Didn't you notice that?

Today I passed the road I've always passed since my work in this company started 10 years ago. Something changed. Not that I noticed, but because there's a notice board saying that the garage that used to be there has moved somewhere and that the land is overtaken legally by a certain party.

So, there was a garage there? I didn't notice.

Ten years, same route. To not notice?

I wonder, what else I don't notice in this live?

Cahaya Hidupku

Suatu hari aku pernah mengirimkan suamiku, yg waktu itu sedang belajar di Swedia, sebuah buku yang kupikir pasti akan dia sukai.

Kemarin aku membuka buku itu, dan tertera tulisan tangannya:
"Dari ...., istriku, kekasihku, cahaya hidupku"

Kata-kata itu mengalahkan hadiah apapun yang sebetulnya diam2 aku ingini, hal2 'picisan' seperti bunga, coklat atau perhiasan.

Cahaya hidupku.....

Ketika kamu menjadi cahaya hidup seseorang, apa lagi yang kamu harapkan? Nothing. Hanya harapan bahwa cahaya itu akan terus bersinar dan tak pernah redup.

On writing

I read somewhere that writing is a form of therapy. By putting down your feeling you at least can face your problem and find a solution, eventually. That by doing so you let out steam off your body and mind. Perhaps it is.

But sometimes my writing seems to amplify my feeling instead of cooling it down. So when I am angry and I put it down, I get more and more angrier. And when I am hurt or sad, it affects me in a deeper way.

Problem is, I don't think I can stop writing. Even if it breaks my heart, even if I am writing in tears, and even when reading what I've written hurts me again and again.

I don't know if a therapy is supposed to work this way. It's different with sharing things with a living being, a close friend, for example. But friends sometimes give a reaction that I dont' want to have, that I don't want to deal with. In my writing, the only thing I deal with is my emotion. And perhaps your interpretation of it.

I will keep on writing (typing, to be exact). Happy, sad, remorseful, broken-hearted, elated, joyful, contemplating.... whatever. I feel alive when writing. It is me you read. It is me.

So I thought

I have forgave and forgotten,
so I thought

I have torn all and burnt all,
so I thought

I no longer look back and move forward,
so I thought

I have accepted and lived with it,
so I thought

So why this tiny stab?

So I thought...

places

tokyo. los angeles. san diego. los caritos. singapore. hongkong. kuala lumpur. bangkok. paris. rome. amsterdam. london. oxford. windosr. brighton. malmoe. copenhagen. helsingor. helsingborg. breda. volendam. delft. capri. berlin.

solo. jogja. bali. bandung. surabaya. semarang. garut. kerawang. anyer. carita. pekanbaru.

indonesia. japan. usa. uk. singapore. hongkong. malaysia. thailand. france. italy. netherlands. sweden. denmark. germany.

next?

The rickety bucket we’re riding in

It’s been awhile since I last boarded a public bus. Especially the regular ones, not the PATAS AC. Those metro minis and KOPAJAs are really something. If you need a daily dose of adventure, just board one. Guaranteed, you will get not just physical enlightment, but spiritial as well.

Take the trip I took last week. Only one seat remaining which I immediately took. Definitely not the best one, as this was the one in front, in the area beside the driver. It enabled me to see a lot, though.

It came to me how rickety the bus was. The floor under the driver’s feet had a hole in it. I can see the street from there. The driver’s seat has no safety features whatsoever, a buckle would be an alien aparatus. Not one indicator is alive, not of the oil, the speed, the rpm, nothing. All what’s left were knobs of whatever… at least the driver was familiar with them. The door was tied with hard rubber string.

And let’s not talk about the passangers’ seats, haphazardly bolted to the bus floor, some already loose. Or the windows that reverberate along with the engine, creating a high decible cacophony. Tampered glass? Ck.. ck.. ck…, no chance.

With the demon speed these drivers are carrying the passengers, I cannot help but feel close to God. Everytime the bus picked up speed, I send a prayer to The Almighty. God… don’t let me die. Not because I’am afraid to die, but because of those I’d leave behind. Please let me be save, please let me arrive home to those I love and those who need me. Dear God…

Happy riding, dear readers.