Great person to just... be.

Last night the Indonesian family here gathered together to meet and welcome a special delegate of the government in lobbying for support for Indonesia to become a non-permanent member of the UN Security Council.

In all hopes and prayers that this one Indonesian goal be obtained, I'll now focus on a lighter observation.

When I first heard dinner, 8pm, batik; I exhaled a long -oh-maan- sigh thinking that the day's work had just been extended without compensation. I sat there without a care in the world until the honored guest arrived and everybody stood up.

Classic. Stern. Self-smart.

That's what I had in mind, until I shook his hand and, believe it or not, his personality hit me. There was this incomprehensible aura that would later prove itself very righteous that this man is simply... charming. Not the charming James Bond sort with an intricate flirtatious elegance, but charming as in smart, as in captivating, as in true.

What I most admired was his ability to shine through to the audience through euphemism and fresh sarcasms, without leaving hollow any of his words. Brilliant. Not only does he know what he's talking about, but he's letting others enjoy along it.

That, my friends, simply makes you a great person to just... be.

MiPod

I read an article underlining the importance of acknowledging even the simplest achievements we make in life. About a month ago, a letter from my institute arrived at my parents' house here. I knew my grades around 2 weeks prior during one of the incoherent phone conversations with my brothers.

hmm.

It was a good year overall. And to celebrate, this baby became all mine.


i love you, MiPod.

Tolong

Saya orang yang cukup ekspresif. Dalam keluarga, saya dikenal sebagai orang yang dapat meluapkan rasa kesal lewat kata-kata yang tajam, rasa sayang dengan sentuhan, takut dan kehilangan lewat tangisan. Saya dapat meminta maaf, mengungkap kagum, dan mengaku salah dalam satu kalimat. Ya, itu saya bisa lakukan.

Tapi tidak saat meminta pertolongan. Saat mengalami friksi dengan cara kerja dunia dan teganya manusia, saya lebih memilih berada di tempat tidur dan nangis mencoba mengerti apa yang tidak pantas, yang tentu mengakibatkan mata saya merah dan bengkak keesokan harinya. Dan seakan itu belum cukup, saya menjawab "gak papa" pada tiap pertanyaan "kenapa, Mi?" yang dilontar atau ketik, menutup peran dunia dan menjadi masokis menikmati perihnya luka.

Dan layaknya seorang teman baik, ia menunggu... menunggu sampai saya siap memaafkan rasa bersalah dalam diri dan bicara. Saat itulah, saya lepas bercerita... tak ada lagi amarah atau luka yang tersisa, hanya bercerita seakan mengulang sebuah cerita yang sudah terlalu dihafal.

"F, aku boleh cerita?"

Ia hanya tersenyum mengatakan, "manusiawi kok, Mi."

Words of Wisdom

This came in a few months back, and I suddenly remembered it again. Only today, it's in a different context:

Mia, I know I'm still not totally wise to the world...but never fall short of your happiness for someone else's benefit. You're too precious not to have all the happiness in the world.

Thanks for lifting my spirit, K.

Picture Perfect Guy

I have a weakness for guys who can effortlessly handle babies. Whether it'd be rocking them to sleep, feeding them, or just making them gurgle--the picture of the two together I'm totally in love with. And when the baby finally gets asleep on the guy's arm... hmm... I think I just got myself pregnant by the thought.

Perhaps it's admiration in its purest form. I'm not the baby type, although I can be pretty much liked in the 'young kids' corner. It's flattering to hear the sound of their shoes clampering cement over 25 meters away with a "mbak miaaaa.." and the "on va te faire une surprise" hush. That kind of thing makes my heart melt. All the more when they come up with their perfected image of me on paper as "La Princesse Mia," followed with flatteries that I think would only make you believe how more self-conceited I am if described. But yes I love seeing them laugh and explore the things happening around them. Makes me wonder on Einstein's brain theory that if we could just retain 50% of everything we've learnt, we would all be him. Ok, that's the modified version of the theory, but you get my point.

Babies, however, are a different story. First, there was the baby of my cousin which was comfortably known "sociable" albeit accepting new faces and arms to surround and lift her. I held her for 3 minutes, took her into an air conditioned room and came out a minute after looking for her mom because she was crying comme c'est pas possible (I swear I didn't mean any harm). Second case, he was tired, wrapped around mommy's arm when I came close and... well... you know the rest. I might have a diabolic aura, I don't know. I really don't fu#king know. Can someone advise?

Some say babies automatically do simple math calculating the ratio of one's eyes compared to eyebrows, nose, and lips. And as cruel as this might sound, babies like getting good ratios, i.e. good looking faces. Could that be it? *sigh*

Anyhows, just spending the days with many kids today I guess tapped a door on my mother instinct. I love how babies smell. Oh, their smell. And their feet. Adorable! Now I just got to get one of those picture perfect guys ;)

There are times when a certain chain of disturbing moments scratch deep enough leaving a small and non-intimidating gesture enough to tick and top the disappointment. Yes, it happens even to the bests of us. I've been on the receiver end for a few-too-many times over the past years, and yesterday, the universe decided to give me another one of those.

"Hard day's work?"
"Uhm."
"Tell me what happened?"
"Nothing. The usuals."
"Tired?"
"Yeah, kinda."

During the whole way home from this currently monopolistic gigantesque hospitality enterprise, I was quiet except for the few words I used to answer. The same views I see every working day after 4 pm passed me without interest. But I looked out anyway, not having enough life in me to engage a decent conversation with neither my brother or mother. I was tired. Period.

In the evening, after my dad got home from work, my mom took the slightest opening to address the very issue. It got worse from there. I realised that what I had thought normal and understandable at the time, aren't. I ofcourse knew it was impolite and perhaps childish, but I was comforted by the thought that it was somewhat 'justifiable' like how one would expect a PMS-ed female to be overly-sensitive.

From there, I flashed back into the dark corners of my memory to find somekind of pattern (if there even is one) in the same kind of experiences. Although I will never understand the meaning of the late "you've changed" calls or even text messages alike, I do know that if my own flesh & blood mother can take my seemingly harmless gesture as a personal insult, then the girlfriends of my past (and I do mean they're no longer part of my present) certainly must have.

Or perhaps they're just rigid sad bi*ches. You pick.

Soul mate?

Wouldn't it just be easier to look into your yellow pages repertoire and find (sm) next to some random (or not) name? Uhm. That would stand for soul mate, ofcourse.

For a couple of days now during my mundane internship routine, I browsed around a network site and found this particular word used to testify--oh say, 10 people? Doesn't sound terribly crude for a number, I agree. However, considering that it was a mere half hour work of clicking... I figured I should at least find out what the word means (ever so critically).

Soul mate (n): 1. one of two persons compatible with
each other in disposition, point-of-view, or sensitivity. 2. someone for whom
you have a deep affinity.

Ah soo. Soul mate doesn't necessarily have a romantic meaning to it, yes?

As far as my mind permits sanity, I have never so freely toss that word around in either sense. Otherwise saying I hardly ever use the word. It's like saying "babe" and having the snotty little pig in mind. Blame my upbringing for that. "Mate" is friend; "friend" is neutral; and "neutral" certainly means no romantic interest. You can blame the Aussies for that.

Hence I feel reluctant to pronounce the word and whatever counterparts it has in other languages. Belahan jiwa (is it?), l'ame soeur (literally translated to soul sister)... it just doesn't make the sense of the meaning any clearer.

And if that yellow pages thingy really does exist, I'd still be asking myself what it means.

Innalillahi

Reza: woi
Reza: gw gak bisa lama nih
Reza: cuma mau bilang, ayahnya adis
& anhar meninggal hari ini
Reza: serangan jantung pas main tenis

I received that message on an MSN chat window a few days ago, just after my thoughtful break out of the morning routine of checking clients' files.

I was speechless.

There I sat, doing absolutely nothing but repeating the lines in my head. Perhaps I had turned pale, and before my supervisor could sense my motionless figure, I took a click closing the window and said a little prayer.

What most affected me was the thought of my friends, probably the closest persons I came yet to call 'brothers', helplessly trying to be strong for their mother. This family, although rarely checking in or making phone calls to see how I'm doing, always silently assured me that they're right there whenever I'd be ready to look for them.

Last night, the thought was brought to the realm of dreams. I found myself in a pirogue, a small boat, swifting our way in Venice. I've never been to Venice, and I haven't a clue what this city has in correlation with anything. Anyway, there I was with the wife of the deceased man. She still had the motherly smile and the glow of faith in her eyes. I tried to empathise and mumbled words of condolences before I hugged her tight. I was crying, yet she only kept her tears in her eyes which made her glow all the more.

This family had always had Faith. With a big F.
Adis, if you're reading this,... please keep being strong. Your dad lived a great life, and even for someone like myself that didn't know him much, he has made me realise the rewarding prize of faith: children like you and your brothers.