THE NEED TO BE UPDATED LIST

It's 2010. I havent been visiting this blog for more than a year. So many things have happened to my life. I would have said the one year that had passed was the moment of dellirium.
1. My other child has turned 17, and I promise to write something about them when they reach the age of 17. So my next posts would probably be around her and my little son.
2. My sister died right when the gate to the year of 2010 was opened. I felt as if a part of me have gone with her. She is my soul.... life after her is nothing but a sequence that I have to follow...
3. I try my best to get my phd...though I dont know if I could make it... If somebody ask me...why do I have to go through all these efforts... then my answer is.... I dont know...
4. My work and the gigantic cubicle is still a hot issue. This might be the most interesting part of my life... funny people and funny place...
5. My "love life" has turned sour... it's not that I dont love him anymore but the fact that time have turned us into strangers one from another can not be denied....
6. I dived to deep into the ocean of life and forget to emerge to get oxygen... as a consequence.. you simply can guess.... i'm out of breath.
Need to wrap up...for I have to race to the campus.... campuS...here I come....ready or not... face it.

LIFE IS ABOUT BEING HERE!

I havent been updating this blog for quite sometimes. The key word that occupies my mind is 'Amazing!!!'. What is so amazing? This life is indeed amazing. At this age, after so many years of having a chance to live, I have started to assemble the pieces of puzzle of my life. I'm not saying that I have gotten the answer to my existence, naaaa...it's far from getting the answer.

What I manage to get so far is the categorization of the pieces of realities that I have gone through. I began to analyze (oops..this word sounds a bit scientific) to see things with a better view about what happened to me in the past. I'm not saying that life is okay, but somehow I can take all the pain in a more 'decent' way.

One of the key issues that struck my mind is about death. This word has haunted me ever since my sister was told that she has at the most only two years to live. I felt as if I was also the one that's being punished by this reality. Coincidences happen. One after another. I got exposed (I didnt search but I really got exposed) to some articles on death during one of the philosophy classes that I attended. This class has taught me to not ask about death, but ask about life instead. Death is something that will happen to anybody at anytime. Time and space are the enigmas. My sister is one among the few that has the opportunity to open the veil of the enigma of 'time'. It happens for a purpose, to let her give some more reflections and and explore more about life, about her existence. Be open to death and life and let your existence reveal itself.

In one of my converation with her I mentioned about the fact that she's lucky to know the time. I dont. I could be one the who ' leave' earlier than her. We never know. The only thing that we know is the reality that we exist. That's what matters. The reality that we dont exist is not important anymore for that is the harvesting time which happens to be His part. Life is about being isnt it?

EXIT
I'm looking for a door that could lead me to the exit. But the door is either to small for me or it's unavailable. This cubicle is getting too hot and it has turned into a humid and depressing place for me.

Without having the attention to bring myself into a philosophical area, my internal dialogue has brought into my awareness of my existency. Why do I exist and what does I expect from this life? I end up myself with a conclusion that I live for several reasons. I live for myself and my surroundings. I live for the future of my children, they need me until they are ready to be on their own. I live for the present in which my husband love me and i love him, though we both love to enggage ourselves into tedious arguments. I guess that's the color of our love. I live because I love the past and often dive into the romantic memory of being a member of my big family, my mother, my sisters and brother as well as my cousins. As with my spiritual part of living I consider it as private so it doesnt belong to the public domain.

With that in mind I wonder if I could have them if I am still trapped in this hot and depressing cubicle. The money is definitely good, but the happiness is far from real. By the time I got home I'm dead tired and turned myself into a strange creature. Either I sat in front of the television or I checked and sent mails to friends. Week ends are the best time for I stay on my leisure. I focus on myself , neglecting those people that I love. I turn into an alien!!!

After having been working for the cubicle I began to think of finding my happiness, do the things that I always want to do. I still have to find the exit. My friends reminded me, what's waiting for me outside the cubicle is in fact a bigger issue that I need to consider. As for me, what's waiting is happiness and I know happiness is not free so I have to bear the consequence. I can do anything when I'm happy. It is proven!!!

HOW BIG IS THE BRAIN?

I work in one of the biggest institution. The building is probably one of the largest and the most exquisite one. No matter how costly and prestigious the buildings are, they can not hide the fact that there is a bunch of narrow minded people that work inside there. Narrow minded in this case refers to the disability to take pluralism as a natural phenomena.
These NM (read: narrow minded or no mind) consider the entire member of the organization as a mass production. Whoever bears a different attribute is considered as a rejected item. Their brain work like a quality control scanner that could only accomodate a set of indicators. Whatever goes beyond the indicators are considered as erroneous and should be isolated if not dump.
The set indicators inhibit them to learn from the nature that provide such an abudance to the well being of mankind, to look into the mirror and learn from our own body that all the different parts of our body has their own functions. All these different parts, when they cooperate and collaborate they create an incredible and miraculous ability to man.
It is so unfortunate that these people are equipped with quite an enormous power. They regularly scan the entire organization and shunt the "rejected product" sideways. They provide a hidden reward for those who are willing to reshape themselves according to the set indicators.
The space in their brain could only house primodialism and ways to shunt people sideways. How could the organization achieved the goals when the performance is relies on a part of the body???

PAK UCUP, THE BARBER

The barber is located on the side of a small dusty street, next to a small passageway beside a tiny warung tegal. It’s a nine square meters room, divided into two by a not too clean wooden board. The room is cramped with a television set placed on the table next to the two big mirrors attached to the wall. Two chairs with leather-like covered are placed in front of the mirrors, and a far from comfortable bamboo sofa is positioned behind those chairs. The price list is glued on the rusty wall between the two mirrors: Dewasa = Rp. 6000,-, Anak = Rp. 5000,- Jenggot = Rp. 2000,-.

Despite the disturbing odor that strikes your nostrils and the hissing sound of the television set that hit your eardrums, clients from neigbouring areas drop in to this place. They must be his longlasting clients for they use the silent language to communicate. He nods his head every time he notices the arrival of his clients and the clients sit on the wooden sofa patiently waiting for their turn to arrive.

After my second visit I noticed that his name is "Ucup". He’s a quiet man in his thirties , a simple looking guy, far from being invaded by the modern culture. I dont know if he had ever dreamed of becoming a barber . It seems to me that being a barber is not just the way he earns his living, but it seems like it's part of his destiny. He scrutinized every single inch of the clients hair just to make sure that they are properly cut. He checked it from a distance, and trimmed the unwanted parts. A glaze in his eyes will give us a sign that he's almost done. A few seconds to admire his work will end the whole proces and he will then continue with the next client.

One day while he was cutting my son’s hair, I tried to fill the gap of silence and asked him a couple of question. Then I arrived to the average number of his clients. To my amazement Pak Ucup humbly explained that his clients reach up to the average of 50 people a day. My head worked like a digital calculator and my brain almost jumped out of my skull when I realized that he earns more than a university graduate employee. I mentioned the number just to make sure that it was the right number. He shyly nodded his head and smiled cordially demonstrating his two big brown teeth.

LIFE IS SIMPLE (to some people)

One of the basic nature calls has been buried in the shadowy darkness of reality for so long under the name of values. In the world of etymology, the word “Toilet” is one of the most vivid examples.. The dictionary of etymology has recorded so many words to express toilet, such as John, Lavatory, Privy, Loo, Throne, Privy, Can, Rest Room and many, many others. This concept has undergone so many semantic changes. Once the unwritten social consensus has recorded deterioration or a change in the semantic value of a word, the word will be classified as taboo and a new word will emerge.
In the grotesque houses in Pondok Indah, the word “toilet” refers to rooms which occupy areas as large as my house and are equipped with luxury and comfort such as carpet, paintings, air condition etc. On the opposite side, for the street children, the word toilet refers to any gutter available on the street such as the gutter that runs underneath the pedestrian path.
Last Sunday drive has added another picture of reality, far beyond those images which have been crushed into our mind through the television or newspaper. As the traffic turns green, the crowd of cars stopped in front of the traffic. A little boy of six, half naked from middle to bottom, ran across the street and jumped onto the pavement. He installed himself comfortably above a gap between the pavement blocks. His back is facing the solemn Sunday traffic of Jakarta, ignoring or being ignorance of the fact that almost every person in the cars were watching his gestures. He rested his fingers on the wall and used the gap as his private toilet to respond to the nature call. I assume most of the passengers would move on to the next question: how is he going to clean his behind. ?
As soon as he had finished it, he moved to the big pot with plants in it. He sat on the curb of the pot covered by the left over rain drops and shook his Behind around to clean it up. To make sure that he was clean enough, he touched his behind with his fingers. As many other ordinary kids would do, he jumped into the middle of the street and ran happily among the cars. Again like many other ordinary kids of his age would do, he put his fingers into his mouth when he got tensed or depressed.
Life is complicated to some whereas it is simple and natural for the street children. It is as simple and as natural as the first snow in winter or the morning dew in spring or the color of leaves in autumn.

GROWING UP
Growing up is the biggest unidentified mystery of life ever. It’s there yet it’s not there. Not until you are exposed to a particular uncomfortable situation will you then realize that things have changed and the person in front of you is not the same person anymore.
Driving home is one of the particular magical moments that makes me realize that life is not the same anymore.
Mom : "Oo no....not again, it's coming again?" (I pointed to the headlines of a newspaper shoved into our window on a traffic light) "The flood is the same problem every year!"
Girl : “If the Government knows that it’s gonna happen, why didn’t they take any measures now to avoid it? If it is caused by all the garbage that has been thrown to the river, make sure everybody give a hand to clean it.”
Mom : “It not as easy as it sounds. It has got to do with people’s behavior. No matter how much effort you spend on cleaning it up, some other will again dump their garbage into the river.”
Girl : “Why don’t the Government provide the troops of police to be on guard of the river?”
Mom : “They are not meant to do that particular job. They have other important thing to do such as keeping the country secure.”
Girl : “It also concerns national security. Imagine what’s going to happen if the capital city is inundated.”
Mom : “It’s not as simple as that ” (Silence filled the air inside the car).
Girl : “Adults are really complicated!!!”
Mom : (Is she still my baby??)

THE TRUMAN SHOW

Im on a Truman Show!!! Im inside an illusionary landscape, that isolates me from the reality. However, Im too scared to break this symbiotic situation. I know that everything is fake, but I dont know how wide is the fake area. The producer of the show hides behind the curtain of reality and gaze upon his masterpiece. I dream of finding the truth outside my world though I know that the existence of a genuine truth is just another dream that I built inside my stage set world.

The Oxen

by Thomas Hardy

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock

."Now they are all on their knees,

"An elder said as we sat in a flock

By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where

They dwelt in their strawy pen,

Nor did it occur to one of us there

To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave

In these years! Yet, I feel,

If someone said on Christmas Eve,

"Come; see the oxen kneel,

"In the lonely barton by yonder coomb

Our childhood used to know,

"I should go with him in the gloom,

Hoping it might be so’

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

‘God is not dead;

nor doth he sleep!

The Wrong shall fail,

The Right prevail,

With peace on earth,

good-will to men!

MERRY CHRISTMAST 2005

AND

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2006

A DREAM OF HEAVEN

Lately life has been so unfriendly to me. Taking me for a wander through the darkest forest in which there is no point of return. Solitude and emptiness have been embroidered into every breath I inhale. I have lost my freedom and I am on my own.

I laid my weary mind under a shady tree and hoping that mircales would pass by. I have prepared an utterance of the angel so that mercy will be bestowed upon me. Patience, my companion, has began to show a sympton of restlessness. Nothingness lingers with me throughout the long sufferingly hours of impatiently waiting. Yet miracles didnt show any symptons of existence. I began to ponder myself with contemplation. Until the fatigue in me augmented and I fell asleep under the tree, landing in the empire of dream.

Two beautiful angels came into my view, followed by a little boy wearing a circlet of heaven around his head. They play the music of heaven and sang me the song of joy. I raised my head in amazement and felt the sense of ectasy creeping in my heart. I stood up and we held each other by the hand. We were dancing following the tunes of delight. I felt my spirit elevated to an unknown place. The world is occupied by the language of ectasy.

The forest is still dark, and I still have to go through the long hours of weary walk. The dream has elevated the terrifying angst in me. A tiny light of hope is rising in the horizon of my heart. God's patience and blessings will lead me there.

STOP THEM???

Tell the truth and tell it immediately. That’s the basic philosophy. My concern is more on the gap between the philosophical concept and the true and bare fact of the reality.

The entire organization has been a bit like a cat on a hot tin roof since early in the morning. The news that broke out today is damaging us. “Why don’t you stop the media?” That’s the key question that has been posed to me since early in the morning. To begin with let me tell you that I’m not a genie. It really takes a genie to do so, since the media is supposed to take the role of a watchdog. Then, to achieve a better performance we need a partner that can serve as a mirror, and we definitely don’t need a partner in crime. Third, we all have our own roles, let’s do it professionally. Next, these problems do not come out of the blue; it is a blessure that we created in the past and has come in effect today, so don’t expect communication to polish the dark spots that we produced. Finally, bad news is good news for the media.

When the “hurricane” strikes, I miss the warm and comfort of my family and room. May I go “home”???

TRUST
"For better or worse, until death keeps us apart". It will never happen unless you trust a person. Trust is one of the most important essence of our life. Ironically, the usage is abused dramatically and as a result it has lost its true meaning. Trust is a multidimensional concept, therefore the tendency to misinterpret trust is as close as the space between our nose and mouth or even closer as the space between our two eyebrows.
"I dont think I can trust him", the word flows like a prophecy from his mouth. "He has a hidden agenda in every single words that he utters, he added emotionally. Yes, trust is one of the many expressions of our emotion. Experience brought along the emotional aspect of our interaction and it dominates the way we perceive the world, the way we interpret a stimuli, the way we create our social reality.

Flashes of reality crossed my mind, the many and countless experience and conversation that I had with various people with a mixture of background. In a traffic light, when tiny dirty fingers were shoved into our car window, hundreds of questions dance around us and they move along with the the tunes of distrust. A morning greeting on the street, will be assumed as a suspicious gestures. The glue that bond our relationships such as morning greetings have long been buried in the graveyard. Rome is not built in a nite, so does this social reality in which we live. It is a process of a long story. A story that we create with our own brush and paint, a story that create a vivid picture of distrust to our own brother, sister and nation.

NURTURE OR TORTURE?

How valuable is Rp. 800,- to us nowdays. It doesnt take a genius to say nothing. However, this mathematical concept doesnt really apply to every condition. In fact there is a huge gap between a concept and the reality that it creates.

I was queuing behind a 7 year old boy, wearing a ragged clothes in a fast food restaurant. As the lady gave him an ice cream - apparently that was his order- he received the Rp. 600 change and dashed off to the door. I had the opportunity to catch a glimpse of the display on the register, Rp. 1400,- for an ice cream.

I hold my baby in front of the restaurant, waiting for my husband. I saw the boy again, but this time he was with his sister. She looked healthy with two rosy chubby cheeks covered with melted ice cream. Her eyes was fully focused on her ice cream until my baby cried and pointed his finger to her ice cream. She ran to her brother shoving the ice cream into his hand asking for protection. He was not really ready, though he tried to grip it with his tiny fingers. The cone was wobbly and the scoop of vanilla ice cream fell onto the dusty paving blocks. We all stood in silence for a second. His sister's cry alerted us. She wanted to grab the melted ice crea. but her brother held her hand. Her tears were rolling down on her cheek. The little boy put his hand inside his pocket and took Rp. 600 out. He hold it in the open palm of his hand and gave his sister a blank look. Another Rp. 800,- was desperately needed. He only needs Rp. 800 to express his love for his sister. If only I had the opportunity to infiltrate his mind, I probably will be able to read the various scenarios twirling inside his mind. Will he beg, will he steal, will he soothe his sister, or will he ask for a free replacement to the restaurant??? His decision and choices depends on the values that have been implanted in his mind. Any alternative will be possible. It all depend on us since a value is nothing but a social consensus, part of a culture that we create and that create us in return. In a culture where instant solution such as corruption is tolerated, he will most probably steal some money or beg to get the ice cream. Is it nurture or torture, sometimes I dont see much of the difference.

UNE DEBUTANTE

Two days ago, I began my first move in my new job. The first press conference was held. The result was quite satisfactory. The message has turned into hot news. It dominate the first page of most of the main media. The major reason was the proper timing. The news broke out at the time where the market reacted postively to the reshuffling of the member of the cabinet. We led the opinion. The following day, whatever happened, the tone of the news has to be around the climate that we had built.

However, we were a bit careless with the message and allocation of time. Some media covered a different minor message which actually bears another news value. With this in mind, we need to improve our issue management. It's so obvious that this minor news is potential to becoming an issue, yet, we didnt really pay attention to it. Another improvement that need to be touched is allocation of time for the press conference. We need to set a limit for the Q & A sessions. Once they have ran out of questions about the main message, they moved to another issue. We need to handle this issue delicately or else it turns into a crisis. I'm not ready.....

CREME DE LA CREME
It’s not a name of a French cuisine, nor is it a name of a French patisserie. Yes, it’s a French expression. This expression, like any other expression, bears more semantic components than just what appears in the dictionary. Take the word ‘best’ which more or less has a similar meaning with this expression. No matter how overlapping they are semantically, people will still perceive them to have a different nuance. Try to use them in a different sentences and feel the difference!
The history of word refered to as etimology is closely connected to the context in which it is used. France is quite famous for their pride to use their own language, simply because of their political supremacy in the past. Using one or two words of french in an english conversation will still reflects the sense of supremacy which actually has long been buried in the backyard. The language used in a day to day conversation is just one of the culutral artefact.

The same case happens to our language. The fact that english is considered as one out of the five international languages, has created similar phenomena. Just observed the blossoming soap operas on our television programmes. Even an english way of pronouncing indonesian words is correlated to a particular social status.

This is a real conversation occured in my office: "At the end of the day, kita harus memiliki capability untuk beradaptasi terhadap lingkungan yang terus berubah. Hanya the creme de la creme yang akan survive di masa depan!!!. Voila... c'est tout!!!

BLINDED BY EMOTION

Getting upset is just one of the many colors that paint our life. We are upset simply because we cant achieved the objective that we aim at. We have a tendency to use our myopic perspective and look at an event in isolation. The pattern of our life comprises small jigsaw puzzles. If we tend to focus on a puzzle, we might loose the big picture. However, it is easy to say then to experience it.

I have encountered a situation in which my pride has been so offended until I turned myself into an annoying personality. I made emotional statements and hurt others' feeling. I get blinded by my own emotion.

Life went on and on. The hurt was still there, but I have gained my senses. For the first time I began to observe my new surroundings with a different perspective, and see how much I have adapted myself to this new surroundings. "Not bad at all", I said to myself. In fact it has provided me with new insights. I began to see the big picture. The puzzle is nothing but part of a big picture.

I sat quietly in the evening. The cold breeze patted me gently on my skin. I sat there quietly and thanked God for what had happened to my life. He has given me a new color to paint my life with.

TIME MACHINE

"Do you think the time machine can ever be invented?", asked my daughter. I was behind the steering wheel and pretended as if I was concentrating on the traffic. Actually my search engine was busy browsing for an answer in my mind. At the cross road , I stopped the car since the traffic light was red.
"We can find the answer from many perspectives. Let's find out what time actually is!" I asked her without really asking a question for I dont know the answer nor can I speak scientifically about time. So I give her my own defintion of time. Time is actually a blank sheet on which our motion is recorded. We can repeat our motion but that will not be the same motion since it occurs at a different blank sheet of time. Time machine is nothing but sheets of recorded motions. So if you are looking for a time machine like the one you saw in the movie, I dont think it exists. But time machine that can take you to the past and future is nothing but books. Books consists of experience, motions occured in a particular set of time.
I turned my head to the backseat to know if she understood my explanation. She was looking out through the window, glaring at the lights that brighten up the night. I knew that I failed to give her an answer, but hopefully the night can ease her curiosity for a while, until time provide her with the answer she was looking for.

ON THE TIP OF MY FINGER

The phone roared early in the morning at my desk. I havent even installed myself in my chair. "I think you need to improve your relations with the P. The case has met a deadlock. " The words spurred out of her mouth like a stream of flowing water. The main message is, I gotta make sure that the proposal get approved. When she finally had enough of expressing herself she stopped talking. I jumped into the conversation and answered her calmly : "Okay, I'll see what I can do." In fact I still dont know what to do. But that's the only statement that can cool her off!!!!

I wonder if she really knows why someone, or some people refuses to support us. In some cases it's simply because they are being ignorant. It's easy to solve it. Information, innudate them with information. But in some other cases, they simply have their own objective. They will never be in our shoe , not until their objectives are met. Most of the time what they have in their mind is nothing but big bucks. No matter what we do...we end up in that corner, and I have to avoid it. Next week, the meeting will again be held. I need to come up with a solution. The proposal has to be approved. I wish the world is on the tip of my finger.

TGIF
I encountered my first informal gathering with the whole team. Every Friday morning an informal sharing session was held. "The program starts at 7:30", my colleague told me. At 7:10 I installed myself by the oval table in the corner of the room. Old newspapers and magazines were piling up in the corner of the room. Papers and books were all over the area. I sat there for 20 minutes, no body turned up. At 7:34, a guy appeared smilingly. I asked him where everyone were. "They will be here soon", he answered me abruptly.
We both enganged ourselves into a conversation. In the beginning, we shared nothing but empty words. Then the ice began to melt slowly, he poured out the impeding blocks of his taks. While he was talking, the flow of people began to occupy the oval table. Soon we are all engangging oursevels into a conversation while having breakfast. One claim about the empowerement of the change agent, another one argued about the strategy of our work. I invited the new ones to speak up. They participated shyly, answering my questions and then stopped right there.
It's something good to start with. I just need to spend more efforts to make the most out of them. Pheewwwww.... this type of change is really demanding. Anyway, I am looking forward to Friday...more than ever....

SO SMALL AND TINY
The passion to dig up new things has always been boggling in my mind. It doesnt come out of my hunger for new knowledge, but it is simply driven by my curiosity and the demand of my job. I have to switch my mindset, moving from one area to another.
Knowledge management has occupied most of the space in my mind for the last 7 years. I dug into various references, connect collaborate myself with KM people. Tacit knowledge, explicit knowledge, SECI, intangible asset etc..etc.. and all the KM jargons have flavoured my mind ever since. Suddenly....so..sudden...I have to switch it off and deal with new things. Reputation. I need to dig more out of it. I wonder if my guardian angel would be so kind enough as to assist me with references about reputation management.
Somehow, I manage to see the link between my previous job and the new one. At the end of the day, they all follow the stream of epistemology and make me feel so small and tiny...

IT'S ABOUT PEOPLE
The scope of my work covers a wide range of issues. I have to see the things that I dont feel like seeing, what's more to deal with it. Sometimes I ask myself a silly question such as, maybe I can not reach the level of their knowledge, but some other time I wonder if it takes a genius to solve the issues. I can deal with tons of load on my shoulder, but it's not easy to deal with just a single human being. Whatever issue Im dealing with it ends up with the people aspect.

I MISS EVERYTHING ...
I tried to shove the days, so that I could stay longer in my previous position. I made every effort to keep myself in my comfort zone, in a corner that I'm comfortable with. I tried to go against the change. Im helpless... all I have to do is to accept the change as part of me and live with it.
I miss my friends...my true and genuine friends...I miss the days where I dreamed and walked with my work echoing in my head. I miss the process of searching for the essence of KM. I miss the enthousiasms to learn more and more about my job.
Seven years.... vanished into the thin air.

WHY???

I try to imagine the types of questions that my son is going to ask me when he grows up.
“Who is my mother??? “
“I dont know her, but She’s an angel, I believe.”
“Why did she leave me and didnt want to take care of me herself if she really is an angel???”
“She knew that I could not live without you. You are here with me to paint the color of my days. The angels are supposed to make people happy. I’m extremely happy to have you and I hope you are also happy to be with me. “
“And who is my father???”
“Your Father is also my Father...he’s our Father. He lives up there behind the rainbow. Remember the meaning of your name. Your name means a gift of God... you are His greatest gift of all.”

THE NAME

Start with an A... that’s the name that came accross my eyes when I was browing the internet. Im going to name you A... because you are indeed a gift of God served on the tray for me.
I wonder how it feels to be you ....to be lost in the world of the childlike adults. To be shunted away without ever having an opportunity to express what you think of your own life, without ever having the right to fight for your own life.
My son... if life can not offer your two lips to express your own thoughts, Im sure God will allow you to do so for He has created those lips for you and has blown the breath of living into you.... you have the same privileges like any other children do.

PINK LETTER
The letter was written on the 6th of March, 2005. It took a week for the postman to deliver it. A pink paper with white spots all over is folded neatly inside the white envelope.

Papa, mama tersayang,
Mama mafkan aku atas segala kesalahanku yang pernahku buat. Papa maafkan aku, aku selalu melawan papa, aku tak pernah menuruti nasihat papa dan mama. Maafkanku juga karena aku tak pernah puas dengan apa yang mama dan papa berikan padaku. Maafkan juga karena aku tak pernah mau melakukan yang aku perintahkan padaku, sekarang aku berjanji untuk selalu mematuhi dan akan lebih banyak memberi daripada meminta. Aku juga ingin berterima kasih kepada papa dan mama karena aku telah diberi makan dan minum. Jika tidak ada mama dan papa mungkin sekarang aku tidak akan bersekolah. Terima kasih mama dan papa, engkau selalu ada di hatiku.

Cinta
Cinta adalah kasih sayang antara orang tua dan anak
Cinta adalah kasih sayang antara dua insan
Cinta adalah kasih sayang antara kita dan sahabat
Cinta adalah kasih sayang antara adik dan kakak

Kadang cinta itu membuat kita senang
Kadang cinta membuat kita sedih
Kadang cinta membuat kita berdosa
Kadang cinta membuat kita melayang

Anak mama & papa

RIGHT AND LEFT

Some express their favor for “Right”
Some choose “Left”
I see wealth in diversity
an amalgamation of variety

The one on the Left
Dwell in the current journey of my life
Charm the dazzling beams of the light
Escorting the flowers dancing in delight

The one on the Right
It’s the landmark of the past
A tale through the fairy land
Where beauty and fantasy are unified

The Right delivered vision to my time
The Left transforms it into reality
A harmonious composition that rhyme
An extreme excel of beauty

I have no desire to choose
Detach me from the thread of confuse
Let my body and soul remain boundless
Exploring the existence of wilderness

THE WALL

He raped my womb
and tore apart the fetus
it's a nauseating wound
a fertilized garden of virus

I dived into his eye ball
they are so true and genuine
yet I can not shatter the wall
even with the power of a queen

I enter the battle
riding on the wheel of sorrows
Has he always been a puzzle?
Only heaven knows

SPEND YOUR FORTUNE ON ILLUSION

I just dont understand how someone could do such a shocking, dreadful, terrible thing that ruin her own life and destroy her own future. It's becoming more obscured to me since the impact goes to the whole family. Drug is just an illusion. Is it a trend to spend a fortune to pamper oneself with illusions????

CHANGE

Eeergh... may I have the honor to KILL you Mr. Betterfly? While trying to be in command of my emotional explosion, I heard my own voice preaching about creating an opportunity out of change. Once the light of change shines upon me, I felt my life is in such a mess. Now those words have led the queasiness in my stomach. Is this how they feel when I create the turbulences of change??? I will be extra sensitive next time...

AN IMAGO TO BE

I found a crumpled piece of paper on my desk last night
A message that was meant for "me"
A nausea of her heart
A voiceless manifestation
of her transformation...
from a larva into a cocoon...
An imago to be



MATAHARI DAN AWAN I

Aku mengira matahari
hanya sebuah legenda
Tapi sekarang aku melihatnya
Tapi entah mengapa aku jadi membencinya
Bukankah selama ini matahari yang kucari?
Adakah Matahari?
Tolong beritahu aku!!!
Mengapa bisa jadi begini?
Aku hanya bisa duduk termangu
Memikirkan jawaban dari pertanyaan
yang aku lontarkan sendiri
Tapi tunggu...
Aku mendapat jawabannya
Aku membenci matahari karena dia telah melelehkan awanku
Sehingga awanku menjadi takut
untuk melawan Matahari
Semakin aku melihat Matahari
semakin kebencianku menjadi
Maafkan aku Matahari

MATAHARI DAN AWAN II

Aku berdiri tegar di bawah terik matahari
Melihat kepergian awan-awanku
menjadi titik-titik air
Aku seperti anak yang ditinggal ibunya
Dari luar aku terlihat tegar
Tetapi di dalam hatiku
Aku menjerit dengan sekuat tenaga
Mengapa musti ada Matahari di dunia ini
rasanya aku ingin memusnahkan Matahari
Namun... aku tak kuasa
Aku hanya seorang anak yang malang
yang hanya dapat melakukan berbagai kegiatan
seperti anak manusia lainnya
Aku menangis dan menangis
Tapi tak satupun orang yang mau mendengar kisahku
hanya awan... ya hanya awan
Tapi...lihat....
AWANKU TELAH HILANG
PUPUS DARI GENGGAMANKU

(My angel has just turned 12 years last month)

THREAD OF WORDS

A tete-a-tete with the bird on my window, unlocked my day. Unlike the rest of our ordinary days, he gave me a heartbreaking look. We looked into each others eyes and began to share our thoughts in the silent wordless symbols. He told me that he longed to be in the old days, where his chants were highly treasured and served as a remedy for those who were experiencing the agony of life.
I smiled and asked him to chant me his delightful tunes. I listened to him and felt my spirit lifted up to the sky. He suddenly stopped and gave me a baffled look. “This is unfair”, he said. You were drowned in the pond of sorrow and I made you listen to me.
I smiled again and told him that I needed his kind intervention to deliver my message to the sky. As to whom my message should be delivered, it was actually beyond my concern, so I told him, maybe the cloud, or maybe the wind were willing to spare their precious time to read it. If I were lucky enough the angels would be available to read my message. He was bewildered by my response and gave me a confusing but funny look. Not wanting to make him lost in the labyrinth of my world, I told him to carry my thread of words on the piece of string to the sky and leave it there to follow the course of destiny. Why?, he asked. I hesitated for a while and responded: “All I need is to pull out this thread of words out of the tiny box inside my chest and let it drift away freely into the empty air.

THE TRAFFIC

Outrageous! You need only one word to describe the traffic of Jakarta. The collaboration of the roaring thunder of the traffic, the speed, and dust has encrusted the city with a layer of threatening neurotic syndrome. Yet, amongst all the horrific picture of the traffic, there is always a hilarious scene that pops up out of the blue.

It was 6 pm on a week end. I drove my car among the traffic of the center of Jakarta. The traffic was the craziest ever. Far in a distance I saw a shape of a lady at the backseat of a motorcycle. Amazing…her shirt was lifted up and the blubbery part of her waist was exposed to the naked evening wind. I was plagued by the typical female curiosity to know what was going on there. She was holding a shape that look like a bag of potatoes to me. My eyes could only catch the silhouette, so I wasn’t really sure of the vision that struck my eyes. I took my spectacles and scrutinized it closely and was horrified. It was a baby, and she was breastfeeding her baby!!!!!.

The natural instinct of a woman was boggling, Driven by my curiosity and a concern for the baby made me speed my car to catch up with the motorcycle. Once I got a better view of her and the baby … I was more than just flabbergasted…it was a scene that you could never imagine. Another tot was sitting between her and her husband. He was facing her with his lips on the other breast!!!!!!!!

The motorcycle moved ahead. It zigzagged through the traffic and left me with my amazement behind. At the back of it, the flabby waist was jolting up and down following the motion of the motorcycle.

BEEP…BEEP…BEEP

What??? I exclaimed in surprise, it cant be…that’s too much. I want to have the detail of every single call. Get me the list, I said furiously. The picture of my daughter talking on the phone incessantly crossed my mind. My husband, talking to his friends discussing soccer is again another scene. They have been abusing the phone for the sake of communication.

I called home. A voice answered at the other end: “ …. The kids are still at school. They wont be home until ….” I hang up the phone before she finished her statement. I dialed my husband’s number, and guess what I get…yes…”Veronica”. I got off the phone in that instant. I need to communicate with them.

I was driving leisurely, it’s my Sunday morning drive, and the streets were all empty. I was enjoying the fresh morning air. I rolled the window down and let the breeze enter my car. I tuned to my favorite station. Beep..beep…beep beep… I threw a glance to my cell phone and my boss’ name appeared on the screen. Uuggh….
I picked the phone and the rattling sound of his voice stroke my earlobes. I could hardly open my mouth to argue when he ended the phone call. A thousand of spiders were crawling on my skin, and they suddenly stung me and an earsplitting noise spurted out through my lips: Errrrghhhhhhhh...

Beep…beep…beep… the Road Runner crashed into the Coyote and…..the Coyote lies flat on the street. So is our privacy… Is this a ponopticon?

FIFTY-FIVE

Am I going to die when I reach the age of 55? That’s the recurring question that resides in me. There are some explanations why I am trapped in this psychosis. There have been so many incidents that occurred upon me, and they dealt with that number. On my way to work, I normally check the time to see if I’m going to be on time. Most of the time, I see 5:55 in my car’s clock. The same thing happens on my way home. Strange, but that’s the truth.

A couple of days ago, another strange incidents happened. I queued up for the election. I was right after my husband. And guess what? Yes… 55. That’s my number. I try to rationalize through all these incidents. However, I cannot escape myself from it. It has been incorporated into my mind. This number is following me everywhere I go. Has it got something to do with my destiny?

I try to make the best of it. Therefore I imagine all the good things will be showered upon me when Im 55. I envision seeing my children becoming their own persons. They probably will have their own lives with their husbands and kids and the rainbow in the sky will be shining over the roofs of their houses. As the sun rises and shines the glittering beams, I see myself playing with my grand children in the backyard of our house, in the golden meadow as we call it.

YESTERDAY

She ripped the front page of her desk calendar. “6 March”, that was yesterday. She stared into it before tearing them apart into tiny pieces and tossing them into the air. The bits and pieces flew into the cold air before they landed on the carpet, scattering all over, like the first snowflakes as they settle themselves on the soil to masquerade the arrival of winter.

As the color of the roses begins to fade away, blown by the wind and torn apart by the rain, the only lefts over visible parts were the dry stalks that have turned rumpled. The dried petals of the roses were scattering all over the ground and some traveled even further than the eyes can hold, before they infiltrate deep into the heart of the soil.

Droplets of sweat ran down on her blushing cheeks and chin, she was breathless standing in the corner of the Gym. The exercise had taken all the energy in her. She stood there rumpled, cold, and gray, like a piece of old meat, rotten and forlorn.

She stood there watching herself in the movie of the past. This gym had been the place where she spent her days and nights, nine hours a day through one whole year. Sweat, tears, pain, boredom, agony were all mixed up during all the painful exercises. Not to mention the nights that she had to go through while writing down her final paper. She used to ask herself, why she could end up in this part of life. But those questions remained a question untill the day the victory was awarded on her team's lap.

The Gym was full of spectators, cheering loudly. Flags, trumpets, and all kinds of yell filled up the air. Some even jumped over the iron bar just to join the celebration. The thrill that victory brought to the team was hard to describe. All the players were in tears, the tears of joy. They all hug each other, all the sweat, the smell and heat were associated with the ecstasy of winning. They smell so sweet. The pride was even more when the flag and the national anthem were echoing inside the gym. It was a glorious triumphant day, the day when she could conquer all the battles of life and beat all the obstacles that impeded her ways, the day when the ship sailed through the ocean of life without any shilly-shallying.

On the other side of the field, the other team, stood in silence, not believing that the game was over, and they lost it. Bemoan occupied this part of the crowd. Tears ran down on their cheek and they smell more like grief.

She stood there with the palm of her hand on her chest, as if she was holding the gold medal. Time has stolen everything away from her. Time has absorbed her speed, her youth and spirit, and replaced them with age, drowsiness and memories. Yesterday is not today, but today carried the traces of yesterday. Just like the pieces of the torn calendar and the petals of the roses, they were part of yesterday lay there frozen today, absorbed by gravity.

“….Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away”……………

THE SILO OF SILENCE

Does it hurt you, I asked her with so much pain in my heart. She turned her face away from me and answered me abruptly: “No!!!”.
"Can I touch them…?", I asked again carefully. She nodded her head apatheticly. I caressed gently the blue-black patch on her skin with my fingers. I tried to transmit the pain to myself, but I was moved by my emotion and unfortunately pressed it too strong. She jolted and shunted my fingers away. I moved backward controlling myself. “Sorry”, I said voicelessly.
My throat was chocked with pain and anger. Cry baby…cry…release all your pain, express all your bitterness. I will dry your tears with my lips. I will warm your heart with my love. I let you rest your weary mind on my shoulder. Don’t lock yourself in your own silo of silence.

A REFLECTION OF THE FUTURE

A: “Dad, can I ask more than what I normally get?”
B: “How much is that?”
A: “Today I need Rp. 50.000,-.“
B: “WHAT??? Do you think we print our own money? How much do you actually need?”
A: “I need Rp. 20.000 to buy a gift for my friend, Rp. 10.000,- for the book that I showed you yesterday.”
B: “So you need only Rp. 30.000,- and your regular pocket money.”
A: “But I want to save Rp. 10.000,- for my future”
B: “Well, what about my future then?”
A: “You don’t have any future anymore. Your future is the past.”

BACK TO CAMPUS

I hate to be a stranger in my own environment. The campus is gonna be part of my life during the next two years. I retrieved the icons of a campus from my memory: students, books, pens, library, papers, assignments, lecturers, jeans, sneakers, shirts, music, friendships, hang around, demonstration and... romance. Some of them are not “me”. It is essential for me to understand which is “me”, or else the rest of those two years will be torturing me to death.

On my first day, the campus was crowded with people and food stalls. Valentine and graduation were held at the same time. An ensemble of musical instruments was ready on the stage. “Born Romantic”, printed on the white banner at the background of the stage. I smiled silently, asking myself if the term romantic is really for “me”. This is almost the autumn of my life.

During lunch hour, I bought a bowl of noodles and went to sit on the stone bench provided in the middle of the square. There were so many students around me, yet, I was all alone, awkward, and left out. I finished my noodles as soon as I can and went back to my class room.
The class room was probably the most comfortable space for me. It was the place where I really get what I came for. The lecturer, the books, the assignments, the night curfews are probably “me”. I will be lucky enough should most of the icons of the campus could be part of “me” again. (pssstttt..... romance is not included in the package!!!)

Welcome back old feelings!!!

EN-GEH-A-DEH-I-EN-O

His bony cheeks take over most of the space in his thin long face. Two naive eyes rest awkwardly underneath the shade of his two thin eyebrows. A genuine childlike smile is permanently glued on his lips, revealing his teeth and pinkish gums. Exposure to the heat of the sun has turned his hair yellowish with twisted ends and his complexion was dark brown with spots all over.

He used to work at my office as a cleaning boy. I felt the passion to know him at the very first time I laid my eyes on him. I asked him his name. He spelled his name, instead, EN-GEH-A-DEH-I-EN-O. He spelled it the way my child did when she first entered Kinder Garten. I knew that we both would develop a good friendship.

As time goes by, he dropped by almost every morning to my room, just to make sure that he could be of any assistance. I began to rely on him for most of my errands. He had been in charge of almost everything, my phone bills, electricity, the kids’ school uniform, and even all my private documents. I told him that honesty should be his middle name; he looked at me with a puzzling gaze.

There had been so many times that I asked him to do a thing and he came back to me with a different thing in his hand. Though I almost exploded in anger, the baffled look in his eyes chocked me to silence and I was under his magic spell again.

One day he came to me, telling me that he’s out of his job. I was rather busy with my work and told him that I was really sorry for what had happened to him and dashed out of my room to catch up the next meeting that I had to attend. The meeting lasted for hours and finally ended around 7 o’clock. I walked back to my room feeling horribly tired. He was still sitting in my sofa, and staring straight to my desk. I felt so ashamed of myself for ignoring him. Everything turned to be so heavy. My heart was burdened with tons of guilt. I haven’t got a chance to express my apology when his eyes met mine. They were like pools of tears loaded with sorrows. His lips were trembling when he asked me: “What do I have to tell my wife and kids?”

THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM

The alarms blared and arouse me of my bizarre dream. “Shut up”, I said lazily with my eyes half open. I reached for the clock and thumped the button forcefully with the palm of my hand. I closed my eyes and tried to get back to sleep. I pulled the blanket over my face, hoping that it could take me back to my world of dream.

The unpleasant odor of my blanket and breath filled the private breathing space underneath the blanket. The need to continue the dream was stronger than the smell. I could care less about the smell and carry on to chase for the dream.

I was close to it…I was almost there, when suddenly “the lady who ruled in this house” knocked at my door. She has taken the liberty to wake me up every time she thinks I need her services. “Eeerggghhhh…..get lost”, I mimed the words silently, and pretending that I didn’t hear her. She continued knocking at my door for a couple of seconds before finally the silence was the only thing that occupied the space.

The desire to possess the dream was yearning inside. I glued my eyelids together hoping that it would bring the lost dream back to life. All my wishes, desires, requests and hopes were there, served in a heart-shaped-box. All the things that Pandora forgets to deliver to my life were there.

The feeling that I was engaged to brought back the picture of my childhood once again in front of me. I was standing there in front of the window, watching the beautiful long dark haired doll behind the cold glass window. My eyes were glazing with desire to possess the doll, an imaginary friend that could fill my days and nights. It was so close and clear to me, yet the unfriendly glass kept us both in two different and separated worlds. I couldn’t touch it nor possess it. It had absorbed all my attention until Mommy patted me affectionately on my head. As her fingers ran through my hair I felt the stream of love rushed off into my heart.

“Mom, are u all right? I don’t want to be late for school”. She uncovered the blanket. A reflection of worries intertwined with love and affections were carved on her her face. The look in her eyes brought me back to the reality. “Give me fifteen minutes young lady and let’s beat the traffic of the city. Good bye, dream…”, I muttered the last statement voicelessly and noticed the puzzled look of my daughter as she watched me dash off into the bathroom.

THE MIRROR

She watched her own reflection closely, scrutinizing every single inch of it. A stranger was standing in front of her, an image she has known her entire life yet still a stranger. She touched the reflection with her fingers. The coldness of the glass was transmitted to her fingers and moved slowly to her heart before it was disbursed evenly. She shivered slightly.

"I don’t know this person", she said to herself. To her amazement, the reflection sneered at her. She curled up her eyebrows wanting to ascertain of what she had just witnessed. This time the reflection not only sneered at her, but she also burst out a roaring laughter that tore up the silence of the air. She jumped backward, trying to keep herself away from the mirror.
"Don’t escape from reality", the reflection said abruptly. "It's here and it's real", she added while moving herself forward as if to assure her that she's real.

"You can’t be real. There is only one of us, it's either you or me." She exclaimed in fright.
The reflection looked deep into the black centre of her eyes. "Don’t say things which you are not really sure of. I could be your reflection and it could also be the opposite. You could also be my reflection. It's just a matter of looking at it from a different perspective. In this world, you are my reflection, in your world I’m your reflection. The string of words flow out with such an assurance that made her doubts her own existence.

She stood there, one hand gripped the other, asking herself: "Am I real? Who is real?"

MIDNITE TRAIN

Travelling on the midnite train has been her passion. Somehow, she failed to find the schedule that fit her destination. The midnite train that brought her alive the living memory from the past.
It was a spacious house with a big yard, constructed sometimes during the Dutch Colony. The house has floor-to ceiling windows that look out over an empty deserted land. A couple hundred meters away on the uninhabited land run the sturdy train tracks. Two bars of the longest iron cutting across the land, like twin giant glossy snakes moving in parallel.
At night when the darkness had fallen onto the lap of the earth, she waited for the signal to come. Ting…tong….ting…tong….ting….tong, the midnite train was approaching to pass. She kept her eyes half open. As the train was passing by, she felt a sense of sublime and anxiety brewing in her heart, stimulating her mind to unravel the enigma of the destination of the midnite train. The minute the train had gone, she felt part of her went away with it to a place she would die to know. As she woke up the following morning, she would throw a glance to the railways as she hold the belief that they would bring her to the answer.
On one morning she decided to skip school and embarked on a journey to solve the haunting enigma. She decided to follow the train tracks that would lead her to the destination. In the beginning, the journey was so fascinating for the attraction of the mystery of the midnite train was too extensive. Along the way, she found many exotic objects, such as colorful pebbles, broken painted glass, a piece of magnet and put them all in her weather beaten bag pack. As the sun reached the peak of the day, the horrendous heat and sores that bit her feet drove the claw of despair to grip her tightly. She was suffocated for the end of the track ways was absurd.
She arrived home in the afternoon with a tattered mind. The destination of the midnite train remained a mystery. She was so tired on that particular night and failed to notice the midnite train for the first time.
As she woke up the following morning, she was clear in her mind that the day would be hers and the mystery would be solved. She went to the window to know what the invisible hand had to offer her. As the sun rose in the east, the glossy surface of the train tracks were glimmering and glittering before it petered out in the horizon, like a stairway to heaven. She ran to her mom and announced her discovery with a glowing triumphant smile: “Mom, now I know, the midnite train takes all the passengers to heaven.”

HOPE , ARE YOU THERE?

The early morning dew landed on the ground, penetrating the pores of the earth. The fragrance of the wet damp soaked earth stung her nostrils. She shuddered as the gust of the cold midnite breeze patted her skin. The night was wearing its darkest and gloomiest shadow.
In the middle of the flirtatious sound of the cricket, she felt the presence of a shadowy invisible being. She felt small and belittle by his aura of command and by the glow of authority that radiated from his presence. She stiffened and gathered all the courage in her. She expected a hasty aggression to appear in this enigmatic ambiance.
A loud roaring laughter broke out and tore apart her nerves into small tiny particles. She pulled the strength in her and gathered all the crumbles of her courage. She greeted him haughtily and posed a rhetoric question: “Have I in any ways broken any unwritten convention here?” I meant no harm to any being but to have a discussion with the fireflies?”
He coughed coarsely and sounded like there was a dense cobweb in his throat. Are you in search of the spirit of the death?, he exclaimed in a voice that infiltrated deep into the night.
“I’m in search of hope “she said in an abrupt manner, not wanting to let him peek into her apprehensive heart. I wish I could find her in these hours of darkness.
“All the hours of darkness have long been traded in to me. The entire nights are mine. Any existence that dwells in this time and space is under my jurisdiction. Hope does not live here.” He retorted snappishly, somehow she could feel a vague empathy in his response.
“I wish she would have showered her piety upon me. I have been haunted by a vision, in which I see myself as a living programmed mortal. I see my own pictures in some cubicles performing the flawlessly part of my roles. I wish I had a chance to add a small picture in it. I expect Hope to lend me a hand."
Strange enough, the invisible being was locked silence. She felt the air of nothingness occupying the space for a few seconds. “Disclose to me your dream…the picture that you long to insert,” he whispered softly as if he knew that she would have been wanting for an unattainable wish.
“A heart”, she impulsively replied. All of a sudden she poured it out to this being… a stranger that somehow brought alive the creep in her. The long buried feeling in her sub consciousness spurred out likes the stream of water that flow from the top of the hill down to the river. She had never shared this feeling to any living mortals. The feeling that had been buried for so long in the graveyard of the nameless.
Her Hope was dangling and drifting in the sky. The moon was strolling slowly and brushed her with the tender strokes. The stars were twinkling brightly to lighten up the hopes.

THE CAGE

The parade was moving stealthily along the boulevard like a giant dragon that crept along the street. Flocks of people were flinging on the curb of the streets. Some preferred to linger inside their cars and pulled their windows down. They swayed their hand with faces of enthusiasms.
She was standing there among the crowd, watching the world swaying by in the state of total innocence. Her body shuddered as the huge clock banged and filled the emptiness of the sky. There was an invisible presence of enigma in her mind, occupying every silent corners of her mind.
She abandoned her bodily being and locked behind the cage of solitude. In this cage she was dragged away by her imagination into a state of perpetual delirium. Floating, drifting, wandering like a crowd of gypsies searching for the meaning of existence. The cage has been so suffocating, especially in this mortal silence of the heat. The intriguing and fatiguing chore of life exposed her to the haughtiness of the spirit of life. The intense efforts to keep life free from lice and nits had reached the empty air. Moth has perforated her life.
The parade of life is still in motion. She is trapped in this space, locked in the cage of time and being, frozen…

A VIEW THROUGH THE WINDOW

She sat in her comfortable chair looking through the window that provides her with the view to the world. A blue robin landed on the windowsill.
“Good morning”, she greeted him cheerfully for she’s happy to see him again. The bird looked at her and flapped open his wings to give her a warm hug.
She moved closer to the window and pressed her fingers against the glass and murmured: “Thank you. So… what’s the news today”, she asked him.
He pointed his beak to her.
“Me ?", she exclaimed in surprise. “What has made me so special as to be covered by the news?"
The bird chirped while moving back and forth on the windowsill.
“Aha... you think I’m lucky to be on this side of the and occupy this room?”
The bird nodded gently and chirped again.
“I do have many things in this space. I have to admit that,” the lady exclaimed.
The bird flapped his wings and flew around the window, before he landed again on the sill and waited for her answer anxiously.
” You want to know if I’m happy? Hmmm… let me tell you this, I always envy you for having those two precious wings. I dream of having the freedom to fly, she said as she closed her eyes and daydreaming. “I move along with the wind to those places I have never been. I can be closer to the sun and feel the tender stroke of its beams against my skin. I don’t have to worry about my chair, my room, and my desk. That’s what I call ….”. The moment she was to finish her sentence a squeaking sound filled the air. She opened her eyes in dismay, and saw a bigger bird was chasing the blue robin. She felt so sad and sorry for the blue robin. She wondered if the blue robin would survive.
She went back to her comfortable chair and focus on her computer. A statement popped up on her screen:

How many joys are crushed underfoot
because people look up at the sky
and disregard what is at their feet.
(Attributed to mother of Johann Strauss)

A NIGHTMARE

Everyone thinks he's such a cute and adorable boy, so does the girl thinks of him. He's only four, fat with spiky hair and splitted eyes. He's a menace. He turns the house upside down. He sleeps late at night and cries out loud everytime he's uncomfortable. Sometimes life with him turns to be a real nightmare to her.

All was silent except for the soft breath of the climatiseur. With thumping heart she made her way into the living room, downstairs. As her eyes became used to the dark she could make out a little figure. All by himself. He was leaning forward to the window. He exposed his head to the night air. She could heard a soft babbling noise. The boy was talking. She called his name twice, he stopped talking but didn't turn his head around. Silence.... silence was the reply.

Suddenly the boy whistled his own message toward the tree. The night echoed a strong, clear squeaking sound. The sound of beating wings. Hundreds of bats surged out of the tree. They blocked and darkened the view through the window. She could see nothing but a swirling swarm of grey.

The boy turned his body around facing her. He was wearing a cloak. He looked at her with a horrifying expression. A sneer was curling up on the corner of his lips. He moved toward her direction and his white little sharp teeth shone in the dark as a blitz of light falls upon them. She felt so creepy that made her paralized from head to toe. She was grasping for help. Her voice got stuck on her throat. She was so petrified and ....

It was still very early in the morning. She felt something warm and wet creeping on her PJ. She was struck by it and opened her eyes. The little boy was looking into her face with his innocent eyes and smiled. His pants were all soaked. He landed a warm kiss on her cheek and said:" I love you and gave her a hug. Her eyes were locked in silent conversation with him.

.

THE BROWN ESPRIT TROUSERS

He's not the type that would make the traffic stop. In fact he's simple and plain. Despite this fact, she was madly in love with him. Amongst all of the available choices, she preferred him.

Her mom introduced her with him at the airport, upon her arrival from a trip overseas. She could hardly breath when she saw his smart look. She knew right away that she had fallen in love with him. She was close to giving him a hug, should the moral fiber allowed her to do so. Soon after, she made her confession to her friends and they claimed that they would have done the same should they had been in her position.

Poor him! After he's been with her, the entire universe evolved around her. She chose any time and any mood to be with him. He hardly got a chance to put his feet up. His days were scheduled just for her. There was a time when her mom grumbled and yelled: “ Give him a break!” She just laughed and pretended that she was hard at hearing.

A misfortune brought everything to an end. On one ill-fated evening, she went home with him riding in a taxi after spending a night at grandma’s place. She was really busted and turned to be a bit out of control. She left the taxi without saying a word to him. Ever since that time, he's no where to be found. He has vanished into the thin air. She could never forgive herself for behaving inappropriately. She has left him there, in the taxi, her brown pair esprit trousers.

THE TUNNEL

The cold air was biting her and made her quiver. She sat there all alone in her room on the top floor of the building. The window provided her with a breath taking work of art of the nature. As the sun was about to dive into the horizon, the beams brushed the sky with grey, orange and yellowish strokes. Flocks of birds were dashing home, flapping their wings elegantly among the drifting spongy clouds.

The picture of a young woman standing in a play ground was brought into her mind. Summer had almost ended at that time. The playground was empty as the sun had expressed his boredom to shine that day. She was holding a book in her right hand and a bag was hanging on her shoulder. The gust of cold wind blew her hair away, blocking her view. she held her jacket closer to her chest. It wasnt easy for her to be in control of all the stuff she had in her hand. She looked around and found only the falling dead leaves spinning on the grass. She called out a name a couple of times and was greeted by her own echo that twirled back to where she stood.

Faintly she heard a soft sigh coming from the tunnel. She bent her head down to peek into it. A little girl was sitting in the tunnel. She sat there all alone hugging both of her knees close to her chest. She was sucking her tiny dirty thumb while an empty gaze was carved on her face. As soon as she saw her mother's face the flame inside the kid's eyes blaze. She pulled out her thumb and murmured softly: "Mommy, I miss you. "

She wished that the blue robin would appear on the window sill just to greet her. Loneliness is undeniably suffocating.

IN THE END…

A famous piece of a pop musical group spread throughout the cosy place. A mixture of age and types of people were all over the place. Some were sitting comfortably on the floor reading a book, some other were walking between the bookshelves, whereas the end corner was occupied by the trio, making their best effort to entertain the visitors with their tunes.


The girl walked around the shops. Every now and then, she grabbed a book and put it in the small basket. She finally got a basket full of books and went to see her mom. She shoved the basket to her mom’s view. The girl believes that all those books will lead her to the land of knowledge.


As she slurped her coffee the bubbles of her thoughts were brewing in her mind. She went back far to the past, to the time when she was at the girl’s age. She kept some small black polished stones in a box. Every time she was hurt she opened the box. She felt like sitting on a piece of cloud and got drifted by the wind to the land of no worries. She danced luminously in the horizon and sat comfortably in the lap of the universe. She felt the mind-blowing happiness creeping inside her though for only a fleeting moments.


She let the girl enjoy the same journey and believe in the magical power of the books. In the end she will learn that the magical power lies in her being, her existence whereas a book is just a gizmo.

A FROZEN QUESTION

The sound of the brake clutching the road ripped apart the silence of the cold morning air. Crassssshhhhhhhh… his body flew into the air and hit the front part of the taxi. He rolled down from the car and laid flat on the road. The taxi driver dashed out of his car. Two men burst out of the crowd. They carried the man into the taxi, while the rest of people stood still observing with curiosity as if it watching their most wanted “wrestle mania” show. It all happened in seconds, one of ill-fated moments for the man and the taxi driver.

As the taxi driver was about to leave, a man who claimed himself as a journalist, arrived on the scene. He took the taxi driver out of the car and played the leading role of a hero. A lady shoved her head out of her window and shouted out reminding them about the injured man. Two policemen, as has always been plotted on any movies, arrived on the scene later and took over the case. It took sometimes before the taxi left with the injured man and the police.

She was there right behind the scene. She witnessed everything and felt uncomfortable. The girl sat quietly and nicely next to her. She knew that the silence was fake and she detests this frozen moments. The girl might have heard her unspoken wishes. She turned her head, hesitated for a moment and asked a question: “Why didn’t you help him?”

She didn’t know where to start. She definitely didn’t want to start with the torn apart social values and norms for it would have opposed with all the comforting and pleasing values and norms preached at school. An ugly picture that she herself had witnessed, and above all she saw her own face in that picture. A picture she had just drawn in the naïve canvas of the girl’s mind.

She pretended as if she was focusing to the traffic. Her mind was boggling with the question. The same very question which is valid for everyone. The same question, which has been laid there in the corner of her own mind, frozen, unanswered.

THROUGH A LOOKING GLASS

A TYPICAL AFTERNOON ON A TYPICAL STREET

He looked dashing in his "army uniform". Standing on the other side of the street with the palm of his left hand resting on his hips, he inspected every single inch of the nearby area. A serious and responsible expression for the well being of his surrounding was painted on his face. Then he moved sturdily and crossed the street. He turned his head to the right side and inspected this part as well; every single dust on the street could not escape from his suspicious eyes.


Close to where he stood, a crowd of children were playing "kasti". The crowd of children had been playing since two o'clock when the sun was right at the top of the world. They occupied almost a third of the length of the street for the game. Every now and then they had to stop for a while to avail the streets for the traffic. As they screamed and yelled, the sound penetrated the houses and creeping into every bedroom, disturbing the afternoon naps of the neighbourhood. The odour of their sweat, the excitement, the noise and the dusty street gave its own characteristic flavour to the street.


Another two houses further up from where the game was held, standing a group of men and women at the curb of the street. A visitor might be amazed to find out that the crowd gather for nothing, but to socialize, a sort of an afternoon teatime in England. Most of them were still in their office uniform. They watched the children playing while title tattling about their neighbours, politics, love, or any topics that come across their crowded mind. Once in a while when the game was reaching the peak of its excitement they stopped and supported their favourite team or criticized any player that failed to contribute points to the team.

Nobody paid much attention to the army man. However, they were aware that he was around, considering that they made a lot of attempts to block the ball from flying to his direction. The army man once again turned his head to the right side. This time his gaze was glued to this side. He must have spotted something. Slowly he slid out from the bench and stood, he gave a precautious look as he watched an ice peddler pushing his cart forward through the crowd of kids.


The iceman finally managed to break through the crowd and passed in front of the army man. He waved his hand to the iceman and requested a chocolate flavoured ice. He got back to his bench with the chocolate ice in his hand. His eyes turned big and wide every time he slurped the ice slowly and passionately. He was enjoying every single drop of the ice that went down through his throat. As he arrived to the very best part of the ice, the part covered by frozen fudge, all of a sudden, a wild ball flew into his direction and hit the ice in his hand. The ice splattered into his face. His thunderous loud cry broke the afternoon air. The crowd was startled and remained frozen for seconds. Everyone automatically turned his or her head toward him. A lady bursted out of the crowd on the spur of the moment and ran to her 4-year-old kid in his army uniform. He was crying loudly with melted chocolate ice covering his face.

A TALE OF TWO SETTEES

She held Dicken’s masterpiece "A Tale of Two Cities" firmly in her hand, Love and justice that burned out during the French Revolution. She had arrived to the part of sacrifices in the name of love. She sat stiffly in tense. A moment or two she inhaled a deep breath and held it for a while, like she would never exhale it again. She felt the real value of the sacrifice. As she finished that part, she blew her breath in relief and sunk her body in the fluffy and comfy settee. Relax in the white and green striped covered settee, both of her hand resting down on it, touching and caressing it gently.

She moved the settee from her bed room to the living room, facing the garden. It could hold three persons with comfort. Actually everyone had been very happy to have the settee in front of the television set. As a replacement, she put another smaller comfortable gray covered comfortable settee with an ottoman in front of the television set. The settee was too big for one person but too small for two. The entire member of the house had expressed their objections when she did it. Her husband was one of the most furious one. She did not react to any of those objections. Lest she might ignite fires of arguments about those two settees she pretended that she was hard at hearing. She witnessed the struggle to conquer the settee among the members of the family during the television show time; still she remained silent, and kept her reason deep in the most secretive place of her heart.

A deeper and closer look into that home and their usual routine life, will actually reveals her entire secret, a secret, which is barely a secret but the naked fact of reality, a natural impulse of a woman. At television show time, she sits there in front of the television with her children. All in one settee, a settee that could only hold one person, were packed with the three of them, squeezing each other, close to each other. One sits in front of her on the ottoman and laid back to her stomach. The other one sits next to her in the settee. The warmth of their togetherness, the fight for the best spot and all the arguments are just another scrumptious dimension that paints the color of their routine life. Something that can not be assessed based on its face value. The settees that turn the house into a home, and produce the warmth to her home.

BITS AND PIECES OF LIFE

It had been drizzling outside. The teen-age girl took the front seat. Her eyes were glued to the messy traffic. She was silent; in fact none of the three persons in that car said any words. The only perceptible sound came from the climatiseur, sizzling and hissing all the way throughout the journey. Though irritating as it has always been, at this moment, she preferred to tune to it.
Her mom was behind the wheel. A forlorn and disappointed expression was marked clearly on her depleted face. Nobody knows what was twirling in her head, but they all knew that she preferred not to be disturbed. Every time a bus stopped and blocked her ways, she hit her right hand against the horn. Senseless and idiotic but the pressure was probably boiling in her mind.
Grandma, the only person that gave a content gaze, was sitting at the back. She considered what she saw in front of her as merely shadows, a natural phenomenon. She let her mind wondered off to find the “real pictures” or “ideas”. The scenes of the party last night were now playing in front of her eyes. All her children, grand children, great grand children, brothers, sisters and friends were all there. A wise way to escape from the depressing reality.

All the bits and pieces were scattering all over her room. This time, after so many times, her mom yelled and instructed the girl to put all her bits and pieces back to the appropriate place, into the proper boxes and drawers. The girl moved and grabbed all her stuff. She shoved everything into one box and closed the lid. The box was too full so the lid got stuck. She pushed harder and harder. It didn’t work and somehow the box was almost crashed. She lifted the box and threw half of the content into another empty box and closed the lid. Done! At least that was what she had thought. She had not had a faintest idea that the bomb was ticking, on the verge to explode.

The clock was ticking…so was the bomb. Time was moving like a jet plane. The three of them were busy searching. They emptied all the boxes and drawers but the tiny little piece of “high” value was nowhere. The girl knew that it must have been somewhere in one of the boxes or drawers, but where? It must be there, she remembers shoving it into one of them. Time was very uncompromising. It dashed off with no delay. That tiny piece was nowhere..........

“Darn”, her mother shouted furiously. The explosion had burst out her head and merge with everything else. Like a big balloon filled with water, it blew up in the air, and the water splattered all over the earth as it landed. It was dreadful and nasty. She was shaky and so was the girl. Both of their hearts were shattered into tiny inches. It was not only about grouping the real bits and pieces but it was also about grouping the bits and pieces of life and shoved them into the incorrect places. She held firmly the steering wheel and almost sunk her fingernails into it.

SPLASH

Splash… droplets of water burst out of the pool as she jumped into the water. Her body sank gracefully into the water and submerged below the surface level. The blue water touched her skin and caressed it tenderly. She can feel the softness of its touch and closed her eyes to let the heavenly feeling flow into her veins. Like thousands of ants in their early morning march, the feeling crawled inch by inch and reached the entire parts of her body. As she swam back and forth, the feeling grew stronger and stronger. She swam around following the blissful music of her heart. Strange enough, why does suddenly this feeling emerge…?

Splash… the word beeped in her memory. It brought her back to the last week's conversation, to the time when a young boy came home to see her daughter for some school stuff. He was driving a fancy car. As he walked through the entrance with full confidence, he greeted everyone with a well-polished manner. Her daughters’ eyes were shining, an elevated joy of having somebody special visiting her.
“I know all about making a splash”, her mother exclaimed. Her teen-age daughter dived into her mom’s eyes and swam around as she was making her best effort to understand her mom’s statement. "He might be a splash that gathers the crowd with his gentle appearance. The crowds wont stay long unless you give them a good reason to stay. Don’t get blinded by appearance. A conceited artist could perform his role exceedingly well on stage."
The girl's eyebrows moved closer to each other as she wrinkled her forehead. A perturbed feeling was painted on her innocent expression. Mom smiled to her daughter and touched the tip of her nose. “You don’t have to understand everything now, but you will definitely understand me later when you grow up.”

As she swam and splashed around the pool, her mind traveled back to the splash story that had happened to herself not only once in her lifetime. Those splash stories that glue strongly in her cognition. One after another, they were all splash, the natural stage of a being teen age versus the natural instinct of being a mother. That's what keeps this mother daughter relation alive.

Now that she understands why she had to go through all those splashy moments, she longs to have her mom with her, especially today at her mom's special day. Happy birthday Mom!!.

OF MICE AND MEN

Sniff….sniff….. The smell of cheese had been dangling in the air. They ran in the maze wildly. One kicked the other, one ran ahead another. At the intersection, they stopped for a while. Confused to turn left or right. One of them took the lead; he curled up his nose and sniffed around. He turned right and the rest of his squad followed.. Mountain of cheese lied there in abundance. Watery mouths are opened widely. The white flashing teeth sunk into the succulent yummy cheese. Yum… yum…yum…

She sits there in the comfortable chair and watches MTV. Her feet rest peacefully on the ottoman. The blaring sound of music filled up the house. It roars and shakes the house down. She sings along with the music and contributes another freaky noise to the air.
The sound of the car entering the house is an alarm for her. She quickly turns off the television set and runs to her own room. She sits nicely by her desk with her books widely open. She gives an exasperating look, a typical look that one would give after a full day of studying.

As usual they stop at the intersection and wait for the leader to lead. The leader curled up his nose and sniffed around. He did not catch the usual cheesy smell from the right side, instead it is now somehwere else.He gave a strange look, and patted his nose with his paw. He sniffed again… and lifted his eyebrows to communicate his confusion. The mice were panic. A hysterical reaction filled the maze.

She was extremely uneasy. Though she turned her voice down at the lowest level, the phone conversation could be overheard with clarity. “Grams…I am afraid of my grades and what if I failed. A terrified looks was on her face and this time it was an extreme frantic, worried and frenzied look.

The leader directed his head to the left and gave a sign to the troops to follow. The mice gave different reactions. One of the “predators” took over the lead and invited the mice to turn right, their usual morning direction. The “inhibitors” were confused and followed the predators. “The wait and see” remained in the intersection to see what’s going to happen. “The followers” follow the leader and turned left.

Her mom invited “the panicky girl” to her room. A mother daughter talk has never been interesting. Faintly the conversation could be overheard: “ Unless you change you will never get the cheese of life.”

“The followers” enjoy the biggest part of the cheese. “The wait and see” heard the victory of "the followers" and follow them. They get some cheese. The inhibitors” get a tiny part of the cheese since they were too late to change the direction. “the predators” died in hunger.

Which are you, Angel?

FOR EVERYTHING HAVE THEIR SEASON

Summer is approaching the end of its term. The leaves have started to change their colors. Autumn will soon be on the scene. She is walking toward the seashore on her own. Gust of wind blows her fragile figure and makes her flimsy. She goes on with her journey and makes her extreme effort to maintain her direction.

Traces of her foot prints are on the sand….lead down to the world she sometimes fails to recall. The world of her own, in which summer was enchantingly beautiful. At that time, the birds would chant her the songs of heaven. The world stood there motionless, watching her dance charmingly with the music of life.

The sea waves have sent her an invitation to come. The sea gulls reminded her to answer all her unfinished questions of life. For once winter arrives, the questions will be frozen forever.She sat there by the sea shore. She has been seeking for the answers to her haunting questions. She sat there for hours and hours, feeling hopeless for she was only chasing a shadow. She was almost frozen in her solitude, when the reflection of an angel came slowly into her view.

She stood up with better forethoughts. The angel provided the answer to her haunting question. An Existence for another existence. The reason why we are alive to keep the others living. Everything have their season and reason to exist.

SUCCESS

The phone rang.... you ran to me and hold your breath deeply. A mixed up expression, tensed, anxious and uneasy were all there. As soon as I put the receiver down, you held my arms and shook them. I gave you an empty look. You looked more than puzzled, worried and began to bite your nails. I smiled and said, yes you have made it.

The explosion of excitement was more than the incredible eruption of a volcano. It shattered the silence. The roars and the flares of joy filled up the air. You danced around and jumped into my bed. I was frozen. Suddenly you turned to me and hugged me. You hugged me with all your excitements and squeezed me. The rest of the day was filled with phone calls....

There is no point at which you can say, "Well, I am successful now. I might as well take a nap (Carrie Fisher). There are still so many rocky hills to climb and winding roads to beat.

HOW MUCH LOVE DO I HAVE?

If I had to choose between my right and left eye, which one would I have to choose? This question is aimless. It is as senseless as your curiosity to know which among you that I love most. This question has been in your eyes for sometimes. You plea for an asnwer and it was spurted out last night in the car.

Do you remember the time of loneliness when we had been separated miles away from the rest of the family? You were there with me. We supported each other. We conquered the urge to be reunited . We walked hand in hand underneath the shade of the trees. You were chased by the blackbird on our way to the playground. We dashed out to the iceman as the van passed in front of our house.

The creaky door to your room was opened. You came out and got yourself a glass of water from the table in front of me. Swollen red eyes and a heartbreaking tormented look was the menu served to me. Your sister was trying to whisper something in my ears. I touched you lightly on your head. You broke out into tears and rest your head so close to my heart. I didnt say a word, but my heart played the music of love. You cried until the fear in you subsided.

We have gone through so many things in this life. We have gone through the sun and the rain. It is love that keeps us alive. However, it is not about the amount of my love or your love nor is it about whom I love most. It is simply about sharing our love among us, among people around us.

CINTA PUTIH

Seputih salju, seputih rambutnya, seputih cintanya. Pengabdian yang tidak pernah berhenti. Musim silh berganti, perubahan menerpa kehidupannya, tapi hatinya masih putih...seputih salju, seputih rambutnya, seputih hatinya. Tatkala maut menjemput, burung-burung di taman menyanyikan irama kepedihan, menghantar perginya sang cinta putih ke dunia yang tak akan pernah dapat kumengerti. Ke suatu dunia yang enggan aku pikirkan tapi harus kuhadapi.
Mungkin hanya malaikat kecilku yang tau. Disudut sana, dibalik tirai putih, aku melihat air mata putihnya bergulir, meluncur perlahan, melandas di atas hati yang putih. Bibirnya bergumam halus, Tuhan, kukembalikan cinta putih ini ke hadiratMu. Kalau boleh aku memilih, ingin kudekap erat dan kunikmati cintanya. Namun aku tahu, apa yang kau goreskan, adalah putih... Terimalah cinta putihku.....

LOSS AND GRIEF

I brought with me all my blurted thoughts in the middle of the night. Loss has passed in front of our door and grief was enveloping us. It is not until the person disappears that we begin to wonder their meaning to our life. The beautiful moments become apparent, and the unpleasant ones disappear. Memories......leave those traces of loss and grief. How do we emerge above the indigo line?
The white pearls rolled down on your cheek. Tears that alleviated the pain, the agony inside. The affections that occured behind the scenes, revealing the true love that grows in the garden of sincerety.

TITIK, KOMA, TANDA TANYA

Kunang-kunang beterbangan, melambung ke udara, menembus malam. Roh kematian berpendar-pendar. Kepedihan menyelimuti bumi. Pagi ini sahabatku, sore ini ia menggoda kerabatku. Aroma kematian melilit bumi. Kehidupan berakhir. Usai sudah. Titik.
Dalam buaian, kudongengkan cerita tentang hidup. Menata hidup, menjaga kehidupan dan membangun kehidupan. Malaikat kecil...satu hal yang pasti dari kehidupan ini. Tebarkan kasih dan biarkan bersemi. Titik, Koma, Tanda tanya....... biarkan itu.