Confession and Beyond

2011-12-26T10:40:00.000+07:00

My family has never been big on Christmas; we do not have a decorated tree, we do not exchange presents, and Santa Claus was the guy from primary school who we get to take pictures with when we were small. Christmas has always been a holiday and generally involves my parents abducting us to church, bribed with food afterwards.

On Christmas Eve this year, I made it rather clear that I would not be joining them for church. What is the point in showing up merely once a year, I thought? Once is better than none, my dad argued. Look at it as an outing, my brother added. I gave in, and by 20h we were sitting nicely in the car driving to church.

The church was not the one that we normally went to when I was a small girl, before we moved. The smell however was the same; the church packed while the people solemn and quiet. The mass started and I turned my attention towards the children carrying crosses, candles, and flowers, followed by the group of pastors. The rituals of songs and conversational preaches were religiously performed. I followed blankly, a dutiful act of copying and herding, until I began feeling stupid for I have not understood the why of it all. I frowned and wondered whether someone might frown at me if I were to leave the young mass.

My dad suddenly turned and asked me with obvious silent signs to figure out the page that contains the text currently being sung. I flipped through the booklet, and my ultimate finding was followed by his slow singing that either joined or trailed the mass. He held the booklet towards me, hoping that I would participate and yet silent I remained.

I wanted to throw in a witty remark, or to ask whether they understand the rituals we were supposed to follow. However, seeing them joining and stumbling but continuously trying silenced me. This is their ritual, their way of seeking solace and finding meanings. Who am I to judge?

I didn't start singing, I didn't say a word when we were supposed to fill the void, I didn't have an epiphany on that sacred night. Instead, I sat there sandwiched between my dad on my left and my mom on my right throughout until the end. A slight nostalgia flirted with me, and we proceeded to supper at a sandwich place after we claimed my brothers who were sitting outside the church and stayed awake until midnight.

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, wherever you are and whoever you are with.

2011-12-05T09:28:00.002+07:00

Recently, there has been a strange development in my nocturnal activities: I have started beading and making my own bracelets. Hours would past unnoticed while I try to combine colors into a harmony that I would wear and later undo the next day as I would be no longer satisfied with it. Days would past like this, elastic strings attached and dis attached, beads joined and separated once more. Happy.

Last Saturday, I decided to visit the traditional local crafts market whose name is legendary for the creative bunch that by all account excludes me; visible in how lost I was throughout my entire stay there, as evident by the number of people asking me which store I am looking for in the sincere pity for a lost duck.

I wandered around, amused by everything yet anxious of finding anything. I walked out of the last beads store in vain, ready to give up for the day, to the music of traditional Indonesian acoustic. I walked aimlessly, nostalgic from the little carts selling the simple delicacies of my childhood. I walked through the textile stores selling cloths, where the Indian and Indonesian owners called out for the wandering to pay a visit through their prided collections.

Suddenly, my gaze was stolen and frozen on a dark brown silk Batik that flows down the headless mannequin's contoured cotton body with the splendors of hand-painted golden flowers near her ankle. Despite my complete lack of basic sewing or other cloth-processing awareness, I walked in and left with 2m of it. All the while, the musicians played on in the humid heat of the outdoors.

I felt like a Javanese princess, electronic readers, it was so beautiful that this simple act remained with me until today.

2011-11-25T10:16:00.003+07:00

I pace the car slowly. This city deserves its famous legendary traffic, I thought. After almost 3 months of daily driving, I realized that traffic does not tend to bring the best in people. Apparently, being stuck incites the feeling of a zero-sum situation. Honks everywhere; some people just cannot realize that loudness does little in ensuring a smoother ride. I sip my coffee in a disguised annoyance from my I heart Jakarta tumbler that the Bear had personalized for me. It is black and bitter, just the way I prefer it.

My brother who sometimes shares the ride with me is vast asleep on the first passenger chair. He reminds me of a cat sleeping in the sun on the porch during the lazy afternoons. I brake and noticed that he too had noticed the simple change in motion. He looks up sleepily, slowly observed the abundance of stationary cars around for 2 seconds before he falls back into another round of sleep.

I feel the Friday morning blues subsiding; I had become increasingly awake and aware of my surroundings. Another honk, another angry driver. Bangsat, he cursed. An intriguing thing about the Indonesians I realized is how they can be incredibly angry at one second and in another shares the most sincere smile when he walks in the office. It’s as if they have two personas, one for traffic mode and another for working mode.

The traffic light turned red and brought an army of street sellers along with it. Various assortments from mints to sweets, energy drinks to water, mangoes to fried tofu, little electric cars and mini whiteboards , faces on covers of the latest daily newspapers and magazines are offered straight to my window to which I politely said no to.

A man walked towards my car. His face looked down, conveying the implicit difficulties he is having through this simple act. He was carrying another man, whose face was dim and eyes demanded my gaze. His legs looked unhealthily thin
Thoughts raced in my head. To give or not to give, that is the question. I did not have any food nor water that I could give. Having grown up in this city, I am aware of the existence of mobs who send kids with babies, along with the disabled to the streets of Jakarta for money, anything, in exchange for nothing more than shelter.

Some of the disabled were not born that way, and wouldn’t more money act as an incentive for such behavior in the first place? I weigh the marginal costs and benefits associated with each act, and found myself back in the same place where I started.

I opened my window and gave me some of my change. The man carried looked at me and smiles, broken and yellowing teeth in full display of sincerity. The man carrying him remained motionless, and the only reaction he gave was to move on. After all, I had bought what he was selling: moral justification.

2011-11-16T13:36:00.002+07:00

I have always wondered how the bus system in Jakarta works. And I do not mean the Trans Jakarta ones, but the green shabby ones with a yellowing Kopaja written faithfully; the monsters that I grew up with. Unlike the fixed stops I am used to, I rarely see such points in this city. What I see instead are buses stopping in the middle of the road as they wish, I assume to pick up the passengers. This observation led me to wonder whether no driver nor potential passengers ever complain against this erratic-ness.

This morning the traffic was surprisingly light, and I was finally close to my office when I saw an orange bus with no doors (the perfect specimen to represent its kind) slowing when a guy and a girl raised their hands in unison; the signal to summon I take it. A guy with visible money in his left hand jumped out from the back door while the guy jumped steadily and the girl carefully onto the front door. After ensuring the passengers were safely in, the money guy jumped back in and the doorless bus left in speed leaving no other trail of its presence but a cloud of smoke behind.

I watched the silent 5-seconds affair in a strange excitement while waiting for the red light. A second later a guy on a motorbike infront of me fell when another motorbike ignorantly pushed it on its elusive pursue to move forward amidst all the stationarity. I saw the first guy fell on the ground, accompanied by a loud thump of his vehicle on the concrete. Before I could even blink, 5 other guys rushed off their motorbikes and helped the guy up before attending to his bike. The perpetrator jumped off and apologized with sincerety in his eyes. The victim raised his hand and put on a reassuring face that he is alright.

The light turned green and everyone climbed back on their vehicles and drove on to start their day.

2011-11-08T10:19:00.002+07:00

One of the crucial component of effective strategy to get through a working day in Jakarta is to wake up early. Admittedly, waking up early is not a proud trait I possess; I am shamefully not a fully functioning human being prior to my morning caffeine indulgence. This morning was an achievement even to me, to my surprise I drove through my office's gate before the clock struck 8. I smiled to the security squad, a wide smiled good morning hello that they are accustomed to have as much as I am accustomed to exhibit.

I put my engine to rest, a privilege I was deprived from at this early hour when Jakarta is still surprisingly cold. The rain season has started, leaving me amused with the frequency and variety of water falling from the sky.

I opened the door, and saw one of our Office Boys watering the grass. It took me awhile to recognize him outside of his familiar uniform. He was lost in his music, black earphones resting in his ears and evidently kept him happily watering in his own world. His head accompanied his body, swaying to the left and then to the right, sometimes first and later lagged. His steps are guided by the rhythm that only he was aware of while ensuring that the grass is happily fed. His eyes were half-closed, while his smile unabashed, unapologetic; the opposite of the polite smiles that I received daily.

Simple things that make this city special.

2011-10-29T09:14:00.001+07:00

Friday. As usual the thought of the approaching weekend led me to flirt with the idea of coming home early, but this time the acquisition of an Ondaatje classic had given this idea a magnetic pull. I shrugged it off with my cup of coffee and morning newspaper in this office ritual, excited to know what I will come home to. Little did I know that now at 13h I am already sitting in my car on my way back through the screaming crowd of people.

I was having my lunch when I heard the door open. The boss had come to find me. Apparently today is the National Youth Day when a peaceful demonstration by students is scheduled that lends its history to the flashpoint of 1928. Disappointments related to the current government, that was what I had read.

From the moment she opened the door, I quickly sensed the air of urgency in her eyes. Apparently our HR just told the team regarding the growing rumor that involves the imminent anti-Chinese riots in Jakarta. She encouraged me to take the day off. I looked at her in disbelief. Surely these things would be possible back then in the 90s? Indonesia was a different Indonesia then, so much have been acknowledged now? Didn't we already went through this?

She looked at me, acknowledging that rumors are just rumors. But what if it would be true? That slight chance was enough for her to grant me the day off. She offered to call for a security officer from the HQ to escort me home and I politely refused. Nonetheless, I packed my bags and left my bule and Indonesian colleagues while they resume their work.

--

They look clueless as they walk towards the main street. Most look like they are having fun being in the crowd more than anything else. Some are singing their provincial anthems, some are screaming demands that became inaudible due to the quality of the microphones, some just laughed and smiled and went along. The traffic stifled any possible movement. More buses came, evidently heavy with people. More people came, more flags are waved, and the louder everything becomes. We were sheltered behind iron and glass but not much safer did it made us feel. No honks were declaring annoyance of being stuck in traffic; we were left to be silent observers in our own cars.

--

Indonesia today is not the Indonesia that it was. We have entered a new phase following the fall of the regime, and we have been lucky to be where we are. Surely there are flaws and problems that engulf this country, drawing us to think whether this country is drowning faster and faster. But as my colleague sharply pointed out, it is not that bad. The mere fact that we could walk down the street without any protection, that we could have lunch together with no fear is what makes us lucky. My thoughts went to passive curiosity whether the Arab Spring would be as fortunate.

--

It is raining and I am sitting in a coffee shop with fragmented thoughts. The sun is shining yet water poured down. It was not however the intense tropical rain that swallowed the city in its might as the last week. This is a soft rain, a gentle rain that has a calming effect. It refreshes one's thoughts, leaving me to wonder whether it has the same effect for those currently standing and shouting and waving and blocking the veins of Jakarta.

I rest my chunky stroopwafel above my steaming cup and read on.

2011-10-09T18:30:00.002+07:00

More than 8 weeks ago I had packed and shipped 4 boxes of my life back to Indonesia without realizing to bring working clothes in my own suitcase. For a month, stealing my sister's clothes kept me from looking like a hobo in the office. But last night when I came home, they were there. My boxes are there. I was in utter disbelief, was it tiredness that caused the hallucinations? I have read stories about this.

The next morning they were still there. My boxes have made it home. I took the morning off to rummage through them, opening each boxes brought a smile to my face. The joy of being reunited! Working pants! Proper shirt! Heels! Books! Bed cover! The drought is over!!!

Yet with more item I touched, the heavier my heart becomes. How long ago has it been since I lived with them in my room in Holland? I realized how they became an ambassador of my life there, a bridge that still needs to be reconnected. Heavy in reminiscence, I began pondering why I have yet to feel happy to be back.

2011-09-10T21:32:00.008+07:00

Two months ago, on a peaceful morning in a little espresso bar in Rotterdam there sat two young souls who met for a cup of coffee and a chat in good company. They were talking about their academic pursue, the coffee, their different yet interesting experiences and the unknown future when they began discussing holiday plans. One of them is in love with nature, the beauty of our ecosystem and how we all fit together, while the other smiles and sips her coffee imagining horrific encounters with bugs and bears. The person who imagined the bugs and bears was me, yours truly, and the friend felt challenged to convert yours truly into a nature girl. By our last sips we had compromised and decided spontaneously to go to my country to visit Borneo and Bali at the end of the Summer break.

A week later with no sign of malaria, I am proud to announce that I came back alive. I did not become a nature girl as my friend had intended, and she came back to Europe saying things like she is dying and she needs a lifeplan. It is such a beautiful thing to see how travelling buddies take each other’s traits without even realizing it. Having finished my first week of internship, I opened the picture folder from the trip and could not help but to feel a sense of warm nostalgia. I got off my chair, opened my right drawer and found my Lyon-Floral Paperback journal in it loyally. I opened it, browse through to the Borneo part and began reading. My imagination came back to those days, when everything seems to be a different world and I was a traveler, curious and scared and anxious and excited. It is so beautiful, I sat there reading through my journal and my mind plays the scenes back in my head. Everything feels so surreal yet at the same time I feel like I can even smell the trees, the river, the starry night…

From my journal:

August 23, 2011
Gunung Palung, Borneo day 2

We were woken up this morning by our guide at 5h30 by flashing his torchlight on our faces. At times like this we cannot help but to think back of the melodious sounds of our mothers with breakfast and orange juice on the table. After a cup of sweet tea and biscuits, we went for our first mini exploration through the rain forest, saw quite some animals high up on the trees; a good exercise for the eyes and ears. I felt like I was in a movie. I still cannot believe that I am here. It’s so different… hundreds of years of life(s) facilitated by this grand ecosystem I still fail to understand. Leaves everywhere in all sorts of shades. A lifecycle, the tree gives and it takes; it supports, feeds and decomposes while life continues, thriving in this harmony of mess. What surprises me the most is how clear everything sounds; the birds chirping like prehistoric dinosaurs that preceded them. Centuries old bugs who have been there for as long as the river flows. I close my eyes and open it again in an orchestra of species around me living together, supporting and predating on one another.

--

Back again at the lodge after a day of hiking. Tired yes, I have been sweating in parts that I did not know can sweat. I admit it was rough, and more than once did I regretted being there. It is so different from what I am used to, admittedly much more difficult than what my naïve mind chose to ignore. I guess it is great to be so spontaneous, yet nothing is worse than not being prepared enough. As we climbed and carefully descended the steep terrains, the seriousness of it all occurred to me. People died here, I could die here. Sadly once more I succumb to admit that my parents are once again proven to know better… I did thought that it was a piece of cake, when thorns hide skillfully between the layers all along. Do things you are scared of, take chances and live to the fullest. Yet never ever again underestimate what something entails, for there are always consequences for every decision that you make. In any case I am proud of myself to have not fallen, rolling down the mountain chased by possibly screaming or laughing Joann.

August 26, 2011
Tanjung Puting, Borneo day 5

Today was really memorable – shreds of images I will one day play in my head in glowing reminiscence. As I sat comfortably on the upper floor of my klotok, accompanied by my book, diary and pen, I couldn’t help but to feel like a princess. The smell of jasmine, intermingled with a chorus of insect repellent and sun protection soon received the attention of my nose. Without me realizing it they had mixed themselves on my skin everyday, masqueraded as my personal odor.

Through the swamp forest as we prepare our lunch, we became aware of the animals that were watching us high up on their branches. Monkeys, squirrels, birds and crocodiles that disappeared in a blink of an eye. I abandoned my camera even when the Proboscis monkeys follower our curious gazes, perhaps curiously too. “Dutch monkeys, that’s what we call these beauties,” our guide Hakim exclaimed. “Why?” I inquired. “Because they have yellow hair and big noses!” he explained with a smile that I returned.

Gradually, the water became black yet remained odorless, adding t the beauty of the smaller river ways. Hakim told us that somewhere below us, the dragon fishes lurk in the dark water, swimming without realizing the danger brought by their value. Soon we arrived, and after a quick tour to the Orang Utan feeding session we made our way through the primary forest where less have trodden. It was beautiful; the silence, the crack of dried leaves with every steps, the shyness of which the sun could not shower us completely with its light due to the canopies… Sometimes however there would be clearer areas, and the sun light would pierce through it and dazzled me with its beauty.

The klotok ride home was perhaps the most mesmerizing of all. The luminosity of the dark water seemed as a mirror that doubled everything that we saw. For some moment I was not sure which was up and which was down. The sun began to retreat, ripe in its color and warm in its glow. The trees growing from both sides, beckoning the clear dark river. Everything was perfectly mirrored. It was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen, and my eyes begged for it to stay yet it never did. I blink. I see the sun on my eyelashes. The wind blows slowly, tenderly moving through my hair. Such richness.. chirps, howls, singing, calling, a feast for the untrained ears. I blink and everything would change, a moment to another. It only left me with a sense of gratitude of being able to be there. I feel so awake, the moments unfold in all its perfection. I sat there, mindful of the passing moment, happily contented.

When night finally falls, I closed my eyes under the bright, numerous stars of Borneo. The milky way stretches itself, occasionally I would be granted of a wish under the falling star. My meditative state was broken only by the call of Hakim, marking our trek in search of the flowing mushrooms that unfortunately remained elusive.

We continued our journey to Bali, and in this island the anxiety from the realization of coming back to reality began to show in our minds. Internet, tourists, people on the streets calling out for us to buy something from them. How we missed the sanctuary of our humble hut! Yet Bali to me remains one of those places where something, I am not sure what or who or where or why or how or when, would remind me to breathe. This time it was the driver from our hotel that took us to a Japanese restaurant for dinner, in a 10-minute car ride conversation that raised my goosebumps for how timely those words from that stranger could be. We ended our night in a jazz bar in Ubud, and so ends our little travel that I will never forget in years to come.

“All this has reinforced my suspicion that adventure travel, whether armchair, or up-close-and-personal, has less to do with what’s there to be seen as what we have in us to see. We can travel the globe and see nothing, or wander through our gardens and be filled with awe by what we’s never previously imagined. For me, Indonesia remains one of the lats wild bits at the bottom of the garden of our world.”
-Lawrence Blair
Bali, 2009
Taken from The Ring of Fire

2011-08-19T02:28:00.002+07:00

I was telling a friend of how anxious I get sometimes when I think of the great unknown ahead when she told me the first thing I should do is dust-off my blog. Great wisdom in that, considering that I have put aside reflections and the like for one-and-a-half months now. I have been traveling, and in the meantime finished my bachelor thesis and with it my 3-yrs education.

On one of my last travels from Paris we had to change trains in Rotterdam. When I walked down the stairs with my suitcases, I didnt realized how nostalgic I would get once I saw the familiar hallway to the platforms. Rotterdam Centraal, the plate notes. My heart sunk. I wanted to go home, to walk the familiar route to my flat, unpack, uncork a bottle and enjoy a night in with my Bear.

I am leaving tomorrow back to Indonesia, first to Borneo and then straight to my internship in Jakarta. It hit me I am leaving not just a city but a life. Three years, never did I realized how that life become a home. The mistakes I learnt. The books I read. The emotions I endured. The roads I biked. The studies I followed. The experiences I lived. The friends I met. The love I found. The laughters I shared.

How can one pack that?

A friend told me that the concept of home is relative, there is no absolute home. If there is one, then it would be in you. For things change, people leave and places disappear. You are there, in the beginning and ever will be. You are home. You decide where you want to live, where you'd like to go, who you'd like to share it with, but you are your home. It's in your brain, in your heart and in your blood. That is home.

As I board that plane tomorrow, you are the ones I will be thinking of. Let me tell you a little secret, this thought kept me awake at nights in fear. To leave the known to the unknown is a choice that I believe will develop one's self, yet scared I still am. Like a little girl lost, scared yet serenaded by the sound of violin.

The little step to another chapter, the journey began with that single step. The journey where, one may ask as I asked myself numerously these past few days. The journey home,

perhaps.

2011-06-29T00:53:00.004+07:00

It's a thunderstorm outside. The rain seems to pour without mercy. The lightning breaks the darkness with a loud grumble. I am inside, calmly sipping my chilled wine. Maybe I am calm because a thunderstorm is breaking havoc in my too. Do people who are lucky enough to face the uncertainty of opening a new chapter face the same thing?

I am coming home. After three years of a certain study period, I am coming home. Why? That it a question I am yet to know the answer. I guess the hardest thing about living abroad is that flight back from home. Where the realization that your family is getting older without you grips your heart like a constrictor killing its prey.

I do not have anything waiting for me after I hand in my thesis this month. The job I wanted and worked hard for to continue my study did not happen. It started the thunderstorm, not because of not getting it but the questions it raised within me on where I would like my life to bring me.

When I was 5, a clown at a friend's birthday party asked me what I want to be when I grew up. I said I wanted to be a boss, like my dad. My dad could have never been prouder, boasting to everyone he knew how I wanted to be a boss. Another year later I wanted to be a president. Then a lawyer. A photographer. A war-journalist. A writer. A designer. An economist.

My study intrigues me. To help things out I found out soon enough that I am good at it. It developed me, challenged me and for that I am grateful for. But not getting that job made me realize of these passions I turned away from for the fear of not being good enough. The risks. The uncertainties.

I did not get the job I wanted. I do not know what I will do.

I enrolled myself to a summer French course, 4hrs a day from 9am for two weeks. I am taking the test tomorrow.

I am flying home in August, travelling first to Borneo and then back to Jakarta for the foreseeable future.

And I could not be happier.

2011-06-02T01:20:00.002+07:00

Today started like any other day. Breakfast was enjoyed, clothes worn, things put in the bag. But bike would not start - the wheels could not roll. It was like a bird who hurt its wings, deprived of the simple pleasure of normality from flying. Someone had kicked the backwheel, and as the force pushed it the front wheel held firm to its post and was simultaneously bent.

After class, Bear helped me to bring my bike to the bikeshop. He examined the tires and predicted grimly. We tried nonetheless. Throughout the journey the wheels made the most heartbreakingly soft sound. It made me really worried. It was as if it was dying, lying there on its deathbed in silent suffering.

The verdict was final - Bikeguy confirmed Bear's belief. It will be too costly to repair - and even he advised against it. "It's not worth it," he assured us.

Bear looked at me sincerely and asked whether we should take it home and call someone to bring it to the bikegarbage, or should we release it into the wild unlocked and let it be stolen.

I swallowed hard. I would prefer to bring it home, yet the looming thought of it being shoven into a cage filled with broken bikes, waiting to be destroyed prevents me from deciding for it. If it would be left unlocked, some junkie will take it home, probably fix it and sell it to another student, giving it some more years.

The irony that I too had bought it from a junkie for 50bucks.

Bear stripped the flower bag off the back saddle, and chose a quiet neighborhood and unlocked it. I stood further away, watching Bear watch me and pat it goodbye. My eyes felt warm. I realized how heart broken I was seeing this bike which had been with me for almost 3 years, for as long as I have been living here in NL.

:(

I guess that is life - you get dependent on something, and the next thing you know randomly a stranger just comes along and kick it beyond repair.

Mnyaaaaaaaa

2011-05-19T17:41:00.000+07:00

2011-05-17T03:01:00.003+07:00

It is late at night. My fingers are tired of putting in data into excel, a typical day as thesis deadline draws near.

The numbers I am putting in became a routine, in the search of efficiency my brain saw the number and focused on transferring it into my database. The number is the number of people who died from collective violence in Indonesia's provinces in 1990s-2000s.

My eyes grew accustomed to the numbers, ranging from 0 to 1000 at a point in time. They became numbers, the deaths. Slowly I began asking why. Slowly I began pondering about the people behind the numbers.

Having lived and studied in the Netherlands, where convenience and safety is a birthright, I began to contrast things with my country - where I was born, where chaos is constant. Is that why I decided to write my final thesis on it?

The mind ponders. The fingers type. The night serenades. The number stays.

2011-04-06T04:58:00.003+07:00

An email arrived, a reply from a friend regarding my birthday invitation. As I will be celebrating it in the Netherlands and she resides in the US she is unable to make it. "We'll have a little celebration for you in New Orleans..."

A rush of missing gripped my heart. I miss my friend. I met her in Paris during our semester abroad last Fall. We met during the introduction weekend, she was a nice American girl living 2 storeys above my flat. Foreigners in a country we were excited to explore, we became friends. We travelled together, found joy in croissants and brie, shared bottles of wine.

After 4 months, politeness subsided and we stopped being nice to each other. That was when we became friends. Rough moments in missing families, lives prior, friends and boyfriends. It felt so long yet so short now.

When I was waiting for my train back to Rotterdam in December, talking to her in person for one last time over a glass of beer in Gare du Nord, did we finally realize how far we will be. We both know it will be years until we can poke and laugh at each other again for inherent loserness, perhaps that was what made it so hard.

Missings.

The bitterness reminds one to appreciate each moment, each person, you and me. Wake up, tell those you love just that, that you love them. For everything can change in the blink of an eye. One day we are going to wake up with just that. Missings.

Don't let it pass you by.

I miss you, friend, wherever you are.

2011-03-19T16:50:00.001+07:00

NvP to me:

"I appreciate having my own place, being able to study econometrics, to be a healthy person with no physical disabilities, to be in the honours class, living in peace, knowing so many great good people like you, to be free, to be loved & to be able to love, to have food every day against almost no cost...

Life is so easy.. So good.. I often just dont realize we're in fact in a paradise of freedom.. And that sometimes makes me unworthy of the life I was given.. So its time for me to appreciate more!

What do you appreciate in your life? :)"

2011-03-05T22:52:00.000+07:00

I went to an art supply store today to get cartons. On the way to the staircase, I noticed a woman painting. She was painting with all combinations of blue, mixing together and forming another beautiful shade that is nowhere else but there. I stopped and watched her moving her brush, the brush was dancing left and right, intently and relaxed. It was beautiful.

"It's beautiful," I said to the woman with a white apron which was covered in blue paint.

She was startled, looked at me and smiled so sincerely I still smile because of it.

2011-02-25T22:17:00.003+07:00

2011-02-24T01:09:00.004+07:00

It's funny how inherently fickled priorities are, how what you consider important today might be something that you have never even thought of, or even avoided, before. Does that make them less of a priority, if they change, if you know they will change? What are they?

A friend told me that when in doubt, just make sure you are going forward. "To go forward is always the right way...but what is the right way forward?"

But yet again what is forward?

I pondered upon this question - what is forward? Is it winning? Losing and learning? Falling and standing up again? Is it learning? Is it improvement?

I guess this depends on your definition of success. What is success to you? What matters most to you? What do you value the most at this point in time?

To know what you want close to your heart, what you would like to be remembered for, what you stood up for with every single thing that you do - isn's this mere acknowlegement already a way forward?

During a dinner with a friend she told me how she saw a little girl crying infront of a supermarket. She was lost. After a while her dad found her, shoved her off the ground and told her that everything is going to be alright while showing her the way home. She told me how at that point she felt a pang in her heart - she was envious of that little girl. A guiding hand, is that what we miss most as we grew up? Or is it just because we are growing up that we purposely left it behind, so that we would grow up?

I began to ponder.

2011-02-17T04:07:00.001+07:00

2011-02-11T23:54:00.001+07:00

"I missssssssss Brasil so much! Everything, especially the amosphere with all the friendly and optimistic people, who are never complaining and enfrent life with smiles on their faces no matter the diffuclties they are passing through. The fairytale country where everything is possible. Where every day is a big surprise, and things can change a lot from one moment to another. The land where people throw away their watches and live, party and take advantage of life, loving their close ones, like there might be no tomorrow, after all we never know whether we´ll be there tomorrow.... The country where you need no sleep, living on adrealine."

"...having the feeling that things have to be productive and otherwise they dont value anything is a disease of the western society I guess"

Well said, friend.

2011-02-07T22:45:00.003+07:00

She was sitting across from him
The table deorated with flickering candles -
they smelt like cinnamon-apples and vanila
They reminded her of their early days;
everything was so new
everything was so simple
everything was so easy

She looked at him and asked
She asked something that has been deep inside her
She asked:

"What would we do
if I go home?"

Silence. His eyes dimmed.

"Go home - you mean something for more than a year?"

Silence. Her eyes felt warm.

"Yes."

Silence. They looked away - deep in own thoughts.

They looked away.

Noone knew what to answer,
noone wanted to answer.

The night goes on.

2011-02-05T21:53:00.002+07:00

I have been reading through applications for the selection of the new HC year throughout my weekend. Only slightly more than 2 years ago was I in their position, applying for a nerdclub, a decision that I have never regretted even once. It always mesmerizes me how one finds oneself on the other end, to be able to see things not from that side but from here. It made you think on another level that you were not used to, pushing you to consciously think about the other side.

Reading through their applications admittedly interested me. Some of their resumés and motivations really do impressed me, while some failed to do the same. As I sit here sipping my tea, I began to wonder about my own application. What did I write? What did they think of it? Am I living up to it, did the words stayed fluffy yet empty? I began to think of where I was, where I am.

I was so naïve.

Lately I have been thinking alot of what is coming ahead, the choices that stands, ready to be made. Time seemed so short. The implications of the options, the steps and outcomes baffled me. The diversity overwhelming. I guess I forgot to think back to that girl 2 years ago who wrote her application, a little step that she did not realize would bring her here. She forgot to realize how far she's gone since.

I know that the choices I will soon have to make will not set my life in concrete, but I acknowledge the direction it will lead to an extent. Which direction would I like it to be? I tried finding my application, curious of what I wrote back then. Hoping to cheat from past-her to help future-her. I couldn't find it.

Will I know?

One would desire making something out of one's life - what that something is another matter altogether.

2011-02-04T00:59:00.000+07:00

2011-01-24T01:26:00.003+07:00

When I was in France doing nothing but eating and travelling, I aspired the day when I am back in Rotterdam, back in real life. For it was nice living without responsibilities - until the point that you feel itchy for something more.

I've been back for exactly a week now, it has been an incredibly demanding week. Emotionally and physically, I had to run to merely keep up with life. When I was in Indonesia for winter break, my program coordinator called me to ask whether I would join her team as her teaching assistant for the HC. Being a nerd that I always am I said absolutely.

Now on top of my 3 courses, I have another TA job and a position to lead the Board. Funny how one jumped from one spectrum of tasks to another in a heartbeat.

All eloquency aside, all I want to do is to punch Past Denica on her face.

Funny how humans are never satisfied - I guess complaining is a skill printed in too deep to hide.

I know it is alot and I am baffled by how I managed before but slowly I began to wake up not with dread of the fullness of the day but with a tiny excitement.

But of course, I still want to punch Past Denica on her face.

2011-01-17T23:44:00.002+07:00

First day back in university. Long. Meetings and interviews splashing cold water to wake you up to reality. Exciting yet abundant responsibilities to recarry. I came home and opened my door to this:

I walked and reached over to read the note. A smile was etched on my cheeks.

Love.

Danke schön, bulu.

2011-01-14T12:28:00.001+07:00

Yet another stay is drawing to another end. After almost a month being home, that flight back became more than a flight to another country, it became a flight to another life, another reality. Being here gives one the opportunity to realize, to slowly understand more yet at the same time to be more scared. The mere observation that provides the inevitable fact that your family is growing, each day a little bit older and never coming back, they’re growing older without you. This simple yet difficult thought derives one into emotional battles with one’s self, remarkably when one is about to leave yet once again.

For I realize that leaving becomes more difficult as one gets older, because they’re getting older.

One of my biggest fears is, god forbids, coming home because something had happened. The thought that you were not there kept me awake at nights.

Being a semester away from my degree, I began to ponder gamely what I would do with it. Will I start working, continue my studies, travel, come home? Each scenario was played in my head, closing none of the options. I used to have an idea of a life that I thought I would lead, a life envisioned. What I was continually reminded of is the pace by which they continually change, adapt to the you who you are at that moment. Dreams change. Time changes everything, priorities will be reshuffled. The more you think about it the more confused you get on which path to take next.

We make choices each day, yet some choices baffle with the intensity of the considerations that are being taken into account in order to make them.

I realize I am falling into another fallibility of mine; to think is a blessing yet a dreaded habit when one overdo it at times. A friend laughed and told me over coffee to keep it simple. She received a call one day last year when she was still studying in the States that something had happened to her father. She came back to be with her family and stayed here until now. She had dreams, maybe is she was given a choice she would not have preferred this but she made that choice and regrets nothing. Being here, she told me, did not destroy my dreams. It gave me another.

The idea that each choice will lead to a specifically different outcome might hinder one from making any choice at all. I guess a part of being human is that we just sometimes don’t know. I guess the wise thing to do is to limit it to one step at a time, the next step being that flight back in two days time into real life. The responsibilities that await, the lessons to be learnt entice yet scare me. For no one knows whether one is ready, perhaps ever. I suppose the wise thing to do is just to fly in and see.

2010-12-14T17:05:00.003+07:00

I woke up today to a beautiful day where the sun is smiling after weeks of grayness. It was when I had breakfast when I took notice of my wall. I realized how the pictures seemed to multiply itself, reminders, postcards. I remember the night I first came here, how depressing I thought my studio was with its white, bare four walls that gave it the impression of a hospital. In the midst of homesickness, I posted a picture on it so that everytime I look at it I no longer simply see blankness but a person whom love resonates.

Today there stands pictures on postcards of the Eiffel Tower, la Baie des Anges in Nice, Hobbitmountain, falling leaves, a brewing cup of coffee that people have sent me over the short 4 months I have spent here in France. The realization that I am leaving this Friday dawns closer and closer. The acknowlegment that soon it is time to take them off, to neatly find them a safe place in my overcrowded suitcase and to bring them home.

I begin to wonder what I mean with home when I write of home.

In my Geopolitics class here we came across the concept of a torn country. A country that is divided in its identity. A bridge that connects two lands. A bridge is a physical creation that belongs to none. It got me thinking. My Serbian professor is one of the people whom I have met during my exchange that I honestly am glad to have met. He makes me think, sometimes inconviniently because I tend to think too much, but he makes me think.

Last weekend I had the chance to catch up with a friend of mine. We talked of what others who stayed in Rotterdam are doing, how they are and what they are involved in. It felt strange to realize that life goes on without you, that they continue on living and pursuing their academic dreams while you are gone. In a way it made you feel left, in another grateful for having the freedom to book a ticket, pick up your bags and travel.

Travel, perhaps that is what I have been doing most of my exchange here. The places I have never been, the people I met for the briefest period of time yet made me smile for the chance rendez-vous. It's funny meeting people during your travel because you know there is an expiration date. Sometimes I find myself opening more to strangers than people I know, and why I do not understand as well. Perhaps it's the idea of leaving once that train leaves, that you dont attatch yourself to them. It's like talking to the stars at night. The difference is that when you finally say goodbye their story is now a part of you.

Little by little, I realize how they helped me learn along the way. I began to think of them who shared their stories along the way with me. A webdesigner who opened his flat, who wants to make someone happier and made us feel home in Paris.

An architect, Jonathan, who showed me how big ones heart can be to a stranger; how beautiful one can be when one is in one's element talking about buildings in a monastery outside Bordeaux.

A gay guy who got me coffee in the busstation in Valencia. 2 hours wait for the bus to Madrid seemed to fly as we talked about places we love, boys we fancy. Right before I got on my bus he asked for my name and I for his. I unfortunately forgot it, but never the smiles.

A former Russian professor, Umberto, who stood infront of me in the queue when my flight got cancelled in Rome. Who prefers Italian cheese and food to French. Who thinks change is not synonimous to being worse, so that one should not be sad of it. Change is just different, change is inevitable.

A German neighbour, Christian, who made me realize the meaning of the word character.

A nihilist who would ask first and foremost whether someone who just crashed into him is alright before other emotions take hold. Who called me to make sure I did not get raped by hairy Italians. Who makes great Ratatoille.

A girl who likes eggs, eats as much as I do, loves wine and cheese as dearly, who always know how to make me smile and who after 4 months became a friend. I dont know what I would do without you, ho.

As I think of them, the more grateful I became for their stories. The chance to have met them and left a little bit different everytime, no matter how brief a moment we had. Thank you. Thank you for sharing your stories, your pearls and allowing me to keep it safe in my heart.

I think I am ready to go back.

Snow, snow and more glühwein

2010-12-08T03:03:00.007+07:00

Last week was my last travel before my semester in France ends. Me and Egglady went to Strasbourg because I wanted to check out the Christmas market, and somehow feel like we should speak some French for one last time. How was it, you may ask? It was delicious. The only thing we did was roll down to les marches noël everyday, ate and drank. We had a love affair with vin chaud (glühwein), bretzels, lebkuchen and crepes. I swear the only thing missing was proper wurst!

Everything was just so christmassy and lovely. We walked around the little stalls with our fingers wrapped around warm treats, watching kids skate while listening to jolly good old carols. The only productive thing we did was to go up the cathedral to see the Christmas-infected city from up there.

I love Christmas.

After 3 days of cold and food we headed south to Grenoble to see the Alps. After I returned, people asked whether I skied in Grenoble and I said no. I made snowangels in the Alps. They looked at me strangely and I grinned. I made snowangels in the Alps.

This is Egglady screaming Holey shit I cannot believe you went in the snow!! You crazy woman my fingers feel as if its about to fall off, I cant imagine how your life feels!!

I just love this woman.

At one point I saw a little farm, white and solemn. There was a little brown pony chewing some snow, and it saw me standing next to the fence looking at it. Pony, I thought, PONY in the ALPS! It looked at me for a moment, before it started walking slowly towards me. I played with it for a while and it just made my day.

Thank you, pony in the Alps.

In preparation of going home

2010-11-29T20:06:00.002+07:00

Alors I just lugged back 5 bottles of 2006 Bordeaux up the hills in the snow for 30minutes chez moi. I was dying and on the verge of rolling down and just die, but the image of my family sipping them and being tipsy with love and gratitude kept me going.

3 more weeks, am so excited to come home! If only I can bring home some Brie, Baguettes and Milles Feuilles, this would be the best Christmas ever!

Rome

2010-11-26T01:04:00.003+07:00

So I went to the Vatican today and start mixing up Basilica St. Peter with Basilicum St. Peter. I guess it's not that bad if only it didnt make me hungry everytime I say that.

Plus last night I had the best lasagna in my life.

And this morning I had the best espresso in my life.

The best thing is everytime someone speaks to me in Italian I start seeing little Mario and little Luigi running around near his face.

Italy is fun.

2010-11-21T23:39:00.002+07:00

Alors je suis rentrée à Paris hier soir :)

Today, EggLady and I wanted to take a long walk today in an attempt to feel less like fatasses after 2 weeks in Spain. We got changed and start making plans on which route to take. We opened the front door and felt the breeze and decided to go back in and cancel the walk. After much debacle, we forced ourselves down to the common room to work.

If anyone living in our building should wonder what are those weird noises from the common room, it's us. This is why.

2010-11-19T19:39:00.005+07:00

The best thing to end your visit in a country is to shop in the supermarket of another country for the first time.

Je suis heureux de pouvoir revenir chez Auchan!

--

As I witness the clock moving slowly, with its grace and definite manner, I began to think. After fooling around for 3 weeks travelling and eating, it somewhat scares me to go back to the responsibilities. Being here filled me with doubts in the beginning, missing that plane to Paris might not be that great of an idea and I struggled with that thought of dumbness. Could it be that following your emotions cause only damages?

I had a conversation about happiness (en francais, oui) with a friend in Vienna yesterday and it brightened my day. The question is whether one can be happier when one follows one's heart or to follow one's head? Can it be that we are happier when we just try to be less than selfish, to help others along the way and that should be enough? If one prefers to follow one's heart, how do one truly know what one truly desires? For emotions can be a fooler, thieves of time because it takes years to adequately understand one's heart.

For it takes no time to fall in love but years to know what love is-Jason Mraz.

That regret is beginning to subside with the realization of gratitude. The freedom to be able to live and make mistakes, to fall and learn, to get lost and be found again. The freedom to think and realize nothing is ever a mistake, merely a lesson in disguise.

These past couple of weeks I have been struggling with the lingering desire to understand. The want to know what I want, the longing to acknowledge and take the steps to make it real. I have little progress in that so far, and how that frustrated me. I felt confused, lost. Yet again does anyone know what one truly wants? A part of the blessed few, I sit here pondering on whether most of us has been asleep all these time through life.

Amartya Sen once said that human development can only be achieved when there is freedom, I made a speech on that for my graduation. Maybe its time to live according to what I preached.

2010-11-17T19:39:00.003+07:00

Am currently reading about conjugating French l'imparfait online in Madrid. I was in Southern Spain for a week of sun-searching with a friend the Egg Lady-only to decide to miss our plane back to Paris and stay here in Spain for another week. We parted our own ways in Valencia, me bussing it up to Madrid while she stays with her new beau.

Alors on my last free week of my exchange in France I am in Spain reading about French grammar.

The question is how did this became my life. How is it possible that after my exchange in France the highest chance is that I will come back not speaking French? How is it possible that the French experience I enjoyed is visible only from my extra layer of fat slash joy and a deepening appreciation and adoration for wine and cheese and everything buttery?

As I sit here taking a cookie break from my grammar page, I cannot help but to wonder which Spanish city I prefer most. Granada because they give you free tapas when you order bebidas, Valencia because they give you free bebidas when you order tapas. Plus there is also a beach involved in Malaga.

D'accord. J'ai besoin d'un lifeplan. Or an epiphany or any directions from above or here or down for that matter.

The tale of the biscuits and butter

2010-10-31T03:25:00.002+07:00

Once upon a time there was a girl who went to France for an exchange. She came there excited to taste the sugary treats and quickly had an affair with butter. Halfway through her exchange, she realized that SHE IS OUT OF CONTROL AND SOMEONE NEEDS TO TIE HER DOWN AND STOP HER FROM SHOVING HERSELF WITH FOOD!

To miss, to lack

2010-10-24T00:17:00.004+07:00

I learnt a French verb manquer yesterday, which means 'to miss'. I find the conjugation interesting. When the object is a noun, such as 'my bed' you conjugate it normally:

Je manque mon lit en Rotterdam.
Je manque mon shuttle à l'ESSEC souvant.

But when the object is a person, the verb manquer literally means 'to lack' and the position of the sentence is different. For example,

Mes amies me manquent

Which literally translates to:

My (girl)friends lacks me, but actually means I miss my girl friends.

I find that trés mignon... You miss someone because they are lacking in your life.

I'm glad to be able to miss someone, for that means that I have some special persons in my life whom I really miss when they are not with me for the moment. You know who you are, I miss you wherever you are. I miss you no matter how many kilometres are between us.

:)

Mes parents me manquent.
Mes soers et frères me manquent.
Tu me manques.

A bientôt.

Threat on biscuits

2010-10-22T21:08:00.002+07:00

So my little brother has been alleging me of always bringing biscuits when I go home from my travellings.

"lu biskuit mulu bawanya!"

I asked him what he wants from France. He said the French's national footbal team's uniform. I offered to instead bring him some delicious macarons, fresh from Paris.

He threatened to not pick me up.

--

Sometimes I really feel the love.

2010-10-22T00:49:00.002+07:00

I booked my ticket back to Rotterdam last night. I'm leaving France Dec 17, in less than 2 months from now. It feels odd. So much has happened...

...I remember when I first got here. I was horribly homesick. It was one of the darkest days in my life. I was here but being here was the last thing I wish. I missed my friends, my boyfriend, my family. It was different than when I first got to Rotterdam 2 years ago, the first time I went to Europe. I also arrived alone. I did not know anyone. I did not speak the language. I did not know how to buy a train ticket from Schiphol to Rotterdam. I did not know how to cook, how to do my laundry, how to live on my own.

I know how to cook (partially) now, I know how to operate the washing machine and the vaccuum cleaner. I learnt.

I arrived here alone, and the first thing I realized was how scared I actually was. Everything felt so foreign. I arrived in Paris Nord, from there I was supposed to take the RER to Cergy, where I am living now. It is the agglomeration of Paris, 40mins by train from central Paris.

The first impression I had was that this place is uglier than Rotterdam.

There is absolute nothing to do, everything is far and it is not that safe at night.

I got into my studio and it is white. Everything looked so sterile. That was when I realized my pillow, blankets, sheets, towels and clothes that I sent 2 weeks prior havent arrived. I felt so alone in my room, with nothing but cold whiteness surrounding. The next couple of days were hard. I had orientation but even amidst all those people I was laughing and smiling but I felt alone in the inside.

Perhaps I was surprised. Perhaps I was dissapointed.

On the Friday it was the Bear's birthday. I told myself to be strong but before I know it I was running from my class to the train station, got myself a ticket to Germany and went to Paris to catch my train.

I have never felt happier that week.

I came back to France on the same time he flew to Spain for his exchange. I came back different. To be able to follow one's heart really does provide one with joy. I have never and will never regret taking that train to Germany.

Slowly I began to realize why I went here. Slowly I began to realize how resistance of the current moment has done nothing but harm. Slowly I began to accept. Slowly I began to breathe. Slowly I began to live. Slowly I began to fall in love with this country.

Slowly I began to realize that I am halfway done.

It feels odd.

All in all, living here has become a habit. I have to admit, living here doesnt feel real. I feel like I am in a holiday, but I am not because I do go to classes. I go to classes, but I do not work nor do I use my brain. I travel, I read. I have all the time in the world, this is something I did not have in Rotterdam. I meet people who I will genuinely miss when I leave. I have croissants and espressos, brie and wine.

Today I received an email. It was an invitation, a request to be a part of a board for my HC in Rotterdam. My HC from where I graduated right before I left for France. My HC which has taught me so much.

My mind began to ponder. That life seems to me like the real life, and that email was like a reminder. But living here has made me realize that there is another reality, and going back confuses me.

I decided to go for a run, and it was beautiful. I ran to the hills, my favorite spot in Cergy. I ran through the small pavement, with little farms below; layers of trees and mountains seemed so deep. The sun was light, it was almost time for it to set. I sat down on the grass, I listened to the vague bird chirps. I watched the little insects fly by, I watched the grass being swayed by the wind.

And then I walked home.

Bordeaux

2010-10-12T16:40:00.008+07:00

So a very significant event happened last weekend: I made Macarons.

I travelled to Bordeaux for the weekend, went CouchSurfing by myself. I couldnt hope for a better way to spend the weekend. I arrived on Friday afternoon, explored the city by myself before I met up with my host. His name is Jonathan, a guy with such big and open heart.

On Saturday morning, he took me to a market to get bread, cheese and vegetables for the weekend. And trust me when I say the French know their cheese! We got 4 different kinds and theyre all marvelous in their own distinct ways. It was on our way home that I discovered that Jonathan bakes his own Macarons. I stopped in disbelief. You bake your own Macarons and you didnt mention it before?? He laughed and suggested we make it. I was trying to conceal the grin on my face that says WE ARE GOING TO MAKE MACARONS!

And so we did. It was easier than I thought, yet I know I will not be able to make it myself. I have to say it is much more fun to make them, almost as much fun as eating them! After we formed slash put them in rounch shapes, we left for St Emilion, a beautiful charming wine village near Bordeaux. The drive was just marvellous, we drove through vineyards after vineyards, different chateaux that seemed infinite.

Un peu de soleil, c'etait divin.

In St Emilion, we parked and decided to take a walk around the city. It is a very borgeois tourist city that sells highly priced wines, but it is charming nonetheless. We took a walk through the vineyards, walked in a monastery. It was such a pleasant afternoon. That to me is travelling. That feeling that time stretches and the ordinary becomes extraordinary.

On Sunday we drove to Archachon to the beach, only to decide to go and hike up la Dune du Pila, the highest sand dune in Europe. Not knowing what to expect, I went along. We parked the car and took this little path through the forest. After awhile, Jonathan told me to look up. I looked up and thought I was in Egypt. It was the biggest sand dune I have ever seen, it looked like a mountain.

To my disbelief, we hiked it. We hiked that ginormous sand dune with my slippers. It was drizzling slightly so the sand was awfully slippery. In the middle of the hike I told him that I am scared of height but decided, with what will power I am not sure, to not look down and continued up. Several torturous moments later we made it to the top. I looked scared shitless and freezing, not the look I thought I would have when going to Bordeaux. It's better.

I turned and was speechless by the beauty that stood before me. It was misty from that height, looking down to this collection of trees that looked like a rainforest. It was the first time I have ever been so close to nature, and it took my breath away. I couldnt believe that I was actually in France. I looked to my right and it was the sea.

I couldnt conceal my amazement. At that moment it was all worth it. Everything that happened has happened which allow for that moment to happen. My mind was silent and I truly appreciated everything; the hurtful, the sweet, the lovely, the lonely, the rain, the sand between my toes.

I left inspired.

2010-09-14T19:36:00.004+07:00

I travelled to Aix en Provence last weekend, and it amazes me how different the climate can be from one city to another here! I mean, in the NL when you travel from one end to another, basically you dress for the worst weather there is et voilà you are dressed appropriately! The weather is amazing there, traces of Summer so vivid like Fall never flirted with it. Here in Paris its cold and windy, but there the warmth of the sun kissed your skin unapologetically and I loved it.

Provence is a city that exudes the feeling of holiday, the atmosphere and the people so light that time stretches itself. You began to realize there is nothing else more important than this moment, you begin to take note of your breath. Breath by breath, moment by moment, everything seems so ridiculously dreamy.

I love how I can wake up in the morning, grab my book and spend the entire morning accompanied by a puny cup of espresso and a warm croissant.

I enjoyed getting completely lost when walking to this little hiking park. I adore the amazement I felt when I first saw the sea, surrounded by cliffs and little houses.

How I get to spend the afternoon sitting next to this beauty, with my leather bound journal and a pen.

I am beginning to fall in love with this country.

Life feels like a long holiday here, never before have I completely put my academic priorities second. I realized now how perfectionist I have always been in terms of my professional life, how excelling became a lifestyle. Perhaps it gave me a reason, the idea of making something out of my life. The idea that I am going somewhere, forward with every challenges.

I realize now there is another side of the story, and it is equally green. I cherish them, and I am more than grateful for the chance to stand on both sides of the fence.

First visit to Paris...

2010-09-04T05:08:00.004+07:00

...is simply lovely.

The first time I saw la Tour Eiffel was when we walked from Champs-Elysée to Invalides. I could barely conceal my smile. From the first moment I saw it I fell in love with it. Je suis tombé en amour avec elle. I love how I get to see it from different points in Paris, it always looks different but always enchanting. We sat on this little park infront of it and from there you can direcly see the whole of Eiffel standing proudly, gallantly, silently, so large yet so close to you.

It was around 5pm so the sunlight was really soft. From the distant we heard children's laughter, little girls running around chasing each other with their little pigtailed hair bouncing up and down. Little voices screaming lightly in French, I didnt understand a word but I listened in delight. I sat there smiling and for once I realized I am in France.

I am excited.

2010-08-25T14:10:00.001+07:00

I’m leaving for France this afternoon. Slight fear has kept me company since yesterday. Spent the day with friends and family; running from one Dutch city to another to enjoy their company and say my goodbyes. It scares me how everything is changing so quickly; it left me inert. Like a train coming into a station, it rests for some time but it knows not too get too cozy because it is leaving again in a couple of minutes. It’s tired but time is ticking to its next schedule. Before it has to leave again to another world, another reality.

I guess I am still rather scared, I have to admit, but I think it helps when I realize that I myself is the conductor who set the schedule. The one and only person who are able to write the time and destinations on the board. That no matter how hard it may seem at the time, I wouldn’t have it otherwise.

A funny thing happened last night when I was waiting for my train back to Rotterdam. It wasn’t coming for another 20minutes so I decided to be a loner and sit all the way at the end of the perron. It was before I took my seat that I noticed that the red plastic seats are lightly engraved; travelling quotes to accompany travelers as they wait for their trains. It quickly amused me, and before long I was reading through it with a smile. It was what I needed, and the unexpectedness of the encounter baffled me, leaving traces of joy in that cold, rainy and windy night in Holland.

I think I am ready to go.

--

The soul of a journey is liberty, liberty to think, feel and do as one pleases. –Unknown

2010-08-24T02:12:00.003+07:00

How strange it is for one can feel at home when someone is around, regardless of the geographical location? When the country, the flat that you call home for 2 years suddenly become where you wish you are not in.

The train rides were pleasant, quiet but pleasant. I had hoped that silence would prepare one's self to be away from another. I hoped and hoped. As the train drove along the Rhine, through the mountains and little houses on the river banks, I had to stop myself from looking, for I know there is nothing but an empty chair next to me.

Everything reminds me of you. The walk back from the station, the short trip to do groceries, even a casual visit to the post office. I came home to an empty flat filled with memories, with things as the way we had left it before our trip. Everything seemed to be the same but I know it is not.

At that point, one's brain decided to rationalize. To pack the day with chores, anything to occupy one's brain as not to think. But can one really do that, can one truly exclude memories that kept on shoving itself back to one's mind? I think it's possible, yet dissapointed at the gap between how strong I would like to be and how strong I actually am.

Perhaps it was self-defense, that my brain started to lay down the facts. That we are not that far from each other, that it is only temporary and surely we will have the time of our lives in our respective countries. Rationalizing is what one is trained to do, yet for once emotions hold one captive for the time being.

I wanted to get some cheese and saw a pack of mini-mozarellas. I turned, but there was noone grinning, hinting his explicit love for those soft cheese balls.

I wrote, watched TV, read, ate, laughed, talked, smiled, unpacked, packed, cleaned. But just as I thought that I am OK, that the worst is over did it start again. The longing, the gripping feeling of homesickness.

Is it possible for one to be homesick not to one's home, but to someone that makes one feels at home? Is so, can one still call it homesickness? Or is it mere exagerations, simple tricks one's mind falls for when blinded by emotions? Of missing someone and wishing that one can wake up, stretch one's arm to realize that the other is still sleeping soundly even when it's time to be awake?

It feels like a disease. A disease evoked by certain details, certain images and memories. It took hold of one's heart, making it feel like some part is missing, a little part of void.

I will be stronger. I want to be stronger. Bit by bit, I'll try to bridge that gap and hopefully learn something from this. Because I believe that life goes on. On it goes, and oh how wonderful it is and will always be.

Du fehlst mir.

Danke.

2010-08-22T23:20:00.005+07:00

As I watch you in the other room,
playing with your kitten
patronizing it

Böse Katze, you said playfully.

I sit here and type
as I try to preserve that in my memory
with the idea of leaving looming in mind

I began to dread each passing hour
for it reminded me of the trainride back
the trainride away
to a room filled with memories.

2010-08-17T02:31:00.002+07:00

I think a part of why I am so koala-bear-ish today
is because I realized that

you are going to France soon.

I know.

This is why girls buy jeweleries

2010-07-29T13:14:00.009+07:00

"Ketut percaya takdir?"

"Tentu. Agama saya mengajarkan begitu."

"Hmm..."

--

When I was in Bali for a mini vacation with my parents last week, I made a spontaneous visit to a medicine man in Ubud. I wasn't sure why I went there. I have to admit my intentions were purely out of curiosity; he was the medicine man described in a novel which was recently made into a movie. I arrived in his house sometime after lunch time. His house was typical Balinese, greeting visitors with the traditional brick-doorway. I walked in slowly, unsure of how to behave. His house was surprisingly spacious with little huts where one can sit on while enjoying the calm Balinese air.

Curiosity filled me as I walked into his open house. His pet birds chirped harmoniously. Suddenly I heard a voice saying hello, a voice that instructed me to come in and sit on one of the open huts. It was Ketut Liyer, a 96yo traditional Balinese medicine man, obviously focused on carving a brass piece with some Balinese transcriptions meant as a charm for a newly born Balinese baby who wouldnt stop crying. He asked me to sit next to him, smiled sidely and asked for me to wait for a second.

"I will finish this first, only little time wait please. Very sorry," he said in his broken English.

I sat talking to him for nearly 2hrs while he finished the charm. After he was finish with the inscriptions, he laid out a piece of white cloth, put the brass piece on it and folded it into a little pouch. He worked timidly for someone in their late nineties. He did it all himself, even the tricky business of inserting the end of the thread onto the needle before he started sewing steadily. I offered to help but he laughed and said that it was not necessary. "Saya harus latihan, must practice my eyes."

I noticed his eyes which was strangely blue. I found it fascinating, a solid contrast to his dark brown skin.

We talked about little things in general with nothing in particular to begin with. At one point, he asked why did I come to his house. I couldn't answer for I know little of the true reason myself. I said I was just curious, I read about him in the novel. He laughed and said that he's afraid. He said that he didn't write the book, which propelled him to fear that he might not be what others went seeking for. What others expect to get when they went and see him.

I smiled in complete agreement, and we talked some more. Suddenly he looked straight at me and said: "Nanti kamu saya ramal ya." I was surprised. "Oh baik," I somehow responded. He continued working on the little pouch-charm as I sat there and listened to him.

All of the sudden, I was filled with a strange feeling. An infliction of shame. I realized then and there why I was there. I read the novel, and by myself was filled with an expectation that he will say things to me that will somehow change my life. Words or prophecies that can provide comfort and change when there is no particular need for them. An instant answer for a question that I do not yet have. Curiosity propelled by an expectation.

All these realization made me think. How could one seek an answer from an almost toothless medicine man that have never met, know nor think of us beforehand? I sat there thinking to myself. I came there with an expectation that I was unconsciously filled with, an expectation based on no reasonable basis. I did not even have a particular issue I'd like to talk about. I felt slight shame of my unapparent intentions.

Human actions can somehow be driven by such unconscious motivations that surprises one when one stop for a while and think of it.

When he was done with the baby's puny white-pouch-cloth-charm, he turned to me and read my face, my palm and my back. I listened respectfully. Something my sister said during one of our random late-car-ride-conversations struck me. It is the process and not the destination that really counts. The acknowledgement that there will be no instant solution coming from a merry-eyed medicine man in Bali for the questions or problems one may have. Those questions are reserved for me and myself only, something to talk about with my heart.

He told me that I have two very fragrant lotuses on my back, I am very lucky. "You very lucky!" he said, "harus berhati-hati. Must be careful! Dengarkan hatimu if make decision. No regrets."

I laughed.

--

The next day I went to a jeweler and bought myself a little silver lotus bracelet. Something to remember him by. Something to remind me how lucky I am. On the car ride to my grandmother's house, I was filled with thoughts. I looked outside, lost in my thoughts. As I rolled the gemstones on my bracelet, my thoughts were on my breathing. It is indeed the process that makes life so much more interesting.

2010-07-14T21:55:00.003+07:00

D: HAU! You're finally online! :)

H: I know! How are you?

D: Am good. You?

H: Just want to let you know that I just killed a fly.

D: Ew.

H: ? No something white came out!

D: EW.

H: ! It was pregnant!!

D: Ewww Hau! You child murderer!

H: Sabrina said the exact same thing. U FREAKS!

D: Imagine the child's future... Shattered due to a brute Hamster. If it was a boy... Imagine its little female fly bride... Its first steps... First wing... Imagine the look on the fly mom's face when she saw him first fly :'(

H: If you want it I'll drop it in your mailbox later.

D: You're not burying it?? Omw... Imagine the fly dad... Wanting to bring flowers and visit his brutally murdered wife and son... His world shattered...

Imagine him sitting alone at the corner of your room, singing.

Aaaaaaaall by myseeeeeeeeeeeeeelf...

H: I think he's moved on to another woman.

D: ...dont wanna beeee...

...all byyyyy MYYYYYSEEEEEEEEEEEEELFFF...

--

Tu me manques :)

2010-07-07T15:34:00.002+07:00

Someone told me once that time is relative. The concept felt familiar, yet completely new in hindsight. People always say that time flies when we're having fun, while ticks excruciatingly slow when we're inflicted by adversities. I have always felt it as well, yet never explicitly thought about.

Time, or the lack thereof, always in a way scares me a little. I always imagine a giant sand-clock, draining inevitably, steadily. Attempts to make it slower is futile, for it is beyond one's control.

Last year I read this novel called The Time Traveller's Wife. Now I rarely read Romance, let alone Fantasy-Romance, but I found this book interesting. The girl, Claire, fell in love with the guy when he time travelled to the time when she was 9yo. He came from the time in which they were happily married in the future. He came because she described to him how they met, how she fell in love with him without even knowing by then. For him, time travelling is like sneeze that one can't control. The way it works is that he basically travells to moments that are dear to his heart, moments so precious even without him realizing.

I like that concept.

The idea that moments, memories have some kind of a pulling force. Our lives gravitating around it, defined by it. I find this intriguing.

One of my bad habits is that I think too much. Running around in my head in the attempt to make sense of it all, to find meanings beneath the surface. In a way I think it's a defense mechanism that is unfortunately clipped in me. It is an addiction that I have been trying to battle out of fear. Fear of thinking, of peeling for meanings, any meaning, when there is none. When one should merely be in the moment and nothing else.

When it's meant to be, then it's meant to be. There is nothing one can do to escape it. No point in trying desperately to prolong it, let alone hasten it.

If my heart is meant for you, then it is meant for you.

If not, then the end becomes merely a moment. A moment that will one day makes me think, hopefully with a smile etched on my lips. But for the time being, let me just be in the moment.

First week home...

2010-06-28T00:02:00.005+07:00

...is nice. As it always is everytime I am home, it always feels like I never left. But I did, for a year. The roads are the same, the traffic, the temperature, even my room smells the same. I like it, it feels like home. My flight was OK, although my feet were happily relieved when it can finally touch the ground once more. Above Jakarta the weather was extremely cloudy. I looked outside and all I can see was white - like being wrapped in this immensely fluffy cottoncandy. Fun for some but not for others as the pilot tried to navigate the way out. It can be rather scary I admit, the pilot had to decrease the altitude up and down rather swiftly. The baby on board was crying. I was just looking outside, seeing the rain hitting the body of the plane but was immediately blown dry by the heavy wind. I sat there thinking to myself damn this is cool.

Adrift in the midst of this fluffy whiteness.

Slowly but surely it subsided, and I can see the ocean. Rice fields. Messy-ly organized houses with red-bricks-roof. The highway. Cars. Lots of cars the size of ants. Slowly magnifying itself with every second, until we felt a thump as our plane safely arrived in Jakarta.

But nothing really indicates the fact that you're back until you take your first inhalation. The hot, humid, almost sticky air filling your lungs.

Or the first time you step out of immigration, when you see your parents standing there by the door waiting for you. They look up, tired from waiting, and their smiles made the long hours fly by.

I went home, went in my room and immediately looked in my drawers. Closets. Bathroom. Jumped on my bed. I went downstairs to see my piano, the keys unplayed. To my sister's room, to my little brother's room, to my parents' room, to the kitchen, to the garden. Everything is the way I remembered it to be. This sense of little consistency despite the constant change is reassuring.

This morning something weird happened that made me smile. I asked my maid to make me some fresh coffee, and she asked if I want it black or mixed with milk and sugar. I said black. She looked at me, and her eyes were filled strangely with this little sense of secrecy.

"Oh you want black coffee? Well I have this stuff I brought from my village... Really nice stuff."

I felt like talking to a dealer, and couldn't help but to laugh.

Peonies

2010-06-22T14:12:00.002+07:00

I have always been secretly and sometimes explicitly in love with flowers. Always the beauty of it delights me, but perhaps the more intriguing part is the gripping realization of temporariness. The beauty intrigues you, the colors captivates, the texture calms you down. You stand before this beautiful item and is taken aback by it all. Yet in a couple of days it wilts, leaving nothing but traces of memories in your mind and heart.

This horribly resonates with what I feel at the moment.

We just wrote our final exam yesterday, marking the end of our second year. Summer break has officially started and I am checking myself in online for my flight tomorrow. My suitcase if halfpacked, my flat half cleaned. My heart half-hearted. I am incredibly excited and partially relieved to fly home - it's been a year too long. I miss the feeling of being home, of waking up in my own bed and having my family in the other room. I am looking forward to spending time with them, going for lunches and dinners in places I have tasted and adores, in places they have tasted and adore when I was away.

Yet again I am increasingly being aware of how attatched I have become to this place. To the memories, to the people, to the connections I formed as I navigated my way through in living by myself. It feels so natural to have them within biking distance, to call them and dine and chat and enjoy their companies as they navigate their way through the days.

I know it's just one and a half months, and I will see some of them again before I leave for my exchange to France. But yesterday it dawns upon me the realization that we are almost done. When I'm back, we'll be taking our respective majors and consumed in writing our thesis, until we graduate and scatter once more. How fast time pushes us is striking, inevitable. Yet again as I am looking - just looking - at these beautiful peonies makes me feel incredibly grateful.

To be surrounded by those you love, to love and be loved in return is indeed one of the greatest things I will forever cherish.

Old letters

2010-06-14T01:00:00.003+07:00

I stumbled upon a folder of mine yesterday, a folder filled with cards, notes and letters I received since I've lived here in the NL. I had some time to kill while waiting for my hair to dry, so I took the folder with me and sat next to my bedroom window. I began reading them. One by one. I've always loved letters, I am indeed a girl of words, and reading them makes me remember. I was filled with affection, love, sorrow, all the emotions formed by the words. The words opened a door, they guided me through reminiscents. Slowly but surely I was filled with a feeling of nostalgic. These people used to be the people whom I cannot spend a day not talking to. Now days pass unknowingly, without so much of an exchange of news.

It's not that we stopped becoming friends, we just got caught up in our lives. C'est la vie, Claudia said. Nonetheless I felt heartbroken for no apparent reason, I felt as if I've lost them in the process of becoming who I am today. Abandoned them. Exchanged them.

A friend told me later that it's only natural. People change, you change, and the people you are close to today are those who suits the person that you are today. People grow. Relationships fade. But is that always the rule, I asked myself. I hope not. So I sent them each an email, telling them thank you for being a part of my life. Because thanks to them I am who I am today, and I will never forget that. I will always be here.

This simple, yet beautifully mesmerizing poem made me realize that:

E de novo acredito que nada do que é importante se perde verdadeiramente. Apenas nos iludimos, julgando ser donos das coisas, dos instantes e dos outros.
Comigo caminham todos os mortos que amei, todos os amigos que se afastaram, todos os dias felizes que se apagaram.... Nao perdi nada, apenas a ilusão de que tudo podia ser meu para sempre.

De Miguel Sousa Tavares

And again I believe that nothing that is important can be really lost. Despite that we delude ourselves, that we are the owners of things, of moments and of others.
With me live all the deads that I have loved, all the friends that turned away, all the beautiful days that faded... I did not lose anything, just the illusion that everything could be mine forever.

From Miguel Sosusa Tavares

--

I went to this little record store last weekend to find vinyl albums for my sister. I was skeptical at first, but when I was there, sorting and browsing through these cases of old records, I felt at home. It feels like being in a bookstore for me, quietly pondering through the shelves as if time sat still. My little bubble.

To my utter delight, I found this record of Coltrane and Davis:

It's absolute heaven.

Thank you.

So long, HC

2010-06-11T02:05:00.003+07:00

Yesterday marks the end of our HC days. 2 years of blood, sweat and tears while running around from one class to another, one paper to another, one presentation to another. That's it, it's done. A part of me is relieved, finally some moment to breathe. The other part is slightly sad. That class has taught me alot. We discussed numerous issues from different angles, but most importantly tt taught me to question. That is something that I will forever cherish. To question others, but especially myself. For it is much easier to be critical and find the fault of others but less so on ourselves.

When I was writing my speech, I realized that what's in it is merely fragments from conversations I had with people this past year. It's amazing, little did I know how profound of an impact they had on me. Especially taking into account my goldfish memory.

I was extremely nervous right before my speech. I entered the room and was taken aback by its size. I was drinking like a camel while sitting on the front row, waiting for the dean to finish his speech. As I went to the podium, my brain stopped thinking. I couldnt think, all I'm hearing was my heartbeat. I started talking. As I was standing there, the sudden realization of it all hit me. It feels like yesterday when I was sitting on the other side of the room, listening to the valedictorian delivering his speech on what it means to be honorable. And here I am today, on the other side talking.

It made me realize how far I've gone. And I like it here.

We started when we were just innocent first years. Back then, I had no clue what to expect, I was merely curious. Looking back, I realize how grateful I am for the invitation they extended to me, and for taking it. It has been fast paced, damn it was one hell of a race. A race filled with post-marks that I took in regardless of my complaints at the time. It's funny, how we complain during the time but looking back the only feeling remaining is that of gratitude. And somberness, to realize the fleeting-ness of it all. This class has never cease to make me feel challenged, to rise beyond and leap outside. To achieve things I have never imagined to achieve. Not me, I used to think. Not me.

Well, not anymore.

To me, the most memorable lectures are the ones that when they end makes you start thinking. I started curious, I end intrigued. So thank you, thank you for your whys and your hows, for questioning us and making us question in return. It has been a great ride.

2010-06-09T16:07:00.002+07:00

I woke up too early today, heart thumping like a little schoolgirl just before a school outing. Am trembling like a leaf, from head to toe. Adrenaline is running around in excitement, anxiety, coldfeet, nervousness. I am loving it. Am putting on my heels and leaving the house.

HOLEY COLDFEET!

2010-06-07T17:33:00.001+07:00

They asked me to be the valedictorian for my graduation from the HC this Wednesday.

Am frantically flipping through Speech Writing for Dummies.

!

2010-05-28T18:11:00.003+07:00

I had a dream last night. I dreamt of coming home. Like any other dreams that I had, it does not have any plot or any coherency. Just fragments. Sometimes they make sense, mostly they dont. Just fragments. Peripherial. Sometimes when I woke up, when my eyes opened slowly after hours of resting, I would lie there in the warmth of my blanket trying to make sense of it. Making sense of the fragments, and most of the time I realize there is nothing to make sense of. It's just a dream, mere fragments of apparitions.

I dreamt of coming home last night. Of being home, being slow and useless. Of flying back at the end of the stay.

--

When I heard your news this morning, when I walked in my half-awake state into my living room to realize there's an email from you, I was speechless. Quietness haunted me the whole day. I did not know what to think. I did not know what to say. I did not know what to do.

What struck me the most is the tragedy of how something can be a dream yet a nightmare on another occassion.

I'm horribly, tremendously and heart-achingly sorry, my dear.

The only thing I'm sorrier about is not being able to be there and hug you.

I dont know what to say, unfortunately I do not know any religious consoling sentences in this matter. Or any matter, truth be told. But I don't think you would like to hear them to begin with.

I will not ask you how you are for I believe that is a stupid question. I will not say that I know how you feel and this too shall pass because I do not know how you feel nor do I have the slightest idea.

All I can say is that I love you, and I am here for you no matter what.

Mandeville

2010-05-21T15:37:00.003+07:00

Yesterday was a special day for my university. We had the pleasure to present the former CEO of a multinational with a laureate for his achievements (also because he graduated from here). I was chosen from my HC to prepare a presentation to introduce and welcome him in the masterclass he gave before his acceptance ceremony. Man saying I was nervous cannot suffice in describing how shaky my feet were. Or how jumpy my heart was. At times I had to squeeze someone's hand just to breathe.

When my program coordinator signalled for me to go up, I stopped thinking. I smiled and started talking. As I was standing up there, everything was so clear. I can hear my heart thump like a frightened bunny, my heels slightly shaking.

I loved every second of it. The anxiety. The cold (shaking) feet. The fear. The jumping nerves. The adrenaline rushing as you push yourself outside your box.

When people start coming up to you to congratulate you, even the CEO, you cannot help but think how it was all worth it.

After the ceremony, we proceeded to this yacht club to have dinner. It was an incredibly beautiful weather. I had the pleasure to sit next to some exceptional people, and was astounded in the best possible way to talk and discuss matters with them. I love these kinds of conversations, the ones that when they end makes you start thinking.

The place was classically beautiful, everyone was dressed in suits, clearly enjoying and conversing with others on their respective tables. I looked through the large glass windows, straight to the docks. The sun was shining, but it wasnt scorching. It was light, like a kiss on the waters.

At that point I thought to myself, damn this is one good day.

2010-05-12T03:20:00.003+07:00

Dinner was hillarious. Invited some friends over tonight to catch up and eat, my jaws and abs still suffer from it.

You remember when you were little and you would hear this joke which is absolutely not funny when you think about it later but at that point all you want to do is wrap it up with ribbons and live with it forever and ever? When you laughed so hard, unabashedly and uncontrollably, that you had to gasp for breath in between laughters? When your abs hurt from so much laughing yet the fact that it hurts because of this joke makes you laugh even more.

This makes me realize how much time has passed since I had that. And it feels good to relive it.

2010-04-29T16:29:00.003+07:00

We went to Antwerpen for the day last weekend. Had absolutely no plan, so we ended up sitting below the Magnolia tree in this beautiful botanical garden after a stroll down the pier.

The cool sensation of the grass
rubbed against your bare feet

The touch of the sunlight
warm against your skin

Time pushes you to run
in its playful wheel

But for that moment
it seemed like even time stood still

Surrendering to the soft breeze of Spring
tickles

D...

2010-04-12T20:08:00.002+07:00

...is 20 and happy. Thank you, loved ones.

Espresso and Pearls

2010-04-11T02:51:00.003+07:00

I went to this little espresso bar near my house this morning - a little routine that kinda grew on me when I need some time alone. I love the smell of their freshly brewed espresso, the perfect companion for my reading time. You know what's also really nice? To just look outside the window at everything. Things kinda stood still for the time being; people running and biking, cars rushing but here you are safe and sound with a steaming puny espresso cup on your hand.

I continued reading.

Some time later, a lady asked me whether it is OK for her to sit next to me. I smiled and said of course! She reminded me of Nanny McPhee, the pretty version ;) She sat down, munched her caramel brownie, stirred her cappucino. She wanted to ask the barista for some kaneel (cinnamon), but he didnt hear her so I called him for her. She continued munching her kaneel-dusted caramel brownies.

Finally she asked me: Were you born on April or August?

I was surprised. April, I answered. How did you know?

She smiled. I knew it.

That was that. We spent the next hour chatting about happiness, the lack of it, the joy of having it. These little happiness, these little moments of connection, she said, is what is precious. It's just like these little pearls. She pointed at her pearl necklace. These. These are what makes it all worthwhile.

I was looking at old pictures just now and I realized just how far I've gone. I'm turning 20 tomorrow. Scared? You bet. Excited? Definitely. Somber? Yes.

Time really flies doesnt it?

People grow old, bigger, richer, apart. People run, I run, through life. Running to somewhere I hope is my purpose, somewhere that I hope can fill my life with meaning. Birthdays make me realize I'm also running out of time, for yet another year has passed. It makes me realize that it's alright to take a walk down the harbour and just let the scenery sink in. That it's alright to sit down and talk to someone for hours despite the lingering deadlines. For connection is what ultimately defines us.

I'm counting my little pearls. Slowly and carefully.

2010-04-07T02:14:00.001+07:00

...And I think to myself,
what a wonderful world.

2010-03-26T22:56:00.002+07:00

I ust got my acceptance mail: I'M GOING TO FRANCE FOR AN EXCHANGE FROM AUG-DEC 2010!! JEEEEEEEEJ :) :) :)

Oui, bitches.

The loveliness of it all

2010-03-24T00:22:00.003+07:00

Would you like to know a little secret?

I think flowers makes the world seem much more beautiful than it already is.

You bike hurriedly to school with breakfast on one hand and books on the other. On the pavement near your university, you noticed the grey ground which was covered with snow/ice before has decided to blanket itself with green green grass and friendly wild flowers. I love noticing how those flowers nod, wave, dance along with the wind.

Or the sweet, sweet taste of fresh strawberries from the market.

Spring is here.

The goodness of vitamins

2010-03-21T23:39:00.004+07:00

I woke up today very hopeful on the prospect of actually doing something. Havent done anything this week and since we have a test tomorrow I actually felt like I should be putting my brain to work. So I had breakfast, sat down and realized it's too early and my brain needs coffee after last night. A couple of hrs later I sat down again and managed to open my book. I looked at it, stared at the clock and realized that noone can work without lunch. I mean, brain needs food and oxygen to work right?

Shopping for food is what I then decided to do. Happily cooked, and realized today there's The Hills weekend break on MTV. And just like that 2hrs passed by. I had to force myself to lift up the remote and press the OFF button. It was like my hand has a mind of its own.. And it demands the TV stays on.

Back on the table. Book still opened. Clock ticking. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I realized I havent had dessert. Surely that's the key! Dessert and I will start working like an elf in a shoe factory! A girl needs dessert! So I went back to get some fresh fruit. I mean, surely fresh fruit would induce enough motivation to read right? It's science or something. I think it's called vitamins.

I am sure I will be majorly ashamed when I read back this post tomorrow.

I guess now the question is: did the vitamins work? Well. It worked pretty well in inducing conspiscuous consumption of COOKIES. I concluded that there is a positive relationship between fruits and cookies which translates to SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH ME. How the hell did this happen, And here I am sitting down typing, too full to move.

I wasnt kidding when I mentioned that productivity is barely beyond subsistence. Argh.

Happy birthday, Chickadee!

2010-03-20T00:46:00.003+07:00

Happy Chickadee Day, sweety :)

20!

Miss you beyond words, and wishing you a good one. Have fun, lots of fun! It's been a year since I last saw you, and I wish to give you your birthday hug before you turn 21 :)

Berlin...

2010-03-10T03:05:00.006+07:00

...was amazing.

We went to Berlin for a weekend, which really was not enough. Some dislikes Berlin, Berlin is messy, dirty. But for some reason I think that is what attracted me the most. We had a crash 3hrs introduction of Berlin history during the walking tour on our first day. Was not a good idea, really. Snow, wind and walking are really not a good match. Nonetheless, it gave us a slightly better idea of how and why Berlin became to what it is today - pretty cool really.

I never knew that much about history. I mean, ask me the years of the World War 1 and I will give you a Google link. But as we were walking through central Berlin, I couldnt help but wonder what it is like for these people before 1989. That is the year the wall was decontructed, in case you are like me. Have you ever seen those movies, where they put scenes from the olden days on the left side and the present day on the right? At one point I felt like I was in one of those movies. We were walking, and I thought to myself who threaded along here before? Who were they? Why were they out? What were they thinking?

To anticipate your question, no I did not smoke anything then.

Another thing I really like about Berlin is that Berlin really has alot of faces. You turn from one alley to another and immediately get the sense of a whole different side of Berlin. And I am not just talking about the clear difference in architecture and feelings between the former east and west. Such a shame that we didnt get to explore the whole city I suppose.

Oh and the food. THAT GLORIOUS GLORIOUS FOOD. It scares me how I start drooling at the thought of those glorious wurst, bread, pretzels... Maybe I should get one of those baby-napkins that you put to prevent drool from damaging your shirt. Girls grew up wanting to live in a gingerbread house or a castle. Clearly they have low expectations. My wish is now to live in a German bakery. My sister told me I'll be a mouse. A HAPPY-BELLY MOUSE! MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUS!

And the nightlife. On our last night, we went to this underground club that played minimal electro music in one of its room. At one point they played Paul and Fritz Kalkbrenner's Sky and Sand. That was it. The lights was off. On. Off. On. I thought of nothing, breathed and blinked. On my right people did the same. On my left some guys started fighting and threw a table. That is a scene I will remember.

We also went to visit some museums: the Holocaust memorial and museum for the murdered Jews, the Jewish museum, and perhaps the most memorable one is the visit to the Stasi Gefangnis. It was the political prison in East Berlin, controlled by the state DDR. We arrived late so the guide had already started the tour. After awhile, I realized that he sometimes used personal pronouns such as "I" and "we". I was curious yet felt impolite to ask. His sentences were short, sometimes too short to fully comprehend.

"... They gave prisoners a bucket, in a cell for 4 people. It was hard for new prisoners. I felt shame."

"In my file it says 'long, vertical forehead', 'short fingers'."

Halfway through the tour he told us that he was arrested for being suspected of attempting to flee from the east to the west.

He put an emphasis on suspected. His sentences remained short, but his tone changed thereafter.

He told us that he couldnt bear living in a country where one cannot freely express what one thought or felt. As we were visiting the former interrogation rooms, he started telling us about these torture methods developed by the DDR. He said the physical torture was bad but the mental torture was even worse. A number of people officially worked for the Stasi, yet the unofficial number is overwhelming. A woman got arrested, and during her interrogation they served her favorite tea as a reminder. Her husband worked for the Stasi, she didnt know. I read some stories on this yet hearing this firsthand was way more intense. It felt real. How would it feel if you cant even trust your husband, your wife, your friends, your family?

Some officers secretly went in your flat when youre not there, rearrange the furniture now and then. They follow you, watch you, listen to you to the point of paranoia.

Who developed these methods, I asked. They are so well thought of.

The psychologists, he answered.

He then told us how he got into a rather heated discussion with an old man in the park last week. The old man thought the Stasi regime was way better than how it is now. Our guide disagreed. The old man retorted: "...well then they forgot to kill you!"

I had goosebumps when I heard this.

That reminded me of something a friend of mine told me before, that some people still consider Stalin to be a hero even if he killed more people than Hitler.

Some things I can never understand.

Yet some things I am glad to know, even when it's hard.

At the end of the tour, he smiled and waved his little fingers.

Just like how I waved my own little fingers to Berlin. Until then.

March reflection

2010-03-01T16:21:00.002+07:00

Wow March.

After 30days of staring at the same picture, I am usually glad to be able to flip my calendar for a new picture! To trade in the two cartoon giraffes drinking lemonade to a seagull was absolutely cool! I mean, you lift up the calendar page and THERE IS THE SEAGULL FOR THIS MONTH!

Yet at the same time this little excitement is accompanied by a solemn astonishment.

March. Wow.

A friend of mine has to do a personal development report every 6 months for his organization: what have been learnt, what is good, what is bad, what is different, what should be changed, what how and why. Unfortunately my limited goldfish memory does not stretch that long, which is why I specifically intended to write somethings down today before it flew up like a helium bubble in a hot, breezy Summer afternoon.

Yes how I long for Summer and sun. Yesterday there was a storm here in Western Europe. The day I can ditch my jeans for shorts; cant decide to call it liberation or salvation.

On a more solemn mood. If I had to describe these first months of 2010, I'll say... Roller coaster. I think I'll call it so. A roller coaster ride, I like the resemblance. It's incredibly quick, scary, it goes from up to down to up to down at some remarkable speed, yet completely exhilirating. Remember those concise moments, when you are at the highest point and you know seconds later you will start diving down? Remember the feeling, the ticklish feeling in your stomach, the sensation of air being suspended for the briefest period? Next thing you know you're freefalling and in your head all you do is curse yourself WHY DID YOU GET ON THIS ROLLER COASTER YOU FREAKING DODO YOU HATE ROLLER COASTERS.

I do, I am scared of roller coasters and height.

Yet sometimes I am glad I took the ride, for that first 5 minutes when you are back on solid ground and all you want to do is kneel and kiss the ground. Complete gratitude, that's what I usually experience once my trembling jello feet leaves that seat of terror.

Which is what I am feeling at the moment.

I have to admit now that it hasnt always been easy. Life was hectic, to say the least. Juggling between teaching, writing, presenting, reading, studying and friends requires the skillfull art of a clown circus which I clearly did not possess. Not even close. But it has been a learning process, and looking back now I can say that a part of me is simply relieved it's done. Another part is ambivalent; life surely goes fast when you're running. A blur; an aching, demanding, rewarding motion of blur.

Teaching has been absolutely lovely. I am actually rather surprised how much I enjoyed teaching those little monsters. Regardless of waking up to teach at 9 in the morning twice a week, missing two of my own lectures, having to read and learn the course with them. I wanted to help them, perhaps thats why I took it slightly too seriously. I would read the chapter, my notes, going back and forth and asking myself how can I explain this clearly to my students. How can I motivate them to work, how can I make sure they feel comfortable asking questions during class, how to be strict at times yet being myself at other times.

I purposely did not tell my first year students that I was a second year student myself. I thought it added credibility. Yet at the end when they found out my real identity, I am utterly glad they did not become bitches. Maybe because they were bitches from the start. Yet I have to say I truly enjoyed teaching those bitches. They were my bitches.

During our last tutorial, they came up to me one by one and said: "Thank you, Denica." My heart melted like butter in the microwave when baking cakes. That weekend, I received emails from my students. At that moment, everything evaporated. All the burden, all the stressing and fussing and freaking vanished. All that is left was a solemn little smile. It was a nice feeling indeed, the feeling of being able to help and somewhat of use to someone.

Thank you, guys. You've been a good sport. Some moments are honestly funny it still cracks me up when I think about it.

Oh wait. The sun is shining today.

Wow.

Sometimes little things work out in wondrous yet strange ways. I guess there will always be storms, with wind so hard you thought you can surely never make it. Yet remembering that the sun will shine tomorrow might help you through. Slightly. I for once found it sometimes cumbersome, and cliche to think of things this way when I am downhill. I tend to get sucked into it, you see. But it's a learning process. And one day I wish for the ability to be able to see through the mist and straight to the rainbows.

Maybe when I am 20. Which is actually sooner rather than later. Wow. Now, that's scary.

Making it official

2010-02-07T15:40:00.000+07:00

PEANUT BUTTER IS THE BOMB.

PAYDAY

2010-01-31T03:23:00.002+07:00

A letter arrived today from the HR department of my university, I curiously ripped through the envelope to find that its main duty was to inform me that my first pay is now sitting comfortably on my bank account.

SAY WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT?!

My pay check is chilling in my bank account, MY FIRST EVER SALARY, WAGES, MONETARY COMPENSATION FOR EFFORT IS HERE!

Even better than Christmas, I'm telling you.

I treated myself to a shitload of food today to compensate the brain cells I killed during teaching. It feels nice, it feels really really nice to know that I'm paying with MY money. Like, M-Y M-O-N-E-Y, BABY!

Am seriously considering upon framing the letter on my wall. But that'd be too pathetic :p So I decided to store it in my special letter case as a token of remembrance. One day when I'm 50 and cant walk without a stick, I'll glance through it and will find a yellowing letter announcing my first paycheck. Not to mention harassing my grandchildren to be as proud as I am right now.

Snip snip

2010-01-24T23:21:00.003+07:00

I went to the hairdresser today. Had a tight, demanding weeks which resulted in me contemplating upon booking a flight to Barbados. Not even knowing where Barbados is. Days have been short, weeks passed mercilessly. Running from classes to deadlines to meetings to preparations had its toll on me. Last Friday, I had to hand in a draft for a paper, which I started that morning. The ticking deadline was rough, the fact that I woke up at 7 in the morning to teach did not help in focusing my brain. At one point, I decided to give up on the deadline and told it to skrew itself. Called my TA, and was informed that the implication of my abdomination of my draft reaches beyond myself as my partner would have to assess that draft for our next assignment. Stared back at my empty word screen, wrote a bunch of smileys and nonsense, somehow praying that this is sufficient to make words form itself without me having to write them.

In case you were wondering, Internet, words can not form itself. I know, I was dissapointed too. I thought the introduction of computers would make our lives easier?

So I ended up having another goal in mind - to come up somehow with 1500 words paper on my topic. I did not even know what I typed, I just explained the Kantian view on morality and some about foreign aid, which is what my paper is about. At one point, I was typing without even knowing what I was saying. My eyes were fixated on the word count, heart cheering everytime the number crawls slowly closer to 1500.

15 minutes before the day ends, I received an email from a friend that resulted in me laughing at myself. At that point I realized something was wrong with me. Even more than usual, that is. I laughed while replying, at the same time freaking out because by then I only had 10MINUTES TO PRODUCE 200WORDS.

I submitted the draft at 12:00. No, not a minute more, not a minute less. PRECISELY, ACCURATELY, DEFINITELY AT 12:00! I thought it was really funny, like you know, the feeling you had when you just ducked a bullet.

At that moment I realized what was wrong with me: I was taking things too seriously. Far, far too seriously. It really scared me, how much responsibilities really took control of you. I have never been the one who is responsible, always the slacky retard who is laughing at nothing. A cold hard look at myself revealed that I have once again became a hamster.

A hamster in the sense of being stuck running on the wheel without stopping even for a second to see that THERE IS A FIRE OUTSIDE! Run! Run, hamster, RUN!!! (Previously, I was a hamster for snuggling in bed and eating and snuggling back in bed while munching a secret stack of snack).

A hamster. That's what I have become.

Thus I took the weekend off, finally took the time to go to the hairdresser (overdue by two weeks by now). It was surprisingly refreshing, my hairdresser was the one who profoundly believes in connections. She was jolly, and after our short session was proclaiming herself to be I AM YOUR NEW MOTHER!

Living is about sharing and connecting, she said. What good can you do when you just run here and there without emotions? What good can you bring when you do not take the time to smile and wave and notice the people around you? What good can you bring if you are a robot?

I told her that over the course of the weeks, I am a hamster-robot. A Ham-Bot.

She laughed hysterically and shaked my hair. That is why I am here, to cut your hair, Ham-Bot.

That was why she was there, to cut my hair. Or to cut my Ham-Bot circuits. For no Ham-Bot will I be.

TA-ship

2010-01-13T00:10:00.005+07:00

Today was my first day teaching. Yes, my FIRST EVER JOB IN MY WHOLE LIFE! Jeej the excitement! I'm one of them now, those with responsibilities. Woohoo! Despite the excitement of the ilussion of adulhood, I was nervous as hell summing up to this morning. Will they listen to me? Will I be a complete retard? Will I make a fool out of myself? Will I be able to answer their questions? Will they like me?

This morning, on the tram ride to the university, my heart hopped like a bunny with a gun on its head. Jump or die, bunny. I was so nervous! Imagine 25 pairs of eyes fixating on you, focusing on every word you're saying, waiting for a flaw to attack. Eeks!

But it was surprisingly fun. After the first 15 minutes, the class started to loosen up. I started to loosen up. It feels strange to be on the other side of the class, to be the one giving instead of receiving. I feel an immediate responsibility for them, for what they take from the class. I slowly started to enjoy myself, to see how they respond to what I say, to try to make them have as much enjoyment as myself. True, it is only the first tutorial of the block and I have 2 months to go. But I just hope that it only gets better from here :)

PS. Am loving the perks that came with being a TA: office, staff email address, personalized computer settings, free coffee and tea, free copying. Totally worth the heart exercise.

The Vending Machine

2010-01-09T23:19:00.004+07:00

My little brother has developed a new prank towards me: The Vending Machine. Starting last week, he has been sending me these Blackberry messages:

Hello.

It's me.

I am the vending machine.

Insert coin.

He repeats that everytime I ask him to tell Mom/Dad something. Insert coin. And he goes on and on about it. I would play along, writing cling to symbolize the sound of coin. Yet he refuses to acknowledge my coin. He would type back: Insert Indonesian coin please. Your coin is not valid. Insert another coin please. On, and on, and on until you want to bang his head against a vending machine, throw coins at him and walk away.

Until this day I do not know what he means when he says insert coin please. Sometimes he would borrow my father's Blackberry just to say hi to me.

Hey there. It's me. THE VENDING MACHINE.

For some strange reason now I crack up whenever he does it. Probably because he does it during the moments that I'm stressing about something. I would smile and thought of how lovely it is to be simple-minded siblings.

2010-01-05T00:29:00.003+07:00

Falling snowflakes
Thickening white streets

Did you know that each snowflakes is different?

I feel that I've known you for years
At the same time realizing I don't know anything about you

Not even a last name
Not a thing

I wanted time to stand still,
for it to stop ticking

But I couldn't

So thank you
for the wonderful time

Until then,
Snowflakes will fall
melt, dissapear

But I guess that's the way the story goes.

2010

2010-01-02T03:46:00.003+07:00

Jeej it's 2010. It's scary how once you've settled to the habit of writing 2009, once you've gotten accustomed to it, new habit is demanded. 2009 is now yester-year, and I need to continually remind myself that it's the new year. But yet again, what does a year mean but mere number to navigate our way through time. Although the blatant realization of constant change keeps you on the edge. And I like that, to be aware, to have the need of constant searching and reflections. Time flies, but you can be the pilot.

I am writing this now from Hamburg, Germany. This winter break has been such an amazing experience, something you cannot even dream to experience if you did not take the plunge. We hitchiked here, am living at a stranger's house yet I couldn't dream of doing it any other way. I cannot imagine of a better way to start this new year. Trust, kindness and strangely unexplainable bonds between strangers. A guy told me last night that foreigners are acquintances you are yet to know. I think it's an interesting way to look at things - to feel a connection even before we even dare to speak to each other. Hippy as I can be, the symbolic meaning behind this trip will haunt me for months to come.

Went partying last night, met and talked to genuinely unorthodox yet interesting people, drank abit too much and slept too little. Took a walk in downtown Hamburg with one of the guys from the house and the dog, it was freezing. Yet I kinda enjoyed the stillness of a winter afternoon on the first day of the year, people packing their stands for the overdue christmas market, grandmas feeding the doves on the harbor, the silent trains passing the lake, the unawkward silences we had as each got lost in their own trains of thoughts. Perhaps we're thinking of the same thing, Costa Rica or somewhere warmer. Hot cocoa, glühwein and warm waffels. Or maybe we just didn't think at all.

Moments before I was sitting on the kitchen with our host. He's a caricature artist, a damn good one if I may say. He's been showing us his sketches, he's got books full of em! I gave him my travel mini-diary,telling him he can draw something in it that will remind me of him. The look on his face was similar to an innocent child when told that he can skip dinner for sweets. Seconds after he was busy doodling, I was reading my novel. On the other room, his roomate and her friends were just conversing in German, listening to music and enjoying each other's company. Next to me their dog is snoring soundly, deep in her sleep. I took a second to seep everything in, took a mental picture and continued reading.

It amazes me that we only knew each other for 24hrs, yet the idea of not knowing them seems foreign even to me.

So happy new year to you, Internet. May kindness prevails, happiness conquers and laughter redeems.

Sinterklaas 09

2009-12-07T17:16:00.006+07:00

We celebrated Sinterklaas last week - a Dutch tradition similar to Christmas. I find it rather odd to be celebrating it, being used to Christmas and all. Unlike the magical and jolly Santa, Sinterklaas (or St. Nicholas) was an actual bishop once upon a time. His benevolence is what makes him remembered, and on Dec 5th the Dutch celebrates him by putting together a night of feasting on cinammon-based traditional sweets and cakes, exchanging presents and making good-natured fun of each other.

Which is precisely what we did.

The jokes we made were racist to say the least, politically incorrect, ignorant and downright offensive. Which is peculiar, given the fact that most of us were strangers prior to that night. I was invited by a friend of mine, so I did not know most of the people she invited. It was amazing how we immediately show what kind of a retard we all are - perhaps that's why the ice melted that fast, we were bonded by our retardness. It was a wonderful experience to celebrate Sinterklaas with you, the benevolent, jolly and loud retards.

Now - check out what I made. I have to warn you, even I felt abit pathetic as I spend the whole day crafting them. I woke up with a slight hangover, a reminder of the previous night's gala where 2 of my awesome friends swooped Oscars for their Rotterdam Tube Your World video! Them lovely ladies are Team 2 ;) I also love the video made by Team 5 and 16.

Back to the Cookie Decorating Session - I was honestly and unexpectedly enjoying myself, sitting next to the window and drawing on my cookies. I drew some of the things that I think best are best associated with Sinterklaas, namely the Zwarte Piet (black piet, the guy with a feather on his head. Indonesians would recognize him as Santa's helper who will put you in a sack to be enslaved back in North Pole! The beauty of cultural hybrid), Sint and his infamous red hat and of course PRESENTS! At times I got a little bit too creative and start making up my own, like this Jollie-Piet, Bono-Piet and Sponge-Piet with his jellyfish helper.

I know, at one point I felt like I'm looking at myself in pity.

Which brings me to my second point - sugar impedes hangovers.

The next day, I was bbm-ing with my little brother back home only to realize he aint so little no more. We would make the usual random, pointless, utterly ridiculous comments at first, before I asked him whether he is still considering upon studying abroad for his highschool next year. He said no, because he's loving his junior high years and the friends that he made too much. I commented, but how if the new friends that you will make is way better? Wont you regret the decision to stay?

To my surprise, he simply answered: "Well, it's an equal 50-50 chance. That's a 50% chance of me being better off here, which is not enough incentive to move". I was surprised by this simple, somewhat intelligent answer. I would never expect this from him, knowing him for 15yrs now. It dawned upon me how much older he's grown since I've left home. Next year he's entering highschool! I remember some years ago I was in highschool, and he was just this little snotty kid in primary school.

Time sure flies, I wrote to him. Uhuh, he said with his usual indifference.

An unexpected sweater visit

2009-12-02T23:49:00.002+07:00

A friend stopped by my flat yesterday to get her sweater, and we ended up talking until way past my bed time. Me and her, we always joke around on being hippies in the sea of economists. Which is rather strange since me and my dorky side enjoys snuggling behind economic theories, articles, thoughts, books and talks.

Having spent a year volunteering in Portugal, her way of living is what we call inefficient in economics term. She loves surprises, living by listening to her heart, thrives on being unconstrained by her agenda and most importantly is absolutely thrilled to meet and talk to new people. She is in short not someone you associate with organization and efficiency. Yet she couldnt be happier.

Me, on the other hand, acknowledges the scarcity of time, the need to produce the maximum value out of my limited resources. Dont get me wrong, I always take time for myself. I run every Sundays on the lake, I went to the market to drool over fresh fruits and vegetables, and my ideal Saturday is to lounge on my couch, a novel in hand and a cup of freshly brewed coffee peeking from the table infront.

However, I do completely realize how right she is. It is true that ever since I've lived here (in a "Western" world), I realized how busy we all are. We are running around from one appointments to another, meetings after meetings, talks cut short due to obligations. Not realizing how many opportunities of valuable rendezvous we missed unknowingly, unregrettfully.

Which brings me to my next thought: are we happier this way, to make use of our highly limited time here breathing, walking on concretes and tiles, or are we better off living without our watches, without our blackberries and unprecedented race towards the unknown?

I am still pondering on this, and yet I have to cut this post short as I have a meeting in 3 minutes.

Kinderrechten Festival!

2009-11-28T04:43:00.005+07:00

I volunteered at the Children Rights festival last weekend. It was one of the best weekends I had this year. I did not realize how much fun I would have when I signed up for it! It took quite a while to organize everything, contacting the people to make sure everything goes smooth, planning and meeting and brainstorming ideas. But in the end it sure did payoff!

We had this idea to make Wish Boats where children can fold this special paper with directions to make a boat by themselves. Then they can scribble what they wish for the world on that boat, to be put on the "sea" to sail up up and away! It was very funny to see how some children wrote touchy, simple things such as "No more war", or "Children to have houses and parents", "Health", while some wrote "I wish for the chance to swim with dolphins".

Despite all the fun, for me it felt great to be a part of something small done collectively all around the world.

I will be more than naive to even consider the slightest chance of making a difference. But for me, I'd like to do a piece of my part, no matter how microscopic it was. I never realize how interesting it is to hear children's opinions on things. I enjoyed hearing their thoughts, their random scribbles and simple minds. Things are much more interesting seen from a kid's eyes.

So this week, I am going to be a kid. I am going to be happy for no reason. I am going to hum and sing and run and nibble on sweets and nag people and smile and laugh and giggle and not complicate everything. Because life is too boring to be boring, and who else better than a kid to see that?

Kahneman moment

2009-11-10T03:33:00.003+07:00

"If you're lucky to live long enough, you're going to see the impossible happen"- Daniel Kahneman, Dies Natalis 2009.

It's official. This is my best week ever. I. Shook. Kahneman's. Hands! Who's Kahneman? Er I dont know, like THE GODFATHER OF BEHAVIORAL ECONOMICS? HELL YEAH! Yes, that Daniel Kahneman! Hihihihihihi it was really funny because I literally just stood there utterly and completely speechless. My brain was saying this is it. The moment to shine! Ask smart questions!!!

Which was the plan. That is, until I started blushing and stuttering. The only thing I managed to say was "it's an honor, Professor!".

And with that, Daniel Kahneman left to get refreshments. And I vowed not to wash my hands. That is, until it was time to eat dinner. Because you know, it's unsanitary.

Viggo, Ribosomes and the Nobel Prize

2009-11-06T03:52:00.003+07:00

I had today perhaps one of the most interesting days in weeks! I skipped all of my classes today to volunteer and help out for my university's Israeli cleantech conference. I didnt really know what it was about until I arrived there this afternoon, and apparently it was a conference about cleantech in general, and the signing of MoU to collaborate in extensive R&D for cleantech.

I didnt do anything pivotal of any sort, me and another guy became the person in charge of registration and leading people from one place to another. When candidates are safely seated in the conference room, we had to stay outside just in case someone comes in late and need their name tags. At this point, there were the 3 of us, me, him and another lady. We were so bored we started talking about stuff. And I have to admit I enjoyed every second of it. We were continually laughing, with some serious intermezzo in between about life, aging and cultures.

Did I mention also the Minister of Science and Technology from Israel was also there? Yes, it was indeed very amusing to see securities running around just to 'sweep' the place. And one of them men in black was completely and incredibly CUTE. No, I'm not exagerating this time. This guy looks exactly like Viggo Mortensen in Eastern Promises, only younger and without the scars on his face. Oh my lord.

I was walking behind them at one point, and I realized then how humongrous he was. My fellow name-tag-attendants caught my eyes, and they started laughing and I started giggling. I GIGGLED. What is the worst thing you can do when you are right behind an extremely dreamy and intoxicatingly attractive bodyguard? Oh, I dont know, YOU GIGGLE?

At this point, he turned back and smiled at me. The next second, the entire team of 5 bodyguards turned and smiled at me, curious of WHY was that loser giggling. My cheeks were unsalvageably burning, and people told me I look like a strawberry. We laughed at it for almost 15 minutes straight afterwards. Who knows how much fun can one have while waiting for people to show up and get their nametags!

All the laughter aside, next I actually participated in a little conference/talk given by the Minister himself. I have to say it was really fascinating to hear him talk about balancing his religiousness, politics and academic curiosity. He spoke passionately about academic discoveries, of the two Israeli researchers who won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry (Ada Yonath in 2009, Aaron Ciechanover and Avram Hershko in 2004). I was actually very interested, his short talk made us think of the wonders in scientific discoveries, of how they contribute to humanity as a whole with an infinite applications of their discoveries.

His little story about the ribosomes caught my attention. Ada Yonath studied this for more than 30yrs, amidst all critiques, failures, lack of funding, jeering peers. "It was her stuborness as a scientist," he said. I like how he phrased it, that regardless the odds, the persevering scientist Ada Yonath kept going just because of her own curiosity. She did not care what others say, what circumstances bring, what failures she encountered. She just did it. And to think that the other 2 people who won the Prize with her actually critized her before.

At the end of the talk, people questioned him rigorously. For most of us, we heard how science and religion do not really ride the same wagon. But he told us that is not the case with him, as his religion actually encourages him (them) to research and discover new things about the world. To understand what makes the world tick a little bit better, yet still realize that these discoveries does not entail that we are God.

I thought it was really nice to see how differences can be bridged and conflicts avoided for this one very passionate mathematician.

Alles is liefde

2009-10-30T15:25:00.004+07:00

I've been derivatively packed with things to do these weeks. Places to be, meetings to attend, housewarmings and dinners to enjoy, game theory exam coming up, game theory paper next in line, emails to write, books to read, assignments to complete. In one sense, I am loving every second. I love it because I know I'm doing it for myself. And the me inside is grateful, because life will not throw me things that I can't do. That is a blind belief that I take very seriously.

But of course, there is a tradeoff to this. With 24hours in a day, sometimes there is no enough time to do everything. Choices must be made. But with these choices come consequences. I think the most drastic would be that I do not spend as much time with those I love the most. At first I though it's alright, they're busy too. They will understand.

Today, I was having a relaxed morning with my glass of milk&fruit and a grilled Spongebob tosti when it hit me. It hit me hard. There's no better time to make time for those you love but when you're exceptionally busy. I walked to my cupboard, where I hang some letters from those who love me enough to write it. At that moment, I couldnt ask for anything else. I felt so loved. And it makes me feel so grateful. Grateful, of those who love me no matter how imperfect I am.

Grateful of being alive.

Grateful of this realization.

Grateful of everything, because everything is love.

And I'm not referring to the love between lovers. You know what, the strange thing is that this was the only kind of love I thought valid. Perhaps this is one of the most momentous realization in my life, to understand that love is universal. It spans throughout race, blood, sex, animate objects, conventional wisdom, culture, religion. It is everywhere, everyone, everything.

One of the most influential quote in my life is from Morrie Schwartz: "love each other, or perish." Sometimes we just need to take aside our pride for one second, to engage in honest openness and vulnerability of connections. Because we only have 24hrs a day, and making just a little bit of time for someone means all the joy in the world.

For some reason, I took my phone, and started making random calls at 9 in the morning just to say hi to people. I wrote emails, texts and even blackberry messenger-ed those who live on the otherside of the world. To wish them a nice day, and that I love them.

At that moment, I am incredibly grateful for all the love in the world. For the love between the postman riding past me now of his job, of the bike shop owner across the street who undully put out each and every one of his bikes outside every day, of the girl who biked listening to her ipod to the music she's hearing, to friends who are doing Finance of their academic thirst, to the love and compassion being shed everywhere in the world between strangers. Of hope, love and inspiration. Each and every second, in every posible unique realization.

Love each other or perish.

How can one be entrenched in self pity, anger, stress or frustration once we realize the sheer amount of love there is to cherish?

Cit cit cit

2009-10-28T01:31:00.005+07:00

Yesterday, my eyes stumbled upon a block of cheese cut in the shape of a triangle in the supermarket. Now dont get me wrong, I've always loved cheese. However, I tend to eat it on a meal. You know how I love my grilled cheese tosti with Spongebob face on it! So as I stare at the triangle cheese, I decided to go a little crazy by buying it. Me. Buying my first actual cheese! The excitement!

I dont know cheese that well, so I approached the cheese-chef/butcher/server to ask whether I made a good choice. He looked at me as if I just handed him a new born baby. His eyes sparkled and he waved his hands enthusiastically to gesture just how incredible delicious this piece of cheese is. He said its "very soft, very full, very intense, very delicious!"

So I gave in to his description and took it home. How excited was I when I cut it! It was a little crunchy on the outside, very tender and slightly gooey in the inside. Without further ado, I gobbled up the little piece that I carefully cut.

It was intense alright. The first sensation was the outter part, a bit crunchy and tasteless. Then I chewed it and this intense sensation overcame me. It tasted like old socks! I frowned, extremely confused. Seconds later, it became very soft in texture, very buttery in flavor.

Today I found myself crouching at the far end of my room nibbling on the piece of cheese.

I am turning into a cheesehead.

Or a mouse.

That is when it hits me. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME. SOMEONE TAKE AWAY MY PIECE OF CHEESE! THIS IS NOT THE KIND OF PERSON MY PARENTS WANTED ME TO BE WHEN THEY HAD ME.

This is much, much better.

Hello, Mr. Police!

2009-10-13T23:04:00.003+07:00

A group of little preschoolers just passed my building. I could hear their chatter and laughter as if walking home together is the best thing that has ever happened to them. That is, until they saw a police on duty standing outside a bike shop. All of the sudden, the chatter stopped distinctly. One by one, one after another, they opened their little lips and said:

Hallo, meneer politie!

It was a choir almost, the harmony of joy expressed tonelessly by a group of still-to-be-corrupted midgets whom I still cant decide to use the word walk or bounce to describe. It was very cute, and I couldnt stop smiling!

Children are a bundle of joy when theyre not yours :) :) :)

Walking on people

2009-10-09T16:01:00.003+07:00

It is in university that I met some of the most selfish and competitive people I have ever seen. I guess it is good in a way for them to be so competitive, to not settling and wanting to achieve only the best. But if you do it while stepping on other people to get to the top, you've lost my respect.

I guess I shouldn't let them muddle with my head. Really, for some reason I could not help but feel pissed. I feel used. Do they not realize their lies are so transparent I can see it even when I'm blindfolded.

But you know, on the other hand maybe they were sick. Maybe they were too sick that they could see the white light. Maybe that's why they do not have the power to produce sufficient energy to send me the paper.

I am trying to believe you, trust me, I am. But's its getting harder to trust people when they continually skrew you over for their own benefit.

But I am trying.

You just need to realize, my dear friend, that life is not a zero sum game. My winnings are not your losses, my losses are not your winnings. I know, because one can never lose. One can only win or learn something from it. In a sense, we always win. But that's just the way I look at it.

Little people

2009-10-04T16:39:00.002+07:00

There's a reason why I love weekends: freedom. Complete freedom of knowing you don't have a class to attend to the next morning, or meetings, or other obligations. There's this freedom attatched to how you manage your weekend, since there is nothing you have to do. It's what you want to do. It's lovely, flirtatiously lovely. I always decided to party on Friday night, me-time on Saturday and museum visits on Sundays.

The last 2 are new to this year. Last year, it was more like party Friday night, party Saturday night, drinks Sunday night.

I made a resolution this Summer: this year I am only going to do what I want to do, no more feeling of should be doing something just because. Uhuh, its less partying more other fun fun activities :) I just find it easier to know who Denica is when you dont have to shout to talk to me. My Cultural Sundays started when me and my friend painted my room on a Sunday. We were so tired we decided to go to a cultural fair to refresh our minds, and it has become a habit ever since. We're going to a fashion art museum this afternoon :)

But perhaps most of all I look forward for my Saturdays. It's exhilirating yet relaxing at the same time to be spending some time with just yourself. In the morning I go to the markt to purchase some verse fruit and vegetables. Generally I do nothing else productive. Strangely at these times my head is filled with questions: what do you want to do? What do you want to do later? What do you want to do with this precious time that you have on the palms of your hands?.

On Saturday nights, I make myself an incredible dinner to celebrate the passing of time in this glorious day. I love this newly found quality time with myself. I would then watch a movie, or spend the night in the company of a good book. It's strange how I no longer feel the fear of being alone, the fear of loneliness that haunted me dreadfully.

So yesterday I watched this movie: Synecdoche NY, and fell in love directly. It's a pretty slow movie, but at the end it really gets me thinking. That we are little people in a sea full of other little people who may or may not realize our bare existence. That we may feel like we're the only lead in the act of our lives, but truth be told there is no extra in this huge playground for a play. Everyone is a lead, a little lead in their little play.

The realization of how little we are makes me realize how scared we feel to be forgotten. When the ones who love us forget, when they no longer love us, when they die. These little invisible strings connecting us all, the idea that there is no strangers but just little players colliding each and everyday.

Life is precious, every day is irreplaceable, every moment is unique.

Why don't we all smile now?

:)

The Day After Peace

2009-09-27T22:58:00.002+07:00

This movie is absolutely remarkable. To see someone's journey initiated, grew, flourished, floundered, shattered. But perhaps most importantly of all triumphed, all of which started with the simplest idea of hope for peace for a day.

I remember meeting someone last week, he was from Rwanda. I admitted to him that what I know of his continent is of the war and adversities and wrecked havoc. Of guns and bloodshed, of diseases and deaths. Of unnecessary losses in human lives. Of inequality. He smiled at me, and said that his view of his own continent couldnt be more different.

Sure there are areas so dangerous they get uncomfortable just by mentioning its name, but good things, human bondage and hopeful events are taking place each and everyday. Problem is, we on the other side of the world do not get these broadcasted to us. We watch the news everyday and we hear the same old news. Guns havent been able to be silenced long enough for hope to be transmitted and cynics silenced.

Why should we care? We've got food here, shelther, warmth. We are alive, everyone around us seems to be alive and well. There is nothing we can do all the way over here, it's them you need to talk to, them holding the guns and not us. But like what Jeremy said, they want the change already. Them over there cannot do anything about it. It's up to us over here to want that change, to demand that change, to unite for that change.

I think the road to believing in the goodness of people is a slippery one indeed. What you see happening around you everyday may erode, sustain or heighten that believe. It's so easy to be cynical, to be content in the status quo, to believe in the impossible. Or we can believe. We can believe with all our heart that if one man made it possible for a day of peace signed by the Talibans in the Afghanistan to vaccinate 1.4bn children and infants, maybe this can work.

If we can show that it was possible for peace to prevail in a day, perhaps we can now make it 365days when cynics are silenced, where humanity, idealism and absolute altruism conquers.

Rational Man

2009-09-23T22:21:00.002+07:00

Was walking to my GBB class this morning when I noticed some people from my class walking on the other direction. I asked where they're heading, and apparently the class was changed! I asked if they're sure, and being me as usual (I'm ALWAYS wrong about these things) I quickly maneuvred and walked with them to the other building.

Well for once I was right. We were just sitting there for 15 minutes when someone told us that the class is happening on the building I was heading at first! I beamed with pride of actually knowing where the class is, before I realized that me too am in the wrong building.

So we made our way back to the original building, and I was talking to this guy for the first time. He asked me where I'm from and we talked about the Dutch vs International students mentality.

"You see, you come from a we-mentality country. We here have an I-mentality. Get it?"

"Yes. But dont you think that you shouldnt take it as a fact, shouldnt you take into account there is another way of thinking about stuff?"

"Yes. But dont you agree that you too should?"

It was a really simple and short morning conversation between two strangers. It got me thinking, though. Maybe I should learn to be less naive, to be less altruistic and resembles what economists always assume humans are: rational men.

Maybe tomorrow

2009-09-21T23:41:00.002+07:00

I find it amusing how you can feel utterly satisfied with yourself one day, and mentally exhausted the next. One day, you rejoice all your tasks. On such a day, your mind is clear like the still water on a bright Summer day. Calm, clear, open. Joy and happiness emanating, a flooding feeling that you can only describe as rewarding.

The next day, you wake up feeling like colors have been sucked out from the world. Like bunnies are committing suicide. Or stroopwafels are being banned. Your brain just shuts off, no matter how much you plead, serve, begged, threatened, seduced, tricked. On such a grim day, you open your timetable and realize that shit has gone down. That you've got a shitload of shit coming your way and you need to get your shit together today.

But thats the thing with my shit, it doesnt come on demand. It is tremendously unhandy. On such a grim day, you cannot help but feel like a complete idiot, frustating yourself for not being able to do what you are supposed to do today. It's one of those days when your morning coffee is the sole reason behind your existence, one of those days when you feel the urge to jump on the street, man-handle and bitch slap a person who shows the littlest bit of smile. What is wrong with them, smiling, it's like they're on Prozac. Jeez.

What with all the shit?

I am taking a 3rd yr minor class this block, Game Theory and Business Behavior. Why did I take it? Because I have to work for my extra pts for my honors class. I chose that class because my last Micro teacher was a charming, inspirational and apparently hugely deceiving professor who tricked me into thinking that game theory will be interesting. I feel like a Trix bunny being tricked by colorful pieces of Trixes, only to be caged and sold as a slave to Arabian countries.

Of course, I am being a complete ass right now. For what it's worth, that minor is actually interesting (at times). It's very complicated, and there's a very high probablity of me failing it, but I have to admit I enjoy it at times. Not today, but most of the time. I find it very intelectual, which probably is the reason why I am not supposed to be in it in the first place.

And being a 3rd yr minor, students who take it usually do not have any other class but that. It is a full time course, but on top of that I happen to have my regular 2nd yr courses to adhere to. Usually it's alright, like I said, when my mind is clear I do like the adrenaline rush of deadlines, juggling and biking all over the place. Right now it makes me feel like a dog being walked. At one point you just feel so tired of running, but someone kept on pulling your collar and you cant stop no matter how much you want to.

At days like this I am glad I have you people who tell me to turn on the TV and open the way to obesity. To calm me down, to talk me out of my frustrations, to clear my mind, to let me know tomorrow's another day. To remind me to be a Denica (yes that is the term she used :) I thought it was very sweet). Another day where bunnies dont make themselves into tostis and you can buy a perfectly warm and gooey stroopwafels for 1euro.

Because those days are the ones that matter.

"The question is not whether we will die, it is how we will live "

2009-09-11T18:23:00.004+07:00

I believe it is human nature to search for answers. To justify an event, clarify an issue, decode things we are oblivious of. To know, understand, learn, realize, acknowledge. An aversion towards the unknown, enhancing the information available in order to minimize information assymetry. See, I believe most of us are risk averse. We do not typically find pleasure in uncertainty. We would rather pay a premium of information search to enhance that certainty. That blissful, certain certainty.

But to what point is this beneficial? When does analyzing a piece of information becomes over-analyzing it? Do we know where the line is?

I, by all means, think too much. This is a fact that I acknowledge, but not necessarily classify as a benefit or an expense. I search for answers, relationships, deeper meanings and often found infinite possibilities. Possibilities that sometimes only exist in my mind. Meanings that cease to exist without my compulsive disorder.

Having said that, I tried, am trying to think less. It may not be easy, the road towards old habits is slippery. And on numerous occasions I fall back into my fallibilities, sometimes regretfully and most of the times unconsciously.

I thought, perhaps some things are just what it is, you know. It's flat, one-layered beauty that is unique to the moment. It's like you going running to the park, and you see beautiful flower garden. All the colors, all the harmony, all the genuses and species, all the imperfections. That is perfect to that precise moment, and what a shame it would be to peel them to see what lies beneath them.

Most of the times I am wrong, all the time I am trying to be happy. You make mistakes, you say the worst things, but all the time you are trying to be true to yourself.

But at what point does staying true to yourself equals selfishness? When should you stop and think of what you did, what you said, what could you have done better?

Sometimes I think human relationship is like a noncooperative game. You have all 5 ingridients: players, payoffs, actions, information structure and rules/sequence. Most certainly, it is a noncooperative game where information assymetry prevails, when emotions take charge, when human fallibilities is on the center stage. When subjectivity evokes conflict, when you stray even further from that equilibrium, that state of happiness, contentment and peacefulness.

When you always lose, why do you even bother to play the game? Why do you bother to have the slightest consideration of starting the game in the first place?

Is it because you cant help it? Is it love of the game? Is it love at the thought of someday winning the game? Is it the thrill of losing, and learning something for the next game? Is it falling down flat on your face, and having the courage to stand up and bravely move forward? Is it plain stupidity? Ignorance? Inability to pursue a better outcome?

Sometimes I ponder at a list of questions, an infinity of answers, and never knowing when have I crossed the line. How nice it would be to know better.

Sometimes I just take a day off, take a really cold shower and start laughing from the extreme cold and the risk of hypothermia.

Frenchy winter break

2009-09-07T19:18:00.003+07:00

I'm thinking of going to France this winter to study French.

I know it's most probably futile, a complete waste of time, money and effort to say the least, seeing that the chances of me living in France, or using French is minimal. But it's just one of those things that you do just because you really want to, you know. Things that you do regardless of the odds.

Things that you dreamt of doing, but always put aside when you rationalize it.

I've always liked, wanted, dreamt, longed to be able to understand, read, speak French. Many would cringe when they hear this. You want to speak French? Why? That god-awful country with those God-awful arrogant people. I always smiled whenever I hear this. I can't tell them why specifically, but I honestly and sincerely think that French is the most beautiful language in the world. To be deprived of such beauty would be a tragedy. To consider such beauty makes it much less rational with every consideration.

Some would even say all this non-sense just to study French? The country is only a train ride away from where you're living and typing this right now. Those some can understand and talk a little French because they had some classes in highschool. I went to an Australian highschool, and as far as I know, Australia has very little to do with the French to adopt the language. Much less to teach it to children in their schools. So for me, it is new and foreign to consider going off to the country and study it.

Another consideration popped into mind when I think of the odds: the expenses. Learning another language is expensive, especially when you learn it in the country. Unfortunately, I do not believe in learning a language outside the country that it is actually used. As a student without a partime job or income whatsoever, I understand how unfair and incredibly selfish it is for me to put this kind of budget on my parents. I talked to them about it this Summer when I went home, and I was taken aback by how supportive they were.

So I think that's it. I am going to stop my brain from trying to talk me out of this and to just go for it. My blood is pumping in excitement, the corners of my lip curved in a perfect smile.

*I would end it with a sweet French phrase, unfortunately I know none just yet. So I think a smile would suffice for the moment, and save the awkward French grammatical mistakes for later.

That unfortunate earthquake

2009-09-04T14:01:00.003+07:00

I was listening to the news when I heard of the event, a 7-scale ritcher earthquake struck West Java. It started from the city of Tasik, but the impact rippled to Jakarta and other cities. I quickly texted my family to see if they're alright. Their reply was very light. They were having Chinese food for lunch at Mom's favorite place. When they felt the ground shaking beneath their feet, they did not followed other people who were running out from the mall for safety in screams. No, instead they sat there wondering if the chefs drugged their food.

They seriously suspected Mom's favorite tofu dish to be the culprit, knowing how Mom would definitely order it and distribute it accordingly to the others. I can imagine them sitting there in contemplation of which food was drugged, and why anyone would want to drug them in the first place.

With that image in mind, I turned off the news and biked to school in the rain.

I woke up this morning, turned on the news and here it is. Death toll reaching 57, searches are still being conducted to the buried villages. They expect noone to be alive while they dig and search through the rubbles. At that moment, a pang of seriousness hit me. I just realized the devastating result of the quake when I saw little faces looking straight at the cameras from below rescue tents. The look on their faces wasn't fear, it was blank. Of unawareness, of not understanding what happened, of not knowing the next steps. Those whose houses were shattered have nowhere to go, those whose houses were still intact are too scared to come back.

I heartfully hope help is on the way.

In any case, I know how resilient you are as a country. We survived a series of unfortunate attacks this past few months, from terrorism to natural disasters. Let these tragedies bring us even closer, uniting us as human beings, as citizens of the world.

All my best, all my heart.

I, Sucker

2009-08-31T21:41:00.003+07:00

I said once how I would write stuff to commemorate and share my wonderful trip to Thailand. And here we are, only 1 post about the temples produced. Sometimes I think my brain is similar with that of a 3-yo. Uuwwww, bubble wraps! Oh my, fake plastic Patrick!! HOLY SHIT, SPONGEBOB IS ON!!!

That went in the span of 5 seconds.

But lets look at the broader time frame and geographical movement now. I am back in Rotterdam, ja ik ben terug, unfortunately. Summer was immensely incredible, the best one I've ever had. It was an opportunity(/tragedy) to become a jell-o for 2 whole wonderful months.

At the end of Summer, that life was the only life I know. The only reason for my daily existence being waking up noontime, going to my parents' office to (sometimes) help out and (mostly) read books, lunch at mouth-watering restaurants, sit in the traffic all the way home, dinner without having to move a muscle preparing it, lounging at lil bro's with big sis and nightime sleep tucked in my ever fluffy bedsheet.

Life as a jell-o was a good one to say the least. It's like you want to wriggle right, left, right, and left again now to do the victory dance. Oh yeah. Party, jell-o style. *Jell-o 90s party themesong at the back*

So that I think explains in a pretty musical way why I feel pretty sad to be back here once more.

Although I have to admit I like being back in school, to actually make use of my ever diminishing brain cells. I've got my hands full with extra courses this block, so I am on my knees wishing that my jell-o days would solidify. Anytime soon now, I hope. It's also nice to see some freaks I havent met for 2 months. I forgot just how retarded they are.

And me alike. My thighs do not appreciate being back biking. I used to bike all the way to school for 30 minutes. Now, 10 minutes and I am panting like a fat kid in gym class who just recently declared chips as the only food worthy to eat. Good for your self satisfaction, not so on having to run the never ending track. Sometimes in moments of revelation I can listen to my thighs telling me one more pedal-ing and I swear I will make you so miserable in the morning that you'll be sorry you've ever been born. I'm scared if those kind of honest conversation will come true.

I began this post by comparing my brain with that of a 3-yo. And like that cuddly toddler, I am missing my parents because when I look up and out of the room, they're not there. They are far, far away. When it's bad, it feels like someone grabbed and squeezed my stomach. It feels uncomfortable, it makes you anxious and panicky. And the worst of all, it makes you feel like there's nothing you can do about it.

And sometimes you wish that if you wish hard enough, you can come out of your room into the next room to just no nothing but make fun of each other with your siblings. Or down for a chit-chat with your parents.

But the shortness of time, of being with them for no other agenda but to just be with them, makes you feel how special every moment is. It even makes you grateful of being back here again, to acknowledge with the every flutter of your eyelashes the preciousness of a family. It's far from perfect, but its every imperfections are what made me long for the next time I board that God-awful long-haul flight straight to a jell-o period.

I boarded my flight home at the beginning of the Summer with the hope of finding a new perspective. And now nearing the end of Summer, I think I have it. Sometimes you just need to look at something in a different light to see how beautiful it is. And how happy you are to be able to change the bulbs to see that wonder.

You are in my thoughts: pa, ma, ca and Manggis.

*90s Jell-o party soundtrack playing*

Thai Temples...

2009-08-19T23:46:00.007+07:00

...are amazing. I love the colors, the authentic infrastructure, the grandness. Wat Phra Kaew is something to see alright. Do remember to dress accordingly if you have any types of temples in your itinerary. They require you to wear appropriate clothing which means that your arms and ankles must be covered. I didnt bring anything that long, so I had to stand in the line for an hour to borrow a coverup. It was not pleasant, if you imagine Bangkok's highly hot climate.

Also, the complex is HUMONGOUS. And surprise, surprise, there aint no automatic means of transport to sightsee through it. You have to use your God-given pair of legs. I was dehydrated, exhausted and famished halfway already that we (my sister and I) went out for food and ditched the temples. We went shopping. But trust me, it wasnt the temples' fault. If it has a label on it, it would read: INGRIDIENTS, Denica's fault 99.5%.

I also love the shrines. We visited some on our day excursion to Ayuthaya. What struck me the most was the peaceful ambience. Like a sheltered bubble, all beings coexisting regardless of their differences. Animals, humans, trees, statues. I liked it. I liked it alot.

Thai people is exceptionally polite, all smiles and very open to share their culture with nothing less but complete pride. I liked that. Peacefulness literally radiated throughout the whole country. Thai people love, adore and worship their King. A friend whom I met there told me once how the whole nation wore yellow during the period of which the King fell ill. Yellow, because it is the color of the day he was born, Monday I think. The look on her face when she told this to me, smiling so proud, like a mother sharing a piece of charming trivia about her children.

It was like a fashion that time, she said. Everyone just wore yellow. Because we believe it would ease the King's sickness.

Sawadeeka

2009-08-19T23:14:00.004+07:00

Hello internet. It is true. I am alive. I have been majorly occupied these past few weeks that I have gone completely oblivious of what I do, and should do. If you remember a post from the middle ages about my knee infection, and are still praying for it to heal, then consider yourself released from that obligation because... IT IS HEALED, FELLOW EARTHLINGS! Believe me, need not to be ashamed with your utter happiness from this piece of news. It happens to the best of us.

And you guessed right, I did went to Thailand. A glorious 2 weeks vacation, an amazing experience to say the least.

Let’s get one thing straight first of all: Denica loves Thailand. It was one hell of a trip. It was I think my first trip to another developing Asian nation by myself, and that adds so much more to the experience. No tours, no parents to set the schedule. Just my excursions, what I want to do, what I want to see first hand and was ultimately immensely delighted by their rich and peaceful culture.

I set out with only one particular goal in mind: to experience Thailand. I don’t do 3-days-tourist-trips to see tourist infested spots in a country; I want to enjoy what locals proudly enjoy, eat what they gloriously devour, listen to testimonies of their lives.

And my little Thailand trip has provided me that. We did everything, ranging from eating from the side of the street for as little as BHT70 (EUR 1.5) for a bowl of deliciously warm kwey tiaw soup, McDonalds when we rushed to the Lumpinee boxing stadium because our Thai massage took longer than we thought, cooled down with Thai fine dining on the side of the river accompanied by complex yet beautiful Thai dance. I had the benefit of knowing some locals, allowing me to experience their local favorites that aren’t to be found in my little Lonely Planet guide to Bangkok.

It was also my first time to experience the differential treatment posed by locals to foreign tourists. I know how in Bali they always have 2 prices: local and Bule prices. Being a local, I never really paid attention to this issue. Being an Asian myself, I could really pass as a Thai. But the minute I open my mouth it's like they had an epiphany. It was actually an interesting thing to see though, some resent me being their foreign customer, some adores my visit because they know they can skrew me.

Yes, Thailand is a highly intriguing country and was a remarkable experience indeed.

So these coming few days, I am going to finally write and post pretty pictures of Thailand, the way I felt it.

Jakarta under terror

2009-07-19T12:37:00.003+07:00

I was on the way to the office when my sister mentioned the bombs. It was so peaceful, just an ordinary day. I accused her of joking, a victim of harmless prank by her friend. But no, she said. JW Marriot and Ritz-Carlton Jakarta were bombed at 7.55am. No shit.

The implications were pretty severe. Traffic was everywhere, the national security was on Siaga 1 (the level just below wartime), it stole the spotlights from Manohara and Michael Jackson in the news channels, the president looked angry, sad, dissapointed yet resolute. I thought he handled it pretty well, not a hint of fear regardless of his picture being used as a shooting target by the so-called terrorists.

The finance ministers abruptly broadcasted how they will not allow the dollar to appreciate and wreck havoc amongst traders. I also thought that was very smart. I know that they have no means to do so, but they did the only thing they can: lock in public panic and self-fulfilling prophecy. The dollar will not appreciate under fear and crippling speculation, that much they addressed for the moment.

All in all, this is a tragedy nevertheless of the size of casualties. Indonesia has been under international appraisal for being South East Asia's most vibrant democratic country, a stable economy under the new president. The Thinking General, so he's called. In a way it is sustaining its democratic nature, by allowing free thinkers to express themselves, regardless of how adverse it is.

What saddens me the most I think was this video they had of this Director of a big cement company dying. He and his managers were having breakfast meeting at the JW Marriot that unfortunate morning. The security camera showed everything, from the morning routines of the hotel, a succumbing explosion and immense amount of smoke and rubbles that followed. He was later seen carried out by the firefighters, abandoned on the side of the street while they try to rescue others. He was still alive then. Very badly burnt, his clothes were gone, his left eye was gone and half his face skinless, but alive nonetheless.

There was indeed a footage of him deformed, squealing in pain for help at first. That turned into anger when he realized the only thing he was attracting was people video-taping his state of being. Like some kind of an attraction. He waved his arms in anger, telling them to piss off. But continue taping was the only thing they did, amateurs and professionals alike.

He died, doctors said he could have been saved if he received medical attention sooner.

I had that feeling in the Netherlands when I had my accident. I was unable to walk, on the street waiting for the ambulance. People walked by, asked in anticipation what I was doing there. What happened, they shook their heads in fear when they saw my open knee. But thats it, once they know what the fuss was all about, they left. I also felt like an attraction, and began to despise people who came by for the spectacle.

I thought that was one of the bad things I encountered during my stay there, but unfortunately it is more global that I thought.

The thought of seeing a man crying for help and dying in front of a taping crowd was beyond my understanding. What happened to humanity, a bond between all humans regardless of acquintance? Arent we all social beings who literally cant live without each other? Why should curiosity comes first before time saving, the thin line between living and dying? Why arent we rushing the poor New Zealander to the hospital when we had the chance? Spare the family of the dreadful phone call.

We are under terror, but to me it is a different kind of terror. The lacking of humanity, that is what's attacking us.

Knee Infection

2009-07-10T20:10:00.002+07:00

Yes, that wound on my knee is infected. I have been busy with catching up that I completely forgot about my knee. That is, until one day I woke up and the inner crust (the only small part left) is totally gone. Then, I noticed how this transparent liquid started to come out of it. And I started freaking out a little bit. I know my biology skill is relevant with 5th graders, but I thought that it might be white blood cells.

My patriotic white blood cells who fought and lost the battle to evil microbeings rooted in my wound.

It dried after 2 days, so my mom told me to go the doctor for some anti-scar lotion or something. You know, something to preserve my old knee. He gave me this antibiotic lotion to put on my wound because he saw some strange yellow-blackish part on my wound. I applied it dutifully, until I realized yellow stuff actually started to come out. This time my retarded biology-related brain waves a red flag. I had slight fever, and was being a complete drama queen to my sister.

I think my knee is infected.

No it's not. (while looking at my knee)

No? How about now?

No.

Now?

No.

Are you sure?

How about now?

I know. I am a complete bitch when in unchartered water. But turns out being a drama queen is sometimes a good thing, because my knee is infected! So it has been lolipop-frenzy, pony rides and absolute fun here.

NO IT IS NOT, I AM COMPLETELY IN SELF DENIAL.

The doctor prescribed more antibiotic medication to me. He told me that he suspects some alien object is still left in my knee, stitched in absolute ignorance.

Holey shit.

He said there might be a possibility of having another surgeon reopen my stitches, clean it and stitch it back.

Blood drained out of my face. I do not like that possibility. At all.

The worst part is I might not be able to go to my well-deserved vacation to Thailand next month. I am devastated, since I am sincerely looking forward to a week of absolute sightseeing. DAMN YOU, MICROBEINGS, WHY CANT YOU FIND SOME OTHER TIME TO ROOT IN ME.

Please please, microbeings, having known me for a week now I am sure you have developed quite some bond with me right? I believe you have come to like me somehow given how generous I've been to you, letting you stay for free for over a month? So why dont you kindly die and come out as your gross fellow yellow stuff and let mommy go to Thailand?

Or I will resort to ancient crazy-cat-woman chanting to banish you, you little shit.

I did not mean that.

Happy birthday, mom!

2009-07-04T20:42:00.003+07:00

Yesterday was Mom's birtday. It was surprisingly alot of fun. We gave her this Oscar trophy-card I found back in Rotterdam, written voor de beste moeder. It was in Dutch, true, but I got the idea that she understood just fine. The look on her face when she opened it was priceless, beaming with this new-found reasonless joy. She immediately looked for the perfect place for it in the house. It was heartwarmingly funny to see her put it in a cabinet, only to take it out and put it in another more suited place. Again, and again, until I lost track of where the card resides now.

We have this thing in our family, the birthday one gets to choose the place to eat that night. Usually my little brother uses this to somehow maneuvre us to eat at where he wants to eat that night. He would be whispering the name of the restaurant he feels like that night from behind the chairs, somehow thinking that we would be brainwashed. He thinks our brains are the size of peanuts. When my Dad realizes this and calls him, he would shriek like a girl: NIK SAID IT, pointing his fingers at me while running away.

Sometimes we get a sneak preview at the top of his underwear too, since he's now into this baggy pants thing. If you by any chance are oblivious to what it means, basically your hips is on the middle of your ass. So when you walk, we can see the upper part of your buttocks speaking. Right foot forward, left ass up: He. Left foot, right ass: Llo. He-llo. He-llo. And... Stop.

Anyways during dinner (we went to Mom's chosen place, my brother wanted to go there too) Dad asked us to pray for Mom before we eat. He started counting down, and I just stared there. I asked silently, to whom? But I dont think Mom would like that. So I hold my hands together and talked to myself,

Hey you. It's me. I know it's been awhile but it's my Mom's birthday. You know she deserves so much more so I wont waste your time by asking what you already knew. I just would like to ask if I can be here again to celebrate her many birthdays to come. I know, I am a selfish girl. But thanks anyway. Oh yeah and please bless this food we are about to digest. I know they are going to come out the same, but they look and smell fan-bloody-tastic! Hurray!

And yes, the food was absolutely fantastic. It was the best Indonesian food I've ever had. The place is new, very romantic. It reminds me of this charming little Italian bistro. Only more formal. I thought to myself WHERE HAVE I BEEN ALL THESE TIME. I had to resist this urge to run into the kitchen, dramatically burst open the door, panting for effect and scream EVERYBODY BUT THE CHEF GO OUT FOR YOUR LIFE. Then when it's just me and the chef, put on the Silar-evil-smile. Bam, he goes onto the walls. I would then point out my index finger in the direction of his forehead. Creeeeeeeeeeeeak. You know how it goes.

Summer Summer Fever

2009-06-28T03:16:00.002+07:00

I am officially done with the last exam for the year, and have been putting my spare week to good use before I fly home next Wednesday. Sleep deprived, yes, but happy regardless. Had a lot of catching up with some friends, and we agreed on how quick time flies. We are done with the first year, and will come back from our respective Summer vacations as second year students. We also agreed upon partying the second year even harder since time flies so quickly.

I am juggling so many last minute things before I fly. People to meet, stuff to do, and above all what I want to do. I went out, danced, ran, stepped on dog poo, went to a sailing workshop, did a pub quiz, tried lacrosse, watched kickboxing student championship, went to a themepark with my gay best friend, read and laughed.

It's been good. Very good.

I guess no matter how rough your weeks have been, it all turns out for the best. As cliche as it may sounds, the phrase this too shall pass does have some truth to it.

I am currently very concerned about what to bring my friends and family. I havent bought anything yet, but I will try to find something tomorrow. I am thinking of buying everyone stroopwafels. An image flashed in my mind of the airport security scanning through my luggage and suddenly red lights started to light with that horrible police buzz. Next scene of me being handcuffed in front of the whole airport on the ground of smuggling national treasure, me screaming I DIDNT KNOW IT WAS IN MY LUGGAGE I SWEAR. A young security actually opened my luggage, took out a package of stroopwafels, opened it, took a sniff and looked back to the other officers, nodding gravely. Another officer screamed CHECK HER ASS SHES TOTALLY SMUGGLING SOME MORE THERE.

Right.

Say what you need to say

2009-06-20T17:36:00.003+07:00

Tamara Tempura, my little evil niece :-*

I am getting tired of this game. Every human contact seemed somehow like a battlefield, idle on your war strategies and you are worse than skrewed. We are bombarded by social norms, of how things should be. For some reason we ended up with this idea to be the one with the power in a relationship.

And I'm not just talking about romantic relationship. Even some friendships are exhausting to me. To somehow get the balance of "I like you and I really want to spend time with you" and "I have another life so I am not going to spend my 24/7 with you". You have this mindset that you will not let yourself to be outweighed by the first one: to be needy. Because, you know, it's not cool to be needy.

Before you know it, you are too focused on not being needy. Pride preservation ultimately drives you and your friend away, because both find it crucial to have another life.

I am getting tired of it.

I think life is complicated enough without us having to complicate it some more. It seems to me like my brain is constantly conspiring to complicate everything. Take something and magnify it using a NASA telescope, and turn an incredibly dumb look whenever someone brings it up.

What is this false accusation you are making? I do no such magnifying.

But I do. And as hard as it is for me to take it in, there will be no advancement from this point. So here I am trying to simplify things now. It should be more "Yes" or "No" depending on your utility, but no "But" or "If only". It is what it is and the faster you take on that, the faster we can move on.

When you like someone, it is OK to be vulnerable. Take off your battle shields and just go and say what you want to say. After all, why do we care so much about what the other person will think? If it works, then great. If it doesnt, now you know better. You cant win it all, and you've got nothing to lose.

Be strong. Even if only for the time being.

2009-06-14T00:25:00.003+07:00

It's happening again. No mater how hard you try to be strong, no matter how hard you tell yourself that it does not matter and you are stronger than it you always find yourself broken. Again, and again.

When you cant be by yourself because your thoughts are suffocating yourself. When it feels like someone is gripping your heart and wont let it go no matter how you plead. When you feel so scared, vulnerable and alone. When you know that you have to save yourself from none other than yourself.

Why is it happening again. I thought we made our peace, I asked myself.

I thought we are stronger than this.

Apparently not. Certain things just linger, no matter how hard you tell yourself that they dont matter. Not to the new you. That you are better than this.

But yet again you fall, again and again.

You thought you moved on, you made peace with your fall and decided that it has only made you stronger. Each time, you try to pick up the pieces and use stronger glue to make it lasts longer. But again and again you fell for the same mistakes. Why cant you learn?

Why wont the knowledge stick?

Why are my demons always the same, no matter how many times I thought I killed it. I guess I am not that strong, that I can only supress it until the next fall.

How I wish for them to never visit me again.

That hole on my knee

2009-06-06T15:52:00.003+07:00

Awesome news: my knee is healing! It still looks like Frankenstein, true, but at least I no longer walk like the tin man. I know, I watched too much TV ever since I was on couch arrest. I felt like I was rooting into my combined couches after 1.5 weeks. So this weekend I made a radical decision of separating my couches to start fresh.

I think the worst part is that I was wallowing in self pity and resentment. Resentment from being helpless, from unable to do things I took for granted such go running in a sunny day, lounge on the lake with my novel, go out and wear heels, biking or eating something other than crap Dutch microwave food.

The funny part is that slowly fades away, shifting from anger to acceptance. To accept that theres a black circle, a hole on my previously smooth knee. To realize and accept that life is not smooth and perfect. There are scars, there will be scars. And better learn that now than later I suppose.

I also proved something about me to myself and the doctors: I am the worst patient ever. When I had my stitches, I had to squeeze the nurse's hand so hard to endure the pain. Not to mention the crying, cursing and funny enough, laughing. Even with broken fingers, the nurse managed to laugh at me. She said she wish she will never be present when I give birth. When she saw the blood draining from my face, she laughed and told me she was joking. She later messed my hair and said: "it's OK, you still have a couple of years before permanently damaging the life of your midwife."

What I also find amazing is how the words "at least its not" somehow makes me feel slightly better. At least its only temporary. At least its not infected. At least you still have your leg. At least youre still alive. I was still in my anger phase when my friend told this to me. And I told him that it's easy for him to say since he's not the one with the stitches.

Then another friend started talking to me about her problem, and for some reason I told her at least you dont have stitches on your knee.

So yes, there will be a scar on my knee. And from the look of it, a pretty deep one. I put up a RIP sign for my smooth legs, paid my last respect and brought pretty flowers. But at the moment I am just happy that I can walk. And a story to tell later.

Biking Accident

2009-05-27T15:48:00.003+07:00

I had a biking accident on Monday. My friend was biking me to the lake, where we were supposed to run and enjoy the last sun for the week. She was picking up speed as the road turned uphill, oblivious of the pole that was too close to my legs.

Too close that it hit and tore open a thumb-sized skin from my left knee.

As strange as it may sound, at the split second before it hit me, there was a voice on my head: It's going to hit you. And it did. Hard.

The pain was immediate. I had to gasp very deeply just to breathe. I looked down and what I saw almost made me faint. I could see my flesh. And blood, slowly looming over the torn skin.

The thing about me is that I have an unjustified fear of blood. So when I saw blood trickling down my legs I became lightheaded. So lightheaded that I had to sit down and later sleep on the ground as my friend called an ambulance.

The guy came half an hour later, cleaned and wrapped a bandage on my wound and advised that I go to a real hospital to get it stitched. I looked directly into his eyes, squeezed his hands and muttered I'm scared. The first time I said that since a year of living alone.

I know I am a drama queen when it comes to some disruptions to my personal well being (ie. fearing of amputation when I paper-cut my finger). But this was different. I had never had an accident before, never hurt myself. No serious wounds nor illnesses, no scar.

And there I was, the thought of going to a hospital, not visiting but getting stitches made me shiver all over.

The nurse held my hand really tight. I was so scared that my sentences didnt really make sense. I kept on telling her that this is my first and worst accident and Im scared.

In between the sedatives, she said: if this is your worst, then you are one very lucky girl, arent you?

Am I?

After the screaming, crying, cursing and weirdly enough, laughing, I ended up with 6 stitches. Fortunately no bone was broken. Right now I am living on my couch, and slight movement made me wince with pain. I cant walk, I cant run, I cant go kickboxing eventhough it is Wednesday.

I'm trying to be positive about this, I really do. But at the moment I feel as if the stitches just unstitched my self. Maybe it's just because I have too much time to think. I know this is just stitches that will go away in a week, the wound will dry in a month. But at the moment I cant help but think of the what ifs. I close my eyes and the image of the second before my knee hit the pole came flooding in.

And I hate myself for thinking that.

Maybe this is the perspective Ive been asking for. And here I have it, loud and painfully clear. But why cant I be grateful for it?

Maybe in time.