I Leave Myself With A Question

For 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.

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?

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?

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?

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.


This is one post that is yet to be answer.
         

 Current mood.  

The Hands of Traveling

A 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.  

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.

Tanimbar 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

If I did, I send forgiveness in my prayers tonight.

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.

Why I Should Be More Cultural

When 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. 

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.

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.

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?

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.
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 makesing, right?   

Travel 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.

But I did buy something almost at every city I visited. Magnets.

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.

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.

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?

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?

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. 

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.

I Grew Up and Getting Old

I 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.

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!

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!

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?

People change because of the cellphone, I really understand that now. 

Same Love for 'Same Love'

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. 

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?

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. 

‘It’s a no no from God’ I say to myself. 

  

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.

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.

I have learned to embrace those that have chosen for the same love.

Picture from here.

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.

Here’s the link.

I Have a 'Sarung' Gene

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.

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.

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.

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.

Of course, there’s tons more.

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.

And then there was my mother’s comment.

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.”

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.

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.

I Used to Hate Tomatoes and Mining

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.

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. 

Which goes to show, opinions can change, it just takes that waking moment to change it. And it’s alright.

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. 

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  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. 

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,  let alone the law. But I have changed my mind. 

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.

I’ve changed my mind. And it’s alright. 

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.

I Believe in God, Thus I Believe in Bamboo

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.

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

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.

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.

However, I’m a Moslem at heart. As Joan Osborne would sing:

... if seing meant  that you would have to believe, in things like heaven and in Jesus and the saint, and all the prophets...yeah God is great...

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?

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.

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.

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.

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? :) 

Imaginary Side Job

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.

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. 

The irony? 

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.

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. 

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

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.  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).

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!

It Was My Bird Day... 3 Months Ago

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.

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’.

Sure. Why not? I nodded.

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.

My initial reaction:

Then I realized it was Durian flavor. Thus my reaction. Hhhhh… still one of my best presents eva! Gotta love my Mum! 

I Saw The Sign... And It Opened Up My Eyes

I'm back from another journey. I was so looking forward and really nervous about it just before I left.  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.

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!

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?

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. 

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!

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 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.

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.

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?