<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997</id><updated>2012-02-11T23:30:47.117+01:00</updated><category term='Bahasa Indonesia'/><category term='Personal'/><category term='ArtWork'/><category term='Surrounding'/><category term='People and I'/><category term='Short Story'/><category term='Idea'/><title type='text'>puteri's world</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>51</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-2883527922801179330</id><published>2008-10-03T17:14:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2008-10-04T15:26:09.587+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>A demanding person, I am.</title><content type='html'>I believe that everyone has different ways of expressing themselves, of giving others their special attention. I also believe that people have different expectations of what they need from others and how others should behave. But what I know for sure is that when one is in need of his or her most important persons to care about them, he or she will become the most possessive person alive and definitely demands the fullest attention from them. I sometimes wonder why that simple logic is not always applicable, sometimes even to those who are so close, or even those who are long term lovers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really don't understand why I have to tell my loved one over and over again about my feeling, and how depressed I am, just to have his slightest attention, just to know the fact that he still doesn't provide that. I sometimes cannot understand why can't he be emphatic for a while, and not say any single word, and just hold me, or at least just leave me alone. I really don't ask him to ask me if I am okay or not, because I know that he knows that I am not. I also don't ask him to keep me busy or ask me out, because I know that he knows that I don't feel like meeting people or going out when I am down. And the fact that he doesn't talk to me, or prefers to listening to music, or to go to cafe for coffee, don't help me in anyway except making me feel like crying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-----------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Latest Update:&lt;br /&gt;Hmm, yeah, I really believe that everyone has different ways of giving attention. He is just back with my favorite perfume, and said plainly, "Nih, tadi ada parfum ini di bijenkorf, gue inget lo nyari-nyari ini, jadi gue beliin!".&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class="multiply:no_crosspost"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-2883527922801179330?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/2883527922801179330/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=2883527922801179330&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/2883527922801179330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/2883527922801179330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/10/demanding-person-i-am.html' title='A demanding person, I am.'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-2302756052402184844</id><published>2008-10-03T15:22:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2008-10-04T15:29:35.054+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ArtWork'/><title type='text'>The Unnoticeable</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOYc9GTk4DI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/IIB_IZOHJGo/s1600-h/The+Discreet+Life.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOYc9GTk4DI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/IIB_IZOHJGo/s320/The+Discreet+Life.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252917851364581426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Unnoticeable&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Acrylic and Poster Color on Canvas&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-2302756052402184844?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/2302756052402184844/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=2302756052402184844&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/2302756052402184844'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/2302756052402184844'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/10/unnoticeable.html' title='The Unnoticeable'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOYc9GTk4DI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/IIB_IZOHJGo/s72-c/The+Discreet+Life.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-2268575632621991617</id><published>2008-10-01T19:18:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-10-04T15:26:25.130+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>Stier: Oktober</title><content type='html'>Solliciteren? Je maakt goede kansen en het is zelfs mogelijk dat je via via aan een leuke nieuwe baan komt. Maar het allermooist is dat de liefde met sprongen vooruit gaat! Kijk niet achterom, Stier! De toekomst ligt voor je en heeft iets speciaals voor je in petto.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Nou, ik hoop het wel! Crossing Fingers.... again!&lt;br&gt;   &lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class='multiply:no_crosspost'&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-2268575632621991617?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/2268575632621991617/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=2268575632621991617&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/2268575632621991617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/2268575632621991617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/10/stier-oktober.html' title='Stier: Oktober'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-13939456146685552</id><published>2008-09-09T02:12:00.009+02:00</published><updated>2008-10-04T15:27:14.184+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People and I'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Short Story'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Idea'/><title type='text'>It hurts... so bad</title><content type='html'>Anna was looking at her reflection on the mirror, and suddenly felt so depressed, again. She felt like she could not take anymore all pressures that all people have been given to her. She felt like she did not want to get up tomorrow in the morning, and see all of her friends anymore. She knew that sooner or later those words, those painful words, would come out of those mouths again, and again, and would break her heart again, and again. That afternoon, she spent alone in her room looking at, pitying herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She heard a knock on the door. She did not feel like answering so she stayed in her blanket. The door knob was moving slowly, and Mother was standing there. She brought a cup of tomato soup for Anna to have supper. She did not feel like eating, not even talking to Mother. Mother was walking silently towards Anna. Anna did not want to talk, so she covered her up deeper with her blanket. Anna heard that Mother wept, and Mother said weakly, “Bono bought this soup from this morning’s market. He was here just now.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anna loved Bono, in fact she was crazy about him. She knew that Bono cared about her. But talking to him had been the most tiring argument for Anna lately. She felt that Bono has been not telling what he actually needed to say. She knew that somehow she found relieving of what Bone said, but she scared that Bono would make her even worst. In fact, Bono had been the only person, besides her family, who had been saying that Anna is beautiful just the way she was. But Anna could not be sure if that is right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anna could not stand hearing Mother weeping. She unwrapped herself and at last wanted to talk to Mother. She did not know where to start though, because this was the first time in her life she ever talked about her private thoughts to Mother. She felt that Mother might know what to do, and she soon would end this misery, so she started.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Mother, I have been feeling ugly”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Why is it like that Honey? What makes you feel that?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I don’t know Mother, but it is just people keep saying that to me? Do you know what is wrong with me Mother?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Honestly, I don’t know Honey. ‘Cause for me you seem fine, except that you have not been eating properly lately, so I guess you look a bit pale now.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“If so Mother, why people are doing that to me? I never felt so bad like this before Mother. It feels like no one likes me for the way I am. It seems that they enjoy commenting on me Mother. It hurts so bad Mother when people say that I am fat, or I am ugly, or sometimes that I am not interesting enough as a person. Am I that bad Mother?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“Oh Honey, who has been saying those things to you?”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I don’t know anymore Mother. I hate those people for saying those to me. In fact they are actually no one Mother. They are people who are not close to me, but I cannot understand why they do this to me. They never know me as a person Mother, we never are friends really, but whenever we are in class, or anywhere where we are bumped into each other, there were always occasions where they can always say those sorts of things. I never know what I did wrong to them, I never said that they were ugly or they were fat or they were eating too much Mother. I felt like I let them be happy. But they seem to enjoy telling me those things. When they did that to me, it looks to me that they don't feel anything. It looks like it was not wrong to them, like it was just a chit chat really. But Mother, it hurts... so bad. I’ve been saying to myself Mother, that I am in fact not that bad. Although I eat probably more that them, and I feel that I eat normal, and I am not fat or overweight or anything, am I Mother? When they said that I am not interesting as a person, I said to myself that I do have some friends, good friends, and Bono, he is a lovely boyfriend, and a happy family, don’t I Mother? Don’t those things prove that some people actually find me interesting, and like me for what I am really? So Mother, I’ve been mad to myself. I am mad because I don’t know why I am still talking to those people, do they really deserve it Mother? I am mad because two hours ago I was pitying myself in front of that mirror and was asking myself what is wrong with me. I am mad because I thought that I still need those people, while I actually don’t know what good they bring to me. They are not there when I am crying like this Mother. They were not there Mother when I run out of money. I realized that they solely there for the laughs. I don’t need that Mother, do I? I am so depressed Mother, I am.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“Oh Anna, I really don’t know what to say. There are bad people out there, and they should really think about what they could have done with their comments. And I think from now on you just need to care about yourself and people you care about. Not people that you think you care about, but people who can really be there for the ups and the downs, for the laughs and the sadness. I think from now you have to start to give and take, and stop giving all you have for those who don’t give to you. Believe in yourself, and believe in what you see and feel about yourself. Believe me Dear, I love you just the way you are, inside out. I believe that people are different, some have beauties all over their bodies, and some have beauties inside, which others might not see. But you will see later that beauties that naked eyes can see, that those people have cared and talked about, are only skin deep. Beauties that are kept inside are purer and harder to change. Those beauties are meant to bloom later, and eventually to be seen later. And you, you are one of those pure beauties. That is why you have people that care about you when you cry and when you smile.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dedicate this post for those who have been having lack of self-confidence because of people's saying mortifying opinions about them. I guess from now on, we really have to think twice, or even more, before we actually say what we meant to say. There is never a good reason that qualifies a person to hurt others, even when we don't mean to.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-13939456146685552?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/13939456146685552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=13939456146685552&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/13939456146685552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/13939456146685552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/09/it-hurts-so-bad.html' title='It hurts... so bad'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-1270064934122916670</id><published>2008-09-06T23:29:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T23:47:43.089+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Time to Come Home</title><content type='html'>I am closing my eyes, and my mind is wandering.&lt;div&gt;I am among the greyish clouds, flying along side a lost kite.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am closing my eyes, and my dear heart is clinging.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am getting closer to the ground, with a bird by my side.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The wind is not flowing, like I hold my breath.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The sky looks so sad, like I want to cry along.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The rainbow is shy today, and I put a pillow on my head.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The tall trees are the skycrapers, and I start to sing a song.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am calling for a feeling like home.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am longing to breath the smell of home.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am missing the dusty paths back home.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am singing the song of home.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am closing my eyes, holding my heart.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am feeling so safe, but I know I am far.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am longing for a place, and I know I am in rush.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am waiting for my time to come home.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-------------------------------------------------------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am seriously homesick!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-1270064934122916670?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/1270064934122916670/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=1270064934122916670&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/1270064934122916670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/1270064934122916670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/09/time-to-come-home.html' title='Time to Come Home'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-1740219989854305198</id><published>2008-08-30T22:48:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2008-10-03T15:30:26.342+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ArtWork'/><title type='text'>The Dancer in Red</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SLmySzIjECI/AAAAAAAAAEc/EgK2Y90KDTQ/s1600-h/The+Dancer+in+Red.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SLmySzIjECI/AAAAAAAAAEc/EgK2Y90KDTQ/s320/The+Dancer+in+Red.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240415677455732770" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Dancer in Red&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Acrylic on Cotton Canvas&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;---------------------------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;This painting was made to commemorate a passion that brought &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Jasmine and Vincent to their happiness; Dance.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;18.08.2008&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-1740219989854305198?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/1740219989854305198/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=1740219989854305198&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/1740219989854305198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/1740219989854305198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/08/dancer-in-red.html' title='The Dancer in Red'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SLmySzIjECI/AAAAAAAAAEc/EgK2Y90KDTQ/s72-c/The+Dancer+in+Red.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-7151417834049180443</id><published>2008-08-24T12:29:00.009+02:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T22:20:13.187+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Idea'/><title type='text'>The Present</title><content type='html'>Inspired by a genius novel, the Alchemist, I realized that I have been concentrating on picturing my future. How will I live, what kind of job will I have, how will I be happy and satisfied, how and where I will spend my old days, and with whom I will spend those days. I thought that picturing those things would drive my present and make me work harder for those dreams. Maybe I have read too many books and heard too many stories about living dreams that makes the idea of the dreams itself has become so important. But I just now realized that the idea makes me keep dreaming, and eventually without being able to wake up. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think the secret of dreaming is actually the happiness itself, because we never dream of something terrible consciously. When we dream consciously, we experience a temporary satisfaction, because those dreams are the things that we want the most that we think will make us happy. It might also be that we dream of those things because we want something different in our life than we actually live now, or than those lives that we have seen around us that we do not want to have. Now that I have been busy dreaming, I have not started pursuing it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A wise man in the novel said the simplest and wisest piece of advice that I translated into this meaning, 'Live your present. What is the worth of your dreams and your future if you cannot have your present right and die anyway today?'. I thought of that sense and pictured myself, and I saw this person who is standing by the sea enjoying peace of the wind. Then I am asking myself, 'Why am I in peace?'. I could not understand why. I  thought of what I have achieved, about the life I live, and those are all nothing yet compared to my dreams. So why on earth am I in peace?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I realized that the dream itself that has put me in peace, the temporary relieve that I have dreams to pursue. I am actually close to lie to myself. I then realized that it might be the time to actually pursue those dreams, cause this peace is of course not eternal. By being blinded by that peace, I might drive myself into something far different than my dreams, the things that I actually do not want to. I might also end up living those lives of the people around me, which I hate. Today might be.... is the day to start living my present, not living the dream, which I hope eventually will bring me to my dreams, and be thankful of that I think about this today, not tomorrow or some other day when I might have been late.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-7151417834049180443?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/7151417834049180443/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=7151417834049180443&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/7151417834049180443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/7151417834049180443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/08/present.html' title='The Present'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-6852070925797794663</id><published>2008-08-17T21:23:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T21:04:31.586+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Idea'/><title type='text'>The Lost Pride</title><content type='html'>I think today will be the most suitable day of the year to ask this one question:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Why don't I excite anymore about the Indonesian Independence Day?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deep down, as an Indonesian, I am feeling terribly wrong. I know that there must be something wrong, either with me- or my country - or probably both to be fair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today all of my flat-mates are going to The Hague, to the Indonesian Ambassador. As usual, every August 17th they hold a flag-hoisting ceremony, which is followed by traditional games and performances. This event always attracts the Indonesian people living in the Netherlands. The visitors even exceed the sum of visitors of the two important holidays; Ied and Christmas. For some people, the most attractive part of the event would be the food, which is especially prepared with Indonesian delicacies. Apart from that particular reason- the food-, I am not quite sure whether those people attend the ceremony is simply because they love their 'real' country- Indonesia- since some of them might not anymore hold Indonesian passport, or simply for the togetherness after the ceremony?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For me, I am home instead. I prefer to sit in front of my computer sending some job applications. This year is my forth year in the Netherlands, yet I feel like the longer I stay here, the less I care about those nationalism thingies. I think the bottom line theory should have been, "the longer I stay abroad, the more I miss my country, the more I care about it". It does not happen though. And if you ask the people living here, I bet that not even half of them will say that they want to go back to Indonesia and build their "real" country. Why? I honestly do not know. Am I feeling terrible? Yes I am. Can I do something about it? No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is rather embarrassing actually, the fact that I don't admire my own country anymore, considering that I was a flag-hoister back in high school. Because of this flag-hoisting-activity, back when I first time arrived in the Netherlands, I was this big girl who loved her country. I told everyone that when I finish my school I am going to go back to Indonesia and build my country, and I insisted that everyone should think so. Every time I talked to people about Indonesia, my heart was like swollen with pride hearing them talking about the beauty of Indonesia. I then realized that four years feel just like one blink of an eye. I can't remember anymore the last time I told the same argument that I told four years ago. I can't remember why I stopped, and when it happened. I also can remember the feeling of being that big, feeling of giving everything to my country, being proud and peaceful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It might be true that a part of the answer was my previous blog, that I can't find anymore a reason to love my country. Another half would be the pride of being an Indonesian. I think this is all because my heart is not swollen anymore with that pride, the pride that I had four years ago. I need to find the pride that I have lost. How? tell me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-6852070925797794663?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/6852070925797794663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=6852070925797794663&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/6852070925797794663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/6852070925797794663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/08/lost-pride.html' title='The Lost Pride'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-5747028221832685860</id><published>2008-07-19T23:52:00.011+02:00</published><updated>2008-10-04T15:28:42.311+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Bahasa Indonesia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Idea'/><title type='text'>Alasan yang tepat</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;Seseorang non-nasionalis bertanya tentang kecintaannya terhadap negaranya. Ia dituntut untuk berbuat sesuatu untuk negaranya. Bukan untuknya, bukan untuk orang yang dicintainya, tetapi untuk negaranya. Walau negara adalah bagian dari identitasnya, negara baginya adalah zat absurd yang tidak bicara padanya, yang tidak membuatnya tertawa, yang tidak mencukupi apa yang ia butuhkan sebagai manusia.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Apabila negara bukan benda absurd yang tak terjamah, negara bisa diandaikan sebagai seorang perempuan. Jika kau bertemu seorang perempuan di kereta untuk pertama kalinya, perempuan yang tidak menarik. Perempuan ini tak bicara padamu, tak melucu dan tak membuatmu tertawa, tak menawarkan minuman dingin yang dipegangnya saat dia melirikmu dan melihatmu menelan ludah tanda kehausan. Apa yang akan kau lakukan untuk perempuan ini? Apakah kau akan menawarkan diri untuk membawakan tas belanjaannya? Apakah kau memiliki alasan untuk berbuat banyak untuk perempuan ini? Sang non-nasionalis berkata, ''Sebuat senyuman akan cukup."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Bagi sang non-nasionalis tuntutan ini lebih berat daripada menjalankan semua tuntutan agama dan kepercayaannya. Baginya hidup haruslah berdasar pada hubungan mutualisme, hubungan sebab akibat, memberi dan menerima. Baginya mencintai negara tidak sejalan dengan semua prinsip-prinsip hidupnya itu. Dan diatas semua itu, mencintai negara membutuhkan sebuah alasan. Dan ia tidak dapat menemukan alasan yang tepat untuk mencintai negaranya, dengan sepenuh hati. Alasan yang logis, yang membuatnya rela berkorban bagi negaranya.  Alasan yang manusiawi, bukan hanya semata-mata karena negara itu adalah identitasnya. Ia mencari alasan yang kuat. Alasan seperti alasan untuk mencintai seorang wanita. Baginya tanpa alasan kuat dan logis itu, ia dan negara bagaikan guntingan-guntingan kertas tak berlem. Tanpa alasan itu, sebagai seorang manusia ia tahu suatu saat ia akan berpaling ke sesuatu yang lebih riil, sesuatu yang lebih logis, sesuatu yang berbeda dan menawarkan prinsip-prinsip yang ia anut.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sang non-nasionalis adalah seorang pencari. Ia mencari alasan. Ia mencari bukan untuk memberi, tapi untuk mengerti alasan yang tepat untuk mencintai. Ia tahu bahwa pencarian ini akan tak mudah. Semua ini sulit dan menantang karena negara bukan sebidang tanah, bukan sebatas lambang, dan juga bukan tuhan yang mewajibkan umat manusia untuk menjunjungnya. Negara adalah zat tercair yang tak terbendung dan tak terprediksi. Negara adalah kumpulan ide-ide. Negara adalah manusia-manusia, dan negara bukan saya. Selama ia tidak mengenal manusia-manusia ini dan segudang ide-idenya, ia tak akan mulai untuk mencintai negara.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mengenal mungkin akan menyukai. Menyukai mungkin akan mencintai. Dengan alasan yang tepat semua itu akan menjadi mungkin.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-5747028221832685860?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/5747028221832685860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=5747028221832685860&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/5747028221832685860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/5747028221832685860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/07/seseorang-non-nasionalis-bertanya.html' title='Alasan yang tepat'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-2022164633934664559</id><published>2008-06-28T20:57:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T21:05:19.706+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>I made it, I am the World's greatest!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;I am that star up in the sky&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;I am that mountain peak up high&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;Hey, I made it!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;I'm the world's greatest!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;And I'm that little bit of hope&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;I can feel it&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;I'm the world's greatest!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;The World's Greatest- R.Kelly&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have never imagined that I would finally make it. I can't believe that no one would call me a student anymore. Above all, I can't believe that I am about to face the real life, and be a real money maker. I can now start thinking about more serious things, those challenging stuffs.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have been calling my families to tell them about my graduation. I have never expected that they all are going to be that excited, especially from my father's side. I guess it was because I am both the eldest daughter and grandchild. It made me SMILE to hear them saying 'I am so proud of you...', although I am still not sure what that pride should be about. Because I guess graduating somehow makes my life, financially, less attractive. On the other side, I know that I must be proud of myself for what I have been doing in the last four years, and I do. All those life surprises and lessons learned are worth that SMILES.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, one more step to go. If I can find a job, then I would definitely crown myself as the world's greatest! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-2022164633934664559?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/2022164633934664559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=2022164633934664559&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/2022164633934664559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/2022164633934664559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-made-it-i-am-worlds-greatest.html' title='I made it, I am the World&apos;s greatest!'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-639841424682594154</id><published>2008-05-12T09:52:00.012+02:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T21:05:56.838+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Short Story'/><title type='text'>A story about a smile</title><content type='html'>No matter what we try, and no matter how strong we are, human never have a power to push away Monday. Monday always comes. And its presence makes all smiles that human can ever have disappear. Probably not for some workaholics, and for some people with some special happiness-related cases. But I am certain that most of the normal people do feel like erasing Monday. For all the sake of happiness, the smiles needed to be reborn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some people decided to rewrite their smiles with a cup of the blackest coffee, without sugar, without milk, with an extra shot. Good choice to reopen their eyes, but I don't think smile would come from coffee. The only possibility might happen is the opposite of happiness, bitterness. Obviously the coffee must have tasted bitter, the smile is still a fetus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some people thought that lying to themselves might help. They came to their offices about half an hour to an hour late, and said hopelessly to their colleagues who drank their coffee, "Good Morning, monday again!". People would give a slight look, and said bitterly, "Yeah I know it's monday again. Good Morning". I would right away suggest them to rather say, "Bad Morning people, monday again", and people should have replied, "Yeah I know it's monday again. Bad Morning!". Simple, don't lie. Again, the smile is not yet reborn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some people just did not have a special concern about Monday anymore. They realized that they would not ever beat Monday, and force it to not come. They got up on time, and were in the office on time. They right away went to their working spot and faced the fact that the world will keep moving, without noticing every wish of its habitants. I am guessing that this kind of people must have somekind of dream, or whatsoever that makes the world of Monday is so worth it to live. They even put a slight smile while answering the first phone call on Monday. They went by the rule, be mainstream. I suppose that the smile is ready to be born on Tuesday.&lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Born: Tuesday&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Died: Sunday&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Smile is born to the mainstream people.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-639841424682594154?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/639841424682594154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=639841424682594154&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/639841424682594154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/639841424682594154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/05/story-about-smile.html' title='A story about a smile'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-1108613141650946471</id><published>2008-05-08T22:37:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-09T00:06:22.809+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People and I'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Idea'/><title type='text'>Happy Birthday</title><content type='html'>One of my favorite days in my life.&lt;br /&gt;I am thankful because people still do remember my day.&lt;br /&gt;Today is just perfect and full of nice people.&lt;br /&gt;I just realized that having a birthday is not only about me.&lt;br /&gt;It is more about people around me,&lt;br /&gt;who make me feel that the day is indeed special.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-1108613141650946471?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/1108613141650946471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=1108613141650946471&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/1108613141650946471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/1108613141650946471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/05/happy-birthday.html' title='Happy Birthday'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-7941924022049277084</id><published>2008-04-25T23:43:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-26T00:00:50.923+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People and I'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>Weekend: Family Time</title><content type='html'>I always love my weekend, which apparently I appreciate more lately. There is another thing I love besides my sleep: That I get to meet my friends. Spending hours in the living room playing video games, watching football, which I don't like, or cleaning the house. I know they don't sound like fun, but I do think It is fun because it feels like home. Sometimes we spend a little hour to go together to supermarket, doing some groceries for dinner. I have been enjoying a lot the days, especially when it comes to talking in the dining table, which always ends up with the most enjoyable laughs. When it comes to weekend, it always comes to my second family, the people that have been replacing the function of my nuclear family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-7941924022049277084?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/7941924022049277084/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=7941924022049277084&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/7941924022049277084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/7941924022049277084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/04/weekend-family-time.html' title='Weekend: Family Time'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-6346533068895877311</id><published>2008-04-19T21:54:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-19T23:37:56.764+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People and I'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Short Story'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Idea'/><title type='text'>The Search</title><content type='html'>I had a little talk with my flatmate two days ago. It was about the belief. I usually tend to avoid this kind of conversation, as usually it is down to religion. And religion is personal to me. Personal, in the same way as talking about my family matter. But that night, I did it anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It appeared that she is jealous because I believe in something. And I've never heard such thing before. That was why I stayed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I admit that I do not really practice my belief. Although I also admit that I do still believe and always will. Practicing or not, one thing that I will always keep in mind, that I do what I do because I believe that is the right way, I do everything in my own way, and I keep that only between me and Him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it is really hard to actually stay on one belief. I keep reading books. I talk to people, but I am still not sure. Why I envy you is because you can have something to hold on. You believe in something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do not believe to have something to hold on to. To be honest I keep my belief only for leading my life to a good way, my own good way. I use my belief to keep the good from the bad, the bad from the good. Although the actual difference between those is subtle. Some people think that the belief is a part from our identity. I'd say it is more the way of life that results in our identity. In short, I would not let people know me because I am a muslim then I am a good person. I'd prefer people know me because I am a good person because I am a muslim. If we think like this, no one would do stereotyping in this world anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I admit that I also believe in something bigger than us, but there are just too much doubts already along that belief that make me rather not go for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doubts. The only question would be.. about what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About which one. About why I should choose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who says that you have to stick in one of those. You don't always get to choose if you see believing in the same way as I do. By the end of the day, being good and happy are the ultimate goal. Those two might be cliche, but I guess with those two you can almost always survive from anything, but death of course. If I were you, I would treat my beliefs as I have been treating my cultural experience for the past four years. I tend not to avoid anything, instead I filter them. I have been collecting the cultural essences to make my own culture. This way I kinda enrich myself with the things I believe are good. I guess the basic concept of having differences applies here. That's also why companies have been campaigning about diversity program or internationalization. They all adapt one concept. Differences do not always lead to a conflict. Synergy should be the way we approach the differences. It is the same with the beliefs. Let's go with the trends I'd say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It sounds like positive. Have you ever had some doubts about it thou?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I of course did. Especially after about the whole of my life learning about the same thing. I thought it would have been like learning math. If you do not understand you'd ask for sure, until you get the right formula to solve the equation. Doubt in believing for me does not work like that. You do not get to always ask. The more questions you have, sometimes it will bring you futher. One day a person told me to stop asking. It was so absurd I thought. But now I understand that the beliefs are not supposed to be thought in the same way as we thought about science, that everything can be explained. Those are the unreachable, the beliefs, should be somehow preserved by not asking. As time goes by, you are getting wiser, with your preserved belief you'd understand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am also telling myself, again, now, that that time will come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Based on a nice talk with Aimee van Dinten. Details of the story do not refer to the actual conversation.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-6346533068895877311?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/6346533068895877311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=6346533068895877311&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/6346533068895877311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/6346533068895877311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/04/search.html' title='The Search'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-6068667121395403305</id><published>2008-03-31T19:14:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-04-19T21:46:50.596+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Idea'/><title type='text'>My Childhood Ambitions</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Weight/Family&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am about to graduate in four months, if I am lucky with my thesis. Hopefully by July all the school weights will be lifted from my shoulder, or shoulders in this case, because I have been carrying this with my both hands, even with all my body, and my parents’ body, and my grandparents’ body, and my aunt’s body.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Question/Clue&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this kind of situations, it is so typical that people will be asking this one question. This question is like a key question or a mandatory questions for people like me. Sometimes people do mean to ask you this and the answer would definitely be interesting for them. There are also some who ask this question in a social context. But I still do appreciate both, and I always answer this question with all my heart. Although what I mean by ‘with all my heart’ is actually ‘I don’t know yet’ or merely a ‘Let’s see!’. I think those just describe enough my real situation now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They ask me about my plan, ‘so, what are you doing next? Are you staying in Holland or going back?’. I sometimes don’t know why these two questions sound so complicated. One of course is because I really have no idea about the future, which makes me not able to really answer it. Second of all, the one that I am afraid of, I might actually not know what I really want to do. That is I think why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Perception/Different.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Probably millions of people out there know already what they actually want to do, or at least have dreams about it already. Me, is the opposite. I am definitely not talking about me being so absurd not knowing what I want to do. I am also not talking about me doing nothing after I graduate. I am also definitely not talking about taking master’s degree, because I have no money or no rich person or company that would like to pay my study, besides I am also not that much of a genius person. So that is not an option.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I meant by the opposite way is about me giving shot to every possible direction. About me letting myself to be taken by every opportunity coming. It is also about me learning everything out there, not filtering the world yet, until I really know what I really want. Until I really know my real capabilities. Until I know which field I should be in to be a rich person. Well, to be quiet frank, by the end of the day, it is all about the money, and then of course about self-satisfaction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Ambition/Dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a child I did have some ambitions. I could even say that those are still in my head now. I still remember, there are two wishes. For your information, I actually wrote those down for my scholarship submission paper about four years ago. One, I want to be a good housewife. Second, I want to own an orphanage. I don’t know how on earth I could make it on that scholarship program with those two dreams, but I did make it. And I too don’t know, how am I studying here in Holland, with those two dreams are kept in my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dream/Challenge.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My next question for myself would be, how could I reach my childhood dream, plus all the dreams that I have been collecting along the way. They include Audi A3, apartment without garden, dark brown leather coat, feminine appearance which I found a bit cliché sometime ago, be the breadwinner of the family, be a successful working wife, be a daughter of a happy family, be a mother without giving birth, make people around me happy, be happy. I am not finished here with my list. But they are just too much to mention. But from here you know that I only want to be just like other people’s wish, be happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next step/Future&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I am here now, four months before my graduation, with my plan of giving shot to every opportunity coming. As usual, as I always say..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;‘Make the most out of Everything’.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, by the end of my day I would not be disappointed for not trying. I might look like a generalist. Yet, instead I would say that I am a learner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Goal/End&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-6068667121395403305?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/6068667121395403305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=6068667121395403305&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/6068667121395403305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/6068667121395403305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/03/my-childhood-ambitions.html' title='My Childhood Ambitions'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-31092261788845471</id><published>2008-03-28T22:34:00.018+01:00</published><updated>2008-03-30T13:22:01.037+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People and I'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Short Story'/><title type='text'>A short dialogue with a Painter</title><content type='html'>He was once a businessman, running a quite successful small business in Holland. He is married with 2 children, Jessica and Marteen. He woke up every morning, went downstairs for a cup of coffee and made pancakes for the children. On the lazy days, he stayed upstairs faking his sleep to let his wife, Rieke, fed the children. He loved his life more than anything. He loved his routines. He loved his stressful work and to see his secretary having a secret affair with a guy on the 2nd floor. He loved his weekends in the garden during spring with his children, with his mother overlooking them from the veranda. It was obvious when people saw him walking in the neighborhood, or walking through the office corridor, or in the supermarket busy with his plastic bags, or just jogging around the corner, they definitely would say 'a good life is his life' and that always left a slight smile on their faces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until one day, on Wednesday morning, in a windy spring. It was no way an ordinary wind that day. That day trees were down, people are sent home and forced to be home, no school and children playing outside, instead of blossom flower, the wind took the flower along. For him it was like the other business day. He was on the way to a business appointment. He took his car. He listened to his new U2, and did not turn his news-switcher on, that made him isolated from the latest news. He was on the road, 80km/h, and it was raining cats and dogs. The phone suddenly was ringing, once, twice, third times, and....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;still. silence was all over him. silentness. mute. nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three weeks after that, all he knew was that something bad happened that day. How, when, what, no one knew exactly. The doctor said that there were some damages with his skull that had impacted his way of thinking. That made working in a company was no longer an option. For him, for his family, for his company too, that day was the longest day of his life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was then referred to a psychiatrist, and spent hours of talking with him. About life, love, money, past, future, children, mother, any single thing he could think about. One day he was asked to stop seeing the psychiatrist and left with a single piece of advice, "find your hobby to make yourself happy again".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was the most absurd thing he ever heard. He hated the psychiatrist for leaving him, for letting him thought that life is hard again, even harder. He then stayed home. He started watching TV. boring. He moved to radio. boring. He started with photography. Too expensive after a while. Then cooking. Tasteless. Then reading. His eyes got tired after thousands of books and his brain got full. Then music. Still music. Stayed a while in the music. Pretty good one. Then he got inspiration to paint. Red. Blue. Green. Lines. Circles. People. People. Women. Monster. Anything. He fell in love, with painting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He continued going back and forth a hobby shop around the corner to buy another canvas, sometimes the guy gave him something for free. Black canvas, new type of acrylic, painting books, story about painting, some brushes, even glass palette. His painting started to make his small apartment full of his painting. He then started to go around the neighborhood to sell his painting. To a tall guy with a nerd daughter. To a former business partner, he sold a big one. To an artist who is a cousin of his former supplier. To his children's teacher. He gave three also to his children's school. One to the city library, the darkest one because he thought the library was too colorful. One, the one with a lot of yellow on it, to his mother, because he thought his mother shines for some reasons. And one, the one he liked the most, he wrapped that for his 14th marriage anniversary, and gave it as a surprise present to his wife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He enjoys painting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has been five years since those days. Now, he lives in Belgium in a small city about three hours from Holland. He paints for living, with a title of 'Levenskunstenaar' stated on his brochure and business card. He does abstact most of the time, with people as the centre of the story. He is invited by big companies to paint for them. His creations now are hung on companies' wall. He paints around 40 paintings every year. His life is back. Some differences here and there. No fake sleep anymore. No 9-5 in the office. No secretary. No weekdays and weekends. His days are just days, where he can work on the weekends and sleep on the weekdays. Although those are not parts of his life anymore, 4 people are still the same, Rieke, Jessica and Marteen. Once again, smile has been brought to his, their life. Once again people look at them and say 'a good life is his life', with an additional thought of 'when you can do what you love to do'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He is back on business, without supplier, without partner, without office. Just the business. He calls his new life, an enjoyable life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This story is based on a short dialogue with an artist, Pim Smit, who told me to not think when I start paint, in Eindhoven, while he was painting in a food court during lunch hour, on a windy shiny spring of Holland.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-31092261788845471?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/31092261788845471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=31092261788845471&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/31092261788845471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/31092261788845471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2008/03/short-dialogue-with-painter.html' title='A short dialogue with a Painter'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-3992845309554882814</id><published>2007-12-28T02:56:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-12-28T03:19:27.811+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Idea'/><title type='text'>Magic Button</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Regardless the scientific facts, I keep wondering about the reason behind remembering and forgetting something. No matter how old a person is, they never have the opportunity to actually remember and to forget whatever they want. Sometimes that fact even makes the world seems so cruel. For me, necessity of going to school does not make any senses, as people won't even completely remember what they have been taught. Ask yourself, what do you remember about high school's biology? It is so pity that people have to go to school and work they ass off to pass the exam, just to forget everything.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;You might just say "Well, that is how it should work!". But how about broken people who were dumped in high school and could never have their normal life back? They strive to forget their memory of tears, yet the memory won't go anywhere, so does their life, stuck. They just sit in the corner and think about it all the time.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Nowadays, technology invention is such a huge issue. More and more people utilize technology to upgrade their life. For me, although I am far from being a technology savvy, it is the time for inventor to give a try so they are able to provide the opportunity for people like I mentioned before, simply by helping them with their memory.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;These thoughts interestingly make me thinking about a small, most likely stupid, idea. My idea would be &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"What if people can have a magic button?"&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;According to my idea, this particular button will have three main functions; to save, to erase and to recollect, and is able to take control of the owner’s brain.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;To save&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This function probably is the most important one, as it enables the owner to not only save, but also marks the event as a memory. Only those marked as 'Memory' can be clearly memorized by the owner naturally. It simply works as you remember your today's morning coffee, natural. What happens to those which are not marked is that some of them will most likely disappear, just like those memories of a 4-year-old child. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;To erase&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are some events that might seem inappropriate to remember, or perhaps it is too painful to remember. With this function the owner can control the brain to actually erase the memory. As the button is pushed, the memory is gone forever and the owner will not be able to recall it naturally anymore. &lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;To recollect&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be fair, I guess it would be also wise to always give the opportunity for the owner to recollect their memory, should they want it back. The owner will not remember about the memory they would like to recollect, unless there is one who reminds them about a particular memory. As the owner knows when and where the event is, they can simply type the details and press the button. Shortly they will have their memory back, wittingly or not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;I am still not sure if this would make a brilliant idea or merely be just a trash. But hey, this magic button can somehow make a person’s life better. Although there is always a bad side, as long as it still does some good, I guess the world still has to strive for it. &lt;span style="font-family:Wingdings;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;:)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-3992845309554882814?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/3992845309554882814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=3992845309554882814&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/3992845309554882814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/3992845309554882814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2007/12/magic-button.html' title='Magic Button'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-951153784193557907</id><published>2007-05-22T22:07:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T07:05:30.855+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ArtWork'/><title type='text'>Rode Zee</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/R3JGPtsJuNI/AAAAAAAAAC4/DpvovCm9OQ0/s1600-h/lukisan.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/R3JGPtsJuNI/AAAAAAAAAC4/DpvovCm9OQ0/s320/lukisan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148254559814662354" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Rode Zee&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Acrylic on canvas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-951153784193557907?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/951153784193557907/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=951153784193557907&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/951153784193557907'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/951153784193557907'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2007/05/rode-zee.html' title='Rode Zee'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/R3JGPtsJuNI/AAAAAAAAAC4/DpvovCm9OQ0/s72-c/lukisan.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-2822793900539145525</id><published>2007-02-16T13:37:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2008-03-31T23:27:49.678+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People and I'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Short Story'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>Shit!</title><content type='html'>When you are trapped in a shitty life, all you can do is saying&lt;br /&gt;Shit!&lt;br /&gt;Shit!&lt;br /&gt;Shit!&lt;br /&gt;without having any power of walking away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-2822793900539145525?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/2822793900539145525/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=2822793900539145525&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/2822793900539145525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/2822793900539145525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2007/02/shit.html' title='Shit!'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-164027035845848815</id><published>2007-02-08T20:39:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-02-08T21:56:09.602+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Short Story'/><title type='text'>Same old scenario</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;I hate your mother because the way she tells what she does not like. I also hate your mother because the way she behaves toward my family. I also hate your mother for not admitting me as the breadwinner of the family, that I am the suppose to be the respected one. I also hate your mother because she is so careless. I also hate your mother because she would not ever care about me and family, for every little detail. I hate your mother because she always makes trouble for me. I hate your mother because she always hides everything from me. I hate your mother because she is insensitive. I hate your mother because she always sleeps all the time, even when it is unnecessary and when we have guest in our house. I hate your mother because I am stuck with her, because I married her, 21 years ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes I know, I have been told. Yes I know, I have been told yesterday. Yes I know, I have been told last week. Yes I know, I have been told last month. Yes I know, I remember, it is the same story that I heard last year, or was it 2 years ago, or probably 5 years ago. Yes I must know, It must be the same old scenario as I have been told a very long time ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate your father because he is so lazy. I hate your father because he never tries to understand me. I hate your father because he does not want to move forward, or it seems so at least. I hate your father, I actually hate as well your father's family. I hate your father because he is full of judgement. I hate your father because he made me not able to have all my dreams. I hate your father because he always us to respect him. I hate your father because he is so boring. I hate your father because every morning all I see is him sitting in the living room, looks like thinking something serious, while basically doing nothing. I hate your father because I am stuck with him because I married him, 21 years ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes I know, I have been told. Yes I know, I have been told yesterday. Yes I know, I have been told last week. Yes I know, I have been told last month. Yes I know, I remember, it is the same story that I heard last year, or was it 2 years ago, or probably5 years ago. Yes I must know, It must be the same old scenario as I have been told a very long time ago.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-164027035845848815?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/164027035845848815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=164027035845848815&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/164027035845848815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/164027035845848815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2007/02/same-old-scenario.html' title='Same old scenario'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-4674853258874865212</id><published>2007-01-16T00:06:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-01-16T00:12:17.663+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>1st day at work</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;"&gt;daily update:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;06.40&lt;/span&gt; : the ring of my alarm shocked me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;06.58 &lt;/span&gt;: managed to get up. slowly and lazily washed prepared my self for the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;07.20&lt;/span&gt; : got out from flat. walked to the station&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;07.40&lt;/span&gt; : bought ticket to amersfoort&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;07.45&lt;/span&gt; : choosing bread in Albert Heijn to go (the name of supermarket chain in the station) as my breakfast. I chose eirenkoeken (egg cookies)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;07.54&lt;/span&gt; : waiting at platform 7 for the train. but didnt come. it was delayed for 10 minutes (happened to be the first bad luck today)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;08.05&lt;/span&gt; : started to be worry since had to be at the office at 09.00. still there was a chance thou.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;08.10&lt;/span&gt; : started cursing cause the train was delayed for another 5 minutes. met 2 indonesian friends going to amsterdam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;08.15&lt;/span&gt; : the train finally came. feeling like running.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;08.30&lt;/span&gt; : sitting on the train and talking with my friends pretending not freaking out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;08.35&lt;/span&gt; : cursing once again, harder. the train was changed into stoptrein which made it run slower, much more slower. desperate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;08.50&lt;/span&gt; : running to platform 12 to catch the train connection. didnt make it. cursing again. there should be another train in 2 minutes. BUT DELAYED AGAIN! FOR GOD'S SAKE WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON I THOUGHT! sorry for the font, uncontrollable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;09.00&lt;/span&gt; : tried to call the company informing my late. wasnt connected. damn good start.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;09.01&lt;/span&gt; : the train came. finally finally finally here we go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;09.10&lt;/span&gt; : couldnt get any desperate than these minutes on the train sitting next to old woman explaining how to cook cookies to someone on the phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;09.18 &lt;/span&gt;: AMERSFOORT CENTRAL STATION. got out the train. ran crazily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;09.20&lt;/span&gt; : thanking god cause the office is right in front of the station.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;09.22&lt;/span&gt; : saying hi to the receptionist and asking for my supervisor name and she said "momentje hoor". phew!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;09.23&lt;/span&gt; : MINUTES OF SILENCE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;09.25&lt;/span&gt; : MinUteS oF SileNCe&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;09.28&lt;/span&gt; : minuTes of SileNce&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;09.30&lt;/span&gt; : minutes of silence&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;09.35&lt;/span&gt; : "Morning!" Smiling and Hand shaking and being brought to the department room and met with colleagues.&lt;br /&gt;            There are 4 islands of desks in my department&lt;br /&gt;           - on my island ill be working with a maroccan girl Samira (on monday and tuesday), David                whom i havent met (wednesday,                          thursday,friday)&lt;br /&gt;           - on the island of the head of departments; Italian guy Sandro, French woman Cecile, 2                   Dutch guys Niek and Ronald&lt;br /&gt;           - on the island next to my island, greek guy whom i forgot the name and a dutch guy                        whom i also forgot. sorry&lt;br /&gt;           - on the furthest island, 2 ducth guys who talk loudly all day and laugh a lot too whom i                    also forgot their names. another sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;09.?? &lt;/span&gt;: Being introduced with the every people on the building, going to every department and met people whom of course i couldnt remember at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;09.??&lt;/span&gt; : Going to HR department and was given a very thick bundle of papers about company thingies and should be read immediatealy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;09.??&lt;/span&gt; : Reading and found that the company dresscode for monday to thursday is business attire, and smart casual for friday. ah well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;10.??&lt;/span&gt; : got presentation about the company and many things about the system and details. looks complicated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;11.??&lt;/span&gt; : Samira showed me how to work on the system. She introduced me 3 different systems today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;12.30&lt;/span&gt; : Lunch Break. Walking to the city centre with Samira. Talking about loads of things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;13.30&lt;/span&gt; : Back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;14.??&lt;/span&gt; : Paying attention on what Samira's doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;15.?? &lt;/span&gt;: Still the same interupted with going to coffee machine, short conversation over small things, and toilet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;16.?? &lt;/span&gt;: Samira asked me to do what she showed me the whole day. and I got confused and stucked for a while. For every system I always asked "How should I start it again?!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;17.?? &lt;/span&gt;: Still doing the same. started getting the idea. a little. Samira asked me for another cup of drink, then we went again to the coffee machine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;17.20&lt;/span&gt; : Last checking and tidying our desks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;17.30&lt;/span&gt; : Leaving the offices.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;17.40&lt;/span&gt; : Going to ticket service asking about monthly abonement card&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;17.55&lt;/span&gt; : Catched the train to utrecht&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;18.10&lt;/span&gt; : Stopped in Utrecht to change to the other trein. The trein would be at 18.23, so i bought durum doner. Lekker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;18.23&lt;/span&gt; : Catched the train to arnhem&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;18.50&lt;/span&gt; : Arrived in Arnhem. Tired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;19.00&lt;/span&gt; : Walking home. Should have taken my laundry, gone to my friend's house to do laundry there, and had chinese course. But they were all canceled for tomorrow. My teacher is having exam tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;19.15&lt;/span&gt; : Home&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;19.30 &lt;/span&gt;: Telling the story about today to kardus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;20.00&lt;/span&gt; : Interneting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;22.00&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;: Taking shower.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;23.00&lt;/span&gt; : South Park watching.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"&gt;23.30&lt;/span&gt; : About to sleep and thinking of you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;those will be wrapped up as my day! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-4674853258874865212?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/4674853258874865212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=4674853258874865212&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/4674853258874865212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/4674853258874865212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2007/01/1st-day-at-work.html' title='1st day at work'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-6961564000467773027</id><published>2007-01-14T18:53:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-01-14T20:03:56.661+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>Good bye student life : For a while</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Today, 14-01-2007,  is a remarkable day of my life. I will be having another occupation other than student and part-time dancer for the first time, an intern. I have no idea at all of how would it be and that makes me shaky and nervous. On the other hand, I am so excited with my internship. I will meet new people, new challenges, new things which should be interesting for me. But I also see myself sitting in front of the computer, crazily bored, with red sleepy eyes..ehehehe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My family is even more excited. They keep asking about all the details again and again. How far the city from Arnhem, what am I gonna wear, how long the break would be everday. Ah well, I can understand that being parents would be always a hard task yet exciting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although this weekend is the last weekend, I did not do something special today. My day was rather useless. I woke up late, slept late, wasting my day mostly in front of computer. Well, I did also something good, report making.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Talking about working life, I am so not patient to see myself free from life of student. Thou some people would do everything to swap their working life with my student life in this quite city, my boyfriend for instance. hehehe. 1,5 years to go!! and that would not be so bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is special about today too is that a very good friend of mine married today. It is a shame for me because I did not manage to call her, since I really have no idea which number is active, she must have another new number (this is what I hate about Indonesian people having so many numbers, cause buying new number with credit in it is cheaper than buying the voucher). I sincerely wish her a very happy marriage, that last for eternity. I am happy for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The rest of my student life would be like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Jan 2007-June 2007&lt;/span&gt;        &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;     Internship&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;July 2007-Aug 2007&lt;/span&gt;        &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; Summer Internship&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Sept 2007-Dec 2007&lt;/span&gt;        &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;     Back to student life&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Jan 2008-June 2008&lt;/span&gt;       &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; Graduation Assignment&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Sept 2008&lt;/span&gt;                          &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;                       Deadline of being student&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oct 2008&lt;/span&gt;                                                             &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;FREE!!!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, Cross the fingers and Pray!!&lt;br /&gt;Goodbye student life for a while.&lt;br /&gt;I know I will miss you, a bit.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-6961564000467773027?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/6961564000467773027/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=6961564000467773027&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/6961564000467773027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/6961564000467773027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2007/01/good-bye-student-life-for-while.html' title='Good bye student life : For a while'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-981821573582484187</id><published>2007-01-14T05:18:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T07:05:31.006+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>The Right to Choose</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/Ram3sUyAZ8I/AAAAAAAAAAY/JUSQ9t3LuIA/s1600-h/hapus.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/Ram3sUyAZ8I/AAAAAAAAAAY/JUSQ9t3LuIA/s200/hapus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5019745231801706434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;A girl was so upset cause she just talked with her friend, who is not a close friend whose opinion wouldnt be significant at all for the girl, on a chatbox. She stunned cause of a statement made by her friend, him, to her that she dates her current boyfriend is simply because of nationality status and money, considering the fact that the boyfriend is quite settled already with his life. She even more couldnt believe that he assumed it based on rumor. She couldnt understand the rumor as she is not in poverty so in need of such benefits. And the most unbelievable part is that her friend courageously said it to her without any hesitation, straight forwardly, which is very very offensive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;And it was not the first time, prior to this he also made statement that he wouldnt be surprised if she convert to her former boyfriend's religion (by then she dated a guy believes in other religion). After a few questions, she knew that this assumption was based on the fact that sometimes she was so lazy to go to the church on sunday and prefered to have lazy day with her boyfriend. He even made a promise to not ever accompany her to go to the church anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a human being who always makes assumption based on uncertainty and lack of information, we make judgements about other people. Sometimes even we dont know the impact to the related person, even when we mean it good.  For this issue, picking a boyfriend, i would say is really personal and sensitive. No one can ever tell the reason why this person date this person exactly other than those two persons themselves. Sometimes even we dont know the reason, we just like it, just want it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we can relate further it would be also about the right of choosing, just like in the national vote. A person can choose whoever he/she likes to be with them. And no one is eligible of judging a person based on his/her choice. People says this person couldnt date this person because this person just broke up with his girlfriend and he should wait a bit more, bla di bla di blah!! or this person is so bad because he dates a junkee widow. And those thousand other stories. Why dont we just mind our own business which is still needed to be done? and let other people happy and sad caused of their own choice?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This right of choosing could not only be applied on partner choosing but also in every part of life. Cause life is about choosing, why dont we respect other's choice?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-981821573582484187?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/981821573582484187/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=981821573582484187&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/981821573582484187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/981821573582484187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2007/01/right-to-choose.html' title='The Right to Choose'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/Ram3sUyAZ8I/AAAAAAAAAAY/JUSQ9t3LuIA/s72-c/hapus.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-8119290551988882621</id><published>2007-01-02T11:49:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T07:05:31.296+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ArtWork'/><title type='text'>I traveled far away, Came back home.From now on, where-ever i will be, the world will stay in my Mind.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/RZo5Jd7blmI/AAAAAAAAAAM/tDf4g0EqwNM/s1600-h/hapus+4.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/RZo5Jd7blmI/AAAAAAAAAAM/tDf4g0EqwNM/s320/hapus+4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015383969845974626" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I traveled far away, Came back home.&lt;br /&gt;From now on, where-ever i will be, the world will stay in my Mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Wax Crayon on Paper&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;The World in My Mind&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;pre style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;By Justin Joseph&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The world in my eyes,&lt;br /&gt;Is something that never dies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The river runs in its thundering flows,&lt;br /&gt;Then settles in the sun as it glows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the mud there are eels,&lt;br /&gt;And ants biting at my heels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The grass tingling at my feet,&lt;br /&gt;And the ground giving off its heat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The birds singing in the trees,&lt;br /&gt;Eating bugs like ticks and flees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The wind blowing with a hiss,&lt;br /&gt;Then touching the trees with a kiss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With an earth in my hands,&lt;br /&gt;I create new lands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my head that is.&lt;/pre&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-8119290551988882621?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/8119290551988882621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=8119290551988882621&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/8119290551988882621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/8119290551988882621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2007/01/wax-crayon-on-paper.html' title='I traveled far away, Came back home.From now on, where-ever i will be, the world will stay in my Mind.'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/RZo5Jd7blmI/AAAAAAAAAAM/tDf4g0EqwNM/s72-c/hapus+4.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-116626024765815698</id><published>2006-12-16T10:06:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-12-26T13:22:41.038+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ArtWork'/><title type='text'>Romain</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7517/1941/1600/527887/Romain%20copy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7517/1941/320/301528/Romain%20copy.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Romain&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poster Color on Paper&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;a very happy birthday, Dear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-116626024765815698?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/116626024765815698/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=116626024765815698&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116626024765815698'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116626024765815698'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/12/poster-color-on-paper.html' title='Romain'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-116583161441921394</id><published>2006-12-11T10:55:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-12-26T13:23:11.099+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ArtWork'/><title type='text'>A Man</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7517/1941/1600/809716/hapus1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7517/1941/320/777990/hapus1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;A Man&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Poster Colors on Paper&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-116583161441921394?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/116583161441921394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=116583161441921394&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116583161441921394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116583161441921394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/12/poster-color-on-paper_11.html' title='A Man'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-116580276114282300</id><published>2006-12-11T02:23:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-01-14T11:03:40.184+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>I Say Don't Count</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;People say 'The first is hurt'&lt;/span&gt; which reminds me my first weeks in Hong Kong where I am totally abroad. I was forced to share my room and sleep on a very hard bed with very hot and humid room temperature. I was forced to put more effort during classes, struggling to understand Hong Kong accent of my teachers. I was forced to do a lot of new things which I supposed not easy at all since I had no one to share with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;People say 'The more differences you have the closer you are'&lt;/span&gt;. When you are alone and no one is similar to you at all, you will definitely think like that, like me. You will not be picky anymore and you will simply be open to everything, to everybody. The interesting part would be the way you adapt with those people, with their culture, their way of thinking, their opinion, their thing. It is the time when you dont think about differences, but similarity. I experienced how one similarity bring you laughing the whole night. Beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;People say 'Studying abroad should be the life time of your life'&lt;/span&gt;. Short but good. Personally speaking, I am so thankful that I chose Hong Kong (finally after some other weeks) which brought me to bunches of special persons, new experiences, and accidentally the new me. I can say anything about my time in Hong Kong but great!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;People say 'Stop at the highest point, and get the best'&lt;/span&gt; cause after that highest point, the excitement level would significantly decrease. And if you decide not to stop at the highest point, which is translated as the best time of the time, you will end up not so exciting anymore with your life. And finally have bad memory about that particular time of your life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;People say 'Life is short' &lt;/span&gt;especially when you are happy and suddenly you are in the exam week already which happens to be the last weeks of your stay. And when people say that life is short they will continue with saying so make the best out of it which makes me think again, how can i make my last 3 weeks so damn great and memorable?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;People say 'Dont count the time unless you wanna lose it'&lt;/span&gt;. Someone said 'Oh, two weeks more!!' and I said 'Just Dont count'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;People say 'The last is also hurt'&lt;/span&gt; but I dont want mine to be hurt. Just dont count for now, that will be fine....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-116580276114282300?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/116580276114282300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=116580276114282300&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116580276114282300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116580276114282300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/12/i-say-dont-count.html' title='I Say Don&apos;t Count'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-116407334361701900</id><published>2006-11-21T02:35:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-12-26T13:25:07.723+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ArtWork'/><title type='text'>Wax Crayon on Paper (3)</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/hapus3.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/hapus3.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Psychedelic trompe l'oeil (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;given by Romain&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Wax crayon, colour pencil and pen on paper&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7517/1941/1600/189508/hapus2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7517/1941/320/864679/hapus2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Flower in the window&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Wax Crayon on paper&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7517/1941/1600/49189/hapus1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7517/1941/320/915019/hapus1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Fireworks on silence&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Wax Crayon on paper&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-116407334361701900?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/116407334361701900/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=116407334361701900&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116407334361701900'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116407334361701900'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/11/wax-crayon-on-paper.html' title='Wax Crayon on Paper (3)'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-116407148121580845</id><published>2006-11-21T02:11:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-11-21T02:20:10.956+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Surrounding'/><title type='text'>Burping in Hong Kong is FINE!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/burp.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/200/burp.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I am in the same class with a HongKonger girl, Celia. I can say she's really unbelievable. The way she behaves is just unpredictable and amazing! She could freely say whatever she wanna say without any hesitation. One day she even called me an 'Orange Monster' simply because I wore an orange t-shirt and was drawing monster during the lecture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;This day I was in the same discussion group with her. We talked much about our family background cause it was related with the topic of that day. She was eagerly telling me her story which was really interested and I couldn't stop laughing at all. Somehow it wasn't because of that she was funny, but she was somehow so innocent, she told the story not like a 20-years-old girl telling the same story. Well, I dont know how to explain, but she definitely got me killed myself with my own laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lecturer stopped the discussion and led us to class discussion. And I was trying hard to stop looking at Celia so I could stop laughing. The lecturer started to ask a group about their discussion conclusion.  Everybody was in silence and put attention to the spoke person of that group, and so did I. Until...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;"AAAAAAAAaaaaaa!!!!!"&lt;/span&gt;, Celia made a sound. (with the highest and deepest volume ever)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and 2 seconds after..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"What!??!"&lt;/span&gt;, I whispered spontaneously (with the lowest volume ever)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and suddenly everybody look at....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ME!&lt;br /&gt;me the one who whispered with the lowest volume ever.&lt;br /&gt;me the one who reacted spontaneously to that inappropriate thing.&lt;br /&gt;me the one who was in shock for a while.&lt;br /&gt;me the one who didn't believe that was actually...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A BURP!!!&lt;br /&gt;A HIGH-CONCENTRATED BURP IN A FORMAL CLASS DISCUSSION!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and they were not only looking at me! but also laughing at me?!&lt;br /&gt;can you help me to understand the situation somehow?!&lt;br /&gt;so, burping is fine in Hong Kong. However reacting to the burp is not fine. Not fine at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-116407148121580845?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/116407148121580845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=116407148121580845&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116407148121580845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116407148121580845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/11/burping-in-hong-kong-is-fine.html' title='Burping in Hong Kong is FINE!!'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-116352200231007748</id><published>2006-11-14T17:32:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-11-14T17:33:22.326+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>Cry</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left; color: rgb(102, 51, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Cry and you will be done.&lt;br /&gt;Cry and you will be up again.&lt;br /&gt;Cry and you will be relieved.&lt;br /&gt;Cry and you will be stronger.&lt;br /&gt;Cry and you will be in peace.&lt;br /&gt;Cry and you will be in other time.&lt;br /&gt;Cry and you will be full of sorrow.&lt;br /&gt;Cry and you will be down.&lt;br /&gt;Cry and you will be like a baby.&lt;br /&gt;Cry.&lt;br /&gt;Cry.&lt;br /&gt;Cry.&lt;br /&gt;Just Cry.&lt;br /&gt;Simply Cry.&lt;br /&gt;And you will feel you are in pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-116352200231007748?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/116352200231007748/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=116352200231007748&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116352200231007748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116352200231007748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/11/cry.html' title='Cry'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-116228085254954047</id><published>2006-10-31T08:47:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-11-14T17:35:45.806+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Surrounding'/><title type='text'>Saikung</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;These are some pictures I took in Saikung. Saikung is a fising village in New Territories, one of the districts in North part of Hong Kong. Saikung is refered as the mecca for sea food lover, both for Hong Kong residence and tourists. The day we went there, the weather was not so good. It was a bit cloudy so we could not really see further from seashore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What was interesting for me is the transaction there. After we finished with laying down in the beach, we visited the commercial part of Saikung. There are a lot of boats where fishermen offering their fish to people standing at the pier. Once a person has picked the fish, they will directly 'kill' them. This was the most horrible part of Saikung. I saw myself a fish was being knocked with a hammer! :( No way! I rather eat cooked fish than the fresh one! Other than that, there are also a lot of boat which are functioned as house. I think they live there. Ah, of course! I told you Saikung is a fishing village!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, enjoy the pics!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN0104.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN0104.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN0106.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN0106.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN0116.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN0116.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN0119.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN0119.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN0108.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN0108.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN0114.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN0114.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN0151.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN0151.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN0145.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN0145.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN0150.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN0150.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN0138.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN0138.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN0141.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN0141.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-116228085254954047?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/116228085254954047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=116228085254954047&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116228085254954047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116228085254954047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/10/saikung.html' title='Saikung'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-116170829768743990</id><published>2006-10-24T12:57:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-10-24T18:45:47.413+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People and I'/><title type='text'>Unique/Strange</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I had a short coversation with a friend of mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Me  : What are  u up to?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Him:  Just bought an ipod nano from ebay.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Me  : Ah, I thought you said you dont listen to music.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Him: Well I dont like music. Ive never bought any album since '93.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Me  : So what music are u putting on it?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Him: I listen to red hot chilly pepper, greenday, matisyahu, eminem.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Me  : hmm... i doesnt sound like your music.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Him: Why? whats that suppose to mean?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Me  : Nothing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a while...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Him: It sounded like you said that my music isnt excentric for an excentric person like me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Me  : exactly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Him: well, I listen frank zappa too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Me  : ok&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Him: and lordi. do you know?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Me  : no.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Him: finnish band&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Me  : ok. sounds like you arent that happy i said your music isnt excentric.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Him: yeah. I dont wanna people think Im normal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Me  : ok&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, excentric is being different.&lt;br /&gt;And being different is about two choices.&lt;br /&gt;Unique/Strange.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-116170829768743990?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/116170829768743990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=116170829768743990&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116170829768743990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116170829768743990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/10/uniquestrange.html' title='Unique/Strange'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-116122813435847604</id><published>2006-10-19T05:20:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-10-19T05:22:14.386+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ArtWork'/><title type='text'>I Sing and Nobody Listens</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/S3010046AA.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/S3010046AA.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-116122813435847604?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/116122813435847604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=116122813435847604&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116122813435847604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116122813435847604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/10/i-sing-and-nobody-listens.html' title='I Sing and Nobody Listens'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-116107403681549774</id><published>2006-10-17T10:26:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-10-17T10:39:37.473+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>Postcard</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I just talked with my aunty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her : Can I ask you a favor?&lt;br /&gt;Me  : Sure, why not?  What is that?&lt;br /&gt;Her : Can you send postcard regularly to grandma?&lt;br /&gt;Me  : Ah, has the last one arrived?&lt;br /&gt;Her : Yes, a couple of days after grandpa died.&lt;br /&gt;Me  : Okay, I'll send postcard regularly.&lt;br /&gt;Her : Okay, Thanks. Back to work&lt;br /&gt;Me  : Ok.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realize how a small thing means so big.&lt;br /&gt;I was not there when he died.&lt;br /&gt;I was not there to see her cried.&lt;br /&gt;I even could not talk with him at last.&lt;br /&gt;They have been so nice to me.&lt;br /&gt;And all I can do is sending postcard.&lt;br /&gt;And that still means something for them. At least for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-----------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a little thing about my grandpa, you may &lt;a href="http://www.angkasa-online.com/11/02/buku/buku1.htm"&gt;click here&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-116107403681549774?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/116107403681549774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=116107403681549774&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116107403681549774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116107403681549774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/10/postcard.html' title='Postcard'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-116092286880439298</id><published>2006-10-15T16:34:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-10-15T16:34:28.820+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ArtWork'/><title type='text'>Secret Relation</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/S3010043.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/S3010043.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-116092286880439298?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/116092286880439298/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=116092286880439298&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116092286880439298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116092286880439298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/10/secret-relation.html' title='Secret Relation'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-116084186124294424</id><published>2006-10-14T17:13:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-10-17T15:45:43.893+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Surrounding'/><title type='text'>Mid-Autumn Festival</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The Festival falls on the 15th day of the lunar month 8 in many East Asian lunisolar calendars (usually around mid- or late-September in the Gregorian Calendar). At this time, the moon is at its fullest and brightest, marking an ideal time to celebrate the abundance of the summer's harvest. The traditional food of this festival is the moon cake of which there are many different varieties.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are many activities to celebrate the festival, especially in Hong Kong. I am not aware about other Asian countries. Here are the Hong Kong's Mid-Autumn Festival celebration thingies:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;1. Family Dinner&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They start the celebration with having a family dinner. I was luckily invited by my buddy, Zack, to have dinner with his family. We had hot pot which is similar with Japanese Shabu-shabu. My buddy told me Japan got the idea from China when Japan war back then. It is originally a winter dish. However since nowadays everybody has airco, they have hot pot other times all the year as well.  Turn on the airco and have hot pot! Yum, lekker!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN0398.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN0398.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN0396.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN0396.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;2. Mooncake&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;After having dinner, they eat mooncake. Typical mooncakes are either round or rectangular puck-shaped pastries, measuring about 10 cm in diameter and 4-5 cm thick. They have a relatively thin crust (2-3 mm), which surrounds a thick pasty filling and may contain yolks from salted duck eggs. Mooncakes are typically rich, heavy, and dense compared with most Western cakes and pastries. It is usually eaten in small wedges accompanied by Chinese Tea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This cake is also pricey compared to the other cake. It costed me HK$40 for an eggy cake. I dont like this cake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/S3010058.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/S3010058.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;3. Children Activity&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all of gathering are over. Children are jumping around and yelling to their parents to take them to the nearest park to play with other children. During this night, there will be a lot of children in the street playing around with their lantern.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN0405.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN0405.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN0406.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN0406.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;4. Lover Activity&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those who has couple already, usually they go out to see the moon. They will spend the whole night outside starring at the moon. Well, since I dont have couple here and Zack would not be mine that day, so I didnt experince this activity... hehe.. which means I dont have pics either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;5. Lantern Gala, Carnaval, and other Celebration.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are a lot of celebration during mid-autumn festival. In my hall, there was a nice celebration where many lanterns are hung. Lantern festival is always related with wishing card and riddle card. Each lantern has a riddle, and if we can guess the answer, we will get a wishing card to be put which is believed a good luck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/DSCN3227.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/DSCN3227.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/S3010040.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/S3010040.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/S3010037.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/S3010037.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/S3010006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/S3010006.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/S3010036.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/S3010036.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-116084186124294424?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/116084186124294424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=116084186124294424&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116084186124294424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/116084186124294424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/10/mid-autumn-festival.html' title='Mid-Autumn Festival'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-115893946416060601</id><published>2006-09-22T15:28:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-03-31T23:27:49.679+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People and I'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>my baggy-jeans boy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/30273265216148l.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/30273265216148l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"  &gt;I seriously do not want to be cliche or sentimental.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;I'd just like to write something about him, as my deep appreciation to him.&lt;br /&gt;My friend, my brother, my soul mate, my supporter.&lt;br /&gt;My love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been a year 8 months and 21 days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;White side:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can say he's really good at self-marketing. I don't know whether such theory is exist or not. But he is. He can position himself perfectly. He smoothly transfers from one to another character whenever I need. He is my boyfriend when I need to be loved, he is my friend when I need to share, he is my supporter when I need a shoulder, he is my soul mate who give me some parts of mine that i miss, though I also admit that he is my rival and enemy during the hard days-the days before and after my menstruation period! I say he is also a good listener. He listens to me even when I don't wanna share. He listens with his hug. Though sometimes of course he's really tired of my silence and gets angry. The thing is not his talk is important, but it is his behaviours that make me impressed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel really secured when he's around. It's like I wouldn't be hurt by anything. I think what I really meant by secured is truly being myself. I started my relationship with a friendship, so I don't hide anything from him. I say what I wanna say, I dress how I wanna dress, I do what I wanna do. It's a freedom that I get. I am trusted, and It is really something in a relationship. Our relationship. I learn from him how not to be jealous. I learn how to simply love someone without being complicated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's also one of the smartest persons I've ever met in my life. He grew up with encyclopedias and news. He is crazy about history-war thingies- especially World War II. He said that that is the best war of all time! He knows about everything-I mean my standard of everything. He knows things, which for me are not important at all.  One day when we were in the diesel train on the way to Düsseldorf, he asked me "do you know why is this train run by diesel engine?". Oh my god! I was thinking why should i know? And then of course he explained it, and what I cant believe is that I was listening! The other day, we were on a sort of romantic situation on the ship deck. We were on a boat party heading to &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Nijmegen&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt;. That was perfect and sweet, because we almost never have this kind of situation in our relationship so far. So I thought, Okay! this is the time! Until.... we were on a little silent and he asked me "do you know what will happen if two boats face each other?". I just cant believe that! and i said "No, what will happen?". Then he described that each boat needs to turn to the right so they wont crash each other, and so on and so fort. His term of smart is not only concerning his knowledge but also about his ability in approaching people. He is not really nice if you know him from the first time, because you'll think he's kinda "sotoy" and "sok kenal", kind of bad ice-breaker. But soon as you know him better you'll see that he is a very interesting person. He talks much, about everything in your interest. I don't know how can he know people's interest. But he really said once that it is inded his strategy in approaching people. Interesting!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He counts every expense he has. Its good sometimes, but sometimes its just really tiring for me. He prefers to buy anything else but clothes! He prefers to have his clothes "imported" from &lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Indonesia&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:country-region&gt; by his mom. Incredibly unreasonable! Because of the clothes were picked by his mom, of course it means kind of oldish style. Most of his clothes are polo shirts with particular chosen colors and patterns which make him somehow looks a bit older and formal than he should be. But he just doesn't care, he wears them anyway. One time his mom bought him "her style jeans", boot-cut jeans!! This of course doesn't match with either his personality or his preference of jeans- baggy jeans. He said to me that he won't ever wear the jeans because it is inconvenient. He feels really strange.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Well, you see that my boy is not a stylish person. He wears only something comfy for him, yeah, just like me. Simple and boring, jeans, polo shirt and t-shirt.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Well, its too long already. Not because its not worthwhile to write about him, but it's a blog not a book. I probably will spend the whole week to tell a story about him. But let me stop here and keep the rest for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;It's just one part, the white side of him. Of course I will write the black side of him, why wont I? Then, I will keep you informed when I get the mood.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-115893946416060601?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/115893946416060601/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=115893946416060601&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/115893946416060601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/115893946416060601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/09/my-baggy-jeans-boy.html' title='my baggy-jeans boy'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-115834138794591619</id><published>2006-09-15T19:18:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-01-01T17:14:49.717+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People and I'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Surrounding'/><title type='text'>Say 'Never' to stereotypical drawing</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Tonite I chatted with &lt;a href="http://www.friendster.com/7105303"&gt;Aryo&lt;/a&gt;. As usual, that was an MEANINGLESS chatting about MEANINGLESS things. Finally we ended up drawing on &lt;a href="http://ca.messenger.yahoo.com/singleimv.php?imv=doodle"&gt;yahoo doodle&lt;/a&gt;- One of YM's IMvironment which enables you to draw in the chatting box.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, we drew.&lt;br /&gt;Something of course...&lt;br /&gt;MEANINGFUL!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/gambarputriaryo.2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/gambarputriaryo.1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jepp, we drew it! The most stereotypical drawing of Indonesian children, age of 6-10. We drew perfectly like we did! the color, the setting, everything is perfect!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really have no clue how could every Indonesian children must have had done this. Aryo said it is the teacher's fault who gives example of that kind of drawing. This sort of drawing has created mind-set of a perfect drawing! But as long as I can remember, I don't recall that any of my teachers taught me this kind of drawing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Tell me you'd never done this!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bet that you gotta be an extraordinary Indonesian kid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-115834138794591619?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/115834138794591619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=115834138794591619&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/115834138794591619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/115834138794591619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/09/say-never.html' title='Say &apos;Never&apos; to stereotypical drawing'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-115788130880324320</id><published>2006-09-10T11:35:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-03-31T23:27:07.904+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People and I'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Short Story'/><title type='text'>Ibu Bernyawa 5</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/S3010016.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/S3010016.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Beberapa minggu yang lalu saya mendengar cerita yang benar-benar membuat saya menangis. Ini tentang seorang ibu yang saya kenal dekat, namun panggil saja ia Ibu. Sudah beberapa tahun belakangan setelah keadaan ekonomi keluarganya menurun, pusat perbelanjaan keluaganya berpindah ke pasar tebet barat. Selain murah, relatif dekat dari rumah, dan disana sangat lengkap. Walaupun memang harus menahan panas dan sesak. Pada hari sang ibu pergi ke pasar tebet untuk membeli keperluan obat-obatan harian. Ia juga membeli obat disana, karena bisa ditawar dan kadang ada yang bisa dibeli setengah. Lalu ia tertarik pada sebuah lipstick pada saat melihat-lihat. Ia lihat lipstick itu beberapa saat, dicobanya ke punggung tangannya untuk melihat warnanya dan ia kembalikan ke si penjual, ia menyebutnya Uda. Ia sang pemilik toko kosmetik langganan si ibu. "Nanti deh yah da, liat-liat dulu" kata ibu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Ia benar-benar ingin lipstick itu, entah karena memang butuh atau tertarik saja. Tapi menurutku itu adalah hal yang wajar karena toch ia adalah juga seorang wanita yang ingin tampil cantik. Lalu ia berpikir-pikir sambil berputar-putar pasar. Dan setelah beberapa lama, tak terasa ia telah memutari seluruh pasar lima kali. Dan ia memutuskan untuk pulang dan tidak jadi membeli lipstick itu. Ketika saya bertanya kepada adik saya yang menceritakan kisah ini kepada saya.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Emang berapa harganya sih lipsticknya??"&lt;br /&gt;"20 ribu". Hati saya terasa mau copot mendengarnya. Lalu apa sebabnya saya tanyakan lagi ke adik saya.&lt;br /&gt;"Lah, kenapa ga dibeli terus?&lt;br /&gt;"Soalnya 20 ribu bisa buat uang makan besok"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Serta merta perasaan campur aduk datang. Seumur hidup saya tidak pernah mendengar kisah seperti ini, apalagi tentang seseorang yang saya kenal baik. Ternyata memang susah sekali menjadi seorang ibu. Ia benar-benar tidak mempunyai satu hidup. Tapi 4 hidup lainnya, keluarganya. Milik anaknya yang pertama, milik anaknya yang kedua, milik anaknya yang ketiga, dan milik suaminya. Saya jadi menyadari bahwa saya harus siap untuk berpikir seperti itu juga nanti jika saya menjadi seorang ibu. Siap untuk mempunyai lebih dari satu hidup. Hidup untuk orang lain. Memang seorang ibu itu selalu mulia.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-115788130880324320?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/115788130880324320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=115788130880324320&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/115788130880324320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/115788130880324320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/09/ibu-bernyawa-5.html' title='Ibu Bernyawa 5'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-115787047004203257</id><published>2006-09-10T08:35:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-01-01T17:19:16.468+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>Only For Us</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Someone asked Andy, my boyfriend,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Do you have girlfriend?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Yeap!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;And spontanously another friend of mine  reacted,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Aaah, you'll never know that they are couple! They are just like an ordinary friend!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;hehehhehe....Yes we are. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;Simply because we are couple only for ourself.&lt;br /&gt;Something only we know.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-115787047004203257?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/115787047004203257/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=115787047004203257&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/115787047004203257'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/115787047004203257'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/09/only-for-us.html' title='Only For Us'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-115754276222073339</id><published>2006-09-06T12:36:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2008-01-01T17:17:31.333+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>This is the time called 'Tambal Sulam'</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;In my shared room, staring at my family potrait. I see smiles.&lt;br /&gt;All I can say is let us cry, even for a second.&lt;br /&gt;We have smiled for our life and now its the time to put our heads lower.&lt;br /&gt;Life is indeed like a roller coaster.&lt;br /&gt;If we could choose when we are down, i wouldn't choose this time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I study communication, ironicly we can't communicate each other.&lt;br /&gt;I ain't taught to say my feeling and prospective.&lt;br /&gt;It seems that we have two controller leading to different directions.&lt;br /&gt;Blaming each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dont know anymore which would be better.&lt;br /&gt;Laugh or Cry.&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm just pretending that I'm okay.&lt;br /&gt;Thou I always know that I'll be alright.&lt;br /&gt;So will my family. They are all great person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that this time would make me stronger.&lt;br /&gt;And stronger. and stronger.&lt;br /&gt;Three of us are not every girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see my future. Just a few steps ahead.&lt;br /&gt;I know I would be able to reach it, somehow, I dont know.&lt;br /&gt;Yet I still need supports.&lt;br /&gt;I will be the support for them, my sisters, my family.&lt;br /&gt;I will pay it. Pay what they have given to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Staring at my family potrait.&lt;br /&gt;I see hope.&lt;br /&gt;I see future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-115754276222073339?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/115754276222073339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=115754276222073339&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/115754276222073339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/115754276222073339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/09/this-is-time-called-tambal-sulam_06.html' title='This is the time called &apos;Tambal Sulam&apos;'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-114635186073278776</id><published>2006-04-30T00:45:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2006-04-30T01:10:58.906+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>Saat Ku Sendiri Adalah Saat Aku Bisa Merasakan Semua Yang Tidak Bisa Kurasakan Saat Tak Sendiri.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left; color: rgb(204, 153, 51);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Satu kali lagi kukatakan bahwa memang itu membuatku bahagia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Yang terpenting bukan hanya bahagia tapi penuh dan lengkap&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Yang memberiku sebuah kebohongan termanis&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Menjadi sebuah besar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Aku ingat bahwa memang aku sebuah kecil&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Dan semakin hari berlalu aku benar-benar makin sadar bahwa aku sebuah kecil&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Ternyata selama ini aku dibodohi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Kapan aku tersadar adalah detik ini&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Saat sedang menjadi sebuah kecil dan sendiri&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Kini aku baru merasa aku telah dibohongi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Aku meronta karena kehilangan kebohongan itu dan ingin kembali kepada kebohongan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Manis sekali rasanya&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Saat sendiri aku dibayangi banyak hal aneh&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Bukan hanya ingin menangis dan meronta dan marah dan benci&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Bukan hanya sendiri dan sepi dan kasihan dan diam&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Tapi juga ingin bangun dan ingin berubah dan ingin bergerak&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Tapi juga ingin jujur dan bicara dan teriak&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Lagi aku hanya sebuah kecil&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Dan kebohongan terlalu manis dan indah buatku&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Untuk sementara waktu aku memilihnya&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Aku tahu aku akan selalu begini &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Seperti ini&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Perlahan mati perlahan lenyap perlahan hilang&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;Perlahan nikmat perlahan senyum perlahan melayang&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-114635186073278776?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/114635186073278776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=114635186073278776&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/114635186073278776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/114635186073278776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/04/saat-ku-sendiri-adalah-saat-aku-bisa.html' title='Saat Ku Sendiri Adalah Saat Aku Bisa Merasakan Semua Yang Tidak Bisa Kurasakan Saat Tak Sendiri.'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-114478977436809222</id><published>2006-04-11T12:56:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-04-17T09:46:50.866+02:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People and I'/><title type='text'>Gossiping; Gossiper; Gossip</title><content type='html'>&lt;p  style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:verdana;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Main Entry: &lt;b&gt;&lt;sup&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt;gossip&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Function: &lt;i&gt;intransitive verb&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; to relate gossip&lt;br /&gt;- &lt;b&gt;gos·sip·er&lt;/b&gt; &lt;i&gt;noun&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;Main Entry: &lt;b&gt;&lt;sup&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;gos·sip&lt;/b&gt; &lt;a href="javascript:popWin%28"&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: none;"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte vml 1]&gt;&lt;v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600" spt="75" preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"&gt;  &lt;v:stroke joinstyle="miter"&gt;  &lt;v:formulas&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"&gt;  &lt;/v:formulas&gt;  &lt;v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"&gt;  &lt;o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"&gt; &lt;/v:shapetype&gt;&lt;v:shape id="_x0000_i1025" type="#_x0000_t75" alt="" style="'width:12pt;" button="t"&gt;  &lt;v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\PRIMAH~1\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.gif" href="http://m-w.com/images/audio.gif"&gt; &lt;/v:shape&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if !vml]--&gt;&lt;img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/PRIMAH%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/msohtml1/01/clip_image001.gif" shapes="_x0000_i1025" border="0" height="11" width="16" /&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pronunciation: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;'gä-s&amp;p&lt;br /&gt;Function: &lt;i&gt;noun&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Etymology: Middle English &lt;i&gt;gossib, &lt;/i&gt;from Old English &lt;i&gt;godsibb, &lt;/i&gt;from &lt;i&gt;god &lt;/i&gt;god + &lt;i&gt;sibb &lt;/i&gt;kinsman, from &lt;i&gt;sibb &lt;/i&gt;related -- more at &lt;a href="http://m-w.com/dictionary/sib"&gt;SIB&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;1 a&lt;/b&gt; &lt;i&gt;dialect British&lt;/i&gt; &lt;b&gt;: &lt;a href="http://m-w.com/dictionary/godparent"&gt;GODPARENT&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; &lt;b&gt;b&lt;/b&gt; &lt;b&gt;: &lt;a href="http://m-w.com/dictionary/companion"&gt;COMPANION&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://m-w.com/dictionary/crony"&gt;CRONY&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; &lt;b&gt;c&lt;/b&gt; &lt;b&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; a person who habitually reveals personal or sensational facts about others&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;2 a&lt;/b&gt; &lt;b&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; rumor or report of an intimate nature &lt;b&gt;b&lt;/b&gt; &lt;b&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; a chatty talk &lt;b&gt;c&lt;/b&gt; &lt;b&gt;:&lt;/b&gt; the subject matter of gossip&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could say that gossip is part of my life, its part is even bigger than reading or listening music. For some people like me, gossiping is more or less counted as a daily routine. Why? Because it gives you enough satisfaction, time-consuming, interesting, gain your knowledge about people, and one of the ways to have daily self-reflection. People usually assume Gossip as a negative activity rather than try to have some positive effects of gossiping. One of them is Healthy. And I will tell you that gossip is not always untrue, but often could be a fact, which is passed by people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do you talk about when you are gossiping?? People!&lt;br /&gt;People are the most interesting creature in the world to talk about. When it is categorized as a gossip is when you are talking that particular person behind their back, it could be bad or good. Truthfully we could not avoid hearing or passing a gossip, because gossiping is almost counted as a way of life. It is a common thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will let myself think if I were the one who has been gossiped. I had been there in that position and it was not for the good one. What I felt was horribly shame and mad. I could not really think why such a gossip happened to me, did I do something wrong and so on, and so on. But as it was merely a gossip, I could do nothing, at all. I could not just throw my suspect away and kill him/her. It is also stupid if you have to clarify and come to each person, or even make a press conference. Who the heck am I? One thing I should consider that time is people don’t give too much shit on gossip. It will cost you time but not long enough so it could kill you. I just let it go and let the time pass them away. That was what I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I will put myself again as a gossiper. I like to be on the save side, everyone does. Every time you do this gossip thingies, I guarantee you that you will feel a very good mood, you can laugh, you even can cry, basically you will feel many happiness and satisfaction (note: if you do like gossiping). But the most important thing about gossip is that you can never pass it to everyone you like, unless you are a journalist of one of those Indonesian infotainment programs. Because here you are about to pass either a fact or lie about someone to someone, you have to be really sure of who is the person you are talking to. You even have to really consider them even if he/she is your friend. Why? Because your friend has friends, and those friends have friends, and those friends have again other friends whom now you won’t be able to count. Such relationship will endanger you; you will never know that a friend of friend of your friend is a friend of that particular person who is being gossiped. He/she who will tell the gossip to the person will ruin your life, your daily life, your friendship, your relation and everything. You even won’t know person who ruin your life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p  style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:verdana;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p  style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:verdana;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Now I will tell you again one of my own gossip experiences. I have made several mistakes in gossiping, most of them is because I picked the wrong person to pass to. It started 2 months ago when me and my friends made fun with, called it, my teacher. We made a silly gossip without any special intention which is basically done because our teacher was late. We were so boring and a bit mad so we could not help ourselves not to make that stupid gossip. After that day ended we simply forgot it. Times went by, about two weeks later I had another meeting with our teacher. I don’t really know why our teacher is really like being late or it is some kind of habit for that person, but again our teacher late. It’s not because we don’t want to understand our teacher but our teacher keeps doing that and it became so damn annoying. So, we talked about that stupid gossip again in that meeting, made fun out of it and laugh. Purely just that! We did not aware that in the same time there was someone listening what we were gossiping as well. We really did not know that this person would be the key of my horrible story.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p  style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:verdana;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p  style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:verdana;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;About a week ago, I and my friend were on the way with our teacher. The music was turned out loud while our teacher started the conversation. Our teacher started by saying ‘just wanna share my little thought’. Our teacher told me that there was a gossip spread about that our teacher has been having an affair. Our teacher got a mail concerning a warning that our teacher has been gossiped. The mailer heard the story from a girl who is the gossipers’ friend. It was the first shock to me. Then our teacher continued the story and told us that the gossiper was people who in fact are close to our teacher. That was the second shock that made everything’s clear that we are the one, the gossiper. Nothing could be more horrible than sitting there and listening the story which is our own story. Nothing could be more shameful than pretending that it was a story about someone else and having a fake smile. Nothing could be more than that night. But fortunately our teacher had a big heart, the story ended by our teacher saying that our teacher just will let it go….&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p  style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:verdana;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p  style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:verdana;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;My story won’t end here. After we were dropped in our house, we run some kind of hypothesis of what was happening, who might be the suspect who was being so stupid passing that stupid gossip to the mistake person. First discussion ended blank, we had no person. Secondly, we included our boyfriend. They gave some opinions who coincidentally so make sense. The Hypothesis is that the suspect coincidentally overheard the gossip. Then the suspect really did not know that the gossip is the really a joke and no fact involved. Unintentionally the suspect passed it to the person who the suspect though is trustable. This second person accidentally has sort of extra concern toward our teacher, so that second person spent special times to write our teacher that letter which concerns a warning and led to our tragedy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p  style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:verdana;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p  style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:verdana;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;After this event, I could not just stop to think what if our hypothesis is right. I could not believe it. Our suspect has bad reputation in gossiping, we could say unprofessional, amateur, incompetent, slack or whatever. Hehehe… but this event made me learns how to pass a gossip to the right person, and not to say anything to the suspect ever again! We could never know the right person to gossip with until they uncover themselves.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p  style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:verdana;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p  style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:verdana;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Being picky is the key!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-114478977436809222?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/114478977436809222/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=114478977436809222&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/114478977436809222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/114478977436809222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/04/gossiping-gossiper-gossip.html' title='Gossiping; Gossiper; Gossip'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-114225236354298847</id><published>2006-03-13T13:16:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2006-03-13T13:24:50.090+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People and I'/><title type='text'>I hope you dance</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Last Thursday I had a dance performance at an elderly-house nearby &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Utrecht&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt; (I can't remember the exact name of the place). When we first arrived at its gate, we were totally surprised because it looks more like a forest. The performing place was still 1 km from the main gate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we finally found the place, we came in and met with sort of the EO and we were brought to our dressing room. After a short chat with the EO, this elderly house is not a regular elderly house. This one is provided for the elderly who have psychotic problems. The security of the complex, particularly the building, is 24/7 strict.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Our dressing room which is regularly a common room for those elderly, has a kitchen, a long dining-table, and two sets of sort of living room for probably chatting time. What impressed me were the supported equipments. The couches for the sort-of-living room were not a &lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;standard one, they were automatic massager couch. The kitchen is a modern and furnished, complete with full-of-specially-made-instant-meal refrigerator, 2 spotless coffee machines and fresh fruits. There were many blankets provided there. And there are also child’s toys there, 6-piece puzzle and basic child books (probably for 5-6 years old kids). &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Do you see bizarre things? I wonder why should they provide those elderly which is notably not productive at all anymore with those kind of kitchen and couches. I bet they will just simply open the fridge and grab one of those instant foods, but in the other hand do not they provide them with special meal in their rooms? And for the couches, don’t they will break their back if they use them? Why I wonder is because elderly who live there are not like those you see at the street. Most of them can’t walk anymore even can’t talk anymore, and of course also with psychotic relevant. Based on my assumption, probably our dressing room is just the most normal one. I do not hope so.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Back to my performance, the hall where we were performing and its entrance had been designed with Indonesian-wannabe thingies, helicak, barong, lampions (which are exactly Chinese lampions). The hall was not big and has no stage or podium. They didn’t give much decoration for the hall. We had so much time before our performance since we arrived sooner. We killed the time with chatting, eating snacks and having little rehearsal, particularly for Tari Giring-Giring as three of us (me, Resy and Lia) hardly remembered it. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;5 minutes before performance....&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;We were called by the EO to stand nearby the hall, we got out…&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;We performed 2 dance sessions; first session was Tari Jali-Jali, Tari Tempurung, and Tari Panji Semirang. The second session was Tari Yapong, Tari Giring-giring and Tari Jaipong. I performed at Tari Tempurung and Tari Giring-giring. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;When I first entered the hall, I felt no worries at all because I have performed this dance many times and I knew that the audience would not be as enthusiast as the others performances. So I carried on my dance. After a while and started to have eye contact with the audience, then suddenly a splash of thick air came to my lung and shocked me. They are indeed not a regular elderly people, they have the same white hair and same wheel chair and same wrinkle. But I can see different expression on their faces, either they are extremely happy, extremely appreciated or extremely careless with our dance. I will get you the picture. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;One of our audiences is a very old woman who always raised her hands to get along with the rhythm. Her face was always extremely smiled with eyes wide opened. She looked very interesting with our dance. After the second session ended, as usual we had sort of ending dance where we asked the audience to dance with us. Of course, there, we had to really careful in selecting who would perform with us, since they are not much who could and would dance. Finally we got couple of people, among them there was that woman who surprisingly still could walk though slowly. She was there among the circle to dance with us still with the same expression, big smile and big eyes which say for happy. The ending dance lasted for around 7 minutes. She was standing between Lia and the EO who were tightly held by her. During the dance, she tried to express her feeling by communicating with my friend, Lia. She tries several times and Lia still couldn’t hear any voice came from her mouth. She couldn’t speak anymore. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;There is the other audience. It is a man. He was there with his wheel chair. His head and face were not normal anymore; I supposed it caused by a stroke. He had 2 hands but only one performs well. I had an eye contact with him after Tari Tempurung ended. He was nearly at the last rows. It was so noisy because of the crowd of applauses. We went out from the hall and unexpectedly I heard mumble of 'mooi..mooi..mooi' which means 'great..great..great..' which came from my right side. There was that man who said mooi..mooi..mooi with his abnormal mouth and this one-handed clapping as his form of appreciation for us. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;I saw those facts and they depressed me. I was there tried to perform Indonesian dances and I never knew that I would have such a great and beautiful appreciations from people who notably like them. I was truthfully amazed and thankful. I will never know that we, as the dancer, would deserve such kind of appreciation. Then, this case made me think again about my own life. Before this I never appreciate myself or think that I have such a positive point. That wished appreciation not come from people surrounding me, but from elderly people who met me coincidentally.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Sometimes, when we want to show or expect something, we will not see them at all in our daily life until it comes from the extreme one. Probably I have had appreciation from people for what I am doing, but I keep denying them until they say it extremely and loudly enough.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: justify;font-family:trebuchet ms;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;What I learned from here is simply about appreciation. How important it is for people and particularly me. Appreciation is the most basic, cheapest and easiest form of thank. But what is important, Appreciation would not effect much until you show or say it.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-114225236354298847?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/114225236354298847/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=114225236354298847&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/114225236354298847'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/114225236354298847'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/03/i-hope-you-dance.html' title='I hope you dance'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-114143884866233612</id><published>2006-03-04T02:35:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2006-03-04T22:25:45.556+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>JEALOUSY you got me somehow</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;02.35 am mix with Dashboard Confensional's songs...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It's been my last-14-month-problem. It is a matter of jealousy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I'm so tired of being jealous, close-minded and shallow. I really dont know how to start this kind of story since it would relate with some people. I'm trying to say it with my point of view, me, me and me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;For the last 14 months of my relationship with a boy, i have been suffering with a thing called stupid jealousy. I am jealous with a girl who used to be his. Of course i have particular reason why should i concern about her which wouldn't be named one by one, but most likely those will be stupid, cliche and childish.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;One night, We ended in the conversation that took her as a part of it. And again the same feeling, feeling of anger, shame, unfaithful, intolerance, and so on and so on came and ruined a nice conversation that we had that night. I couldnt control myself, as a human being, to react positively or at least pretend to be cool. Everytime this name is said, spelled, and involved, the same feeling came to my mind, brain and of course the most sensitive, my heart.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Then, he said that he's so tired with my 14-month-problem. He's so sick of explaining and convincing me about her. After a while of silence, he said the sharpest sentence ever to me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"Why you never trust me? That would cause lie. I prefer not to say and talk anything about her with you, to avoid your absurd jealousy. That was what you were doing with Firman as well, you prefered not to say than have to face his 1000 questions!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I was increadibly speechless...that was right, all acceptable.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;That was exactly what i was doing. It became one of the case of my brakeup. I realize that honesty would always be an important thing in relationship, but sometimes there are so many reasons behind why we prefer not to be honest, and my case is one of them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Here, I sort of promise honestly and full of profundity that I will believe you faithfully. I wont ask for another convincing statement or another i-love-you that made a fake comfort for me. I do tired of being like this. I want get rid all of this 'T' thing. And i will start by saying..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"Hit me with your stories, even the most jealous-making one. And I wont be jealous at all ! 2 euros per jealous-movement! ahahhahaha"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-114143884866233612?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/114143884866233612/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=114143884866233612&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/114143884866233612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/114143884866233612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/03/jealousy-you-got-me-someho_114143884866233612.html' title='JEALOUSY you got me somehow'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-114142938864924108</id><published>2006-03-03T23:45:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-03-04T02:34:38.356+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People and I'/><title type='text'>Arnhem-Nijmegen's Cooking Competition</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Last week I took part in Arnhem-Nijmegen's Cooking Competition which was held at the 2nd floor of Honigkamp (the student house in Arnhem). There were not less than 10 teams joined and presented their best BEEF recipe. This competition was not only open for Indonesian Students, but also International Students, there were 2 international groups.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;This competition was so fresh, new and&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt; innovative. We &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;supposed to have a team with max 3 persons each team. I was with Kristi, my roomy. We were informed about the theme of the recipe about 24 hours before D-day, and that was BEEF. Well, beef was kinda easy to cook, I mean you can almost do everything with beef for the innovation and creativity's sake. So we (ahhahaha, not we exactly because Kristi had the idea, i thought nothing!) decided to cook beef thingy which was later named as LA HAM DU CILLE.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;It was so much fun, fun and fun. We shopped groceries, meat and the other recipe-related things at the open markt and AH centrum (red-AH is a name of supermarket here in Netherlands, the good and expensive one). The funnest thing was when we stopped at carnaval shop at Arnhem Centrum. There were so many carnaval things there, start from clown costume till pig nose. Those things created an idea for us that we were going to attend the competition with a costume. Since the theme  was BEEF so we decided to go with Stadsboerderij Meisjes costume!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Here are some best photos of us, Stadsboerderij Meisjes...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/2decre2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/2decre2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/a7d6re2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/a7d6re2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bergaya Sebelum Beraksi.....uhuhuhuhu&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/a51ere2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/a51ere2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/7dbbre2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/7dbbre2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Ber Yel-Yel Ria Demi &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"&gt;The Most Festive Certificate&lt;/span&gt;!! (hhh..murahan!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/84cere2.2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/84cere2.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Senyum Deg-degan menunggu hasil Juri cicip-cicip&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/d544re2.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/d544re2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Masakan Ala Stadsboerderij Meisjes....&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"&gt;La Ham du Cille&lt;/span&gt;!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/8ba2re2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/8ba2re2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/bbc0re2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/bbc0re2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Senang dan Haru menjadi Sang Tim Paling Meriah.....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/6a2cre2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/6a2cre2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/944fre2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/944fre2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Photo Ria bersama 'Maskot' Lekker Hoor Cooking Competition...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;(huhuhu memaskotkan diri)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/d882re2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/d882re2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Ini FANS BERAT Stadsboerderij Meisjes....dan sebagai informasi sehari setelah Cooking Competition dia minta tanda tangan di photo ini...huhuhuh dan tentu saja KAMI KASI DENGAN SENANG HATI!!!! hehehhe (red-ini adalah berita bohong belaka)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Well.... what a day what a meisje!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;We were really happy as we won one of the category, The most festive team which was impossible not belong to us, because we were very berry merry cherry damn different with other, of course different in a positive (freak) way...huhuhuhu&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Yeah..yeah...at least we won something although not because of the taste of our cook, but our costume...hihihihihi a bit miserable!!! pis...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-114142938864924108?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/114142938864924108/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=114142938864924108&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/114142938864924108'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/114142938864924108'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2006/03/arnhem-nijmegens-cooking-competition.html' title='Arnhem-Nijmegen&apos;s Cooking Competition'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-113597901041611414</id><published>2005-12-30T22:27:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2005-12-30T22:43:30.416+01:00</updated><title type='text'>May I Say Welcome.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Well, well, well done! hahahhahha..... this is what i want, my own &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Customized Blog&lt;/span&gt;. This is kinda real for me that i could choose the design from this &lt;a href="http://www.blogskins.com/"&gt;site&lt;/a&gt;, just simply grab the HTML code and type here a 'lil bit and there a 'lil bit, and in no moment (well, i lie, honestly it's gonna take you a whole damn day! hehe)  tarraaaa....that's all! You probably will love doing this during your boring break.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;After you have the skin (basic design) and then you can customize further your web blog, add a shout box ( i got from this &lt;a href="http://www.tag-board.com/"&gt;site&lt;/a&gt;), add music video (this &lt;a href="http://www.singingfool.com/"&gt;site&lt;/a&gt;; or probably you could see many more on friendster), add links to the other's blog or website or anything you want! Simply Exciting! In the same time, you are struggling to learn HTML, which is very tricky. I like it, but not too much! *lol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Yes, I am deleting my current blog on Friendster. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Okay, if so, may I say Welcome then?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-113597901041611414?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/113597901041611414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=113597901041611414&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/113597901041611414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/113597901041611414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2005/12/may-i-say-welcome_30.html' title='May I Say Welcome.....'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-113590547063256537</id><published>2005-12-30T01:40:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-12-30T16:46:04.020+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>what friends mean...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div  style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;I am sitting here alone, and thinking what friends mean to me. I've been dealing with friendship for the whole of my life, i bet you have it as well, aite? though in the final you chose not to have friend and being alone. Let's mean the word of friend itself, i'm referring to me since i am the writer. For me, friends is someone in your life, it might be changed in every phase of your life, but it means something once (or  forever). Friends is someone whom you can talk to freely, without any demands, any considerations, totally &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;FREELY!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt; Friends is someone who you will be afraid to lose them. When i wrote this, I am thinking about a few people who i can say my friend.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div  style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(153, 153, 0);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Back one a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;nd half year ago when i was about to go to Holland. I was desperately crying at the airport because i was about to leave something precious in my life, friend. When i finally arrived at Holland, again i was desperately sitting in my bunk bed because i couldnt talk to anybody, i felt like i lost my friend. Then of course i was thinking that i gotta find a new one, here in Hollands, yeah, that's how life goes aite. Fortunately i met people, i 'grew up' with them and desperately i am saying that up till now, i still have no friend (actually i got 1, but he is not my totally friend). I know i will let some people down, sorry.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Well, i could say probably the problem is me. I dont know i just cant be the same person as i was before. I am totally change, with no reason (as long as i know). I cant enjoy my friendship-life, i cant express myself well so the others wont perfectly understand me. I just cant...but believe i really want to.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;It started to realize this situation about 3 months ago. I realized that i do feel alone here. If i have something to tell, about anything, about anything, about anything, i dont have any idea where should i go.  I dont know, i just dont have a truly frien&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;d of mine, except he.  Well, but sometimes you need someone except him to share the story about him, or just for any other suggestions and opinion. But no one could make me feel comfortable.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;I started to be an individualist person, here. I eat my own pills and heal myself. I try to keep myself up so that any person could see me perfectly, everyday. Dont you think i am being like a lier!? But i can say nothing, until now, i have no idea what should i do, cause this is the main reason of all this problems. I am afraid of being myself in front of people and i still have no strength to change it. I am not happy with it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Honestly, i have many many problems while dealing with people here, especially with particular people who have a bit (i prefer to say 'a bit') special relation with me. Maybe they dont realize this, but i never show who i am in front of them. Why? i just dont like to show 'me'. I cant be 'me' &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;FREELY!&lt;/span&gt; in front of them. I dont belong with them, sorry.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Please help me, so that i could find myself that i had once.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;I miss friends where i belong to.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;I miss moments where i could express my words &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;FREELY!&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos.friendster.com/photos/29/77/11477792/16749872945958l.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 148px; height: 112px;" src="http://photos.friendster.com/photos/29/77/11477792/16749872945958l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" &gt;I dedicate &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" &gt;to Miranti&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204); font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" &gt;                                                                                          I miss you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-113590547063256537?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/113590547063256537/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=113590547063256537&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/113590547063256537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/113590547063256537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2005/12/what-friends-mean.html' title='what friends mean...'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-113580758830889486</id><published>2005-12-28T23:02:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2005-12-30T16:36:51.856+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Surrounding'/><title type='text'>a year of Tsunami</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/10880763.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/10880763.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;Do you still remember what was happening right a year ago, 26th December 2004. That morning, tsunami was sweeping anything when most of the people were in their sleep, without any warning. It destroyed several countries within Asia and Africa. There were buried the biggest fear, the loudest scream, the saddest lost of all. Yes, it was a pain.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;I dedicate this writing to Indonesia, my home.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;Eleven countries, including Indonesia, suffered devastation. Indonesia was the hardest hit by the tsunami. The tsunami was caused of 9.0 magnitude earthquake- the largest earthquake in 40 years- occurred in the Indian Ocean, off the Indonesia island, Sumatra. The earthquake triggered as the the deadliest earthquake in the world's history. More than 283,106 people have died from the disaster, a half a million have been injured, thousands still remain missing, and millions were left homeless.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;Up till now, those affected countries have been given many helps from the world. They have started to rebuild their countries and they already have their result. In Indonesia, children are coming back to school, one in ten people are going back to work and one in five in their permanent house. Indonesia plans to have Aceh ready by 2007.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;Back in year 70's, when Aceh was having a controversy with the government. Do you still remember GAM-Gerakan Aceh Merdeka or translated to Free Aceh Movement. There were many efforts put by Indonesian Government to have peace between both side, starting from Soeharto era. Start from Soeharto's DOM (Daerah Operasi Militer) up till SBY's aggrement in Helsinki.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;People are having their own perspective and opinion about tsunami. But for the obvious reason, many people see tsunami as the deadliest natural disaster that took their family, house and everything. They see tsunami as something that destroyed the countries without any reason. But I can say like this for My sake, Look deeper. Look deeper what is the effect deside the destroyed land. Look deeper what the people of Aceh receive from the disaster.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;As a matter of fact, tsunami gave a good influence at the peace of Aceh. A 30-year-old civil war was ended by tsunami. Aceh was sort of reset by God because of the unending able civil war. GAM handed their weapons and trade them with Indonesian army. Slow but sure, the peace is already there among Acehnese. There is no more people of GAM and ordinary people, there is only Acehnese. Everyone helps each other to build Aceh like it was before the tsunami, even better. They do not have different villages, different mosques, differents infrastuctures, because there are only few left. For comparison, there was 1000 peoples before each village, now there are only 100. They are united by their own suffering, reflects to what happened behind. They deserve the peace as a trade of their misery.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;a onclick="return false;window.open(this.href, '_blank', 'width=196,height=266,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" href="http://primahayuningputri.blogs.friendster.com/.shared/image.html?/photos/uncategorized/10712893.gif"&gt;&lt;img src="http://primahayuningputri.blogs.friendster.com/my_blog/images/10712893.gif" title="10712893" alt="10712893" style="margin: 0px 5px 5px 0px; float: left;" border="0" height="271" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Constructed plans are implementing by Government's institution. They are building permanent houses to move people living in tents and barracks. They are planning to set Aceh the earliest by 2007, not only better by infrastructure, but also the people. They are setting up people who will always look forward. Aceh will be better in every aspects of their life. This is probably the best way to stop the problem surrounded Aceh, by destroying all and starting it all over again. Acehnese do have their bad memory, but they are being ready to start their new life with new spirit and be a better land.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;People are living in this big world, with their family, job, and everything which make their life happy. At the same time, God, the biggest creature who owns this life, watches us. Many happening in our life, sometimes we even do not know what we are doing or what are going to happen. We never know what is happening until it happens. We know that there will be always a reason behind everything, but not anyone can see, even after it is happening. We can always look better if we look deeper, can't we??&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: justify;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-113580758830889486?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/113580758830889486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=113580758830889486&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/113580758830889486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/113580758830889486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2005/12/year-of-tsunami_28.html' title='a year of Tsunami'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-113378534194863523</id><published>2005-12-05T13:17:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-12-30T16:52:05.586+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>The Power of a Thing Called WORD</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/we.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/we.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/u.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/u.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;I&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt; look into this picture and realize, this is the time when i need THEM the most&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;   &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204); text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;I didnt mean to be sensitive in this writing. It looks so cliche to write something like this (yes-i know). But now I am desperate and longing for a thing called family. Usually when you are in a distance with your family, by then you will recognize how precious they are. &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;   &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204); text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;i&gt; cliche-feeling or sensitivity (mmm...call it whatever you like, please. But i know that you know what kind of feeling i'm talking about) That's why I am trying to say that it's not always great to feel like this, especially if you cant grab them in a while.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p  style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204); text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;   &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204); text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;This is my feeling, you can freely reflect it as you. If you won't, you can always read it.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;   &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204); text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;To be honest, I dont know why i will remember my family particularly when I am not feeling good. It could be when I'm broken heart, running out of money, alone, or call it when in trouble. And positively that's make me feel guilty. I feel terrible and ask to myself why dont I remember them when I am laughing, having much money, travelling somewhere, and the things that relates with JOY?? Although it is not absolutely like that. I dont know...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;   &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204); text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;For the last two months, i've been in the trouble, i can say, it was a big trouble. Thank God that there was still someone helped me to live. During that time, i knew that my family, specially my mom and my middle-sister, were in the same big problem as mine because they wanted to help me. My mom almost called me every two days and asked how was i going. I understand why she did it, because that's the only thing that she could do. Why? because in this case, my mom couldnt tell my dad for asking his help, we knew that it would be more terrible if dad knew it. She kept calling me and pretended that everything would be okay, she kept supporting me for not being hopeless and keep struggling. In those moments, i felt that every single support that came from her mouth is the most precious word ever, EVER! She said that i shouldnt be affraid of any barrier that might be happened, she knew that it was just for a while. Those words made me powerful again, again and again, no matter how much i will fall.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;   &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204); text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Finally my father knew the problem. My mom told him. Suddenly, someday in the middle of the night, he called me and asked me how was i going. He asked me about the trouble and was i okay?? He said that he would help me and asked me for detailed information. After that conversation, he told me that he was on the way to bring my sister to her school. I recognized that it was 5 o'clock in the morning in Jakarta, and he had already on the way. He told me that my sister started her school again today after holiday, the traffic would be crowded if they didnt get earlier and they were almost late. He told me about the new car, that it was more comfortable, that the car was still in the good condition,, and so on,, and so on... For short he told me about all the things that i've already known about. And the conversation ended by my word, "Udah ya pak", because i couldnt stand my feeling and i cried and i didnt want my father to hear it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p  style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204); text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;   &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204); text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Word is only a word. But there are two conditions that will make words so precious for the one who will hear it. &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;   &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204); text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;1. When the words is really important to you, and you got to remember it.&lt;br /&gt;2. When the words is not important at all but it come from the people who you needed the most, in the exact time, place and condition. I didnt say that it could only be your family. It could be everyone. It could be from a blind person that you dont know who ask for your help to take him accross the road, and it was asked when you feel that no one need you in the world, by then you'll know that you are needed.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;   &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: center; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-113378534194863523?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/113378534194863523/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=113378534194863523&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/113378534194863523'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/113378534194863523'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2005/12/power-of-thing-called-word.html' title='The Power of a Thing Called WORD'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19590997.post-113378297589883854</id><published>2005-12-05T12:19:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-12-30T16:53:22.033+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People and I'/><title type='text'>Women's Worth</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/1600/Africawoman%20Malawi%20Pictures%20768%202.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7517/1941/320/Africawoman%20Malawi%20Pictures%20768%202.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;i&gt;I read a slide-article on International Herald Tibune last week about a tragic story of african women. These story was opening both of my eyes about the other world's life and how thankful I am for everything I have. I realise not everyone could be as lucky as I am, or you are....&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;CHIKUTU, MALAWI. Mapendo Simbeye's problems began early last year when the barren hills along Malawi's northern border with Tanzania rejected his attempts to grow even cassava, the hardiest crop of all. So to feed his wife and five children, he said, he went to his neighbor, Anderson Kalabo, and asked for a loan. Kalabo gave him 2,000 kwacha - about $16. The family was fed. But that created another problem: How could Simbeye, a penniless farmer, repay Kalabo?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;The answer would positively shock most of you, but there, it is a custom. Simbeye sent his 11-years-old daughter to Kalabo's hut. There she became a servant for his first-wife and of course, Kalabo's new bed partner.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;Now 12, Mwaka-Simbeye's daughter's name- said that she never knew that she meant to be Kalabo's second wife, a man who roughly three decades older than her. "I didn't know anything about marriage" she said. Mwaka ran away, and her parents took her back after six months. But a week's journey through Malawi's dry and mountainous north suggests her escape is the exception. In remote lands like this - where boys are valued far more than girls, older men prize young wives, fathers covet dowries and mothers are powerless to intervene - many African girls like Mwaka must leap straight from childhood to marriage at a word from their fathers, sometimes years before they reach puberty.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;    &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;The consequences they face are: schooling cut, early pregnancies and hazardous births and in years exposure to HIV-AIDS. Studies show that the average of marriage age in Malawi remains among the world's lowest, and the percentage of adolescent mothers the world's highest.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;There is a lot of talk, but the value of the girl child is still low," said Seodi White, Malawi's coordinator for the Women in Law in Southern Africa Research Trust. "Society still clings to the education of the boy, and sees the girl as a trading tool. In the north, girls as early as 10 are being traded off for the family to gain. After that, the women become owned and powerless in their husbands' villages."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;    &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt; Many choose misery over divorce because custom decrees that children in patriarchal tribes belong to the father. Uness Nyambi said she was betrothed as a child so her parents could finance her brother's choice of a bride. Now about 17, she has two children and a husband who guesses he is 70. "Just because of these two children, I cannot leave him," she said. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;    &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt; Beatrice Kitamula, 19, was forced to marry her wealthy neighbor, now 63, five years ago because her father owed another man a cow. "I was the sacrifice," she said. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;        &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt; Malawi government officials say they try hard to protect these girls. Legislation before Parliament would raise the minimum age for marriage to 18, the worldwide norm. Marriages of Malawian girls from 15 to 18 are now legal with the parents' consent. Women's rights advocates say they welcome the proposal, even though its effect would be limited because many marriages here, like much of the sub-Saharan region, take place under traditional customs, not civil law.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;    &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt; The government trained about 230 volunteers last year in ways to protect children, especially girls. Volunteers for Malawi's Human Rights Commission, Roman Catholic Church workers and police victim-protection units also try to intervene. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;    &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt; In Iponga, for example, Mbohesha Mbisa averted a forced marriage to her uncle at age 13 last year by walking to the local police station, where officers persuaded her father to drop his plans. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;    &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt; Still, Malawi officials say this region's growing poverty, worsened by AIDS and a recent crop-killing drought, has put even more young girls at risk of forced marriage. Their households can no longer pay for their daily needs.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;Mwaka Simbeye has her fellow villagers in Chikutu to thank for her return to her parents' home after her sojourn in her neighbor's hut. Her father, Mapendo Simbeye, who repaid his $16 with Mwaka, said he took her back after hearing that the local police could arrest him. He said he underestimated her, adding, "My daughter is worth more than 2,000 kwacha." "I did it out of ignorance," he said. "I had five kids, no money and no food. Then Kalabo wanted the money back so I thought of selling the daughter. I didn't know I was abusing her."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;i&gt;What a tragic world... I can't say a word, I think you could conclude by yourself...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;p  style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 204);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19590997-113378297589883854?l=primahayuningputri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/feeds/113378297589883854/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19590997&amp;postID=113378297589883854&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/113378297589883854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19590997/posts/default/113378297589883854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://primahayuningputri.blogspot.com/2005/12/womens-worth.html' title='Women&apos;s Worth'/><author><name>Puteri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17675472412065911341</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IJu3hcXgjNo/SOdoTFuo_qI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YH-pteiYUME/S220/ohmi.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
