tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81560903245010954652024-03-12T16:25:11.369-07:00... zig zagging through the daydream ...It's like I never came out of itmumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.comBlogger110125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-43712501480609284992017-08-05T10:09:00.002-07:002017-08-05T10:09:42.524-07:00I Leave Myself With A QuestionFor about 8 years now, Indohoy has been writing travel blogs and getting to know the community behind it. It's been a lot of fun, and a lot of drama that isn't necessarily ours. Recently, I've been involved with so much more content and trying to expand this bubble of mine, searching for new interesting creators and learning about content beyond just destinations.<br />
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It's nice to see that the travel blogging world has expand. There are so many people traveling and writing these days, it's ridiculous. I shouldn't be complaining. However, on the other hand, it seems like travel content seem to be a little homogenized as I would think it should. I lust for something different and some new names that stand out. With so many travel content out there, I question myself, how could this happen?<br />
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I must haven't been out much, talking to more different people in different areas. I believe there are good content creators out there with various different types content, I just haven't met them. But a though came to mind, what if there aren't any? What we we're really lacking of people that write well and have interesting things to say?<br />
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There's a tendency of people writing about their itineraries or description, which eventually makes travel blogging easier. It isn't wrong, on the contrary, it's very helpful, but what if we lack other types of writings? Narrative, contemplation, analysis, etc. Trinity, one of the first travel bloggers in Indonesia, never wrote itineraries, and yet here we are with tendencies to write just what we see and experience chronologically. With that, it came to mind, what happened along the way? And have I contributed to this homogenized content? <br />
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Having to blogged for more than 5 years, I question myself, have I contribute to the homogeneous content that we have today? I need to let that simmer. <br />
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This is one post that is yet to be answer.<br />
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mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-6392806214654159072017-08-04T09:57:00.001-07:002017-08-04T10:06:54.518-07:00The Hands of TravelingA recent hobby that I've picked up lately during traveling is taking pictures of hands. Most of the time it's hands of craftsmen. Reason being is that when traveling I meet different people with different professions and livelihood, to which hands are usually involved. Whether it's a writer, IT guy, a textile maker, a pottery maker, a batik maker, a street food vendor, a becak driver, most of them (or should I say us) use our hands to survive.<br />
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In the case of craftsmen, I've always admire hands as an extension of the creative mind. Imagine, the process that goes in a brain to then be translated into art. What makes it different to artists is humility, I think. These people make things not to be acknowledged as creative, but to live and survive. Their hands are usually rugged with scars, nothing beautiful, and far from instagramable.<br />
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My first photo was when I went to Cirebon. The hands of a batik worker had turned into splashes of red and yellow from the dye. The batik worker mention that it was a day to day thing for him. And the batik that came out from the workshop was beautiful. From then, I've been taking pictures of hands of people I find extraordinary in making a living. I do as much as I can remember, which unfortunately, isn't all the time.<br />
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One of my recent experience was a failed attempt that I'd like to retry one day. I met a cook in the Pekojan Village, during the annual breaking fast of the area. Because I'm a girl, I was kept inside the house during the event, where men roamed the roads. I was quite happy just being in the house, watching the women prepare a mass amount of food for the guests. Among the women passing and plating countless dishes, was the main cook, an old lady, that didn't stand out in the crowd. I had known that she was the cook from the boss, the lady who owned the house.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiP0YrwUXYqAJ5PkVpUQ7XM_RVLtIfljHQzp3lRkjypH1OFff9onPvY8dJJcvPqgrtbSnnfOYy-iP4xUr1Wr8vxgdRALWKhWM9WnvmHeVktJP-9ZU2BBiNvEFkkaGZNR2pHvFifbxmxkcj/s1600/IMG_4863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiP0YrwUXYqAJ5PkVpUQ7XM_RVLtIfljHQzp3lRkjypH1OFff9onPvY8dJJcvPqgrtbSnnfOYy-iP4xUr1Wr8vxgdRALWKhWM9WnvmHeVktJP-9ZU2BBiNvEFkkaGZNR2pHvFifbxmxkcj/s320/IMG_4863.JPG" width="240" /></a>I approached the cook by the end of the night. Apparently, she was has been cooking for the annual breaking fast for a long time. I asked her if I could take a picture of her hands, she declined. Turns out that she didn't like the fact that people exposed her in medias and she had bad experience with them, which she would not tell. The fact that I wasn't even going to take a picture of her face (which most of the time is the issue), made me think maybe it had gone really bad and she just had had enough.<br />
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I was kinda disappointed that some media had been unethical, blocking my wanting to take a picture of her hands. But then again, I might not always succeed anyways. <br />
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Ha.. that was one of the hands that I failed to take a picture of, and yet I really wanted. Let this be a note of reminder, that maybe one day, I would be able to capture the hand that cooked the delicious Arab inspired meal in Pekojan.<br />
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mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-69500585342205887862017-08-03T10:15:00.002-07:002017-08-04T09:30:56.965-07:00Tanimbar Kei People Vs The Man On the way back from Tanimbar Kei, Maluku--which isn't Tanimbar, nor Kei--I sat in a speed boat with a few dozen people. We were heading to the main islands of Tual and it was going to be about a couple of hours before we reached Kei Island. I sat there along with my travel mates, our local friends, and a few other locals that were heading the same way.<br />
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Traveling for an hour, and Kei still not insight, we came across a luxurious boat. It was probably a yacht, white with blue details. It was about three floors and had a dock for a small boat and a jet ski. Not thinking too much about it, suddenly the locals were suspicious of of the boat. They questioned, who was it? Did they ask permission to the village people, those that live off the water and islands around the area? The boat skipper suddenly was asked to turn the boat towards the yacht.<br />
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Once arriving, the locals asked asked for the captain. He wasn't there as explained by the crew, which weren't very friendly. Apparently the boat was from Bali and was charted by a family. They had sailed this far to enjoy the beautiful sea of Maluku. A few minutes in, the situation didn't get any better. The locals interrogated the crew with a raised tone. The crew put on a hard stoned face, as if refusing the locals their rights of any answer. My friends and I held our tongue as this is not our fight. We just sat and observed.<br />
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It was a very awkward situation for me. During my travels, I'm rarely on the 'local's' side of things, most of the time I'm the intruder, no matter how close I am to the locals. In this boat, I became the locals and I could see how these boat crews looked at us, especially when the locals were pissed off knowing these visitors had no permit to enter their waters. I'm not supposed to judge, but I couldn't help it. I did feel undermined by the crew and it was an awful, awful feeling.<br />
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Failed to get any form of responsibility, the boat backed out to continue the ride. Until, someone spotted a small boat in the distance. The locals turned the boat and headed to the speck close to Pulau Kelapa. Arriving at the small boat we found the captain, a Caucasian man and his guests, a man and his son that had just ascended from their dive. Again, the people asked their purpose of visit and questioned their permit.<br />
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It was one of the most uncomfortable moments in my life. The people on the boat tried to wiggle their way out with 'smart but not smart' excuses that 'the sea belonged to everyone' and that they had asked permission from the people in Banda to roam the ocean. It felt like they underestimated the knowledge of the locals, whose arguments were very spot on at the time. Still holding my tongue, it was annoying to see 'educated' people diving the foreign waters without a local guide. It was reckless and dangerous. Interestingly, his son looked ashamed. It was also heart breaking to see how they provided very ignorant answers without respect. It was predictable but my feelings towards the situation was unexpected. <br />
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For a minute, I felt sad being in the position of the locals, even when I'm not. I suddenly could see how snobbish outsiders can be to the locals and suddenly contemplate whether I had treated the locals in the same manner in the past.<br />
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If I did, I send forgiveness in my prayers tonight.<br />
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In the mean time, I'll keep the name of that boat I saw in the Tanimbar Kei waters and remember the face of the man that sat a little too relaxed to be considered polite. For now, I 'cukstaw' the manner of a high-end society member did in the waters of Tanimbar Kei.<br />
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mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-84962697560981769482017-08-02T09:47:00.001-07:002017-08-02T09:49:13.838-07:00Why I Should Be More CulturalWhen traveling, I always enjoy the presence of the local people. Nature can be so beautiful, attractions can be so amusing, but in my days of traveling I've come to understand that the people are what fascinates me the most. Both good and bad. And from it I've learned so much about myself, my country, and that of others. <br />
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I enjoy knowing how the people of Tanah Beru maintain their heritage of making phinisi boats, also how they have adapted to the new ways people are utilizing the boats into cruising boats. I admire how a man that is not Javanese, used so much of his time and energy to maintain batik culture in the middle of Pekalongan, the batik city. I'm moved by the kindness of a Bajawa - Riung bus driver on picking up people, bringing their mail, and dropping them at their destination without extra charges. Just a few memories I picked up from meeting the people. <br />
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One day, while flipping through my digital photo albums, I remembered an encounter with a Hmong woman at the north part of Thailand. I remember her being curious asking me where I was from to our local guide, a local school teacher. He answered Indonesia for me and my friends. Then, it hit me, it really didn't matter what the answer was. I could have been from anywhere because I wasn't distinct in anyways. I was using a batik dress but it wasn't something this Hmong knew or had any interest in. Well, not as much as I was in what she was wearing. She had coins embedded in her outfit.<br />
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Then it got me thinking. I haven't been much of a cultural person. I'm Bugis, born and
raised in Bandung, speak more fluent Sundanese language than Bugis, rather write in
English and is heavily influenced by western culture. And it's been fine so far, but I realize, the more I'm getting into knowing the local people and admiring their culture and traditions, wouldn't it be fair if I could explain my own? Shouldn't I have something to show when other people come to Indonesia and not be just a shirt and jeans? Appreciating all that people can tell me about their culture, shouldn't I be able to explain mine?<br />
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Not everyone has to feel obligated to preserve their culture or roots. I'm just saying that I should. I've just asked my mother to teach me some Bugis language as she is so fluid, even though she's lived in Java my whole life. She's a woman that knows and doesn't forget her roots. People can distinct that she isn't from Java once she opens her mouth, and she has the knowledge to back it up. <br />
I'm determined. I hope I can master it, at leas as she does, to soon be able to answer where I'm from, especially when asked by my fellow Bugis people. That should be <i>makesing, </i>right? mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-3183409329446842302017-07-31T09:49:00.001-07:002017-07-31T09:49:23.300-07:00Travel Tokens on The Refrigerator or Just Decorations? When I came back from my Europe trip, I had little amount of new and shiny things. Usually, when Indonesians travel, they comeback home with a load of new goods from brands that you can't find in Indonesia, brands that are too expensive in Indonesia, or goods that way cheap but seemed like good quality. Considering my trip was 35 days and I had two backpacks on me--my day pack in the front for my essentials and one on my back for my clothes, toiletries etc--I didn't splurge. I had to take care of my back, save money till the end of my trip, and save some for after the trip.<br />
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But I did buy something almost at every city I visited. Magnets.<br />
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My parents used to have a refrigerator door full of magnets ever since I was small. They liked to travel. Actually, because my parents did it, I didn't feel compelled to do the same. I kinda thought it was tacky, until it came to my own trips. It became the reminder that I did visit that place one time in my life. It didn't mean more to anyone else, just me.<br />
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Ever since, I've started to stare much at people's refrigerator, both inside and out. Inside because I happen to like the inside of refrigerators no matter what they are, and outside being the magnets on the their doors. <br />
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But lately, I've come to see that a few people are selling these magnets in stalls and shops around Jakarta. They sell magnets from popular countries such as Japan, France, Itally, and Malaysia. When there's supply, there's demand. So, surely somebody is buying them without needing to visit the country itself. The question remains. Why? <br />
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The most easy and logical answer would be that magnets have become a new accessories for one's home, like a painting or plastic flowers. They're decorative, sometimes colorful, and there aren't many options to decorate the kitchen. Magnets are pretty safe. But the bad side of me things that people maybe would like to presumed to have traveled. Call me crazy if I'm wrong. Right?<br />
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My mother was once offered me to buy a magnet she saw at the store. She said it was cute and it was from France. I declined easily. I have no importance for it. Not saying that it should, for how strong is the importance of decoration unless for its owner. For me, it's like buying the same shoes in different colors. No reason that I should. <br />
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Sure. It's the right for anybody to buy whatever they want. But it's not for me and I'd like to remember this for the future. Also, it's interesting to see something that was once a simple token of travel, now possibly becoming a status symbol for people, considering traveling an IT thing at the moment. But anyways... on to our next babble. <br />
<br />mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-64761478549252015112015-07-14T09:27:00.000-07:002015-07-14T09:27:01.720-07:00I Grew Up and Getting OldI sat in a restaurant alone today, waiting for my friends to appear. It
was a work thing. My phone ran out of batteries and I couldn't do
anything to help myself. I had a phone, I had a power bank, but I didn't have a cable. Worse part was I had to do something online, which could just take 2 mere minutes,
and I still screwed up. I've been screwing up lately, when it comes to
technology. I know I haven't been
the best at it, but I feel like I'm falling a lot more.<br />
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The thing that irritated me during my wait was how much I wanted to charge my phone. Yes, I had
to think that because I had some obligations to fulfill, but I just wish
that I was able to think of something else other than wanting to charge. I sat there for one and a half hour consumed by hoping one of my friends came with a charging cable, so I can redeem myself of my long period of screwing up. All that 1,5 hour was spent about me trying to save my ass, when in fact I could be worrying the safety of my friends because they were really late, thinking of work a little more or ... just... something else. I've become so selfish. Agrh! <br /><br />
Once my phone did light up, it took so slow to load up any app that I needed to use. A long road of poop!<br />
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Which brings me to another point of contemplation, if my phone was better and I had enough amount of power in my life, where would I be? Would I be staring down at my phone endlessly browsing through the flood of information, or would I be doing something that I would be doing had I not have a phone in the first place?<br />
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People change because of the cellphone, I really understand that now. mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-41224834646936322212013-12-19T18:40:00.000-08:002013-12-19T18:40:05.764-08:00Same Love for 'Same Love'
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As a teenager, I secretly was a homophobic. It’s not because
I hated them, but I didn’t understand love between same sex. Easy to say, the
doctrine of Islam got to me. Homosexuals are forbidden and there is no room for
questions. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I didn’t give it much thought until I came a cross my
genetics class in college. The lecturer explained about all these genetic
mutations that occurs naturally. Some mutations involve male and female genes,
creating a transition between gender. Some females have the Y-chromosome, some
males have extra X-chromosome, and so on. It also made a bridge between feminine and masculine traits, which probably also affect sexual preference. It was the ‘Malinjo’ of sexes. It made
me think, if God created mutation, what was his plan? Why is he making life a
little more ‘interesting’ for humans? <o:p></o:p></div>
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By this time, I’ve come to accept that difference is amongst
us, down to our genes. Some people were born to be different, whether they like
it or not. We can’t understand the occurrence of mutations just yet. Sure we can say it’s all
these carcinogenic substances, the degradation of our nature, and our way of
life. But, what actually triggers a gene to just rebel is still a mystery, like
volcano eruptions, earthquakes, or cravings (I still consider them a mystery). They
just do. And although I’ve become more accepting to the gay community in these terms, I still
resisted a bit. </div>
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‘It’s a no no from God’ I say to myself. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p> </div>
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I think it was my visit to the Sydney Mardi Gras that finally
made me see how the gay community really is full of love. They were a happy
bunch of people with rainbow flags waving amongst their half naked bodies,
marching down the streets. It was a huge party, which I later learned came from a very sad and sorrow time; a time of living in the shadows (and some are
still are). No wonder it was such a huge celebration. It was a day they could
be proud and about. That day, I trusted that the gay community to be survivors
of their own war, at least to come out of the closet. I trusted the gay
community to be more human as they have been and will still be emotionally challenged. I wouldn’t know what gay people go through, since I don’t have that challenge, as I like the
opposite sex. I can only imagine. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But even though it is said that homosexuality is against my
religions rules, I can’t help the feeling that it’s not supposed to be. Finding
love is hard. Being single and still am to a point I never thought I would
still be, I figured that it must be some relief to find someone. It’s always
heart warming to see people that do. And if that person happens to be of the
same sex, then be it. It’s just important to find that person that makes you a
better person. We need more ‘better people’ in this world. Love is a blessing
from God and only She knows why some are bestowed amongst the same kind, whether Islam approves or not.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have learned to embrace those that have chosen for the
same love. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfC2BrbCOTqDp8yR7LD33SVCpshozwipGxkGTpwiM8-qzhUGVGIO1hlfeVFIx_X5nwFR-ptvwajJ39sWKFxzmd4TscIAQR4uslm3x6Fi_CSzQKZQd25_41EAW51BtUSP-O1m87jdToFHiQ/s1600/Macklemore-Ryan-Lewis-Same-Love-Music-Video.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfC2BrbCOTqDp8yR7LD33SVCpshozwipGxkGTpwiM8-qzhUGVGIO1hlfeVFIx_X5nwFR-ptvwajJ39sWKFxzmd4TscIAQR4uslm3x6Fi_CSzQKZQd25_41EAW51BtUSP-O1m87jdToFHiQ/s320/Macklemore-Ryan-Lewis-Same-Love-Music-Video.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Picture from<a href="http://thissongissick.com/blog/2012/macklemore-ryan-lewis-same-love-music-video/" target="_blank"> here.</a></i></div>
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Which brings me to the trigger of this post. I cried
watching the video clip of ‘Same Love’ by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis. I’ve
always been teary every time I see this video but I finally cried after seeing
it again a few days ago. It was tear of happiness for those that have found someone especially after the trials and tribulations. Some how, the lyrics, the melody, the rapping, and the
video had a flawless combination for me. Gays are not overly exposed as in
other video clips. It’s humble, it’s simple, and it’s warm. It's how love should be about. I love it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Here’s the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hlVBg7_08n0" target="_blank">link. </a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-47009554135042671682013-08-09T04:34:00.002-07:002013-08-09T04:34:31.454-07:00I Have a 'Sarung' Gene<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
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<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The balance between nurture and nature is never clear. Are we the molded by our by upbringing or by our genes? I never thought much about it until recent comments made by mother. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are many times in my life, especially in my teens and early 20s, where I rejoice my own glory for my own efforts and blame my parents of the bad things in my life, which include my behaviour. I’m sure many kids do that. ... Right? I was very proud of my educational path and always thought that it was my sole achievement since no body was there to help me study. I always blamed my ‘lack of money’ because my parents were just darn cheap. They could afford my clothes and the rarely pizza eat outs, why can’t they pay for my wants of cassettes and teen lifestyle I saw in the magazines? It’s them, not me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I totally blame my mother for my curly hair. It could have stayed straight if only she hadn’t put pineapple juice on it. I could have been a shampoo model. Just to let you know.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyways, for the past 4 years or so, I’ve had these small realization of the more fundemental things that my parents had inherited me. As you’ve probably guessed, my teen conclusion wasn’t exactly true. I inherited both good and bad things from my parents, as I have also picked up good and bad things from the environment. I get mad like my dad. I snap. And when I do, I can feel my facial expression resemble my father’s face. I make desicions like my him too. It takes ages and some research before I really decide and take action especially when it comes to spending money. Unless, I really really like it (well that’s my mum, right there). I eat like my mum. I have the same apatite but can’t afford to follow it. I don’t have her body. I’m happy like my mum. She’s always the happy go lucky gal and gets away with it (it’s trully magic. No other words to describe it). I now know that my glory is because of my parent’s support and my behaviour is environmentally induced. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course, there’s tons more. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But then, I think on how much does nuture take? I can explain most of my actions through my genes, how much are the result of my environment? I can work with technology. I read more books than my parents. I can’t cook and have been permissive of myself since there’s a slot of working women not being able to cook. I easily get bored. I’m part of the new fast pace generation. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then there was my mother’s comment. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpRhj4Rd0_3YfhNiwXr_V2FUhAo1FkMvd-P_h9f1mUCiiYaALnpJXfHEniBTbwFfhVzenofhN9jPSyim5aCDJT94ohZfAyMHb86qi06YeWWzSVQJTUbzd6ZLkFsJThnq4DihJGq-JNvuXu/s1600/sarung.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpRhj4Rd0_3YfhNiwXr_V2FUhAo1FkMvd-P_h9f1mUCiiYaALnpJXfHEniBTbwFfhVzenofhN9jPSyim5aCDJT94ohZfAyMHb86qi06YeWWzSVQJTUbzd6ZLkFsJThnq4DihJGq-JNvuXu/s320/sarung.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On a chili rainy day in Cimahi, I was just looking for my ‘sarung’ which is a sarong with its width side sewn together abling us to slip in through. Once I found it, I tied it around my waist safely. My mother looks at me and says, “You’re more Bugis than I thought.” <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She elaborates that I always use a ‘sarung’ or ‘daster’ (night gown) at home in Cimahi. Also, I can constantly eat fish and chili paste (my mother rarely feeds me anything else when she has a appropriate kitchen to cook it). I can go weeks without meat and chicken. Well, except fast food. That’s a whole different source of protein, pfftt! My stubborness is within a Bugis trait. She’s amazed how this has come to be. I’ve been living almost all my life in Bandung, surrounded by Sundanese, and here I am, still as Bugis I can be. How does the Bugis nature fit it? Eating fish might be explainable through my genes, but my habbit of wearing ‘sarungs’? Fell from the sky. The balance between nurture and nature is still a mystery, but I thought I’d put my mother’s comment to writing. Just a reminder. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Parents are wierd. They the ones that know you best. As much as you think they don’t know you, they really do. They are our observers from a far. You might overtake them once in a while, but they’re usually a step a head in life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-56439482157560703352013-05-05T08:01:00.002-07:002013-05-05T08:01:30.017-07:00 I Used to Hate Tomatoes and Mining<br />
I did. I used to
hate tomatoes except if they were mixed in dishes, chilli paste, and were
not wholly visible. They really had to be destroyed in the dish and on the face of the
planet. They were squishy, mildly sour, and had that weird taste. I despised
them.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">Until, I had a
year in Australia and had to cook a lot of my own food. I’m not much of a cook,
but I’ve seen that a lot of cooks like to use tomatoes. Seems like it adds
taste, texture, and color to food. Instantly. Considering it was an easy way
out to make good food, I followed their ways. For no particular reason, I fell
in love with cherry tomatoes. I could eat them raw, anytime, anywhere. And I’m
not sure why. I just love them. Then I started to fall in love with all sorts
of tomatoes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">Which goes to
show, opinions can change, it just takes that waking moment to change it. And
it’s alright. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><br /></span>
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">I hate mining. Studying Biology triggered a nerve in me that made me realize how much I
love living things and hate actions that cause the death of them. Mining
included. I hated my lecturers for leaving classes and taking
up projects in mining companies (usually rehabilitation ones). I hated companies that dump their waste and be irresponsible about them. I even got
into fights with the old man just because he used to work at the mining
department for the government. I used to have loud debates which ended in him
with a high pitch tone saying I’m stupid and know nothing about it. I would get
furious and dared him to continue the argument. He would just tisk. My mother
would frown in the corner hoping it will end soon so she could go back watching
her favorite soaps without distractions. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">As I’ve been in
the mining business, I’ve come to learn a lot about the mining industry. My
father was right. I knew too little about it to say anything. I’ve learned how
it’s a high risk business, how it takes lives of nature and humans, how the
process is super complicated, and how </span> it has immensely influenced our convenient daily lives. Everything we use in our daily lives is connected to
mining (and oil, for we are an oil generation). I've learned that I need mining
and enjoy what it brings to my life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">I still hate
mining. I still think that mining is a very destructive industry. Science has
helped us fix many of its pot holes but the rate of our knowledge can catch up
to the industry’s demand and its environmental impact, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>let alone the law. But I have changed my mind. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">As much as I hate it, I hate people
that take mining for granted. OK, maybe hate it too strong of a word. I dislike
them on the surface. Not many people appreciate the complexity of mining and
the consequence of taking resources from the ground to then applying it into our
consumer goods. We consume so many things (related to mining or not) which
eventually comes back to the amount of resources we need. By that, we need a
lot of resources! I’m sad of the fact that people have to fight each other on
the field for a wasteful consuming behavior. I’m disappointed in people that are proud to
work in mining without realizing the damage they make. I don’t like people that blindly hate mining without argument but
still living with their convenient lives. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">I’ve changed my
mind. And it’s alright. </span><br />
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetTIdbM3-eDlDiViLtGfEBgiarbPfF5wE1hM1VVn3ps_Yw1mX8kmzd2FDpthPSUtpVdRzm7BYwW8F52Wnu4GH5nWG-ePZ95b3eYLsHtNSPmEAzqNaViRoT9Qkd7gKAa1Rj9JiHhB7Eqij/s1600/Kupang+-+Not+all+can+have+2+cellphones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="371" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetTIdbM3-eDlDiViLtGfEBgiarbPfF5wE1hM1VVn3ps_Yw1mX8kmzd2FDpthPSUtpVdRzm7BYwW8F52Wnu4GH5nWG-ePZ95b3eYLsHtNSPmEAzqNaViRoT9Qkd7gKAa1Rj9JiHhB7Eqij/s640/Kupang+-+Not+all+can+have+2+cellphones.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><br /></span>
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><br /></span>
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">Having said that,
I also have to note that it’s alright to change your/my mind. It’s a consequence
of learning something. I, too, have to respect people that change their minds. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br /></div>
mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-84677160001360144282013-02-06T05:04:00.000-08:002013-02-06T05:04:09.844-08:00I Believe in God, Thus I Believe in Bamboo <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">It’s 2013 already.
A part of me is like.... meh! It’s another year. There is no significant
difference before and after new years eve. I have a few plans under my belt but
nothing to major besides rethinking my job. I hope to continue to travel this
year with another spicy plan up my sleeve. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9x5DTDFm6rSqvSl9djEDuO96TkNRXJgFIj9hyr4yunXbzS6p6XruSl_gtg3psFPkYTbKxNEBl9wH11zLofveBW7zfpUcz_GDUuBuP7UpFlpJp-hgkKeTiuDlt0OItPfMLtUE4tJ1PHIPS/s1600/IMG_2693.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9x5DTDFm6rSqvSl9djEDuO96TkNRXJgFIj9hyr4yunXbzS6p6XruSl_gtg3psFPkYTbKxNEBl9wH11zLofveBW7zfpUcz_GDUuBuP7UpFlpJp-hgkKeTiuDlt0OItPfMLtUE4tJ1PHIPS/s400/IMG_2693.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">As for being
hopeful and positive that it will be a good year? As my default is being a happy
naive person that I am, I’m eager. I can’t wait to see what year has installed
for me :D </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">Another part of
me is dreading the fact that I’m turning 33 and I’m still single. I pray that I
won’t be single by the time I hit by birthday. Forget that, I pray that I won’t
be single tomorrow!! Considering my love life, it’s been a hard year. I’ve lost
hope. Being single and out of the dating game during 2012 made me realize that
there is lesser hope for me to even get married at all. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">Being an
Indonesian girl, I’m said to be out of my prime. And while people should set me
up with dates or introduce me to people, they rather pity me instead. All in a
days of an Asian single gal. Hopeless about love life in her 30s. </span><br />
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><br /></span>
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">However, I’m a
Moslem at heart. As Joan Osborne would sing: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">... if seing meant<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>that you would have to believe, in things like heaven and in Jesus and
the saint, and all the prophets...yeah God is great... </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">As a believer, I
would also have to believe that people were made in pair as said in the Koran.
I’m in a battle against my faith. I trully have lost faith in it. What have
become of me? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">But I remember
that particular day I was transiting in a specific town which I will not mention.
I made a pit stop to a Wetar friend which I highly respect but will remain
nameless. Surprisingly, he was a man of ... magic (Again, because I’m a believer,
I also believe that this world is full of unexplained wonders and metaphysical
substance. I passively believe in it, meaning I don’t get my bizz up in dat!).
He showed me many of his family heirs of which one of the them was an item of
two bamboos stuck to one another. He said, a powerful religious man put the two
bamboo together exhibiting the power of God to his believers. It was from a
very long time ago. He assured me that the bamboo was magical and that it knew
everything. I mean EVERYTHING! I believed him. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKwyLoUuBhaiCG_6AJiwlvp4iO3ZuiGBf7MC054XQOoCntriPwXhNYAAtVmlmSwdhv8CycY3jA94G2VIhprZtfg4t8VDEPV2sxIsHsKenaLZ-O92SUVRwnaEw64DTwg6yqAY_YkcyjFMBU/s1600/IMG_0941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKwyLoUuBhaiCG_6AJiwlvp4iO3ZuiGBf7MC054XQOoCntriPwXhNYAAtVmlmSwdhv8CycY3jA94G2VIhprZtfg4t8VDEPV2sxIsHsKenaLZ-O92SUVRwnaEw64DTwg6yqAY_YkcyjFMBU/s400/IMG_0941.jpg" width="400" /></a><span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">He probably saw
me as skeptical (when in fact I just didn’t want to medle with it) and sat me
down to prove his words. He took out a little clay pot and placed the bamboo on
it. After whispering chant and greeting the bamboo, he introduced me to it. I said
hi. Now, despite that this is a wierd act, I need to note that I’m one of those
people that believe everything God made has a soul, including trees and rocks.
So I had no problem saying hi to a bamboo. </span></div>
<span lang="IN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: IN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
</span>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">Each with one finger,
we lifted the rim of the clay pot. We were not able to direct it in anyway. And
true enough,the bamboo rotated answering yes-no questions. In short, I was
running up and down his house laughing out loud, amazed of what the bamboo
knew. I’ve never been so closed to magic. Not this kind. </span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">After many
correctly answered questions, I was given one question to ask the bamboo that I
did not have to say out loud. And so I asked... ‘is my match out there?’ We
hadn’t even lifted the clay pot properly and the bamboo had already gave me a
strong confident answer ... ‘Yes’. Now, I would have to believe, right? Anyone? </span><span lang="IN" style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ansi-language: IN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">:)</span></span><span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-11667553688277578772012-10-29T05:35:00.000-07:002012-10-29T05:35:41.026-07:00Imaginary Side Job<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="IN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So, in between being bored of my job, I entertain myself with computer
games. Currently, I’ve been playing Digby Donut, a game much like donut tetris
but only by matching icing colors. The scenario is that Digby is going to open
up donut shops all over the USA and I need to help him stack the donuts and
collect money to open new shops. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="IN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’m 3 levels from the top level. I can’t seem to budge
from this level! I’m trying really hard. A little obsessed to be honest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="IN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The irony? </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span lang="IN" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="webkit-fake-url://871BEEC5-F7AB-4C0D-B113-278B435DB56E/application.pdf" /></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-no-proof: yes; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="IN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-no-proof: yes; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9iw1NYQ_vFSoBpGFSIX6w9p04_DDrxqQkk-xvNOMxHhyphenhyphenxVftTnCCLE3TcdnPE10uSxMw1ksC4pyCTCWTPwhtSXCj84KBi2ws9PH-kUFdvLcXkWt8GdMTL1DOwO-eiqRTTXqYXF5zP3BuM/s1600/Digby.png"></a></span><span lang="IN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’m wasting a lot
of my time trying to pass this level. Call it a gamers curiosity but in my defense, it stimulates my brain rather than become mush to the office laptop with hardly any cool programs on it. What I’ve come to realize is... I’m such a
dumb ass, escaping my real work to surrender to a imaginary job. Yes, job and
not game. Here, my boss, Digby has a target to be the donut king. I’m his
slave. Every time I drop a donut, he frowns. Everytime I misplace an order, he
frowns. He also comments and says it’s my fault that I dropped the donuts he
made. I can’t fuck up more than 5 times (by this level). If I do, he flips and closes the
whole darn shop! Talk about a perfectionist. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="IN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">See, although he says he perfects his recipe, he doesn’t
move from his spot. He just sits there and watches me work. Sure, he smiles if
I successfully stack up the right color of donuts or make an order right but
seriously, I could use more credit. Sigh. It’s as hard to make it in the
imaginary world as it is in the real one. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="IN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Interestingly, a lot of games have similar scenarios,
especially no-brainers like this. All we gamers run from one job to another. I'm wondering if people actually realize this
conspiracy? *track in track out </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="IN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">On this note, there are still people obsessed with games.
They could even live in internet cafes just to play online games. They could
line up for 2 days and 2 nights at a store once a new game is to be
released.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to think gamers
waste so much time to play something unreal. To some extent, I still do. But
I’ve come to understand that gamers mind is a bit twisted and brilliant at the
same time. They game because they need a brain stimulator which they can not
find in any other form, like music, knitting, painting, etc. They're like
puzzle or chess players. They’re like novel readers but with more finger
activities. And the harder they play, the more their brains are used. So, I'm watching out for those gamers out there. You might have a sick way of thinking deep down. Yeah,
it’s also relative but it beats starring blankly at the TV (watching TV and paying
attention is something entirely different). </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="IN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So, some r.e.s.p.e.c.t to the gamers out there. I know,
deep down, you are more than what you seem to be. Game on, guys!</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<!--EndFragment-->
mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-73955948669551601102012-09-20T08:23:00.000-07:002012-09-20T08:26:03.812-07:00It Was My Bird Day... 3 Months Ago<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By 10 am on my bird-day, Mum came in the house
screaming, “My dear child, is it your birthday? Dewi (the girl next
door and seriously is a ‘girl next door’ type) told me it was. She saw it on Pesbuk (Facebook)” my mum comes to kiss me with her nose as a literal Indonesian
interpretation of ‘cium’ as in sniff.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After she kissed me she mumbled ‘Well, it is a Christian
tradition. But doesn’t matter! I’ll give you a present! Do you want an ice
cream? There’s a seller outside’.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sure. Why not? I nodded.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For a second I though it was the best present I’ve ever had.
My Mum never remembers my birthday, let alone gives me prezzies. So I was gonna
chow down that ice cream on bread like a dog that hasn’t eaten for a day. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My initial reaction:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR9uYSeFvaho-DNivuWD7nlpNDV-t_sHIK5yopDNPjKm3ZBT9FT2AcHE-ge3T4sxKCLFXHo_RjPYAI9E1a39hCkyXrlLpA1wVRInFSTkMwXaBLCzKdYO6ddMKjkr7RiBSy_q3V2h7QlfbF/s1600/before.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR9uYSeFvaho-DNivuWD7nlpNDV-t_sHIK5yopDNPjKm3ZBT9FT2AcHE-ge3T4sxKCLFXHo_RjPYAI9E1a39hCkyXrlLpA1wVRInFSTkMwXaBLCzKdYO6ddMKjkr7RiBSy_q3V2h7QlfbF/s400/before.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I realized it was Durian flavor. Thus my reaction.
Hhhhh… still one of my best presents eva! Gotta love my Mum! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_vbhauV25kF2pDV4aU_xFaHVj87GWa9CYQ1w9LOqCnKMzjKthECt20iEznCATUJKyo8hsVuO-d1-V5wKR_4iV3JRJgfy1i2lThQXewFQw78MuvZyjIdOEgPYf8N5ZZ7e8poP5GNGWxbd/s1600/after.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_vbhauV25kF2pDV4aU_xFaHVj87GWa9CYQ1w9LOqCnKMzjKthECt20iEznCATUJKyo8hsVuO-d1-V5wKR_4iV3JRJgfy1i2lThQXewFQw78MuvZyjIdOEgPYf8N5ZZ7e8poP5GNGWxbd/s320/after.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<!--EndFragment-->
mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-17641762706287100422012-08-10T09:46:00.002-07:002012-08-10T09:46:29.144-07:00I Saw The Sign... And It Opened Up My Eyes<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">I'm back
from another journey. I was so looking forward and really nervous about it just
before I left. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, that I’ve
comed back, I thought I’d blog about a few things I need reminded. I wrote this
before I left and didn’t have the chance to upload it. So here it is. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2RdiaHmTaXGrgVsIyHp1J8THgpgYlhNJxz0Cc7ioAHgipjVIytgKGm5GTeXH4Gv1Q5rUNadb6HPYEPsZPOyLe17r8wNdfxYi13BikuCci9bC2K4WqoM4mNQ_dwwdHgCSVenc6kxfnfT5r/s1600/P1010248.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2RdiaHmTaXGrgVsIyHp1J8THgpgYlhNJxz0Cc7ioAHgipjVIytgKGm5GTeXH4Gv1Q5rUNadb6HPYEPsZPOyLe17r8wNdfxYi13BikuCci9bC2K4WqoM4mNQ_dwwdHgCSVenc6kxfnfT5r/s400/P1010248.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">It was the night
of the 22nd of April 2010. It was dark but the streets of Larantuka was lit
with hundreds, if not thousands, of candles of the Semana Santa ceremony. I was
wearing all black and walking amongst the Catholic believers. Cindy was on my
right and Tante Tuka, a local Denga Deo, was on my left. I was starting to feel
tired after walking and standing for about 2 hours. I wanted the whole thing to
end! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">But I sucked it
up. A process is a ‘whole’ when you can complete it, right? Right??? It then
had me thinking, there I was still walking, standing, and amongst prayers which
wasn’t my belief. I traveled to the end of Flores, chasing that certain
moment, spending money, and spending energy not on my own religion. How did I
get my priorities mixed up? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">Right there and
then, I decided, I have to save up for my own believes, at least I have to Umroh.
It’s not like I’m an atheist or agnostic where I don’t do the rituals and
stuff. I do. I do believe in God, the prophet, the hoo-haa’s, and I do some of
the rituals (:P). So there really isn't excuse for me not to go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">To be fair, Umroh
is a journey which requires a lot more money. That’s one of the main reason I
haven’t done it. So I started to save up. I also thought that it’s time to do the ‘journey’ amongst
‘journeies’, eventhough it is the shorter version of it. I like to travel and
before I travel more, it’s time to take these travel to the core of traveling
itself, to where the heart needs more. Back to God!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2xqlocpn2RZuA7Dw65NYuLVUsYggo5Pr81F5sRKFnLhZ0zsiGlGAeGJaUzgSSOhZrj4F9-kkpm4W67iSEnLwp6aZYaPfgCsuXmk1_f-MMZarvP1n7Yl8tfynv1hjm04fy8vLPOhaxXjol/s1600/IMG_6079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2xqlocpn2RZuA7Dw65NYuLVUsYggo5Pr81F5sRKFnLhZ0zsiGlGAeGJaUzgSSOhZrj4F9-kkpm4W67iSEnLwp6aZYaPfgCsuXmk1_f-MMZarvP1n7Yl8tfynv1hjm04fy8vLPOhaxXjol/s400/IMG_6079.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">Need I add, I’m
at an intersection of my life. I’m not really sure what path I should choose.
Should I quit my job and my beliefs in this company? Should I accept the fact
that I might stay single all mylife? What is it that<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>life wants me to do and what do I want in life? The classic
case of questioning my own existence. Seems like we’re never gonna step out of
this ‘teen’ phase after all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">After the Manasik or a briefing on what we are going to do
there, I learned that not all are
fortunate enough to visit the holy land. It is a privileged invitation. Some
might not want to just yet, some can’t afford it just yet, some might not
experience it at all. Accodring to the preacher, they haven’t been invited. There’s nothing wrong with that. Everyone has different callings and
process. But because he said that, and the fact that there are many that would
love to see Baitullah or the holy house, I believed him. My stars so happened
to align and bring me home to the holy house. I can afford it (Alhamdulilah), I
have the time, the energy, and my boss permitted me to go.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="IN" style="mso-ansi-language: IN;">What’s more bizzare
is I realize that my calling was on that street in Larantuka in 2010, amongst
the Catholic faithfuls in a Catholic ceremony. Is that a calling or what?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-20768492558152174842012-05-28T01:47:00.000-07:002012-05-28T01:47:20.755-07:00Having Fun with Pesimism<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN">An Indonesian is a
person that take all of their resources for granted. </span></span></div>
<ul style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNlUzt6sFhKDOwLacvcrMkluKuV6Nz0F0ZWJ8q2MVPsmCV8gZ2As5cL0sGdQ_hchmmqWiYBaRaV1Dz30ERHuuM6h9QG3hc89RiKrb6KGfo7QfjTNBGt6yu8zmZaRZQHrrIcVO73NDYOHct/s1600/Fish+riding+car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></span>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN"><span><span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span lang="IN">An
Indonesian couldn’t have invented the heater/air radiator. Most of us will never
experience extreme cold the whole year round. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN"><span></span></span><span lang="IN">An
Indonesian couldn’t have invented the refrigerator. We don’t need to save food
through winter, we can access our fresh food all year around.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN"><span></span></span><span lang="IN">An
Indonesian couldn’t have invent a trash can. We eat most of our produce including
animal organs, and when we're done, we litter! We have a lot if bacteria to decay it.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN">An
Indonesian couldn’t have invented sun tan lotion or sun block. Our skin has
enough melanin to survive daily life. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN"><span></span></span><span lang="IN">An
Indonesian wouldn’t enjoy sitting in the park, under the sun, and read a book.
We have the sun all year around, why enjoy the existence of the sun when we
have it every day? </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN"><span></span></span><span lang="IN">An
Indonesian couldn’t have invented the umbrella, there’s too many banana leaves
and big surface leaves lying around to cover us. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN"><span></span></span><span lang="IN">An Indonesian
couldn’t have invent the sleeping pill. We can get sleepy when it’s too hot or
too cold. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN"><span></span></span><span lang="IN">An
Indonesian couldn’t have invented the fertilizer. What ever seed we throw on
the ground, will grow anyways.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN"><span></span></span><span lang="IN">An
Indonesian couldn’t have invented mining. We’re content of what we have on the
surface, why bother digging deep? </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN"><span></span></span><span lang="IN">An
Indonesian wouldn’t have invented the barbel. We're poor, we can't be obese and we can't afford cars. We lift things ourselves. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN"><span></span></span><span lang="IN">Best
of all, an Indonesian couldn’t have invented the plane. We fly with mystical
powers :D </span></span></li>
</ul>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNlUzt6sFhKDOwLacvcrMkluKuV6Nz0F0ZWJ8q2MVPsmCV8gZ2As5cL0sGdQ_hchmmqWiYBaRaV1Dz30ERHuuM6h9QG3hc89RiKrb6KGfo7QfjTNBGt6yu8zmZaRZQHrrIcVO73NDYOHct/s1600/Fish+riding+car.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNlUzt6sFhKDOwLacvcrMkluKuV6Nz0F0ZWJ8q2MVPsmCV8gZ2As5cL0sGdQ_hchmmqWiYBaRaV1Dz30ERHuuM6h9QG3hc89RiKrb6KGfo7QfjTNBGt6yu8zmZaRZQHrrIcVO73NDYOHct/s320/Fish+riding+car.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN">Hmmm what else? </span></span></b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN"><b> </b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="IN">(Why invent a basket when you tie your fish on the back of your car?) </span></span></div>mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-61085815631113328072012-04-29T06:59:00.000-07:002012-04-29T06:59:12.478-07:00Orangutans, Deodorant, and The Dark Side (a.k.a Work)<!--StartFragment-->
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<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0cm;">
There’s a lot of things that triggered this blog today:</div>
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<b>1. Orangutan</b></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0cm;">
I saw a picture of a blind Orangutan from a friend that was
accompanying a rescue mission in Kalimantan. It put my heart in a shredder!
Orangutan has been an issue since the palm oil trees have been massively
expanded through out our country in the past 5 years. Palm oil plantations have
been viciously protecting their goods because the Orangutans have been eating
them. How can you blame the Orangutans? Their homes have been chopped down,
they have no food but palm oil, and they don’t speak people language. Really? How could
you blame them?! They won’t get it. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0cm;">
<b>2. Documentary</b></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0cm;">
I saw this documentary on the BBC knowledge about making
deodorant. No biggie actually but it got me thinking that mass products like
this would definitely need massive amounts of raw material, all to make the
cap, the body, the deodorant, the label, the color, the roller, and everything.
They produce thousands, if not millions each day. Now how did they pull off on
getting raw materials every day?</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFB3R_fFlF0AX7xXX1LQL1NtsqzED85Utxe07ouYaZAV830pRHjvnIjiY23jpedeiPC2wP1D1qyPpqUvNRAk0xNRNNZQujzqRnKSLNWWcYBqcyrDehie1uzRljerHMT22DBNOvma3a-8-/s1600/DSC01161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFB3R_fFlF0AX7xXX1LQL1NtsqzED85Utxe07ouYaZAV830pRHjvnIjiY23jpedeiPC2wP1D1qyPpqUvNRAk0xNRNNZQujzqRnKSLNWWcYBqcyrDehie1uzRljerHMT22DBNOvma3a-8-/s320/DSC01161.JPG" width="320" /></a><b>3. Work</b></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0cm;">
I work in mining which isn’t mining at the moment. However, I
still get that ‘look’ when people start yapping about how bad mining is.
It’s one of those big industries that take a lot, as does palm oil in point 1.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hey, I’m not going to argue on how bad
it is. But it will be done! Admit it! You love your gadgets, and electronics,
and technology run by machines. And you love how cheap its been for the last 5
years. If it’s mass product, it’s gonna be cheaper, and that means point number
2. So guess what? Mining will be done!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
4.
Internet</div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
I just
love it. I do. Reading this is evidence that I do love the internet. Just saying</div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0cm;">
I was in a dark place sometime in my life and I have blamed
almost all the industries, the malpractice, and anyone that came from big
industries and making tons of money out of it but doesn’t seem to care about
the environment. There are tons of environmental issues and it seems to just
keep coming.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0cm;">
Now, I've crossed over and seen the other side. I've seen and learned a lot! I’ve also though hard around these 4 points and a few more, and I
try and try to figure out how this mess can come to an end. I’m a bit
megalomaniac you see so, these things about me as a hero saving the world, pops
in mind all the time. Don’t worry, it usually fades. Now, the wisdom of my
whole contemplation falls in to one brilliant answer which is, all of this was cause and
could be saved by ME. Tadaaa! </div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0cm;">
Didn’t catch that one coming now did you? Yes me, the
consumer, which also means you, him, her, they, us, our ancestors, and our
future children. The market has always driven production. With 5 billion (and
maybe more) people in the world, we can justify… it’s a ginormous market. If
every one wanted to take a shower and use soap with palm oil, say bye bye to
Orangutans. If you want that latest playstation, then be ready to wipe up cute
cuddly aminals (not typo) that you probably haven’t heard of before. That’s
life! I'm not judging anyone, I'm just saying. That's what's gonna happen. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0cm;">
For me, I try to reduce what I buy, use, and want. It's down right freakishly hard and I usually fail anyways. But I keep on trying. I have that guilt every time I buy something, which is good and it reminds me to think twice about a purchase. If I reduce the amount I consume, then something out there might stay alive a little longer. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0cm;">
I believe wise consumerism is the answer to every single
environmental problem. One important thing I learned about enviro science in
school is, it’s human driven. I still believe it now. *pending on buying ipod nano but still browsing about it's cool function as a watch :P</div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
<!--EndFragment-->mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-65815448842088375512012-03-14T20:41:00.000-07:002012-03-14T20:41:29.240-07:00I Used to Think... I Don't Anymore<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I had this blog store... for.. more than a year! Better published than stored although its just a paragraph. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNWkOGmj2RwAI5A1edn4PNGHxLQyMz-oCDdGB6i96pMPMMBKkwEyEY_idbkxmiqFfeateu92dBKWJPQAKVcYz1e9HXXaSNe1rk27sh8aYg_ghHSVqsX61cIsCMn7AkxzZLmTxKHpE9zWtB/s1600/Blind_side_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNWkOGmj2RwAI5A1edn4PNGHxLQyMz-oCDdGB6i96pMPMMBKkwEyEY_idbkxmiqFfeateu92dBKWJPQAKVcYz1e9HXXaSNe1rk27sh8aYg_ghHSVqsX61cIsCMn7AkxzZLmTxKHpE9zWtB/s200/Blind_side_poster.jpg" width="134" /></a>I use to think that the ‘redneck’ dialect was pretty heinous, with all the white trash y’alls and stuff. I just recently (not!) watched ‘The Blind Side’. I changed my perspective. Now I refer it to the ‘American’ dialect. It’s how a lot of Americans talk. And for some reason, not really sure what… but Sandra Bullock made the hoedown talk a little more charming. Now I can see that it’s just another dialect, nothing less than another cultural characteristic. And I don’t see Britney Spears being as trashy anymore… oh how I’ve grown wise <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Wingdings;">:) </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Wingdings;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I still think that Hollywood is overrated though…. Not that it matters…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And it's a great movie. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_514823854"></span><span id="goog_514823855"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Picture was taken from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Blind_Side_%28film%29">here.</a></div><!--EndFragment-->mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-36979738186642854212011-11-15T01:14:00.000-08:002011-11-15T01:24:18.295-08:00Hollywood Suck!As a single girl, it kills me to watch Hollywood movies. Hollywood loves the idea of finding love and exploits it hard both in good and bad ways! I can't speak for those that are in a relationship. Does Hollywood torture you too with exposing all of love's problems and dilemmas? Do they?<br />
<br />
So here are my 3 most annoying moments about love, being single, and Hollywood (which actually means, I really want it to happen to me but there is no way in hell that it would!!!)<br />
<br />
<b>1. Sex and the City 2, the movie. </b><br />
Aidan says to Carrie, 'You're not like other women'.<br />
Now is THAT a pick up line or what? A man, like Aidan says to Carrie who is already wrinkled that she's not like other women, when in fact she shops for shoes rather than pay mortgage. She is so a like other women. Now Samantha is not like 'other women'. I bet you, Sarah Jessica Parker just needed to hear that and inserted it in the script!<br />
<br />
<b>2. Eat, Pray, Love</b><br />
When the dude (can't remember the characters name) says to Liz 'You don't need a man, you need a champion!'. Yeah sure he didn't explicitly imply it for himself but come on! The hell with champions, lets go with Greek Gods who muscles to destroy the universe. Even Hades, god of the underworld that lives with demons and worms, has a great body! Which comes to my last moment.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Crazy Stupid Love</b><br />
I just watched it. Loved it because Steve Carell was and is awesome (in every movie)! But that's not the reason this movie made it to this absurd list. It made it because Ryan Gossling just had to take of his shirt off!!! To be honest, he's a bit too big and muscular for me, but I'm not complaining. Like, how much crueler can you go? OH.... A LOT! He plays this womanizer that falls for the PG-13 girl. Right! *rolling eyes<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinXhfVtwqUrTppPmLVvjLg-Eyp5_JJsB_6CvmQJvRFxH5XVQ7nIPtB-kQRUTvoHcPflBKK329y5jDbGn0XW3qpEo8117PWazKEBfs9c39D2POvWHxhz1oxdi9T3BzzhWEGeopAeqorh_yK/s1600/ryan+gosling" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="117" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinXhfVtwqUrTppPmLVvjLg-Eyp5_JJsB_6CvmQJvRFxH5XVQ7nIPtB-kQRUTvoHcPflBKK329y5jDbGn0XW3qpEo8117PWazKEBfs9c39D2POvWHxhz1oxdi9T3BzzhWEGeopAeqorh_yK/s200/ryan+gosling" width="200" /></a><br />
And for the record, I think every man should have a classic 'Ray Ban' sunnies that suit their face. I swear it makes the face stay in its 20s. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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<br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Dear Hollywood, KMN! (Kill Me Now! Just learned it from The Big Bang Theory. Love it!!)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Maybe I should just go indie!</div>mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-9193470206205035642011-11-11T23:10:00.000-08:002011-11-14T20:21:23.311-08:00A Looser, I Am! But Loyal.<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I’m back on Wetar and I’m ready to roam the rubble of the virtual world. I need to be in front of my computer screen more and play around with the Indohoy website. It’s a great positive energy to do the website, more than my likings besides watching the 3<sup>rd</sup> season of ‘the Big Bang Theory’. I so clique with those guys! I’m a geek!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">On being more in front of my computer: I have failed my own challenge. I wasn’t able to maintain writing every 2 days, especially inline with my blog purpose to state the important. Apparently my life isn’t filled with important things. It’s filled with absurdity and non-sense. Well, be a little fair, significant important stuff isn’t a 24-7 thing. Even I need sleep!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">So, I have failed this challenge with only succeeding 16 posts, and numerous delays. As much as I feel like a looser, I’m proud to make it as far as I did considering I have never thought that I can write something worth reading (I'm so Indonesian, seizing the best of the worst things :P). And I will still keep on blogging because I have too much to say anyways. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">With this I close this failed challenge and hope that I will triumph the next. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1VDPmVf_Nl0H62oGFvruWrqah6xyrm1URrzSKvuG3cPBnDSrEfTWyY9p4vWEVk3H7f1OTjYHfRmJbTfcc_QAbh4nh1rApXzAx3sS13V1o3I-8YU8j3ZmZ9MlP4e-MdaUEHDTkz6rJwBJ/s1600/IMG-20110806-00557.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1VDPmVf_Nl0H62oGFvruWrqah6xyrm1URrzSKvuG3cPBnDSrEfTWyY9p4vWEVk3H7f1OTjYHfRmJbTfcc_QAbh4nh1rApXzAx3sS13V1o3I-8YU8j3ZmZ9MlP4e-MdaUEHDTkz6rJwBJ/s320/IMG-20110806-00557.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> Just thought I'd post these long loved friends. Remember this <a href="http://mumuncur.blogspot.com/2009/02/my-feet-and-their-fav-buds.html">post? </a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Yeah, these babies are forever lost. They have accompanied me well. It is said that one loves like ones love of shoes. Being said that, I'm loyal. That's why I'm still in Wetar :P </span></div>mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-67032767055075548012011-10-06T06:29:00.000-07:002011-10-06T06:29:20.807-07:00Justs Todays LikingsSometimes, I really like my life on Wetar. As I fold up my underwear to be stored, I had a warm fuzzy feeling about how nice life is as simple as it is. I have one room, and not one house. I don't do the dishes, the laundry, clean the bathroom, or floor of the house, and I don't even have to pay a certain person to do it. I chose to fold my underwear because I want to and I took all the time I have.<br />
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I also like the feeling that outside, there's an ocean. Although I can't jump in to it directly because there are river mouth crocs (and not the sandals), I like seeing the horizon, showing me that there's nothing in front of me every morning. The future does not exist. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5VMH0Vx2VLh20tAmK3pjUUV8Evo958xycOwCy_ilTzFf5xHXFheBlTT5KI_aDllCS_7euASKEmtzIIOp8kxEx9oFUbz03h3WgKPnCH_3eGycRnRjVKk7Q1nHvqMMCtLWAkxb7oAc1KqQA/s1600/IMG_7704.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5VMH0Vx2VLh20tAmK3pjUUV8Evo958xycOwCy_ilTzFf5xHXFheBlTT5KI_aDllCS_7euASKEmtzIIOp8kxEx9oFUbz03h3WgKPnCH_3eGycRnRjVKk7Q1nHvqMMCtLWAkxb7oAc1KqQA/s320/IMG_7704.JPG" width="320" /></a>I also like the fact that I lay bricks to think. I can choose and change meditation methods anyway I please. I have friends that are wise, funny, a pain in the ass. I look forward to sleeping in my double bed, my overly expensive pillow (although still cheap in its class), and my blanket since 2 years ago that keeps me warm from the AC that I don't really need. Most of all, I like the internet access right now, to share the simple things in life that I like.<br />
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</div>I also like Steve Jobs for Sylvia. You just gots to love people driven by excellence :)mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-33656293473538003942011-10-02T06:37:00.000-07:002011-10-02T06:39:39.193-07:00Cutting Balls for Entertainment!It’s between being curious and bored that really drives me to try and do something new. Wetar actually has more entertainment than Jakarta sometimes. It’s all a matter how creative one may be. Considering I’ve been here for almost 4 years, I must like the creative atmosphere the island is giving me :)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">People always revert to the predictable entertainment and forget that there are other things to do. One thing that I can do on this ‘developing establishment’ is participate in surgeries. I’ve seen the removal of a lipid lump on an employee’s back, with his permission of course. It was a horrifically interesting. Doctors are sadists and we need them to be. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS14HUy5OQYS2yD_FnPSBckt5_KogkRUdf1rOg5L5a0aRJ_U2cXKWb8ZGLCOAdU302MgBmztvQgvdQK8xVhuNFn-ktjgC-zC4BOvWuZIprGsM0pNf8RApxZJl2hs4i9UJ4Df6es1QonSTe/s1600/Jack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS14HUy5OQYS2yD_FnPSBckt5_KogkRUdf1rOg5L5a0aRJ_U2cXKWb8ZGLCOAdU302MgBmztvQgvdQK8xVhuNFn-ktjgC-zC4BOvWuZIprGsM0pNf8RApxZJl2hs4i9UJ4Df6es1QonSTe/s320/Jack.jpg" width="224" /></a>One of my most entertaining experience was spending 3 hours cutting Jack’s balls off. Now, calm down, Jack is the bosses pet dog. So it was OK to have a non-medical staff to help out. So, I dragged myself to the clinic to see such a fascinating ‘show’. For guys, they really think I’m a sadist since I helped out and I must be some man hater or lesbian, but I'm neither. I love men :D. For me, balls or no balls, it was exciting to see a surgery. Yes, it was that boring and I was that curious. It wasn't any different to the other surgeries I've seen but the guys, including the doctor, seem to squirm of the process. Not to mention, he hates dogs. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now this particular experience might not apply to all sites or jobs or situation or whatever, but let be noted that you can find something to entertain yourself. You just gotta do it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If cutting balls is not your thing, maybe the typical entertainment is really for you like watching people get drunk, having a karaoke sessions, and learn how to slow dance :D </div>mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-16302298122256263782011-09-29T05:51:00.000-07:002011-09-29T05:51:45.060-07:0014 - Half Dead Survivors<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I realize that the people that I work with on Wetar are half nuts. They’re a bit extreme compared to the usual guys. Some might like fighting, some might like the challenge, some… well… perhaps will do anything. In short, they’re fearless. I elaborated this fact to another friend that works in mining. He concurs. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Us field guys are already half dead once we’re here” says a co-worker. Sounds pretty harsh but it’s partial true. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once a man, or in my case a woman, steps out of their home, there’s no guarantee that he or she will come back. With the risk of a long journey into the remote and a high risk at work, the odds are really not on their side. My friend also taught me that people in this line of work would do almost anything to survive, including staying sane which involves alcohol and paid sex. While the spouses have to accept the possibility that everytime they wave goodbye, it might be the last. It’s tough for both ends. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On this, I think I’ve changed a tad bit. I think now I care less whether someone is higher in rank or not. All I care about is that people do their jobs. If they don’t and it makes me suffer, then I’m crossing the line. I half dead already, right? I might only be as far as ‘sharp comments and emails’, but some of my buddies here can put a sharp object in mouths to make a point. Do they care about the consequences? Not as far as you would think, but again, it’s all to survive. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I have a lot of respect to those that have chosen or are stuck with this line of work. It takes a lot of sacrifices.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My respects to Wilson Sibarani, a geologist that died in the Manado heli crash in 2011 when heading for work. We had a short time together buddy, but it sure was fun!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje8zXCSDFlCN6FQMUTqjwbzAaj1utmW30yj2-FCTDZ9v7hlOxFibMUug-NrnaboLqtRYcUBQwBeWmr3KTVJ3qvzrZxiKkbQaPnZi7CXh0L1kBnKPce5IqrjL-7bTQ64JL9vvKs12T_f01L/s1600/Wilson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje8zXCSDFlCN6FQMUTqjwbzAaj1utmW30yj2-FCTDZ9v7hlOxFibMUug-NrnaboLqtRYcUBQwBeWmr3KTVJ3qvzrZxiKkbQaPnZi7CXh0L1kBnKPce5IqrjL-7bTQ64JL9vvKs12T_f01L/s400/Wilson.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Wilson is the one in the middle in red.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">I'm falling behind 4 writings... hiks.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-65443840218314270012011-09-27T04:35:00.000-07:002011-09-27T04:35:19.501-07:0013 - I Prefer the Different Too<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I really like having different kinds of friends. There’s so much color in life if you do. Don’t you agree? And most of the time, you can get the best out of it, rather than the bad. I just try to avoid the bad. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One of favorite kind of people is the Christians. I really like being friends and working with Christians. Of course I can’t say that I like them all, personalities wise, they’re random. I particularly like them when having meals with them. Christians usually pray just before they eat. They do the whole cross thing and then say a deep prayer to the Lord before chow down. I’m usually already on my second spoon once this happens, and then I’m reminded to say Bismillah at lease before I gulp my third spoon of food. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWD54YJdvMlEeS1XISuyLgEhla_CQe-8TmwQLWHxTJGUGoHblUg0P2euzKldx0Txp5ujIZJQSVpMtKpaRlWjElEylgn-z2NDPjhwVUy76DdkfE_IcCTSWWEKhvpVbiHqgWxVxENBfZX6Pd/s1600/gelar+doa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWD54YJdvMlEeS1XISuyLgEhla_CQe-8TmwQLWHxTJGUGoHblUg0P2euzKldx0Txp5ujIZJQSVpMtKpaRlWjElEylgn-z2NDPjhwVUy76DdkfE_IcCTSWWEKhvpVbiHqgWxVxENBfZX6Pd/s400/gelar+doa.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">I like being reminded like this, seeing an example and seeing that It’s been done by ease. I should be able to do the same, right? A friend of mine once dared me if I can find a better way to teach people comparing to setting as example. I was gonna say doctrine, but the aftermath of this method is never pretty. In the end, I couldn’t answer it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because Moslems never have this particular ritual before eating, thus we never passively remind each other to pray before meals, let alone actively. We chow down without hoping the food is kosher, is good for you and such. We’re more consistent with gratitude by saying ‘alhamdullilah’ after the burp of satisfaction. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because I’m reminded this so many times by the Christians example, I realize that I almost never remember praying before meals. And so, I like being friends with them, at least for the sake of saying a prayer. So much for being a wannabe spiritual person! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-90817025080978312092011-09-25T06:25:00.000-07:002011-09-25T06:35:52.646-07:00Holy Zit!<div class="MsoNormal">I just popped a zit! It hurts and its gross!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Popping zits is a mini excruciating task that many girls do. Hell, even more guys do it now since appearance has become something more important lately compared to the past. We’re not supposed pop ‘em to but we do. The thing about popping zits is, it hurts but it’s an addictive thing you just gotta do. There’s something about puss (is it puss?) that needs to be pushed out for the sake of our satisfaction. We break the rule for puss. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfoHO4hLWmfn3CEiCinyBZ3V6ck1IzbeoEQj9kkG-oNF8Vmy20UcHgPRQEFLU63lP_IbSWP10s-bbMJ9GdbSSHUM9KUz03urhv9GQYG6QcadH9Wkgi3xL6DyWBYIklUJsrTpMpGU3ugCbB/s1600/Holy+Zit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfoHO4hLWmfn3CEiCinyBZ3V6ck1IzbeoEQj9kkG-oNF8Vmy20UcHgPRQEFLU63lP_IbSWP10s-bbMJ9GdbSSHUM9KUz03urhv9GQYG6QcadH9Wkgi3xL6DyWBYIklUJsrTpMpGU3ugCbB/s320/Holy+Zit.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Tissue used after popping my zit.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This also applies to black heads usually found on someone’s face or back. It’s an achievement without a certificate. We shout ‘yes!’ under our shaking breath of pain and keep pushing the content out. For girls, it has become a necessary activity as eating rice to the Indonesian. Even girls with the most treated faces have angst to touch zits or black heads once it starts to show itself. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But the pain? Oh the pain! It hurts so much like a little pinch by the nails. We cry during the release in facial session. Is this the price of beauty? We nod gently deep down in our hearts and shed another tear. Then multiply so many in one session every month. For those that can afford it and have the time, once a month torture is worth it. It amazes me that girls can bare so much pain? And about sulking sadness, it’s like we like it. We crave it and prolong it. Cry for some attention maybe?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">From shallow to too deep, I figured it doesn’t take much for people to see the difference of pain bearing between men and women. As spoiled as women are, they can bare pain. Some shed more tears than others, but most of us understand enduring the pain better than the opposite sex. Sure we sulk and cry and moan and complain, but we can get through it, and sometimes prolong it more than men. Heck! We’d do it again. A hole in the face because of force excretion is proof that one can stand so much pain. And I haven’t even begin with other pains such as waxing, eyebrow sculpting, and hazards of using an eyeliner. Women were made for pain even though we express it a lot. Men might not show it, but can I doubt that they can endure more? </div>mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-45141899937724450232011-09-22T07:29:00.000-07:002011-09-22T07:36:04.829-07:00I New Point in LifeI was going to post something else, but I changed my mind.<br />
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If life is a journey of experience, then today is a first. I finally met a point where I don't like the company I'm working for. I still like some of the people and I still love my job, but I don't like the management. Cliche I know. It's my second steady job and I'm facing the same problem as I did my old job. I liked my boss and I liked my job, but I didn't like how he managed everything. For God sakes, I had to iron his clothes, while his teenage girlfriend left after the hangover.<br />
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How do people deal with this?<br />
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I've asked the only female boss here, how she chooses work? She had so many different businesses and work. She works tirelessly and seems like she can still keep on going. I asked her how would you know if you've had enough? Her answer was simple. She woke up not liking it and that is the sign to just quit.<br />
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In my case, I didn't hate this company when I woke up ( I have a killer bed, thanks company!), but I couldn't concentrate at all during work. I actually cried in front of the computer, replying an email concerning one of the problems I have. How could I not? I saw a man had to resolve his problems unfairly. And when it comes to this company, he's not the only one that had to suffer. Not to mention, the unsatisfying way of getting things resolved. And I hate to see my friend, a good man, be treated like that. Apparently, he didn't like it either. He resigned. And that's why I cried.<br />
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Leaving me, making a decision tonight.mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156090324501095465.post-15338617248055175522011-09-19T05:47:00.000-07:002011-09-19T05:55:58.818-07:0010 - Opinions and Sunnies<div class="MsoNormal">The hardest thing about blogging is you have to be an opinioned person. A blog is a say of something, no matter how big or small it is. It’s a statement! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With a challenge like this (the 30 writing challenge) I realized I have to be more opinioned more than I would like to. I have to pick a topic and state something every 2 days. I’m usually am a verbally opinioned person. I will talk and talk as my imaginations in my head rolls through. However, my sense of importance is a bit off. I can blab forever about everything unimportant and hold my peace about something that has some level of importance; or I would say it to someone else hehehehe… unless someone asks about it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Bur writing about is a whole different story. It’s pretty hard since it’s a whole different process compared to verbal opinion. You need to systemize what you're gonna say and how you say it, so that reader can understand your point with one read through. But I guess it is good practice. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So here’s my latest opinion on things. Raybans, can’t go wrong with them. These are my boss's original Raybans. I feel cool wearing them! Even with a ragged shirt!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Nsb2VVDDkD4JnGaN8cXFsl7kQueBuGgMPc0mgtYy26osXkHLFqfawlac29FLeGOjXpI_i0D9qg7_FfBgEsC_liJXjUfUS5iSBA-4yXG5YzxiLFOsmp7A2E0A0xVbCKX_QilUyb_iW2JG/s1600/Photo+on+2011-08-08+at+18.34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Nsb2VVDDkD4JnGaN8cXFsl7kQueBuGgMPc0mgtYy26osXkHLFqfawlac29FLeGOjXpI_i0D9qg7_FfBgEsC_liJXjUfUS5iSBA-4yXG5YzxiLFOsmp7A2E0A0xVbCKX_QilUyb_iW2JG/s320/Photo+on+2011-08-08+at+18.34.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>mumunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00452466067380431086noreply@blogger.com0