Tuesday, June 29, 2010

It's Not Always Because You Said So



I heard what you said.

the soft breeze slips through your lips, but I see thunder and gray clouds in your eyes.


I can see you.

your soul slips through the thin membrane wrapping you, exposing what you say is "you".

yes. I can hear and see you. standing there. a hypocrite pretending to look low.

but there you are.

you always stand tall, as if you could hold the world above your head by with your fingertips. getting whatever you want, however you like.


huh? what is it you said?


no. you can't have me.

absolutely not.


*Painting: Silent memory by Paul Pulszartti

Living Up to Expectations (1)

(This is an entry for actualization purposes.^-^ A recount of the events I’ve been through ; pieces that create the mosaic of my life)

I’ve always been a sucker for praise. I grew up trying to please everyone: my parents, my teachers, my family, my friends… I was used to the general good girl image that was smart, friendly, and obedient. My pride came from successfully making other people proud, and that pride was acknowledged by praise. So I came to the conclusion that my satisfaction could only be derived from the acknowledgement in the form of praise.

My first two years of primary school were spent in Indonesia. I was a typical obedient student, always gaining the top three in my class. I never got any red marks. I spent year 3 until year 6 in Australia, because my dad had to get his degree there. I continued my masquerade. I became a straight A’s student. I became the top of my class and got the special award of the year for good students. I proved myself in both academic and art competitions. I joined the school choir. I even volunteered to help out with the school compost project. “Goody-goody-two-shoes” some of the kids called me. But I didn’t care. I was in an unconscious state of depression and trauma from bullying because of things like race, appearance, and my “good student” image. I got my share of physical and nonphysical abuse: cursed, called names, hit, and even thrown rocks at. But I never wavered from my path. I got pleasure in beating those kids non-physically in something they couldn’t retaliate upon. I knew it would also give me support and protection from the teachers. Anyway, I wasn’t the only kid at school who suffered bullying. A lot of kids were victims. I hung out with all these kids. We became a gang and stuck together. Because of our quantity together, the bullies couldn’t touch us.


High school was the same. I spent about three months of my first year in Australia, and the rest of it in Indonesia. There was a big difference in the atmosphere. During my first three months in high school in Australia, I was desperately trying to find a new gang. My friends went to different schools, or were still in the 6th grade. A gang was essential to provide safety. It was also something that determined your position in the high school food chain. I knew I would never get into the cool and popular strata at the top of the pyramid. Maybe I could get into the braniacs and nerds, but I was tired of the label. Or was I really the invisible section in between? I was still deciding what I wanted.

Like all teenagers, I faced an identity crisis. I tried the quiet and cool type so I could still maintain my grades without falling into the nerdy area (yeah… it’s shallow, but it was a survival mode). I tried slang and swear language. I learnt about dark makeup (haha… emo). I involved myself in the arts: drama, abstract art, and music. I even got into detention a few times by deliberately not doing my homework and assignments. I wanted to be able to mingle with the other kids but still retain respect from the teachers by keeping good grades. It was quite an experience. But no, I wasn’t interested in guys yet. My main goal was to go through high school safely and happily with no more bullying.

High school in Indonesia was so different.

- To be continued - 

Friday, June 18, 2010

Especially for YOU

Already half of my day as a 21-year-old has passed and all I’ve done is reply the birthday messages I got on facebook. Hahaha… So here I am, with nothing specific to do. I was supposed to teach USM (tutoring for the STAN entrance test) but I had a schedule planned earlier to hangout with the members of the STANEC band. Later it turned out that some of them couldn’t attend so I (as the manager) thought that we should reschedule because it wouldn’t be fun if we weren’t complete. Meanwhile, I couldn’t go and teach because I was already replaced. So… here I am writing my blog to kill the time.

One thing I realized today: Facebook makes you vain. How? When it’s your birthday, your notifications gets so crowded with birthday messages it’s impossible to keep up with them. Then you reply to the messages and start feeling like a superstar who’s answering fan mail. LOL. Anyway, this applies to me. Does it apply to you?

Overall, I enjoy reading and replying my “fan mail”. You don’t get the chance to be so popular everyday *laughs*. It may seem pathetic, but I like living in the moment anyway.

While I am taking a break from facebook I am going to start on my newest project. It’s called “My Toto Chan”. Have you ever read the book Toto Chan? It’s a collection of true stories from a Japanese girl’s childhood. I want to make my own collection.

What triggered me to do it? A couple of months ago, my laptop was stolen (hiks). That loss meant that I lost many of my works, my writings, my data, and worst of all, my diary. I was so stupid not to make a back up of it. I lost the urge to write altogether.

But as I recovered and I saw other people’s blogs, I found the urge again. I got the idea for My Toto Chan after having a talk with my roommate about our childhood. She said my experiences were unique and funny I should write them down so I would not forget. I thought it was a good idea.

Anyway, I want to start it soon. I think my birthday is a good momentum. I have high spirits to do something special.

I believe that everyone may have a special story to tell. Everyone’s life is special, full of interesting events that should be shared so that we may learn from them, or at least give us a new idea. Just think: Millions of people. Billions of stories. But Allah still gives us the blessing to feel special in our lives, for example, when it’s our birthday.

The examples may go on and on.

When a baby is born, it’s such a celebrated event. But when we think of it, birth is such a normal and practical thing in the cycle of life. But Allah makes it so special by putting happiness, warmth, and love into the hearts of those who celebrate it.

When a baby says his or her first word, his or her parents rejoice and may even cry at the achievement. But talking is a common attribute of the human being, so what is so extraordinary about it? Again, Allah makes it so special by controlling the emotions parents have for their children.

Humans are small beings. Almost an insignificant variable in measuring the width of the universe. But Allah makes us significant, creating each of us different from the others, with our own fates, with our own tales to tell. Millions of people. Billions of tales. And all those tales come from lives that interlink with each other, that affect  each other in the most accurate way. A single look, a slight glance, and one step can change the course of a life. A second can change the course of a tale.  And there are so many possibilities for just one tale.

Billions of tales. An infinity of possibilities.


So, why do we sometimes feel insignificant and that we are not special?

We may be small, but remember that Allah is Mighty. Everything is created in the most accurate sense. We are all special.











Sooooo lucky to be alive!


Happy Birthday


Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday to me… Best wishes!

I’m 21 years old now – the dreaded number that changes the zero that once was. I dreaded 20, now I’m 21. I feel old-,-“. All the same, I’m thankful.

Firstly I should give thanks to Allah for the blessing of life, the chance to be older and live the life I’ve had. I think I have learnt a lot this year. I have seen the true goodness of the people around me and tried to be thankful for their presence in my life. I have experienced leading in an organization and working together with different people, exercising effort and optimism. I have managed to learn adjudicating and learnt more about wisdom and fairness from it. I have experienced the “motherly” anxiety and care when becoming a manager for a group of talented people. I have taken trips to other cities, discovering new sights and scenes. I have endured the long separation from my family and felt their everlasting love and care even from such a distance.  I have bound the bond with my friends, who were always there for me, giving me such a friendship I feel so lucky to have. I have witnessed miracles. I have learnt how to love.

I feel so lucky. I have so much to thank for. I cannot list all of them, but I plan to find something different to be thankful for everyday.

I am breathing.

I am feeling.

I am alive.

Life is great when you discover all the things that make you so lucky. For example, today, at 1.00 am, my friends (Lia, Icha, Tifa, Tasa, Zahro, Iwan, Hakim, Nabil, Andreas, Nanang, Danang, Aldi, Timy, Mas Halim) came all the way to my dorm to give me a surprise. They bought two cute cakes. I had to give spoonfuls of it to each of them. I couldn’t stop smiling. They were so sweet. They gave me two books that I want to start reading immediately.

I also got calls and lots of messages which were filled with best wishes, hopes, and prayers for me. So many sweet thoughts and sincere prayers. Everyone is so wonderful.

Other than that, I just got another present from my dorm friend. It’s a pretty bracelet with my name on it which fits me just fine. She really knows my taste. I like it very much.

Gosh… I’ve only been 21 for one hour and already I’m so happy… I wish all of those who have been so good to me the best of wishes. May Allah bless them all…

I really look forward to being 21. It’s exciting. I don’t know what’s there in front of me, but I’m sure I won’t have too much trouble when there are great people around me, coloring my life.

Meanwhile, I do realize that birthdays are a sort of reminder that my time is getting shorter. I may not have much time left, who knows. But it’s not something to be scared of. I shall try to make the most of everyday. I know I am moving closer towards my dreams.

So once again, thank you Allah, for all my blessings. I will try to be a better person who lives with a high spirit and always remembers to be there for others.

Cherish life. Every second of it.


Thursday, June 17, 2010

Hello World! Let's Start Early

Hello world…

I wonder how everyone else started their day? Did they have a lot of things planned for their day? Did they wake up bright and early? I wish everyone well^^

I started my day a little late. I had another night of insomnia so I worked on the layout of this blog until my eyes got weary and I ended up getting a headache (I'm technologically disabled, I don't understand the HTML, LOL). So then I watched two movies ‘til morning: Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief and Windstruck. Windstruck was so sad that I cried to pieces, hahaha… I guess the tears made me sleepy so I finally got some sleep at 5.00 am.

Anyway, I woke up at a pathetic hour – 10.30 am. Half of my day was gone. On the contrary, I have so much to do today. I have to do my huge pile of laundry (my supply of clothes has run low), I have to do my cleaning chores, and I have to meet some members of STAN English Club later. I also woke up so hungry without any urge to go outside to get any food. My dorm friend, Mira, was also really hungry. She came up with the idea to order food from Rumah Makan Ayam Taliwang.

First I was rather reluctant because I was afraid I’d get a stomach ache from the food so early in the morning. But then I remembered that it was nearing the middle of the day anyway so it would be fine^^. So then I called the restaurant and ordered two “Paket Hemat”. It’s a dish that consists of rice, roasted chicken (ayam taliwang), pelecing, and beberok. Pelecing and beberok is basically a type of salad from Lombok. It’s made from chopped up veggies with a special spicy sauce. It’s delicious and makes me think of home. The restaurant prepares it well even though the ingredients aren’t too easy to find in Jakarta. If you want to try it out, readers, its at Sector 5 Bintaro near Indomaret.

The food was delivered at 11.30, half an hour after we ordered. My tummy was already rumbling loudly. We ate the food together while we watched Alice in Wonderland (great movie!). The spicy food made my nose run.

Now I’m really full and I can’t believe that I’m sleepy. I spent half my day sleeping and now I’m sleepy again.-,-“ But I have to wake up! There’s so much to do. The hardest part of it all is actually getting up to start. When I’m actually doing all the activities, usually I don’t stop ‘till it’s done. Is it the same with you?

I think that too much hesitation and procrastination is what gets me into trouble with time. I usually do things at the last minute with the alibi that my “potential” is optimum when I feel pressured. I don’t know if it’s true, but I have seen my friends who manage their time well, and do everything early. Mostly, their results are better and they don’t get stressed at all. That’s something I need to work on.

So what did I learn today? Start early! The early bird always gets the snatch.

Early to bed, early to rise…           

Makes you healthy, wealthy, and wise! 

(a text message from my favorite teacher in high school)

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Simply Rina

Namanya Rina. Mungkin kau mengenalnya. Ia seorang gadis yang biasa-biasa saja. Tak cantik. Tak juga pintar.

Namanya Rina. Ia datang dari keluarga yang sederhana – tak kaya, tak juga miskin. Ia menghabiskan sebagian waktunya di kampus kelas menengah. Temannya tak banyak. Ia tak suka jalan-jalan.

Namanya Rina. Ia tak minta banyak. Baginya, melewati hari ini tanpa banyak masalah sudah cukup. Bukannya ia tidak berusaha. Memang segitulah kemampuannya. Memang begitulah takdirnya. Tapi ia tak apa-apa. Ia tak merasa perlu dikenal banyak orang. Ia tak pernah haus pujian.

Namanya Rina. Mungkin juga kau tak mengenalinya. Ia adalah satu dari sekian yang sudah berusaha, namun merasa cukup dengan apa yang harus menjadi perannya. Ada, namun tak dirasakan kehadirannya. Karena yang hadir bagi kau dan aku adalah mereka yang berparas menarik. Atau mereka yang punya prestasi tinggi. Atau juga mereka yang serba aktif dengan organisasi, demonstrasi, dan ciri khas lain dari mahasiswa terkini. Merekalah yang dapat membuat kau dan aku berdecak kagum. Mereka juga yang dapat membuat kau dan aku iri, mendengki, hingga melupakan peran dan potensi diri.

Namanya Rina. Mungkin kau dan aku bahkan tak sadar bahwa ia ada. Dan bahwa banyak orang yang sepertinya, yang rata-rata saja. Yang sanggup melihat kelebihan orang lain dan menjalani peran mereka apa adanya. Yaitu sebagai komponen pembanding. Sebagai nilai rata-rata yang memberikan orang lain kesempatan untuk menjadi yang terbaik. Akan tetapi, yang terbaik hanya ada karena ada mereka yang ditakdirkan menjadi biasa-biasa saja.

Ada banyak orang seperti Rina, yang berada di dekat kau dan aku. Mungkin kita berpapasan dengannya setiap hari. Mungkin ialah salah satu yang berdecak kagum melihatmu dan melihatku, tanpa mengharapkan apa-apa darimu, dariku, ataupun orang lain. Maka ketika kau dan aku berhasil menjadi yang terbaik, ingatlah bahwa pasti akan ada orang-orang seperti Rina dibelakangmu dan dibelakangku.

(September 23, 2009)

Parodi Jalanan

Ibu-Ibu, Bapak-Bapak, semuanya…
Mohon jangan beri mereka kata “maaf”,
Jika yang Anda maksud sebenarnya adalah “tidak”.
Sebab Anda malas untuk sekedar merogoh saku untuk sekeping lima ratus perak. Apalagi satu ribuan yang hanya selembar.

Namun, bisa saja Anda “lagi nggak ada uang kecil”.
Recehan Anda habis untuk membayar Si Tukang Parkir.
Atau hilang stelah Anda pakai untuk menggosok voucher pulsa yang dibeli siang tadi.

Mohon, jangan palingkan muka walau tak dapat memberi
Setidaknya hargailah pertunjukkan kelas kacang yang mereka persembahkan untuk Ibu-Ibu dan Bapak-Bapak yang terhormat.
Simaklah tembang-tembang Lampu Merah di tepi-tepi jalan.
Berilah sedikit waktu, meski waktu itu adalah uang.
Setidaknya itu yang bisa diberi kalau tak ada “uang beneran”.

Sedikit senyum, sedikit sapa.
- kita takkan lebih miskin karenanya.

Ibu-Ibu, Bapak-Bapak, semuanya…
Mohon perhatiannya,
Hati-hati di jalan.
Jaga sikap, jaga hati.
Karena jalanan sudah cukup kejam.
Tak perlu ditambah lagi.



*I wrote this story in 2009 for a book my writing club, Aksara, was publishing. It's based on real facts and true experiences that I witnessed myself. The title is based on the analogy of the adamantine, which is a substance that is commonly compared to a diamond, because of its texture and material. Despite the twin-like similarities, it would never really be a diamond.


They say that life is an ever-turning wheel. Sometimes you’re at the top, at the prime of your times. But other times you’re stuck at the bottom, in the pit of misery and catastrophe. They say sometimes. But I say it’s not as simple as that.

I think there is a good reason why people believe in rotten luck. In doomed fate. In being condemned for the worst. In being damned for the rest of your life. It’s just the role that our supposed “God” has given you. And you are forced to be the victim of balance. If there is a good, you are the bad.

I was born as “the other child”, the one who came out second, approximately 13 seconds after my sister, Nina. Yeah, I was second and continued to be second in everything. Looks. Intelligence. Preference. Talents. We did have similarities, but she was just always better. No, Nina was perfect. And I was just a minor alternative. A product of excessive flesh and bone in my mother’s womb that was given a doomed soul.

Nina was always nice. The teacher’s pet. The popular star. The admired. The blessed. And this was so effortlessly gained because that was just how she was created to be. As for me, I just tried. Then I gave up. I waited for the wheel to turn. But it never did. For the many years of my life, it never did.

Nina breezed through school with perfect marks, gained a bunch of trophies, and married a dignified man. They lived abroad for some years while her husband got his PhD. They had some sweet kids, pretty good-looking and smart like them, who got the chance to go to school abroad too. So when they finally came back, it was quite a welcoming they got. They were celebrities in our area. A role model family adored and envied by everyone.

On the other hand, my school life was mediocre. My achievements so far are too insignificant compared to my sister’s. I got married to my high-school-sweetheart in the middle of college, had two kids with him, and divorced him 12 years later because we just couldn’t talk civilly to each other anymore. I’m glad I did too because he lost his job a few months after and had to resort to making homemade ice cream for a living.

Unfortunately, my son chose him over me. It was quite a bad choice too, because my ex-husband remarried to a conceited and selfish bitch that treats my son like a parasite.

Meanwhile, I was busy with my own complicated affairs so I didn’t know about my son’s condition until a few years later. I was on my hands and feet looking for a place to stay and a steady job to support myself and my twelve-year-old daughter. It was a hard time. I stayed at my mother’s house and opened a beauty parlor in the guest room. But I had to sadly terminate the business because of a bastard who gave me an outrageous interest rate for my loans. He gave Nina another chance to save the day and kiss-ass by paying all my debts for me. So I forced myself to smile sweetly and nearly broke a nerve thanking her for the hundredth time she played my hero. It made me lose the desire to continue the business altogether.

Luckily, my daughter could continue school and seemed to do okay. So I let her be and decided to pick myself up, find new acquaintances, get a life, and start anew. I met a good-looking fellow when I was shopping one day and we hit it off. He met my every need. He satisfied me. We got married 3 months later and moved to his apartment across the state.

Unfortunately, my daughter didn’t seem to like him. She showed me this by being an ungrateful wretch, denying all the gifts and leisure’s my new husband offered her. She regarded me with disrespect and a disposition close to hatred. Me. Her mother! So many times I thought that I should’ve left her to her father instead. But she graduated from high school soon enough and took off to fend for herself. I haven’t heard from her since.

For a couple of years after that, nothing bad happened. I really thought that things were turning up for me. But little did I know that a bomb was ticking and I was running out of time to save myself. In the end the bomb did explode. My life exploded. He left me. One morning he packed his bags and said he had to go. He had some affairs to attend to. But he gave me one look before he went out of the door, one hollow look, and I knew that he wouldn’t be coming back.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t even call him and beg him on my knees to come back. Our relationship was just not as it used to be. The passion was gone. He was bored. I was bored. We both knew we couldn’t satisfy each other anymore. And I understood from long ago that I was just not meant to live soundly, find true love, and live together in a “happily-ever-after” scenario. No, that happy fate was bestowed upon my sister, Nina. Not me.

Again, I picked myself up and tried to find bits of life that I could grasp that made life worth living. I decided to go to my first husband’s house to see my son. I hadn’t seen and heard from him for 5 years. I was still his mother after all so I did miss him even though he did betray me for his no-good father.

My first husband’s house was shabbier than ever, even more worse-off than I’d last seen it. I could see that his little business wasn’t getting him anywhere. He greeted me very awkwardly, offering me helpings of his own ice cream as a pathetic gesture of courtesy. I went straight to the point and asked to see my son. Instead of giving me a clear answer, he burst into tears and apologized repeatedly, mumbling something about failing to raise his own son and make him happy. Then he told me what had become of him.

My son was always a patient boy. He was always good, accepting. He rarely whined or cried. But life really was too harsh for him. Poverty was always something he had to face, ever since he was born. Love and care was hard to get. Even harder after the divorce and our separation.

I do realize that I wasn’t a very good mother. I spent too many hours with my gals every time I couldn’t stand seeing my husband anymore. I always arrived at home drunk, yelling at my husband and kids, and sleeping all day long. My daughter took to the housewifely duties. So my son was left with his sister and worthless father at home, doing God knows what, after school hours. Maybe that’s why he chose his father over me.

My ex-husband told me that our son wasn’t better off living with him. He had to help him sell his ice cream for hours on end after school, around the block, and even at his school. He was therefore known as “the ice cream boy”.

Home wasn’t home for him. His stepmother didn’t like him at all. The vicious woman deprived him the privilege of having his own room and stole all his allowance and pocket money from him. She made him spend some nights outside so that he was left to sleep in mosques, at his friend’s house, or at Nina’s place. Yes, my sister lived nearby.

Apparently the “little saint” wanted to adopt him but my son didn’t have the heart to leave his father, even though his stepmother never showed him any affection, or anything close to being nice for the past five years. He was her slave and private punch-bag, even when my ex-husband was around. But what did the man do when his son turned to him for protection? He said, “Just do as you’re told.”

My ex husband denied his own son the very last bit of salvation he had left. He destroyed the whole image of what parents were meant to be. He contributed to making life a dark and gloomy cell. So all my son could do was be patient and bid his time for freedom. And he did get it in the end.


When I seek for moments to smile and be happy about something in my life, I think of my son. I think about how it was never easy for him. I think of how he managed to keep holding on even when he didn’t have a real mother or father in his life. I savor on the fact that he is now an accomplished student who is worthy of a scholarship and support from a renowned university far across the continent. Far from the grasp of his witch stepmother. Far from his disappointing, good-for-nothing father. Far from me, the would-be mother.

Yes, I am an old widow and a failed mother. My children have forgotten me completely. I have never tried to contact them and I mean to keep doing so, out of shame. So since my mother died, I have lived on my own in my mother’s house which Nina so charitably left in my possession.

Today, I spend my hours on the verandah, in the old armchair my mother used to sit in, looking out into the green rice fields where the sun sets on the horizon. I am still thinking of how things could’ve been so much better, if in exactly 68 years of my life, I had been more accepting. I was constantly comparing myself to Nina, killing myself with jealousy, and despising her for everything that was never her fault. I knew she was good, but I never let the good come to me.

I long for Nina’s presence now, but she is no more that a memory. She passed away two years ago. It was a beautiful funeral, full of great people who loved her and will continue to love her, even after her death. But the prospect of my death haunts me. There’s no one here for me today. There won’t be anyone here tomorrow.


A cold breeze slips through the trees, creating ripples across the rice fields, making it seem as if a dark green sea is right there before my eyes. There is a rumble of a vehicle far off in the distance. It gets louder as two cars emerge, making its way around the rice fields and parks in front of the house. The doors open. The figures emerge, dark and shadowed under the evening sky. Their voices drift through the air.

“Are we there yet?”

“Hush, settle down now!”

“Yes, kids. We’re going to meet someone quite old. Be on your best behavior”.

“Who are we going to meet mom?”

“It’s been so long…”

“I know, dear.”

The doors slammed shut and the figures quietly approach, each step crushing the twigs and dry leaves blanketing the ground. The kerosene light from the veranda coats them, illuminating their figures, becoming distinct. Suddenly, one of the little ones ran across the distance that was left, up the steps, and into the veranda.

“Nina!” A man shouted and hurried after her.

I stared at the little girl and she looked back into my eyes. Those eyes. Eyes I knew only too well. Eyes that stared back in every memory.

I stood up as a man and a woman walked slowly up the steps. They had the same eyes.

“Hello, mother.”

The wheel does turn after all.

Kepada Dinda Tersayang

Dinda, tenanglah. Tuhan mencintaimu karena kau baik. Karena tak putus-putus doa yang kau kirim pada-Nya. Untuk Ibu, untuk Bapak... yang kata Bapa ada di surga.

Tapi kemarin sore Kakak ke Masjid. Kata Pak Haji, mereka belum ke Surga. Mereka masih menunggu datangnya hari itu. Maka kau dan aku harus terus berdoa. “Kita tak tahu apa yang Tuhan perintahkan kepada para malaikat yang ada bersama mereka.” Begitu katanya.

Dinda, aku menghawatirkan Bapak dan Ibu. Menurutmu, apa mereka baik-baik saja? Menurutmu apa malaikat-malaikat itu mau memijat kaki Ibu? Seperti kau dan aku dulu. Kau yang kanan, aku yang kiri. Lalu Bapak menyimak, sambil minum kopi. Disana, siapa yang membuatkan Bapak kopi?

Dinda, kemarin ada yang berkata buruk tentang Bapak dan Ibu. Katanya mereka banyak berbuat maksiat selama mereka hidup. Jadi tak layak mendapat Surga, seperti yang dikatakan Bapa di Gereja.

Dinda, aku marah! Aku tak rela Bapak dan Ibu ia hina seperti itu! Maka aku biarkan marah itu keluar dan menghadap si brengsek itu. Kubuat ia menelan ludah berikut darahnya sendiri. Tanpa ampun, Dinda! Tanpa ampun, sedikitpun!

Tetapi kemudian aku harus kecewa, Dinda. Karena ternyata ia tak berdusta. Semua telah membenarkan. Semua terbuktikan.

Dinda, jangan menyesali doa-doamu. Tetap berdoalah untuk surga yang diceritakan Bapa padamu. Dan juga untuk malaikat-malaikat yang kata Pak Haji masih bersama Bapak dan Ibu. Bersabarlah Dinda, karena kau baik. Tidak seperti aku.

Maafkanlah Kakak, Dinda. Tak ada bekal untukmu malam ini. mereka melarangku pulang hari ini. Doakanlah aku, Dinda. Mungkin esok... lusa...

(2009 *an amateurs collection of poetry and prose*)

Broken Notes

if do-re-mi on a C-minor are the ideal tones you wish for

then so be it

for it's as simple as anything to wish for perfection


if it takes those 1-and-1 notes to satisfy you

then own up to it

don't waste your voice saying that you're different


if you're the type that builds up to a crescendo

or likes the even beat of a 4/4

don't fret

'cause your taste is yours to keep


don't change



if my minor tones upset you

if my octave sways too low

if my tempo is a dynamic 3/4

don't complain either


'cause i'm not an off-tune piano that you can fix

or a score that you may compose

you will always hear those broken notes



don't stay


what you're searching for isn't here




Mother Nature

Did you ever stop to listen to the song beneath your feet?
tendrils of life grow under your proud pose as you walk the surface of the earth..
but you claim the life for yours, for your freedom to exploit her

Did you ever stop to see to the majesty of the greens surrounding you?
she flourishes and blooms as she sought to mantain your presence
but you do dare to mutilate her, eat her, consume her with haste.

Did you ever stop to taste the air that aids your every breath?
It's what keeps you and everything else intact, alive, and living
but you pollute her, punching holes into her layers, destroying the balance.

What has gotten into you, human?

Hear our mother cry,
See her tears.

Before she turns on us all. Again.

(2009, Earth day)



I've recently been inspired by my friend who was so actively writing in her blog. It made me want to pick up the pieces of my forsaken blog and put it back together again. So I'm back to continue my hobby of writing..^^

I usually write in English, for it's the language I grew up with, but I like writing in Indonesian too (though my structure is terrible, haha). I've decided not to limit what I write about. I may write poetry, articles, or stories. My main goal is to reach out to people and share a thought.

So here I will share some thoughts in many forms of writing. Each writing comes from a tale. Each individual tale is a connected to another tale.

Life is a big web of tales. Let's tell tales...