'll encounter a problem called "unpacking". Then hells will break loose.
Ways to Combat Stress
Stress is a part of my life. Many times I wish I could eliminate, or at least, minimize it. Sometimes I just want to curl up in bed, blanket all around me, wishing the world would leave me alone. Yet I know, sooner or later I have to face it. Ignorance will lead you nowhere.
So, after all these years, I have found terrific ways to combat stress.
One
Make a cup of tea, preferably Earl Grey or mint. Add some brown sugar, or at least, rock sugar. Inhale the fragrance before sipping it delicately. If I'm that stressed, I'll try lavender tea with a bit of honey. Or vervain, but I won't add anything.
Two
Meditate. Find a favorable position. I close my eyes and imagine my favorite sceneries... Sunset or sunrise on the beach, perhaps? A garden full of flowers? A verdant hill? Relax and breathe slowly. I picture rays of white surrounding me. Then blue. Then golden. Feel the colors. Let the colors fill me. Visualize myself being happy and content. Then open my eyes, smiling, thanking the Lord for everything.
Three
Yoga or posturing as taught by The Right Brain Institute. Five minutes is enough for a quick fix. Afterwards I'll feel energy tingling on my palms, surging me to move forward.
Four
Sing! Sing my favorite songs with all my heart. Doesn't matter if you're alone or in a crowd. Well, who cares what they think of me, anyway?
Five
Pick one of my favorite books and read it.
Six
Dress up in my favorite clothes!
Seven
Take a bath! A long, glorious, bath with essential oils. For a quick fix: Put some hot water on a pail, add some cold water so it'll be lukewarm. Drop a few drops of lavender or sandalwood essential oils (if I want to be royal to myself, I'll add both). Inhale the comforting smell, then bathe with the water. If I happen to be in the vicinity of a bath tub and hot water tap, I'll just add a few drops of the oil to the water, then soak myself in it for a while.
I'm sure there are many more. I'll add them when I remember.
Stress is a part of my life. Many times I wish I could eliminate, or at least, minimize it. Sometimes I just want to curl up in bed, blanket all around me, wishing the world would leave me alone. Yet I know, sooner or later I have to face it. Ignorance will lead you nowhere.
So, after all these years, I have found terrific ways to combat stress.
One
Make a cup of tea, preferably Earl Grey or mint. Add some brown sugar, or at least, rock sugar. Inhale the fragrance before sipping it delicately. If I'm that stressed, I'll try lavender tea with a bit of honey. Or vervain, but I won't add anything.
Two
Meditate. Find a favorable position. I close my eyes and imagine my favorite sceneries... Sunset or sunrise on the beach, perhaps? A garden full of flowers? A verdant hill? Relax and breathe slowly. I picture rays of white surrounding me. Then blue. Then golden. Feel the colors. Let the colors fill me. Visualize myself being happy and content. Then open my eyes, smiling, thanking the Lord for everything.
Three
Yoga or posturing as taught by The Right Brain Institute. Five minutes is enough for a quick fix. Afterwards I'll feel energy tingling on my palms, surging me to move forward.
Four
Sing! Sing my favorite songs with all my heart. Doesn't matter if you're alone or in a crowd. Well, who cares what they think of me, anyway?
Five
Pick one of my favorite books and read it.
Six
Dress up in my favorite clothes!
Seven
Take a bath! A long, glorious, bath with essential oils. For a quick fix: Put some hot water on a pail, add some cold water so it'll be lukewarm. Drop a few drops of lavender or sandalwood essential oils (if I want to be royal to myself, I'll add both). Inhale the comforting smell, then bathe with the water. If I happen to be in the vicinity of a bath tub and hot water tap, I'll just add a few drops of the oil to the water, then soak myself in it for a while.
I'm sure there are many more. I'll add them when I remember.
Thursday, January 22, 2004
I Adore Traditional Clothes!
In spite of my confusing look and name, I believe I look like a pure Javanese. Njawani. Well, I am one, anyway. That is why I adore batik and kebaya. I look gorgeous in them. Like a princess from a fairy tale, so Nyachan told me. Like a pretty Japanese bride, said Kimiesan, a Japanese friend of mine.
I notice many women around my age don't really like batik. Or even, kebaya. Maybe they wear batik and kebaya on their weddings, but that's it. While I wear batik and kebaya whenever I feel like it. I once wore them to a mall. Many people glanced at me. Perhaps they think I looked strange? That's OK. I love to look unique and beautiful at the same time.
I am also fascinated with other traditional clothes--well at least, some of them, anyway. I have several cheong sam. Blue, yellow, green, pink, white, and red. I have a light green yukata, thanks to Kimiesan. I have an aodai--that's a Vietnamese traditional clothes, light blue. Now I long to have a saree... maybe I should keep my hair long, then. Braid it, then pose myself as an Indian woman, hehehe.
In spite of my confusing look and name, I believe I look like a pure Javanese. Njawani. Well, I am one, anyway. That is why I adore batik and kebaya. I look gorgeous in them. Like a princess from a fairy tale, so Nyachan told me. Like a pretty Japanese bride, said Kimiesan, a Japanese friend of mine.
I notice many women around my age don't really like batik. Or even, kebaya. Maybe they wear batik and kebaya on their weddings, but that's it. While I wear batik and kebaya whenever I feel like it. I once wore them to a mall. Many people glanced at me. Perhaps they think I looked strange? That's OK. I love to look unique and beautiful at the same time.
I am also fascinated with other traditional clothes--well at least, some of them, anyway. I have several cheong sam. Blue, yellow, green, pink, white, and red. I have a light green yukata, thanks to Kimiesan. I have an aodai--that's a Vietnamese traditional clothes, light blue. Now I long to have a saree... maybe I should keep my hair long, then. Braid it, then pose myself as an Indian woman, hehehe.
Gong Xi Fa Chai!
Gong xi, gong xi, gong xi ni.... I am celebrating it by waking up late and eating a lot of something that suspiciously resembles fish soup, Chinese style. Ah, forgot to have a sip of Pu Tao Chee Chow. It is some kind of grape juice with a tiny weenie bit of alcohol. No moon cakes for me this year, my mother refused to bake some (as if she could).
Gong xi, gong xi, gong xi ni.... I am celebrating it by waking up late and eating a lot of something that suspiciously resembles fish soup, Chinese style. Ah, forgot to have a sip of Pu Tao Chee Chow. It is some kind of grape juice with a tiny weenie bit of alcohol. No moon cakes for me this year, my mother refused to bake some (as if she could).
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Computer Games!
I wouldn't call myself a gamer, even though I have to admit I'm quite addicted to some computer games. I couldn't even remember the first game I played on a computer. I was still in elementary school, then. All I remember, it was an Apple PC.
Then my cousin, Rudi, introduced me to King Quest by Sierra. I was fascinated. It was my first encounter with an adventure game. I couldn't play it well, but what the heck. It was fun to watch my cousin playing the game. Then, some time in junior high, IINM, my youngest bro, Satria, borrowed several diskettes (yep, the big, obsolete ones) from Aristo, Dino's youngest bro. It was Hero's Quest, an RPG. It was fantastic! We could choose to be a fighter, a magic-user, or a thief. (I usually played as a magic-user. Dino, I recall, prefer playing as a thief. My brothers prefer being a fighter, for it would make them strong enough to fight monsters to gain extra cash.) However, there was this tiny problem. Aristo somehow misplaced the ninth diskette. So every time we enter some areas, something came up: "Please insert disk 9". We couldn't finish the game. What a pity.
So when my father went to the States, we literally begged him to buy Hero's Quest. Which he did. Sadly, it was not the same game that we had in mind, for Hero's Quest by Sierra had changed its name to Quest for Glory. First, Hero's Quest that my father bought only had two diskettes. Second, after playing it, we realized that it was some kind of board game. Bummer.
Later on we had the chance to play Qfg 1: So You Want to be a Hero and we managed to end it beautifully. My brothers and I then proceeded to Quest for Glory 3: Wages of War (somehow we couldn't find Quest for Glory 2). Then we played Quest for Glory IV: Shadows of Darkness. This game has a bug or something. Dang. So we couldn't finish it, either. (I foolishly tried again last month, just for the heck of it. And failed again at the critical moment.) My favorite, Quest for Glory V appeared and I was hooked! This game is superb! I have long stopped using magic-user as my character's skill. I use Paladin. I love increasing my honor. He likes to make fun of it, though.
"What is so honorable in having two or three fiancees?" he asked. It's true, I, playing the Paladin character, is marrying Erana, Elsa, and Nawar, hehe.
I also love Fallout, also an RPG, even though the setting is not to my liking. Post nuclear war and all. This game made me violent. There are times when I wish I have powerful guns around so that I could shoot annoying people around me, hehe.
Lately I have been addicted to Neverwinter Nights. The setting is Forgotten Realms (also from Wizards of the Coast). They also have fantasy books like Dragonlance! I haven't played that for a while. I can't play it here, the specifications of this PC won't allow it. :( Maybe I'll play it today in my parents'... most likely I'll be a Paladin again, hehe. Or perhaps a ranger? Hmmm...
I wouldn't call myself a gamer, even though I have to admit I'm quite addicted to some computer games. I couldn't even remember the first game I played on a computer. I was still in elementary school, then. All I remember, it was an Apple PC.
Then my cousin, Rudi, introduced me to King Quest by Sierra. I was fascinated. It was my first encounter with an adventure game. I couldn't play it well, but what the heck. It was fun to watch my cousin playing the game. Then, some time in junior high, IINM, my youngest bro, Satria, borrowed several diskettes (yep, the big, obsolete ones) from Aristo, Dino's youngest bro. It was Hero's Quest, an RPG. It was fantastic! We could choose to be a fighter, a magic-user, or a thief. (I usually played as a magic-user. Dino, I recall, prefer playing as a thief. My brothers prefer being a fighter, for it would make them strong enough to fight monsters to gain extra cash.) However, there was this tiny problem. Aristo somehow misplaced the ninth diskette. So every time we enter some areas, something came up: "Please insert disk 9". We couldn't finish the game. What a pity.
So when my father went to the States, we literally begged him to buy Hero's Quest. Which he did. Sadly, it was not the same game that we had in mind, for Hero's Quest by Sierra had changed its name to Quest for Glory. First, Hero's Quest that my father bought only had two diskettes. Second, after playing it, we realized that it was some kind of board game. Bummer.
Later on we had the chance to play Qfg 1: So You Want to be a Hero and we managed to end it beautifully. My brothers and I then proceeded to Quest for Glory 3: Wages of War (somehow we couldn't find Quest for Glory 2). Then we played Quest for Glory IV: Shadows of Darkness. This game has a bug or something. Dang. So we couldn't finish it, either. (I foolishly tried again last month, just for the heck of it. And failed again at the critical moment.) My favorite, Quest for Glory V appeared and I was hooked! This game is superb! I have long stopped using magic-user as my character's skill. I use Paladin. I love increasing my honor. He likes to make fun of it, though.
"What is so honorable in having two or three fiancees?" he asked. It's true, I, playing the Paladin character, is marrying Erana, Elsa, and Nawar, hehe.
I also love Fallout, also an RPG, even though the setting is not to my liking. Post nuclear war and all. This game made me violent. There are times when I wish I have powerful guns around so that I could shoot annoying people around me, hehe.
Lately I have been addicted to Neverwinter Nights. The setting is Forgotten Realms (also from Wizards of the Coast). They also have fantasy books like Dragonlance! I haven't played that for a while. I can't play it here, the specifications of this PC won't allow it. :( Maybe I'll play it today in my parents'... most likely I'll be a Paladin again, hehe. Or perhaps a ranger? Hmmm...
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
Catatan: Kali ini saya akan menulis menggunakan bahasa ibu. Karena saya MALU kalau tulisan ini sempat dibaca orang asing (yang mengerti bahasa Indonesia sih, tidak apa-apa). Ini cuma sebatas unek-unek saya. Kekesalan di hati, melihat suatu hal yang mengganggu lahir dan bathin saya.
Sudah beberapa bulan ini koran-koran memberitakan Depag (Departemen Agama) yang dinilai tidak becus. Bahkan banyak juga yang mengatakan departemen ini adalah yang paling korup. Bagaimana tidak, puluhan ribu jemaah haji yang sekiranya berangkat tahun ini telantar. Depag pun lepas tangan dengan berkata permintaan kuota tidak dipenuhi Saudi Arabia. Tidak menghiraukan caci maki, protes, tudingan dari masyarakat yang memang memiliki alasan yang kuat.
Di antara puluhan ribu jemaah haji itu, kebetulan, ada kedua orang tua saya. Sampai saat saya menulis ini, mereka belum juga pergi. Nasib mereka terkatung-katung menunggu kabar. Paspor haji mereka yang dikeluarkan Depag, entah ke mana raibnya. Para oknum dari Depag menjanjikan akan mengurus paspor secepatnya. Bahkan mereka sampai minta uang muka segala. Bergantian mereka menawarkan jasa dengan imbalan uang yang tak sedikit. Semua tawaran dijajaki. Tidak ada hasilnya. Malah orang tua saya dan peserta lainnya (kebetulan mereka mengambil paket ONH plus) disarankan naik haji menggunakan paspor biasa saja. Orang tua saya menolak, karena tidak sesuai dengan prosedur. Bisa-bisa sesampainya di Tanah Suci disuruh pulang lagi ke Indonesia karena tidak menggunakan paspor haji.
Hari ini kedua orang tua saya mendapatkan kabar. Mereka dapat pergi menunaikan ibadah haji, berangkat hari Minggu ini. Akan tetapi, mereka terpaksa menggunakan paspor milik orang lain.
Mengapa demikian?
Karena paspor haji milik mereka rupanya telah dijual dengan sukses oleh para oknum.
Kedua orang tua saya terpaksa menggunakan paspor haji yang "dibeli" oleh pihak penyelenggara ONH plus dari Departemen Agama. Maka terjadilah pemalsuan besar-besaran. Pihak penyelenggara mengganti foto di paspor dengan foto kedua orang tua saya. Dan, lucunya, entah di mana dan kapan, ada sepasang suami istri yang pergi menunaikan ibadah haji menggunakan paspor kedua orang tua saya. Tentu saja mereka terpaksa mengganti foto di paspor juga.
Kok aneh! Pemalsuan seperti ini seakan dilegalkan karena memang disarankan oleh pihak dari Departemen Agama sendiri. Mau naik haji tahun depan? Mungkin masih sama saja kejadiannya. Saya tidak habis pikir, kok banyak orang-orang yang tega mengambil keuntungan materi (banyak, lagi!) dari orang-orang yang berniat beribadah. Padahal tidak semua orang yang naik haji itu orang berada. Sudah menjadi pengetahuan umum, banyak orang yang menjual harta bendanya berupa rumah, tanah, sawah, dll. agar dapat menunaikan ibadah haji. Tapi toh manusia kalau sudah dirasuki setan tak ingat apa-apa lagi kecuali keuntungan bagi dirinya pribadi. Dan mungkin bagi mereka, lebih gampang mengeruk keuntungan dengan cara haram, daripada berusaha dengan cara yang halal.
Saya tidak tahu siapa nama kedua orang tua saya sekarang (dalam paspor), demikian juga dengan umurnya. Dengan paspor dan identitas yang kacau, saya hanya dapat berdo'a agar ibadah kedua orang tua saya diterima oleh-Nya. Saya juga berdo'a agar Allah SWT memberikan ganjaran setimpal pada oknum-oknum yang sebenarnya merupakan setan dalam wujud manusia. Amin!
Sudah beberapa bulan ini koran-koran memberitakan Depag (Departemen Agama) yang dinilai tidak becus. Bahkan banyak juga yang mengatakan departemen ini adalah yang paling korup. Bagaimana tidak, puluhan ribu jemaah haji yang sekiranya berangkat tahun ini telantar. Depag pun lepas tangan dengan berkata permintaan kuota tidak dipenuhi Saudi Arabia. Tidak menghiraukan caci maki, protes, tudingan dari masyarakat yang memang memiliki alasan yang kuat.
Di antara puluhan ribu jemaah haji itu, kebetulan, ada kedua orang tua saya. Sampai saat saya menulis ini, mereka belum juga pergi. Nasib mereka terkatung-katung menunggu kabar. Paspor haji mereka yang dikeluarkan Depag, entah ke mana raibnya. Para oknum dari Depag menjanjikan akan mengurus paspor secepatnya. Bahkan mereka sampai minta uang muka segala. Bergantian mereka menawarkan jasa dengan imbalan uang yang tak sedikit. Semua tawaran dijajaki. Tidak ada hasilnya. Malah orang tua saya dan peserta lainnya (kebetulan mereka mengambil paket ONH plus) disarankan naik haji menggunakan paspor biasa saja. Orang tua saya menolak, karena tidak sesuai dengan prosedur. Bisa-bisa sesampainya di Tanah Suci disuruh pulang lagi ke Indonesia karena tidak menggunakan paspor haji.
Hari ini kedua orang tua saya mendapatkan kabar. Mereka dapat pergi menunaikan ibadah haji, berangkat hari Minggu ini. Akan tetapi, mereka terpaksa menggunakan paspor milik orang lain.
Mengapa demikian?
Karena paspor haji milik mereka rupanya telah dijual dengan sukses oleh para oknum.
Kedua orang tua saya terpaksa menggunakan paspor haji yang "dibeli" oleh pihak penyelenggara ONH plus dari Departemen Agama. Maka terjadilah pemalsuan besar-besaran. Pihak penyelenggara mengganti foto di paspor dengan foto kedua orang tua saya. Dan, lucunya, entah di mana dan kapan, ada sepasang suami istri yang pergi menunaikan ibadah haji menggunakan paspor kedua orang tua saya. Tentu saja mereka terpaksa mengganti foto di paspor juga.
Kok aneh! Pemalsuan seperti ini seakan dilegalkan karena memang disarankan oleh pihak dari Departemen Agama sendiri. Mau naik haji tahun depan? Mungkin masih sama saja kejadiannya. Saya tidak habis pikir, kok banyak orang-orang yang tega mengambil keuntungan materi (banyak, lagi!) dari orang-orang yang berniat beribadah. Padahal tidak semua orang yang naik haji itu orang berada. Sudah menjadi pengetahuan umum, banyak orang yang menjual harta bendanya berupa rumah, tanah, sawah, dll. agar dapat menunaikan ibadah haji. Tapi toh manusia kalau sudah dirasuki setan tak ingat apa-apa lagi kecuali keuntungan bagi dirinya pribadi. Dan mungkin bagi mereka, lebih gampang mengeruk keuntungan dengan cara haram, daripada berusaha dengan cara yang halal.
Saya tidak tahu siapa nama kedua orang tua saya sekarang (dalam paspor), demikian juga dengan umurnya. Dengan paspor dan identitas yang kacau, saya hanya dapat berdo'a agar ibadah kedua orang tua saya diterima oleh-Nya. Saya juga berdo'a agar Allah SWT memberikan ganjaran setimpal pada oknum-oknum yang sebenarnya merupakan setan dalam wujud manusia. Amin!
Laughing Children Around Me
For a week or so I have been annoyed with children living around me. Every afternoon, around 4-6 pm, they go out and play. They talk loudly, play games and God knows what else. They also find it fun to press the bells and then run away, giggling. The noise they emit is sufficient to wake the dead.
I can't sleep well. Can't even concentrate to write or even, read.
I normally love children. Yes, they are noisy, curious, and sometimes annoying. But this is beyond the limit, I feel.
I know spells and rituals to protect my house from burglars, lightnings, fire, flood, earthquakes, any other calamities, you name it. Yet no matter how hard I try to look at my Book of Shadows (and other people's as well) I couldn't find any spells to prevent children making noises around one's home.
Yesterday, as I woke up from my restless afternoon nap, I could hear them again. Laughing and screaming. I sighed and began to complain. Yet at that time my inner voice talked to me.
"At least they're laughing..."
I smiled and felt grateful. I was rather ashamed of myself. I felt lucky. Blessed to be in the neighborhood where the children laugh instead of cry. Where they still find ways to amuse themselves outside, playing with friends, instead of going to the malls or staying at home playing PS or watching TV.
I can always change my afternoon nap to 1-4pm. After that, who knows? Maybe it's a sign for me to start growing my garden of herbs.
For a week or so I have been annoyed with children living around me. Every afternoon, around 4-6 pm, they go out and play. They talk loudly, play games and God knows what else. They also find it fun to press the bells and then run away, giggling. The noise they emit is sufficient to wake the dead.
I can't sleep well. Can't even concentrate to write or even, read.
I normally love children. Yes, they are noisy, curious, and sometimes annoying. But this is beyond the limit, I feel.
I know spells and rituals to protect my house from burglars, lightnings, fire, flood, earthquakes, any other calamities, you name it. Yet no matter how hard I try to look at my Book of Shadows (and other people's as well) I couldn't find any spells to prevent children making noises around one's home.
Yesterday, as I woke up from my restless afternoon nap, I could hear them again. Laughing and screaming. I sighed and began to complain. Yet at that time my inner voice talked to me.
"At least they're laughing..."
I smiled and felt grateful. I was rather ashamed of myself. I felt lucky. Blessed to be in the neighborhood where the children laugh instead of cry. Where they still find ways to amuse themselves outside, playing with friends, instead of going to the malls or staying at home playing PS or watching TV.
I can always change my afternoon nap to 1-4pm. After that, who knows? Maybe it's a sign for me to start growing my garden of herbs.
Love Letters...
I found an old love note today. In one of my Dame Agatha Christie's books. Funny, I thought I have discarded that zillions of years ago. Now, rereading it, I'll share it with my partner first.
It was the first love note that my ex gave me. It was written in some kind of code. I could still read it. The note goes on like this:
Vegetables are green
Grasses are green
Leaves are green
So does my heart for you
I remember him asking for my comment. He was eager to study my face. I was cold and distant. I merely stated that the grammar was wrong. It should be "So is my heart for you". The answer didn't please him. I then bombarded him with this question, "Why green? Why not red, blue, pink, or even, purple?" He only scowled that time. Oh yes, this guy could really scowl.
An old friend once told me that you shouldn't destroy your old love letters. Love might fade and disappear in a blink of an eye, yet, love and affection written in the letters are genuine and strong, so he told me. I just laughed. I'm not laughing now, I'm smiling instead. There is no use in keeping old love letters, especially written by the one(s) who hurt(s) your heart. That is my belief. So what am I going to do with the love note? Maybe I'll shred it to pieces and then perhaps, burn it to ashes.
I found an old love note today. In one of my Dame Agatha Christie's books. Funny, I thought I have discarded that zillions of years ago. Now, rereading it, I'll share it with my partner first.
It was the first love note that my ex gave me. It was written in some kind of code. I could still read it. The note goes on like this:
Vegetables are green
Grasses are green
Leaves are green
So does my heart for you
I remember him asking for my comment. He was eager to study my face. I was cold and distant. I merely stated that the grammar was wrong. It should be "So is my heart for you". The answer didn't please him. I then bombarded him with this question, "Why green? Why not red, blue, pink, or even, purple?" He only scowled that time. Oh yes, this guy could really scowl.
An old friend once told me that you shouldn't destroy your old love letters. Love might fade and disappear in a blink of an eye, yet, love and affection written in the letters are genuine and strong, so he told me. I just laughed. I'm not laughing now, I'm smiling instead. There is no use in keeping old love letters, especially written by the one(s) who hurt(s) your heart. That is my belief. So what am I going to do with the love note? Maybe I'll shred it to pieces and then perhaps, burn it to ashes.
Monday, January 19, 2004
Making Memories
There are times in my life where I miss someone (or even, something). Could be anyone. Parents, siblings, relatives, friends, acquaintances, pets, even, mundane stuff like books. My angel, Andi, said once that he didn't like the thought of missing someone. It'd weaken me, making me helpless and powerless, so he told me.
Weakness. It is a weakness to miss someone. Or even, admit it. It means you are not independent. You are not strong.
Perhaps many people share the same thought.
I have a different one, though.
Whenever I miss someone, I feel blessed. Because it means I have fond, lingering memories concerning that particular someone or something. It means I have experienced rich, unforgettable moments. It means I have lived happily. I have lived to the fullest.
It's true, when I long for someone or something, I feel massive knots inside my body. Twisting me apart, causing uneasiness and a wave of despair. Causing me to question things. However, instead of wallowing in the past, crying or laughing over events happening eons ago, I make a decision to turn this so-called weakness into my strongest weapon.
I choose to be happy. I select my memories carefully, fondling, caressing them. To move ahead. To face the uncertainties of the future. In the mean time I also make more loving, beautiful memories with many people and things around me. I cherish the time when my partner holds me close, allowing me to hear his comforting heartbeats. When we share our days, laughters and cries. I really appreciate my friends for giving me little treats or calling me just to say "hi". I memorize every detail of my beloved pets. How they purr, snore, eat, bicker with each other. I feel so blessed and loved that I sometimes cry. Tears of gratitude and happiness, knowing how lucky I am.
And now, by writing this blog, I'm also creating another memory. And sharing mine with others. For, to me, it is a way to make my life worthwhile.
There are times in my life where I miss someone (or even, something). Could be anyone. Parents, siblings, relatives, friends, acquaintances, pets, even, mundane stuff like books. My angel, Andi, said once that he didn't like the thought of missing someone. It'd weaken me, making me helpless and powerless, so he told me.
Weakness. It is a weakness to miss someone. Or even, admit it. It means you are not independent. You are not strong.
Perhaps many people share the same thought.
I have a different one, though.
Whenever I miss someone, I feel blessed. Because it means I have fond, lingering memories concerning that particular someone or something. It means I have experienced rich, unforgettable moments. It means I have lived happily. I have lived to the fullest.
It's true, when I long for someone or something, I feel massive knots inside my body. Twisting me apart, causing uneasiness and a wave of despair. Causing me to question things. However, instead of wallowing in the past, crying or laughing over events happening eons ago, I make a decision to turn this so-called weakness into my strongest weapon.
I choose to be happy. I select my memories carefully, fondling, caressing them. To move ahead. To face the uncertainties of the future. In the mean time I also make more loving, beautiful memories with many people and things around me. I cherish the time when my partner holds me close, allowing me to hear his comforting heartbeats. When we share our days, laughters and cries. I really appreciate my friends for giving me little treats or calling me just to say "hi". I memorize every detail of my beloved pets. How they purr, snore, eat, bicker with each other. I feel so blessed and loved that I sometimes cry. Tears of gratitude and happiness, knowing how lucky I am.
And now, by writing this blog, I'm also creating another memory. And sharing mine with others. For, to me, it is a way to make my life worthwhile.
Friday, January 16, 2004
On Being Beautiful
I remember one incident while I was still in junior high school. My close friends, Susan, Nengti, and I once discussed a very important matter in life.
Five years with him was enough to believe that I was as plain as the trees on my backyard. The last straw was when he cheated on me, saying that the girl was beautiful even though she wasn't as smart as I was. Ohkay, maybe I wasn't his type, physically. But hey, I don't think I deserved such cruel words. Not only that man managed to break my heart, he also smashed my ego to smithereens.
I decided to leave him. Just like that.
So, anybody out there, if you have a partner that can make you feel special, cherish him or her with all your might. (S)he might not be your ideal type, but you're not perfect, either. Instead of reproaching, try appreciating her or him for a change. And I don't mean just the physical part, but also the soul underneath.
I remember one incident while I was still in junior high school. My close friends, Susan, Nengti, and I once discussed a very important matter in life.
Nengti: I wonder why? If you're a handsome man you're bound to be with a hideous looking woman. Look at this couple for example, A & B. The man is so handsome. And the woman? Bleh.They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It might be true. I wouldn't know. It took me years to finally acknowledge than I am indeed beautiful. Oh I used to believe that I was quite a beauty, but my relationship with my ex shattered my self-confidence. Whenever he praised me, he praised me for my intellect. For my common sense. For my ideas. Once in a while he did compliment me for my looks, but, absent-mindedly. He usually glanced at me, saying, "Yeah, yeah, you look beautiful. Can we go out now?" Things like that.
Me: True, it works for women, too. I mean, if you're pretty and beautiful and the like, most likely you'll end up with an ugly man. At least, a man whose looks isn't his main trait.
Susan: (nonchalantly) Ah, then it'll be my fate then. Too bad, I'll marry an ugly one. But you're very lucky, Ti! You'll end up marrying a handsome man!
Me & Nengti: (mouths open)
Five years with him was enough to believe that I was as plain as the trees on my backyard. The last straw was when he cheated on me, saying that the girl was beautiful even though she wasn't as smart as I was. Ohkay, maybe I wasn't his type, physically. But hey, I don't think I deserved such cruel words. Not only that man managed to break my heart, he also smashed my ego to smithereens.
I decided to leave him. Just like that.
So, anybody out there, if you have a partner that can make you feel special, cherish him or her with all your might. (S)he might not be your ideal type, but you're not perfect, either. Instead of reproaching, try appreciating her or him for a change. And I don't mean just the physical part, but also the soul underneath.
Songs--Bringer of Emotions
Some songs remind me of certain events or people. For instance, the old song Solitaire sung by The Carpenters remind me of Andi Saptono. Why? I do not know. Is it the lyrics? The melody? Utada Hikaru's First Love also reminds me of him and my shin yu. It reminds me of my twin bro because we often sang this song when we went to a karaoke joint. It also reminds me of Nyachan because it's one of her favorite songs.
What songs remind me of isman? I'll name four of them: Outkast's The Whole World, Sneakers Pimps' Sick, Destiny's Child's Brown Eyes, Bryan Adams & Barbara Streisand's I Finally Found Someone. He likes songs that are full of positive energy. While I can find comfort in both positive or negative emotions. Most of the time I am a yin person... :) At times I still enjoy listening to some mellow songs. isman finally made a rule about this: "Thou shalt not listen or sing Bang Sudirman's songs on Sundays!" By the way, Sudirman was a Malay singer. Some of his songs tell about broken hearts, poverty, sad fate,... I find it really easy to annoy isman. I just sing, "Ayah dan ibuuuuuu~uuu.." and he'll cover his ears tight, hehe.
Songs that reminds me of my teenage years: Madonna's Crazy For You and The Bangles' Eternal Flame. Nengti and I sang the karaoke version many, many years ago. Oh, also some songs from The Beatles. My high school band played this song on Talent Nights. I sang Twist and Shout and Mr. Postman, hehe.
One of my special songs.. a song that's always able to lighten my mood and color my days, Southern All Stars' Manatsu no Kajitsu. I first heard this song on MTV 12-13 years ago. I still love it. Sometimes it brings tears of relief, laughters of joy, smiles of contentment. A friend sent me the translation of this song a couple of years ago, but I misplaced it. So I do not understand most of it, yet this beautiful, uplifting melody fills my heart with peace and love.
So what are your songs? Do they haunt you sometimes? Lately I have been haunted by an old song. I don't even know the title.. but it has something to do with going to Kokomo, Bahamas, come on pretty mama... something like that.
Thursday, January 15, 2004
Update (January 16th, 2003)
Forgot one thing. Got several roses from my parents on my graduation day. Funny, it slipped my mind before. I guess graduating was not such a big issue in my life.
Oh, Flowers...
How many flowers have you got so far? Never being praised for my good memory, I couldn't answer the question for sure. So far, I can only remember five incidents when people gave me flowers. Hmmm. Makes it nine, then.
1st Incident
I was still in junior high. A boy from elementary school (my friend's brother) shyly gave me a red hibiscus. Then he ran away. I thought it was so sweet. That is one of the reasons why, even till now, I name hibiscus as one of my favorite flowers.
2nd Incident
When my ex asked me to be his girlfriend. He picked a deep pink rose, hid it in the garden. He told me, if I said yes, I should take the rose from his hands. If no, then, don't bother. I threw the rose away, saying, "Hey, I have my own mouth to give you the answer. And the answer is yes."
3rd Incident
After a fight, my ex gave me a red rose, asking for my forgiveness.
4th Incident
A friend bought a red rose. Not knowing what to do with it, he gave it to me. I then gave the rose to another friend.
5th
On my 23rd birthday, a good friend of mine, Syarif Lubis gave me a long-stemmed white rose. I wonder where you are right now, Syarif dear? Last time I heard he was in Malaysia...
6th Incident
My partner gave me a roseplant for Valentine. I especially love the flowers. The color is broken white with deep pink coloring on the edges.
7th
When I sang commemorating the event Independence Day, someone went to the stage and gave me a flower. I couldn't really remember what it was... or even, who.
8th Incident
My parents' good friend, Tante Ida, brought many flowers for my engagement party. Among them were colorful roses.
9th Incident
When isman and I got married, we got more flowers than we could handle. So we gave most of them away.
In my case, I give flowers more than receive them. When I was still in university, I sometimes brought flowers (roses or chrysanthemums) for my friends. I also sent roses to people without telling them about it. I usually asked somebody else to write "Your Secret Admirer" in the card. (inspired by a story from A Chicken Soup for the Woman's Soul) I think this is a sweet and romantic thing to do...
thanks to roi
Forgot one thing. Got several roses from my parents on my graduation day. Funny, it slipped my mind before. I guess graduating was not such a big issue in my life.
Oh, Flowers...
How many flowers have you got so far? Never being praised for my good memory, I couldn't answer the question for sure. So far, I can only remember five incidents when people gave me flowers. Hmmm. Makes it nine, then.
1st Incident
I was still in junior high. A boy from elementary school (my friend's brother) shyly gave me a red hibiscus. Then he ran away. I thought it was so sweet. That is one of the reasons why, even till now, I name hibiscus as one of my favorite flowers.
2nd Incident
When my ex asked me to be his girlfriend. He picked a deep pink rose, hid it in the garden. He told me, if I said yes, I should take the rose from his hands. If no, then, don't bother. I threw the rose away, saying, "Hey, I have my own mouth to give you the answer. And the answer is yes."
3rd Incident
After a fight, my ex gave me a red rose, asking for my forgiveness.
4th Incident
A friend bought a red rose. Not knowing what to do with it, he gave it to me. I then gave the rose to another friend.
5th
On my 23rd birthday, a good friend of mine, Syarif Lubis gave me a long-stemmed white rose. I wonder where you are right now, Syarif dear? Last time I heard he was in Malaysia...
6th Incident
My partner gave me a roseplant for Valentine. I especially love the flowers. The color is broken white with deep pink coloring on the edges.
7th
When I sang commemorating the event Independence Day, someone went to the stage and gave me a flower. I couldn't really remember what it was... or even, who.
8th Incident
My parents' good friend, Tante Ida, brought many flowers for my engagement party. Among them were colorful roses.
9th Incident
When isman and I got married, we got more flowers than we could handle. So we gave most of them away.
In my case, I give flowers more than receive them. When I was still in university, I sometimes brought flowers (roses or chrysanthemums) for my friends. I also sent roses to people without telling them about it. I usually asked somebody else to write "Your Secret Admirer" in the card. (inspired by a story from A Chicken Soup for the Woman's Soul) I think this is a sweet and romantic thing to do...
thanks to roi
Mommy Told Me Not to Talk to Strangers, But...
I am not the type who can talk easily to strangers. Some people said that I looked aloof and reserved, haughty and unapproachable. Yet there are several exceptions. Sometimes if I find the person interesting enough, I initiate the conversation. Or maybe he or she starts it, and somehow, the connection materializes out of thin air. I will write down one example.
Have you ever made a deep, meaningful conversation with someone you just met? Someone that doesn't speak the same language as you do? Well, I have.
I still remember the place. It's Plaza Singapura. As usual, my family and I decided to split up for an hour or so because we had different tastes. My father was into electronics. My mother was into supermarkets. My brothers were into many things--food, music, games. I was into books and souvenirs, of course. We promised to meet somewhere in the basement, where they had many food stalls. So we could eat while we were waiting.
I got there first. No sign of my family yet. So I bought roasted chestnuts and waited on a bench on the corner. There was a faded Chinese lady near me. She was thin and perhaps, old enough to be my great-grandmother. She seemed to be waiting for someone. I smiled and offered her my chestnuts. She shook her head emphatically, saying things in Chinese. Somehow I understood. Then she offered me something from her bag, some kind of sweets. I smiled and refused.
Then she talked. Oh, my, how she talked! She seemed to pour her hearts into me. That time the only expression I remembered was the one told by my father. He learned it while he was a child in Peking (now Beijing). Chi cai lai la wo pu pa (something resembling that). The car is coming and I'm not afraid. Somehow that didn't seem appropriate, so I just replied in English. She didn't seem to mind. It seemed to encourage her. She just talked and wailed in Chinese.
I didn't understand her language, yet I understood enough. She was a heartbroken, lonely lady. She just wanted to be heard. So I listened. At times I nodded. I sympathized with her. Several minutes passed. We ate the sweets and chestnuts together. After a while she seemed satisfied. She looked at me with tears in her eyes, smiling. Then she shook my hand and left.
At that moment my parents appeared. They asked me who the Chinese lady was. "You two looked like you've known each other for a long time," my father said. I told them I had just met her. And that we talked and shared many things in both Chinese and English. "But you don't understand Chinese!" my parents said. I smiled and told them that at that time, it didn't matter.
I am not the type who can talk easily to strangers. Some people said that I looked aloof and reserved, haughty and unapproachable. Yet there are several exceptions. Sometimes if I find the person interesting enough, I initiate the conversation. Or maybe he or she starts it, and somehow, the connection materializes out of thin air. I will write down one example.
Have you ever made a deep, meaningful conversation with someone you just met? Someone that doesn't speak the same language as you do? Well, I have.
I still remember the place. It's Plaza Singapura. As usual, my family and I decided to split up for an hour or so because we had different tastes. My father was into electronics. My mother was into supermarkets. My brothers were into many things--food, music, games. I was into books and souvenirs, of course. We promised to meet somewhere in the basement, where they had many food stalls. So we could eat while we were waiting.
I got there first. No sign of my family yet. So I bought roasted chestnuts and waited on a bench on the corner. There was a faded Chinese lady near me. She was thin and perhaps, old enough to be my great-grandmother. She seemed to be waiting for someone. I smiled and offered her my chestnuts. She shook her head emphatically, saying things in Chinese. Somehow I understood. Then she offered me something from her bag, some kind of sweets. I smiled and refused.
Then she talked. Oh, my, how she talked! She seemed to pour her hearts into me. That time the only expression I remembered was the one told by my father. He learned it while he was a child in Peking (now Beijing). Chi cai lai la wo pu pa (something resembling that). The car is coming and I'm not afraid. Somehow that didn't seem appropriate, so I just replied in English. She didn't seem to mind. It seemed to encourage her. She just talked and wailed in Chinese.
I didn't understand her language, yet I understood enough. She was a heartbroken, lonely lady. She just wanted to be heard. So I listened. At times I nodded. I sympathized with her. Several minutes passed. We ate the sweets and chestnuts together. After a while she seemed satisfied. She looked at me with tears in her eyes, smiling. Then she shook my hand and left.
At that moment my parents appeared. They asked me who the Chinese lady was. "You two looked like you've known each other for a long time," my father said. I told them I had just met her. And that we talked and shared many things in both Chinese and English. "But you don't understand Chinese!" my parents said. I smiled and told them that at that time, it didn't matter.
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
Call a Rose by Any Name, It Might As Well be Sweet...
I'm lucky to be born as a girl. Had I been a boy, my parents would have named me Michaelangelo. Yep, Michaelangelo the artist. When my mother was pregnant of me she was fascinated with this book and movie called The Agony and the Ecstasy. They're about Michaelangelo's tragic life. The artist was as talented and dedicated as Leonardo da Vinci, although not as materialistic. Hence he lived in poverty.
Or perhaps I am not lucky at all. For my parents decided to name me Primadonna Angela. A name that has caused many whistles and comments. Usually it goes on like this. I wait for my name to be called. It could be, on my first day at school or on campus. Or when I took job interviews. They say my name out loud. (usually they cannot pronounce the name "Angela" correctly) Then many heads turn to my direction. At least one person would say something.
Some question it...
I'm lucky to be born as a girl. Had I been a boy, my parents would have named me Michaelangelo. Yep, Michaelangelo the artist. When my mother was pregnant of me she was fascinated with this book and movie called The Agony and the Ecstasy. They're about Michaelangelo's tragic life. The artist was as talented and dedicated as Leonardo da Vinci, although not as materialistic. Hence he lived in poverty.
Or perhaps I am not lucky at all. For my parents decided to name me Primadonna Angela. A name that has caused many whistles and comments. Usually it goes on like this. I wait for my name to be called. It could be, on my first day at school or on campus. Or when I took job interviews. They say my name out loud. (usually they cannot pronounce the name "Angela" correctly) Then many heads turn to my direction. At least one person would say something.
Some question it...
A highschool classmate: Is that your real name?Few like it...
A guy I just met: You must have given me a false name. I know that you're lying!
My ex: (chuckling) Your name doesn't sound Javanese or even Palembangnese.
A penpal from Philippines: You have the name and face that could launch thousands of ships. I think I will name my future daughter Primadonna Angela....for different reasons.
Higa Nina, my shin yu, a Japanese: You have international name like my name, Nina! Can I call you Tenshi, Angelachan?My name has a deep meaning, or so my parents said. Angela comes from Michaelangelo. And the fact that they hoped their daughter to have angelic qualities. (My mother once thought of naming me Contessina after Michaelangelo's significant other but she decided against it. Good call. I think Primadonna Contessina is weirder.) Prima because I was firstborn. Donna means Lady. It was also the title of a song that my father's band played when he was still in university. So Primadonna Angela means, firstborn lady who has angelic qualities. My highschool senior once summed it up with his in-depth analysis...
Dino Turino Setiawan: Your name's bombastic.The combination of that and my look also seem to confuse some people.
Mark Sammaritani, an Italian: Do you have any Italian blood? Your name is pure Italian. (after taking a look at my picture) You even look Italian.So what's the meaning of your name? Does it also arise questions?
Jayashankar, an Indian: Your name is so Western. But I know you've got Indian blood in you.
Ben Francis, an Australian: You look like my good friend from China. You have Chinese blood, I presume?
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Still About Ants
They chose to swarm the tea and not the sugar. After my cell phone, they moved to my phone. Maybe they like plastic now. Or perhaps, like he said, they're calling their friends somewhere out there!
I know!
They're having a party!
Here!
Ma God. Maybe we should call pest-control or something, dear.
They chose to swarm the tea and not the sugar. After my cell phone, they moved to my phone. Maybe they like plastic now. Or perhaps, like he said, they're calling their friends somewhere out there!
I know!
They're having a party!
Here!
Ma God. Maybe we should call pest-control or something, dear.
to cut or not to cut
Now I have the courage to cut my hair again. For many years I kept it long, reaching my waist. I was quite proud of it. I could tie it, plait it with scarves, colorful ribbons, flowery decorations. One of my lecturers nicknamed me Gypsy Girl because of this. She complimented me for having enough patience to keep my hair long. Indeed, it was quite difficult to manage my hair. I washed it twice a week. I almost never used hair-dryer. I let it dry naturally, which took about 2-3 hours at least.
Well, if only they knew the main reason...
I didn't cut my hair because I was afraid to.
Once, in my room, I was combing my hair when I saw a reflection on the mirror. A girl about my age, hair touching her neck, was floating in long, elegant, white gown. At first I thought it must be my maid. Yet some moments later I realized that it wasn't her. The girl in the mirror was fair while my maid was dark-skinned. Besides, my maid didn't have an outfit like that. So who was it?
I have seen many strange apparitions, but not like this. Usually I could see glimpses of things when I was dead tired. When I was about to drift to sleep. When I was sick and feverish. That time I was sober.
I decided to call my cousin. She could 'see' things. She told me that indeed, a spirit about my age resided in my house. And what a funny thing, she said, the spirit looked like me. I had nightmares about her, dying a terrible, violent death. But my cousin assured me, no, she died because of an illness. Up till now I find it hard to believe her... maybe she just didn't want me to be afraid.
After that I vowed to keep my hair long, much longer.
It's been years, though, and now I have moved out. So now my hair is reaching my neck again. I don't know why, but somehow... I feel.. in this new house, it's not wise to have my hair long.
Now I have the courage to cut my hair again. For many years I kept it long, reaching my waist. I was quite proud of it. I could tie it, plait it with scarves, colorful ribbons, flowery decorations. One of my lecturers nicknamed me Gypsy Girl because of this. She complimented me for having enough patience to keep my hair long. Indeed, it was quite difficult to manage my hair. I washed it twice a week. I almost never used hair-dryer. I let it dry naturally, which took about 2-3 hours at least.
Well, if only they knew the main reason...
I didn't cut my hair because I was afraid to.
Once, in my room, I was combing my hair when I saw a reflection on the mirror. A girl about my age, hair touching her neck, was floating in long, elegant, white gown. At first I thought it must be my maid. Yet some moments later I realized that it wasn't her. The girl in the mirror was fair while my maid was dark-skinned. Besides, my maid didn't have an outfit like that. So who was it?
I have seen many strange apparitions, but not like this. Usually I could see glimpses of things when I was dead tired. When I was about to drift to sleep. When I was sick and feverish. That time I was sober.
I decided to call my cousin. She could 'see' things. She told me that indeed, a spirit about my age resided in my house. And what a funny thing, she said, the spirit looked like me. I had nightmares about her, dying a terrible, violent death. But my cousin assured me, no, she died because of an illness. Up till now I find it hard to believe her... maybe she just didn't want me to be afraid.
After that I vowed to keep my hair long, much longer.
It's been years, though, and now I have moved out. So now my hair is reaching my neck again. I don't know why, but somehow... I feel.. in this new house, it's not wise to have my hair long.
Monday, January 12, 2004
I Chose Aloneness Over Loneliness
Alone. Lonely. Similar words, but not quite. I used to feel both. I used to associate both words. I was alone, so that means, I was lonely. It took me some time to realize that I could choose either or even, neither.
I like being alone. Not all the time, but I do need my privacy. When I was a teenager I used to lock myself in my room. Being alone after a hectic day at school--meeting schoolmates and teachers, that was pure bliss. I could read a book, contemplate about Life and Love, rearrange my room. All by myself.
Loneliness struck me at odd times. I was the type who could feel extremely lonely amidst hundreds of people. In a party, at the theaters, on the streets. I looked at many people around me, so absorbed in their own lives, uncaring. Then pangs of loneliness assailed, inveigling me to further melancholy.
I wasn't alone. There were many people around me, yet... I couldn't help feeling lonely.
Then it dawned upon me. I could be alone and not lonely.
Aloneness is a wonderful thing. You savor every single thing on your own. This might sound selfish but I do enjoy being alone. It is my time to meditate, to delve into my very soul, where I usually find comfort and answers.
Alone. Lonely. Similar words, but not quite. I used to feel both. I used to associate both words. I was alone, so that means, I was lonely. It took me some time to realize that I could choose either or even, neither.
I like being alone. Not all the time, but I do need my privacy. When I was a teenager I used to lock myself in my room. Being alone after a hectic day at school--meeting schoolmates and teachers, that was pure bliss. I could read a book, contemplate about Life and Love, rearrange my room. All by myself.
Loneliness struck me at odd times. I was the type who could feel extremely lonely amidst hundreds of people. In a party, at the theaters, on the streets. I looked at many people around me, so absorbed in their own lives, uncaring. Then pangs of loneliness assailed, inveigling me to further melancholy.
I wasn't alone. There were many people around me, yet... I couldn't help feeling lonely.
Then it dawned upon me. I could be alone and not lonely.
Aloneness is a wonderful thing. You savor every single thing on your own. This might sound selfish but I do enjoy being alone. It is my time to meditate, to delve into my very soul, where I usually find comfort and answers.
A Glimpse of the Past
Yesterday a friend of mine, Nengti, called from Germany. We went to elementary school, junior high, then high school together. It is a curious thing... it's been what, almost ten years? Yet when we talked on the phone, we sounded like schoolgirls again. Using slangs and obsolete expressions from our hometown, laughing over mundane matters. Making me remember many things. Things that made me the way I am now.
My teenager years were far from being idyllic. I wasn't beautiful, popular, or smart. I was different. And I wasn't afraid to show it. In my place back then, it was a sin. You were expected to go with the flow. I didn't agree. Other girls wore tiny earrings. I wore big, dangling ones. Other students preferred to sit in the back, talking to each other. I chose to sit in the front, paying attention to the teachers, asking when necessary. Other girls let their hair loose, or at least, tie them. I plaited my hair. Perhaps I was rebellious. Or maybe my taste was different.
I still remember the day when I decided to be an individual. I was still in senior high school, second grade. My class wanted to make class jackets or sweaters. We made a vote. More students voted for jackets. However, some students decided that it'd be better to make sweaters. Why? Because another class was making sweaters, that was why!
I objected. We voted for jackets, how come now they decided to make sweaters? Nengti also didn't agree. The sweater cost about 50k rupiahs apiece. We didn't feel like wasting our money for something we didn't want. 50k might not seem much now, but it was a lot of money back then.
I remember, two or three classmates also didn't agree. But other classmates chose to confront only Nengti and I. For whatever reasons, I had no idea. Maybe they thought Nengti and I eventually would agree to make the sweaters. I wouldn't know.
Then when we had our school break, other classmates (except the ones refusing to make class sweaters) surrounded us. The girls took their distance, but the boys came closer and closer. One boy asked us in a loud voice to make the sweaters with them. I said that Nengti and I had made it clear, we didn't want to be a part of this. He began to shout, threatening us, calling us names, saying we should be in this together, 'cause like it or not, we happened to be in the same class. I calmly said, no, thank you for the offer, but no. Then he began to be violent. He banged his fist on the table.
I was too stunned to do or say anything. My first impulse was to cry. Yet when I saw Nengti, she was also on the verge of tears. I bit my lips, my ego surfaced, saying to myself, "You should be strong. Don't give them the satisfaction to see you cry." I swallowed my own tears. Looking determined and unafraid, I banged the table with my palm. "The answer is still no," I said calmly, looking directly in his eyes. I then looked around, memorizing the faces of the classmates. The ones that I considered friends just stood there, mutely. They didn't even try to say anything to defend or even, comfort us. Eventually they left us alone. Yet this anger remained. I vowed to be an individual. I made an oath to be independent. I wouldn't care what others think of me, as long as they don't disturb me.
Now I can be an individualist, an independent woman, even, and be appreciated because of that. The funny world we live in...
Yesterday a friend of mine, Nengti, called from Germany. We went to elementary school, junior high, then high school together. It is a curious thing... it's been what, almost ten years? Yet when we talked on the phone, we sounded like schoolgirls again. Using slangs and obsolete expressions from our hometown, laughing over mundane matters. Making me remember many things. Things that made me the way I am now.
My teenager years were far from being idyllic. I wasn't beautiful, popular, or smart. I was different. And I wasn't afraid to show it. In my place back then, it was a sin. You were expected to go with the flow. I didn't agree. Other girls wore tiny earrings. I wore big, dangling ones. Other students preferred to sit in the back, talking to each other. I chose to sit in the front, paying attention to the teachers, asking when necessary. Other girls let their hair loose, or at least, tie them. I plaited my hair. Perhaps I was rebellious. Or maybe my taste was different.
I still remember the day when I decided to be an individual. I was still in senior high school, second grade. My class wanted to make class jackets or sweaters. We made a vote. More students voted for jackets. However, some students decided that it'd be better to make sweaters. Why? Because another class was making sweaters, that was why!
I objected. We voted for jackets, how come now they decided to make sweaters? Nengti also didn't agree. The sweater cost about 50k rupiahs apiece. We didn't feel like wasting our money for something we didn't want. 50k might not seem much now, but it was a lot of money back then.
I remember, two or three classmates also didn't agree. But other classmates chose to confront only Nengti and I. For whatever reasons, I had no idea. Maybe they thought Nengti and I eventually would agree to make the sweaters. I wouldn't know.
Then when we had our school break, other classmates (except the ones refusing to make class sweaters) surrounded us. The girls took their distance, but the boys came closer and closer. One boy asked us in a loud voice to make the sweaters with them. I said that Nengti and I had made it clear, we didn't want to be a part of this. He began to shout, threatening us, calling us names, saying we should be in this together, 'cause like it or not, we happened to be in the same class. I calmly said, no, thank you for the offer, but no. Then he began to be violent. He banged his fist on the table.
I was too stunned to do or say anything. My first impulse was to cry. Yet when I saw Nengti, she was also on the verge of tears. I bit my lips, my ego surfaced, saying to myself, "You should be strong. Don't give them the satisfaction to see you cry." I swallowed my own tears. Looking determined and unafraid, I banged the table with my palm. "The answer is still no," I said calmly, looking directly in his eyes. I then looked around, memorizing the faces of the classmates. The ones that I considered friends just stood there, mutely. They didn't even try to say anything to defend or even, comfort us. Eventually they left us alone. Yet this anger remained. I vowed to be an individual. I made an oath to be independent. I wouldn't care what others think of me, as long as they don't disturb me.
Now I can be an individualist, an independent woman, even, and be appreciated because of that. The funny world we live in...
Friday, January 09, 2004
Youthfulness is Relative... Wrinkles, However, are Definite
I am getting older. For that, I am somewhat relieved. Now more and more people call me "Bu"(ma'am) instead of "Mbak"(older sister) or even, "Dek" (younger one). I got sick of highschoolers calling me Dek. Once I tried to tell them that I was much older than they were (I was a junior then in university). They just laughed, believing that I lied. Well, what should I do, then? Show them my ID and birth certificate? Perhaps they'd think both ID and certificate were fabricated.
He amusedly said that I seemed to attract younger boys. Boys. He actually meant kids. I have no idea why. Do I emanate a certain aura that children love? Someone once told me that. Or maybe they see the inner child in me, calling out to them. Who knows?
When I was still an English teacher, my students always doubted my ability. What usually happened on a new class (adults) for the first time...
1) Teach children who think I'm the oldest person in the planet. Or,
2) Teach young adults who feel I'm too young for my position.
Perception is a thing of wonder. Age is a definite thing. But youthfulness is in the eye of the beholder.
Oh, and if you ask, "Isn't attracting kids a good thing?" Well, depends on what you mean by "attract." I once taught at a kindergarten. And this boy approached me.
I am getting older. For that, I am somewhat relieved. Now more and more people call me "Bu"(ma'am) instead of "Mbak"(older sister) or even, "Dek" (younger one). I got sick of highschoolers calling me Dek. Once I tried to tell them that I was much older than they were (I was a junior then in university). They just laughed, believing that I lied. Well, what should I do, then? Show them my ID and birth certificate? Perhaps they'd think both ID and certificate were fabricated.
He amusedly said that I seemed to attract younger boys. Boys. He actually meant kids. I have no idea why. Do I emanate a certain aura that children love? Someone once told me that. Or maybe they see the inner child in me, calling out to them. Who knows?
When I was still an English teacher, my students always doubted my ability. What usually happened on a new class (adults) for the first time...
Student (S): (eyeing me from head to toe) Excuse me, but how old are you?When I taught teenagers at an institution...
Me: Twenty-four, why?
S: Oh! That's a relief. I thought you were still in high school.
Me: (cursing deep down inside)
S: Well, hello, there! New student?Socializing with them, I couldn't help believing that I look younger than my age. However, I remember when I was still 14, I asked several American children (my neighbors) to guess how old I was.
Me: (sweatdrops) I'm your new teacher.
S: Oh. Still in high school?
Me: I've got a bachelor degree. From a university.
S: Cool. You must be a genius, graduating that early. Still a teenager, aren't you?
Me: (unable to say anything)
1st kid: 19!And when I taught elementary school students...
Me: Nope!
2nd kid: Umm, 16?
Me: *shaking my head*
3rd: I know, I know! 20!
Me: Nuh-uh.
4th: Oh my God! *small pause* 25?
Me: I'm 14.
All kids: What! (eyes popping out in disbelief)
S: (looking at me curiously) How old are you, Ma'am?So, judging from these experiences, at that time I had two options:
Me: (decided to lie) 20.
S: Gee! You are SO old! Hey! (calling his friends) This lady is ancient! We should pity her!
Me: (didn't know what to feel...)
1) Teach children who think I'm the oldest person in the planet. Or,
2) Teach young adults who feel I'm too young for my position.
Perception is a thing of wonder. Age is a definite thing. But youthfulness is in the eye of the beholder.
Oh, and if you ask, "Isn't attracting kids a good thing?" Well, depends on what you mean by "attract." I once taught at a kindergarten. And this boy approached me.
S: Ma'am! What is your name?
Me: (telling him my name)
S: Oh, good! My name is... (he wrote his full name on the board) Say, do you live nearby, Ma'am? I live around here. We can take a stroll sometimes together if you like. What do you think? Care to visit my house?
Me: (speechless)
Smart (Read: Stupid) Ants
There are many ants in the house. And they seem to thrive on many things. Salt, for instance. I just don't get it. There is a jar of sugar nearby, slightly open, but they deliberately choose to swarm the salt. Alright, I have to broaden my horizon. Perhaps they need salt to flavor their bland food. Perhaps in their next visit they might want some pepper and other herbs, too.
Maybe they're smart. Or stupid. Depending on which way you look at it. I made tuna sandwiches today. I left the tuna can open for several minutes. When I returned to the table, there were so many ants! Curiously, they chose to swarm the tuna-less can, not the tuna itself. He said that the ants were smart--they chose the part that the humans wouldn't consume. I said the ants were simply stupid. (I refuse to think that they're smart. Yep, 'tis my ego speaking.)
Some hours ago I found out that the ants had another thing to attack. My Listerine mouthwash! Did they long for fresh breath or something after eating cockroaches for breakfast? Or perhaps they just wanted to get drunk? Heck, when I gargle using that I usually have tears on my eyes. The stuff is that strong. And there they were, happily attempting to suck the antiseptic liquid. Maybe they thought it was some kind of exotic sweet syrup. After all, the color is blue. (I wonder, can they differentiate Listerine and Pepsi Blue?)
And hey, whatever happen to the ol' proverb? When there is sugar, ants would be there, too. Now I can change the sugar with salt, tuna-less can, listerine,... and perhaps tomorrow, I can find other things to substitute sugar with.
There are many ants in the house. And they seem to thrive on many things. Salt, for instance. I just don't get it. There is a jar of sugar nearby, slightly open, but they deliberately choose to swarm the salt. Alright, I have to broaden my horizon. Perhaps they need salt to flavor their bland food. Perhaps in their next visit they might want some pepper and other herbs, too.
Maybe they're smart. Or stupid. Depending on which way you look at it. I made tuna sandwiches today. I left the tuna can open for several minutes. When I returned to the table, there were so many ants! Curiously, they chose to swarm the tuna-less can, not the tuna itself. He said that the ants were smart--they chose the part that the humans wouldn't consume. I said the ants were simply stupid. (I refuse to think that they're smart. Yep, 'tis my ego speaking.)
Some hours ago I found out that the ants had another thing to attack. My Listerine mouthwash! Did they long for fresh breath or something after eating cockroaches for breakfast? Or perhaps they just wanted to get drunk? Heck, when I gargle using that I usually have tears on my eyes. The stuff is that strong. And there they were, happily attempting to suck the antiseptic liquid. Maybe they thought it was some kind of exotic sweet syrup. After all, the color is blue. (I wonder, can they differentiate Listerine and Pepsi Blue?)
And hey, whatever happen to the ol' proverb? When there is sugar, ants would be there, too. Now I can change the sugar with salt, tuna-less can, listerine,... and perhaps tomorrow, I can find other things to substitute sugar with.
Love is Magical
There are plenty of magical things in this world. One of them is called LOVE. Love itself is magic. It breathes inside you, even though you might deny its existence. You forget it, then it appears on your door, smiling brightly than ever. It follows you everywhere. Protecting, caressing, nurturing.
Many times I love. Too much, even. I love many things. My partner, my parents, my family. My cats. My friends. My personal possessions. And I find it hard to let go. Truth is, love is not something you can hold on to forever. When it dissipates, then you have to pack all the loving memories in the crevices of your mind, cry if you must, then leave.
It has been a long, long, time but I still can't get over the fact that my ex-boyfriend betrayed me. I remember one old, silly song sung by Expose...
As long as the stars shine up in the heavens
As long as the rivers flow to the sea
I'll never get over you getting over me
It's all over and done with. In fact he and I somehow have stopped communicating. Still, at times, I remember the betrayal, the pain I had swelling deep inside, the traumatic feeling of being suffocated and vulnerable. Five years with him led to nothing but searing pains and strange memories. It left a huge scar though invisible to the naked eye. A scar that throbs once in a while.
In a way I have to thank my ex. For now I have a loving, attentive partner. He taught me how to love again. How it feels to have someone you love nearby, supporting you. How it feels to dance in the skies, laughing in delight in ironies of life, especially mine.
They say, there is no night so dark that the morning will not come. And morning did appear again in my life, after nights of despair and sorrow. Morning came in many forms. In loving words and gestures given by a friend. In constant support from family that I love. In a man who is willing to share his life with mine.
Love makes you bleed yet it also heals. Like I said, I love many things, yet... many times I thought I didn't deserve to be loved. Now I know better. I have learned to love myself more. Thus, love flows more freely to my life, decorating my days with dazzling rainbows and glorious sunsets.
There are plenty of magical things in this world. One of them is called LOVE. Love itself is magic. It breathes inside you, even though you might deny its existence. You forget it, then it appears on your door, smiling brightly than ever. It follows you everywhere. Protecting, caressing, nurturing.
Many times I love. Too much, even. I love many things. My partner, my parents, my family. My cats. My friends. My personal possessions. And I find it hard to let go. Truth is, love is not something you can hold on to forever. When it dissipates, then you have to pack all the loving memories in the crevices of your mind, cry if you must, then leave.
It has been a long, long, time but I still can't get over the fact that my ex-boyfriend betrayed me. I remember one old, silly song sung by Expose...
As long as the stars shine up in the heavens
As long as the rivers flow to the sea
I'll never get over you getting over me
It's all over and done with. In fact he and I somehow have stopped communicating. Still, at times, I remember the betrayal, the pain I had swelling deep inside, the traumatic feeling of being suffocated and vulnerable. Five years with him led to nothing but searing pains and strange memories. It left a huge scar though invisible to the naked eye. A scar that throbs once in a while.
In a way I have to thank my ex. For now I have a loving, attentive partner. He taught me how to love again. How it feels to have someone you love nearby, supporting you. How it feels to dance in the skies, laughing in delight in ironies of life, especially mine.
They say, there is no night so dark that the morning will not come. And morning did appear again in my life, after nights of despair and sorrow. Morning came in many forms. In loving words and gestures given by a friend. In constant support from family that I love. In a man who is willing to share his life with mine.
Love makes you bleed yet it also heals. Like I said, I love many things, yet... many times I thought I didn't deserve to be loved. Now I know better. I have learned to love myself more. Thus, love flows more freely to my life, decorating my days with dazzling rainbows and glorious sunsets.
Thursday, January 08, 2004
[I find it strange]
I find it strange,
I think it may happen
only to me
Coffee, combined with milk and cream
sugar lumps and sweet delight
becomes remedies for many ailments
but to me
a bane in disguise
if drunk without
your presence next to me. (16/08/2003)
For my twin bro, Andi Saptono
Let's have cups of coffee together when you return, okay? Sweet water and light laughter until next time we meet, dear angel.
I find it strange,
I think it may happen
only to me
Coffee, combined with milk and cream
sugar lumps and sweet delight
becomes remedies for many ailments
but to me
a bane in disguise
if drunk without
your presence next to me. (16/08/2003)
For my twin bro, Andi Saptono
Let's have cups of coffee together when you return, okay? Sweet water and light laughter until next time we meet, dear angel.
Fishing for Shoes
Have you ever wondered why do they make it such a cliche? It's like this. You go to a river, intending to go fishing. Instead of catching a big, fat, fish, you come across a shoe. You see this scene depicted on the movies, cartoons, stories, well--y'name it.
It seems that we have more marital problems than we care to admit.
There is this belief in Romany tradition that, if a married couple has a problem, one can solve it by going to a river with a shoe belonging to the missing partner. Write a wish on the shoe and then toss it downstream! The problem is said to be flown away.
Many people seem to adopt this belief. No wonder it is easier to fish for shoes than for fish.
There's this one tiny thing. I wonder why in the movies etc. they usually catch shoes worn by men? I've never seen a scene where they capture a 10-inch high-heeled shoes, for instance.
Have you ever wondered why do they make it such a cliche? It's like this. You go to a river, intending to go fishing. Instead of catching a big, fat, fish, you come across a shoe. You see this scene depicted on the movies, cartoons, stories, well--y'name it.
It seems that we have more marital problems than we care to admit.
There is this belief in Romany tradition that, if a married couple has a problem, one can solve it by going to a river with a shoe belonging to the missing partner. Write a wish on the shoe and then toss it downstream! The problem is said to be flown away.
Many people seem to adopt this belief. No wonder it is easier to fish for shoes than for fish.
There's this one tiny thing. I wonder why in the movies etc. they usually catch shoes worn by men? I've never seen a scene where they capture a 10-inch high-heeled shoes, for instance.
Wednesday, January 07, 2004
"The Dance of Marriage"
Simultaneously
Steadfast, hands held
Bodies entwined
in sinuous rhythm
We walk, canter, run, and hide
Beginning a journey together
with light laughters
and sweet warm smiles
Sometimes following melodies
Silent at times, led by our hearts
Together
we rock the universe. (10/10/2003)
Written by me, for My Love.
Simultaneously
Steadfast, hands held
Bodies entwined
in sinuous rhythm
We walk, canter, run, and hide
Beginning a journey together
with light laughters
and sweet warm smiles
Sometimes following melodies
Silent at times, led by our hearts
Together
we rock the universe. (10/10/2003)
Written by me, for My Love.
Cool vs Geeky
Most Indonesians and Americans seem to have different opinions about what's cool and what's geeky. Here, people who read fantasy books can be categorized as cool people. After all, Indonesian people who can read hundreds of pages in English must be cool. 'Cause not many people speak and write good English here in Indonesia.
In the United States it is different, however. People who love fantasy books may be considered as geeks.
Take Lord of the Rings, as an example.
In Indonesia, It Is Cool to...
+ read Lord of the Rings
+ watch the movies
+ like both the movies and the books (it's OK to like books or movies only)
+ reading the books after watching the movies
+ reading the books before watching the movies --> SUPERCOOL
(It's a bonus if you love the books. And can give deep insights about the characters, settings, etc.)
In the States, It Is Cool to...
+ love the movies but the books? Well, not really...
+ watch the movies
+ read the books AFTER watching the movies (it's OK to say that the books are boring compared to the movies)
However, in the States, It Is Geeky to...
- prefer the books than the movies
- read the books after watching the movie (enjoying them immensely)
- read the books LONG BEFORE watching the movies, and loving them --> SUPERGEEKY
Most Indonesians and Americans seem to have different opinions about what's cool and what's geeky. Here, people who read fantasy books can be categorized as cool people. After all, Indonesian people who can read hundreds of pages in English must be cool. 'Cause not many people speak and write good English here in Indonesia.
In the United States it is different, however. People who love fantasy books may be considered as geeks.
Take Lord of the Rings, as an example.
In Indonesia, It Is Cool to...
+ read Lord of the Rings
+ watch the movies
+ like both the movies and the books (it's OK to like books or movies only)
+ reading the books after watching the movies
+ reading the books before watching the movies --> SUPERCOOL
(It's a bonus if you love the books. And can give deep insights about the characters, settings, etc.)
In the States, It Is Cool to...
+ love the movies but the books? Well, not really...
+ watch the movies
+ read the books AFTER watching the movies (it's OK to say that the books are boring compared to the movies)
However, in the States, It Is Geeky to...
- prefer the books than the movies
- read the books after watching the movie (enjoying them immensely)
- read the books LONG BEFORE watching the movies, and loving them --> SUPERGEEKY
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
From Lord of the Rings to Dragonlance
Yeah. It's official. I'm a fantasy geek. My partner always shudders whenever he catches me reading Lord of the Rings or books from Dragonlance. I usually encourages him to read the books, especially the ones from Dragonlance.
The problem is, you see, Dragonlance contains of plenty of trilogies. The first trilogy is called Chronicles. Three books, each of them has about 300-400 pages. The next trilogy is called Legends. And then there's Tales from the Second Generation (kinda forget some titles, so you might want to check the official site or this. If you're that interested, that is.) written by the same authors, Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. You can skip that and move to Dragons of Summer Flame which contains--what, 500-600 pages IINM. Then you proceed to the latest trilogy. One book has about 600-700 pages, maybe more.
And they are just the important books, so to speak. There are others. He always complains that he does not have enough time to read. So he says...
I prefer the ones written by Weis and Hickman, though. Maybe I'll reread their works again...
Several years ago, when I first read Lord of the Rings trilogy, I had nobody to discuss it with. Most people scoffed at me, saying that only fools had enough time to read LOTR. Now that the movies are out, suddenly, plenty of new fans emerge, saying this and that about LOTR. I have many people to discuss it with. However, sometimes I'm still disappointed because they still compare the movies with the books. Oh, well.
*sighing*
I also read works done by Raymond E. Feist (still waiting for the sequel of Talon of the Silver Hawk) and David Eddings. I've read several books from Forgotten Realms, Ravenloft, Shannara, what else?
Characters that I love from Dragonlance:
- Tanthalas Half-Elven (Tanis)
Hot-headed yet wise. Handsome and loyal to his friends.
- Lauranthalasa of the Royal House of Qualinesti (Laurana)
Tanis' wife. Strong and well-mannered. Beautiful and courageous. Unappreciated by her own folks.
- Tasslehoff Burrfoot
Ah, here's a character I can identify myself with. :) Curious and easily bored, like all kenders. Witty.
Characters that I love from Lord of the Rings:
- Strider a.k.a. Aragorn, later known as King Elessar
Reasons are unnecessary. :)
- Gandalf
He's like someone very dear to you, friendly and huggable.
- Galadriel
Her beauty is such an inspiration. I especially love Lothlorien.
Yeah. It's official. I'm a fantasy geek. My partner always shudders whenever he catches me reading Lord of the Rings or books from Dragonlance. I usually encourages him to read the books, especially the ones from Dragonlance.
The problem is, you see, Dragonlance contains of plenty of trilogies. The first trilogy is called Chronicles. Three books, each of them has about 300-400 pages. The next trilogy is called Legends. And then there's Tales from the Second Generation (kinda forget some titles, so you might want to check the official site or this. If you're that interested, that is.) written by the same authors, Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. You can skip that and move to Dragons of Summer Flame which contains--what, 500-600 pages IINM. Then you proceed to the latest trilogy. One book has about 600-700 pages, maybe more.
And they are just the important books, so to speak. There are others. He always complains that he does not have enough time to read. So he says...
I prefer the ones written by Weis and Hickman, though. Maybe I'll reread their works again...
Several years ago, when I first read Lord of the Rings trilogy, I had nobody to discuss it with. Most people scoffed at me, saying that only fools had enough time to read LOTR. Now that the movies are out, suddenly, plenty of new fans emerge, saying this and that about LOTR. I have many people to discuss it with. However, sometimes I'm still disappointed because they still compare the movies with the books. Oh, well.
*sighing*
I also read works done by Raymond E. Feist (still waiting for the sequel of Talon of the Silver Hawk) and David Eddings. I've read several books from Forgotten Realms, Ravenloft, Shannara, what else?
Characters that I love from Dragonlance:
- Tanthalas Half-Elven (Tanis)
Hot-headed yet wise. Handsome and loyal to his friends.
- Lauranthalasa of the Royal House of Qualinesti (Laurana)
Tanis' wife. Strong and well-mannered. Beautiful and courageous. Unappreciated by her own folks.
- Tasslehoff Burrfoot
Ah, here's a character I can identify myself with. :) Curious and easily bored, like all kenders. Witty.
Characters that I love from Lord of the Rings:
- Strider a.k.a. Aragorn, later known as King Elessar
Reasons are unnecessary. :)
- Gandalf
He's like someone very dear to you, friendly and huggable.
- Galadriel
Her beauty is such an inspiration. I especially love Lothlorien.
Tarot Reading for the Day
(Zen Style)
Decided not to use Celtic Cross this time, too complicated and I fear that I don't have enough energy. So I just selected four cards.
Card #1: 4 of Fire (Action): Participation
Card #2: King of Rainbow (Physical): Abundance
Card #3: Ace of Fire (Action): The Source
Card #4: 0 of Major Arcana: The Fool
Most likely in near future I'll be involved in something. I'll socialize with others, whether I like it or not. Or maybe I'll join something--a competition? Sounds promising.
I now live in abundance. I am in harmony. My time to rest and savor the flavor of the world. A man of high influence might come to my life, elevating me to a higher position.
The Source. Here lies the problem. I have been excusing myself with writer's blockitis for several days. And I know I have to contact The Source to maintain my creativity and perseverance. Somehow I still feel reluctant to do so.
The Fool. I am writing this with a smile. To solve the problem, I'll just trust myself to where things flow. Unafraid of what might be in store for me. The card also represents my partner. Hmmm.
(Zen Style)
Decided not to use Celtic Cross this time, too complicated and I fear that I don't have enough energy. So I just selected four cards.
Card #1: 4 of Fire (Action): Participation
Card #2: King of Rainbow (Physical): Abundance
Card #3: Ace of Fire (Action): The Source
Card #4: 0 of Major Arcana: The Fool
Most likely in near future I'll be involved in something. I'll socialize with others, whether I like it or not. Or maybe I'll join something--a competition? Sounds promising.
I now live in abundance. I am in harmony. My time to rest and savor the flavor of the world. A man of high influence might come to my life, elevating me to a higher position.
The Source. Here lies the problem. I have been excusing myself with writer's blockitis for several days. And I know I have to contact The Source to maintain my creativity and perseverance. Somehow I still feel reluctant to do so.
The Fool. I am writing this with a smile. To solve the problem, I'll just trust myself to where things flow. Unafraid of what might be in store for me. The card also represents my partner. Hmmm.
Monday, January 05, 2004
Sing All the Negativities Away...
Well, anyway. Despite of the dreadful encounter with uncaring smokers, I am quite happy today. Got a tidy sum of money for singing the General Election theme. Qasidahan style. I am absolutely not proud of it though I'm quite sure Quisalas is. (I have at least 3,497 reasons to support this belief!)
I love singing. I especially love being onstage while singing. It has been a while, though, and I don't think I'll do that again. (not in near future, anyhow) I still miss the exchange of energy, though. Entertaining others. Making them smile and clap their hands. Now I prefer to be my youngest brother's roadie. :D
Wait a minute. It hasn't been that long, actually, only a year and a half, perhaps? The last time, the American pianist Bill Heid tricked me to sing with him. It wasn't much, anyway. A jazzy blues tune. But it was on a stage, nevertheless. At first I was the MC, then Bill Heid made me sing with him. Then he announced me as his fiancee, hehehe.
I miss him and the other guys, the handsome Pat and cute Mike. Mike likes to call me "kiddo" despite of my age. I mean, he's only... what, 7-8 years older than I am!
Wow, I miss a lot of things. It makes me feel blessed...
I am rambling again...
Ah, back to singing. I love singing. (yeah, yeah, so what else is new?) I was born and raised in a musical family. And I believe in singing all your negativities away. Whenever I am depressed or sad, I sing a song. Sometimes it is a crappy melody, at times a vivacious, happy one. Many times I cry first, then emerge into the world as a happier, more loving person.
Songs can really change your mood. They are indeed magical. Right now I'm listening to this song, it really brings positive feelings and love to me. It is called To Be in Love sung by Lynn Minmay in an animation called Robotech (American version, the Japanese one is called Macross).
TO BE IN LOVE sung by LYNN MINMAY (OST of ROBOTECH)
(Sometimes I dream with open eyes. I dream of falling in love.)
To be in love
must be the sweetest feeling that a girl can feel
To be in love
To live a dream
with somebody you care about like no one else
A special man, a dearest man
Who needs to share his life with you alone
Who'll hold you close and feel things that only love brings
to know that he is all your own
To be my love
My love must be much more than any other man
To be my love
To share my dream
My hero, he must take me where no other can
Where we will find a brand new world
A world of things we've never seen before
Where silver suns have golden moons
Each year has thirteen Junes
That's what must be for me
To be in love
I am singing this song for my Beloved, who shares his life and dreams with me. Amin mela lle, Quisalas...
Well, anyway. Despite of the dreadful encounter with uncaring smokers, I am quite happy today. Got a tidy sum of money for singing the General Election theme. Qasidahan style. I am absolutely not proud of it though I'm quite sure Quisalas is. (I have at least 3,497 reasons to support this belief!)
I love singing. I especially love being onstage while singing. It has been a while, though, and I don't think I'll do that again. (not in near future, anyhow) I still miss the exchange of energy, though. Entertaining others. Making them smile and clap their hands. Now I prefer to be my youngest brother's roadie. :D
Wait a minute. It hasn't been that long, actually, only a year and a half, perhaps? The last time, the American pianist Bill Heid tricked me to sing with him. It wasn't much, anyway. A jazzy blues tune. But it was on a stage, nevertheless. At first I was the MC, then Bill Heid made me sing with him. Then he announced me as his fiancee, hehehe.
I miss him and the other guys, the handsome Pat and cute Mike. Mike likes to call me "kiddo" despite of my age. I mean, he's only... what, 7-8 years older than I am!
Wow, I miss a lot of things. It makes me feel blessed...
I am rambling again...
Ah, back to singing. I love singing. (yeah, yeah, so what else is new?) I was born and raised in a musical family. And I believe in singing all your negativities away. Whenever I am depressed or sad, I sing a song. Sometimes it is a crappy melody, at times a vivacious, happy one. Many times I cry first, then emerge into the world as a happier, more loving person.
Songs can really change your mood. They are indeed magical. Right now I'm listening to this song, it really brings positive feelings and love to me. It is called To Be in Love sung by Lynn Minmay in an animation called Robotech (American version, the Japanese one is called Macross).
TO BE IN LOVE sung by LYNN MINMAY (OST of ROBOTECH)
(Sometimes I dream with open eyes. I dream of falling in love.)
To be in love
must be the sweetest feeling that a girl can feel
To be in love
To live a dream
with somebody you care about like no one else
A special man, a dearest man
Who needs to share his life with you alone
Who'll hold you close and feel things that only love brings
to know that he is all your own
To be my love
My love must be much more than any other man
To be my love
To share my dream
My hero, he must take me where no other can
Where we will find a brand new world
A world of things we've never seen before
Where silver suns have golden moons
Each year has thirteen Junes
That's what must be for me
To be in love
I am singing this song for my Beloved, who shares his life and dreams with me. Amin mela lle, Quisalas...
Illiterate people
Ohkay. So I'm being too harsh. Maybe I should write this as the title: "uncaring people". There are so many in this world. And it sickens me at times to see them around me, floating, gloating, free or worries and cares.
My family and I had lunch at a mall. I wouldn't name it. Suffice to say, it is located downtown. During lunches, a keyboardist and a singer usually entertain the people eating lunch (I wasn't entertained, but that's another story).
We sat on the "non-smoking section". You can see the signs clearly. They are posted in every pillar and nearby walls. Yet, there were people smoking in non-smoking section. They could just choose to smoke in the smoking section. It was not that crowded.
Why did they decide to smoke in the non-smoking section? Maybe it's because:
1. they couldn't read (blind?).
2. they didn't pay attention much to their surroundings.
or
3. they're just ignorant bastards.
All of them happened to be male (though I'm aware more and more women smoke nowadays). Three of them wore fancy pants and expensive shirts with matching ties. One smoked while looking around, for girls, apparently. Sometimes I can tune in to people's thoughts, and this guy thought was so obscene and disgusting that I cut the connection right away. (a pity I am not able to control it yet.) I visualized a spell of binding. Maybe it won't do much good, but still. And at this point, he stared at me, sizing me up, finding me to his liking, perhaps? It was then when I lost my control. I deliberately gave him the evil eye. I do not have any regrets. To me, he richly deserved it.
I don't mind people who smoke. As long as they do not smoke near me. Or at least, ask permission first from other people nearby. If they want to ruin themself, be my guest and do it elsewhere, but don't drag anybody else into it. Well, as long as they don't care, it's okay. But I happen to care.
Maybe I'm different. A loner. A selfish. I love love itself, peace, balance, and harmony. But I hate a lot of things, too. And one of them is called "smoke".
Ohkay. So I'm being too harsh. Maybe I should write this as the title: "uncaring people". There are so many in this world. And it sickens me at times to see them around me, floating, gloating, free or worries and cares.
My family and I had lunch at a mall. I wouldn't name it. Suffice to say, it is located downtown. During lunches, a keyboardist and a singer usually entertain the people eating lunch (I wasn't entertained, but that's another story).
We sat on the "non-smoking section". You can see the signs clearly. They are posted in every pillar and nearby walls. Yet, there were people smoking in non-smoking section. They could just choose to smoke in the smoking section. It was not that crowded.
Why did they decide to smoke in the non-smoking section? Maybe it's because:
1. they couldn't read (blind?).
2. they didn't pay attention much to their surroundings.
or
3. they're just ignorant bastards.
All of them happened to be male (though I'm aware more and more women smoke nowadays). Three of them wore fancy pants and expensive shirts with matching ties. One smoked while looking around, for girls, apparently. Sometimes I can tune in to people's thoughts, and this guy thought was so obscene and disgusting that I cut the connection right away. (a pity I am not able to control it yet.) I visualized a spell of binding. Maybe it won't do much good, but still. And at this point, he stared at me, sizing me up, finding me to his liking, perhaps? It was then when I lost my control. I deliberately gave him the evil eye. I do not have any regrets. To me, he richly deserved it.
I don't mind people who smoke. As long as they do not smoke near me. Or at least, ask permission first from other people nearby. If they want to ruin themself, be my guest and do it elsewhere, but don't drag anybody else into it. Well, as long as they don't care, it's okay. But I happen to care.
Maybe I'm different. A loner. A selfish. I love love itself, peace, balance, and harmony. But I hate a lot of things, too. And one of them is called "smoke".
Dreams
At times I love to cling on dreams. Fondling them as long as possible, nurturing them so they could manifest as fruits of my labor. Embracing them, caressing them. Weaving them into stories, poems. Dreams are very precious for me.
I often have prophetic dreams. Maybe they leak from my subconscious. Or could it be that they come from The Highest Being? I wouldn't know. All I know is that, when I wake up, I know for a certainty that the dreams are indeed reality. Reality from the past, present, or future.
A couple of years ago I dreamt of Monique Poulussen's dwelling. I have never been to Holland. Yet I could tell her every single detail about her house and her bedroom. She has never been to Indonesia. Yet she could tell me what ornaments were present in my living room, the way I decorate my room. I really miss her. I don't know what happened to her. I haven't heard from her for about a year.
When my cousin, Mbak Iin, was pregnant, I could tell that the baby would be a she. And it turned out to be right.
My best friend told me that she was very depressed 'cause she didn't have a baby yet. I told her she'd have a baby soon, maybe even, two babies. She got Shota and Kohei now.
Maybe I can attune myself to some people that I care about. Not just I, but I believe everybody can. Forging psychic links, emotional bonds, whatever you call it.
At times I love to cling on dreams. Fondling them as long as possible, nurturing them so they could manifest as fruits of my labor. Embracing them, caressing them. Weaving them into stories, poems. Dreams are very precious for me.
I often have prophetic dreams. Maybe they leak from my subconscious. Or could it be that they come from The Highest Being? I wouldn't know. All I know is that, when I wake up, I know for a certainty that the dreams are indeed reality. Reality from the past, present, or future.
A couple of years ago I dreamt of Monique Poulussen's dwelling. I have never been to Holland. Yet I could tell her every single detail about her house and her bedroom. She has never been to Indonesia. Yet she could tell me what ornaments were present in my living room, the way I decorate my room. I really miss her. I don't know what happened to her. I haven't heard from her for about a year.
When my cousin, Mbak Iin, was pregnant, I could tell that the baby would be a she. And it turned out to be right.
My best friend told me that she was very depressed 'cause she didn't have a baby yet. I told her she'd have a baby soon, maybe even, two babies. She got Shota and Kohei now.
Maybe I can attune myself to some people that I care about. Not just I, but I believe everybody can. Forging psychic links, emotional bonds, whatever you call it.
Sunday, January 04, 2004
Ha! You thought you can lie low and hide! You were wrong! Haha! And what's with "the hug" thing? I am not a compulsive hugger! Well, not anymore! I only hug people that I care about. I can't help it if I care for many people, can I? :) Anyway, maybe it's your so-called diet that makes you sick. It might sound callous, but I'm actually grinning while writing this. (or maybe it's because I am looking at my partner's expression watching Jurassic Park on TV. One of the moments where I wish I had a digicam ready near me.)
Get well soon, handsome boy. ;) (yeah, you)
Diary of a Cat
Developed some pics today. Mostly about my spoiled brat, Popox. I would love to make a blog about him and his thoughts. But I'm afraid most of the entries will go on like this:
Day 1
Slept 12 hours today. Ate catfood. Longed for cheese and cream.
Day 2
Fought with a ferocious tomcat. Lost. Had to run home for shelter.
Day 3
I puked. Must've been the hairballs. Or the worms.
Day 4
Ventured myself to taste durian. Not bad. Much prefer tempe, though.
Day 5
Had a couple of humans search for my fleas. Killed at least a dozen.
and so on, and so on...
And why do I love this useless mass of fur? He said that I had this need to love someone (or something) unconditionally. And this time I deliberately choose Popox.
Get well soon, handsome boy. ;) (yeah, you)
Diary of a Cat
Developed some pics today. Mostly about my spoiled brat, Popox. I would love to make a blog about him and his thoughts. But I'm afraid most of the entries will go on like this:
Day 1
Slept 12 hours today. Ate catfood. Longed for cheese and cream.
Day 2
Fought with a ferocious tomcat. Lost. Had to run home for shelter.
Day 3
I puked. Must've been the hairballs. Or the worms.
Day 4
Ventured myself to taste durian. Not bad. Much prefer tempe, though.
Day 5
Had a couple of humans search for my fleas. Killed at least a dozen.
and so on, and so on...
And why do I love this useless mass of fur? He said that I had this need to love someone (or something) unconditionally. And this time I deliberately choose Popox.
Saturday, January 03, 2004
Weary, watery eyes, blurry vision and furry sensation. I just realize that I haven't written a poem for months. I lost my notebook containing my poems. It's time to dig my room and find it.
My twin brother called today!
He sounded a bit different. Perhaps it's the connection. Or the time difference. What I do know, my partner and I are always glad to receive his call.
Am planning to go out to buy something, yet, once again this feeling imbues my senses and clouds my thoughts. I keep making up excuses. Laziness. Sleepiness. Thinking that, ah, one hour more wouldn't hurt. Here I still am, writing and waiting.
For what?
I crave to have something. And I know where I can get it. The only way, I have to get up from this chair then prepare myself to go out.
Ooh, but I am too lazy and a bit dizzy.
Excuses, excuses...
My twin brother called today!
He sounded a bit different. Perhaps it's the connection. Or the time difference. What I do know, my partner and I are always glad to receive his call.
Am planning to go out to buy something, yet, once again this feeling imbues my senses and clouds my thoughts. I keep making up excuses. Laziness. Sleepiness. Thinking that, ah, one hour more wouldn't hurt. Here I still am, writing and waiting.
For what?
I crave to have something. And I know where I can get it. The only way, I have to get up from this chair then prepare myself to go out.
Ooh, but I am too lazy and a bit dizzy.
Excuses, excuses...
Thursday, January 01, 2004
Predictions
Do you believe in fortune-tellers? Psychics? People who claim that they can see your future as easy as you spell A-B-C? I do. In one condition, if I find the predictions favorable.
They say that female Librans in 2004 will concentrate more on careers. And they specifically say, if the Libran happen to be a writer, she'll be able to sell more of her writings. If she's a teacher, she'll get opportunities to teach more and perhaps, get involved in important seminars.
It makes me wonder--I mean, do most of female Librans write and teach? Is it a generalization or what?
Anyway. I'll still check my Tarot decks. If I don't like the result, I can always reshuffle the cards 'till I find a reading I can believe in.
New Year Celebration
Well! Happy New Year, to the ones celebrating it. I happen to be the one who doesn't really care much about New Year celebration and all. Alright. Starting from today I have to get used to writing '2004' whenever I start or end my letters, journals, poems, or stories. Hmm, maybe that's it for me.
Do you believe in fortune-tellers? Psychics? People who claim that they can see your future as easy as you spell A-B-C? I do. In one condition, if I find the predictions favorable.
They say that female Librans in 2004 will concentrate more on careers. And they specifically say, if the Libran happen to be a writer, she'll be able to sell more of her writings. If she's a teacher, she'll get opportunities to teach more and perhaps, get involved in important seminars.
It makes me wonder--I mean, do most of female Librans write and teach? Is it a generalization or what?
Anyway. I'll still check my Tarot decks. If I don't like the result, I can always reshuffle the cards 'till I find a reading I can believe in.
New Year Celebration
Well! Happy New Year, to the ones celebrating it. I happen to be the one who doesn't really care much about New Year celebration and all. Alright. Starting from today I have to get used to writing '2004' whenever I start or end my letters, journals, poems, or stories. Hmm, maybe that's it for me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)