It hurts... so bad

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.

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.”

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.

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.

“Mother, I have been feeling ugly”.

“Why is it like that Honey? What makes you feel that?”

“I don’t know Mother, but it is just people keep saying that to me? Do you know what is wrong with me Mother?”

“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.”

“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?”

“Oh Honey, who has been saying those things to you?”

“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.”

“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.”

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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.

Happy Birthday

One of my favorite days in my life.
I am thankful because people still do remember my day.
Today is just perfect and full of nice people.
I just realized that having a birthday is not only about me.
It is more about people around me,
who make me feel that the day is indeed special.

:)

Weekend: Family Time

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.

:)

The Search

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.

It appeared that she is jealous because I believe in something. And I've never heard such thing before. That was why I stayed.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

Doubts. The only question would be.. about what?

About which one. About why I should choose.

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.

It sounds like positive. Have you ever had some doubts about it thou?

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.

I am also telling myself, again, now, that that time will come.

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Based on a nice talk with Aimee van Dinten. Details of the story do not refer to the actual conversation.

A short dialogue with a Painter

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.

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....

still. silence was all over him. silentness. mute. nothing.

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.

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".

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.

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.

He enjoys painting.

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'.

He is back on business, without supplier, without partner, without office. Just the business. He calls his new life, an enjoyable life.

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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.

Shit!

When you are trapped in a shitty life, all you can do is saying
Shit!
Shit!
Shit!
without having any power of walking away.

Unique/Strange

I had a short coversation with a friend of mine.

Me : What are u up to?
Him: Just bought an ipod nano from ebay.
Me : Ah, I thought you said you dont listen to music.
Him: Well I dont like music. Ive never bought any album since '93.
Me : So what music are u putting on it?
Him: I listen to red hot chilly pepper, greenday, matisyahu, eminem.
Me : hmm... i doesnt sound like your music.
Him: Why? whats that suppose to mean?
Me : Nothing.

After a while...

Him: It sounded like you said that my music isnt excentric for an excentric person like me.
Me : exactly.
Him: well, I listen frank zappa too.
Me : ok
Him: and lordi. do you know?
Me : no.
Him: finnish band
Me : ok. sounds like you arent that happy i said your music isnt excentric.
Him: yeah. I dont wanna people think Im normal
Me : ok


Well, excentric is being different.
And being different is about two choices.
Unique/Strange.

my baggy-jeans boy

I seriously do not want to be cliche or sentimental.

I'd just like to write something about him, as my deep appreciation to him.
My friend, my brother, my soul mate, my supporter.
My love.

It's been a year 8 months and 21 days.

White side:
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.

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.

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 Nijmegen. 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!

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 Indonesia 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.

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.

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.

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.

Say 'Never' to stereotypical drawing

Tonite I chatted with Aryo. As usual, that was an MEANINGLESS chatting about MEANINGLESS things. Finally we ended up drawing on yahoo doodle- One of YM's IMvironment which enables you to draw in the chatting box.

So, we drew.
Something of course...
MEANINGFUL!


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!

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.

Tell me you'd never done this!!!
I bet that you gotta be an extraordinary Indonesian kid.

Ibu Bernyawa 5

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.

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.

"Emang berapa harganya sih lipsticknya??"
"20 ribu". Hati saya terasa mau copot mendengarnya. Lalu apa sebabnya saya tanyakan lagi ke adik saya.
"Lah, kenapa ga dibeli terus?
"Soalnya 20 ribu bisa buat uang makan besok"

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.

Gossiping; Gossiper; Gossip

Main Entry: ²gossip
Function: intransitive verb
: to relate gossip
- gos·sip·er noun


Main Entry: ¹gos·sip
Pronunciation: 'gä-s&p
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English gossib, from Old English godsibb, from god god + sibb kinsman, from sibb related -- more at SIB
1 a dialect British : GODPARENT b : COMPANION, CRONY c : a person who habitually reveals personal or sensational facts about others
2 a : rumor or report of an intimate nature b : a chatty talk c : the subject matter of gossip

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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.

What do you talk about when you are gossiping?? People!
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.

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.

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.

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.

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….

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.

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.

Being picky is the key!!!

I hope you dance

Last Thursday I had a dance performance at an elderly-house nearby Utrecht (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.

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.

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 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).

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.

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.

5 minutes before performance....

We were called by the EO to stand nearby the hall, we got out…

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Arnhem-Nijmegen's Cooking Competition

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.

This competition was so fresh, new and innovative. We 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.

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!!!!

Here are some best photos of us, Stadsboerderij Meisjes...

Bergaya Sebelum Beraksi.....uhuhuhuhu














































Ber Yel-Yel Ria Demi The Most Festive Certificate!! (hhh..murahan!)
















Senyum Deg-degan menunggu hasil Juri cicip-cicip


















Masakan Ala Stadsboerderij Meisjes....La Ham du Cille!!!















































Senang dan Haru menjadi Sang Tim Paling Meriah.....
































Photo Ria bersama 'Maskot' Lekker Hoor Cooking Competition...
(huhuhu memaskotkan diri)
























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)



Well.... what a day what a meisje!!!
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

Yeah..yeah...at least we won something although not because of the taste of our cook, but our costume...hihihihihi a bit miserable!!! pis...

Women's Worth

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....

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?

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

What a tragic world... I can't say a word, I think you could conclude by yourself...