see through me

A bit of my thoughts about life in general and things that keep it worth living...


I don't know what to say...

A seriously wounded 8-year-old boy calmly described his father's deadly knife rampage during a call for help to 911. "My daddy killed me with a knife and I'm gone," the boy told a dispatcher. "Can you please send the Army men or the ambulance?"

I read that in CNN website. I was speechless.

Surprised. Sad. Angry. Dissapointed. Offended. Losing a bit of faith.

I know that there are so many sick things in this world. I read plenty of horrifying news everyday. I heard stories from here and there about awful things that happened. But this one somehow struck me the most.

The kid was stabbed by his father after the former killed the mother. With a fucking butcher knife. While the kid was bleeding, he calmy called 911 asking for help. Calm. Not even a trace of panic in his voice. He described the scene with his innocent language.

"I don't know what happened, but something. He grabbed knives. I woke up. My dad, he was killing my mom and then my, my, my dad told me to go onto the other bed and then he's like, 'You're next,' and then he killed me. I'm still alive. I kind of survived."

I was angry... I wanted to fry the sick fuck who did that. My primal instinct was screaming aloud in my head. My body was aching to slice that man alive with a butter knife while dripping his pieces in gasoline.

Oh how much I wanted to light the fire myself.

But then I realize something. I am not one of them. I am aware of what is wrong or what is right. I know I am not a saint, but there are lines I would never cross in my life. One of them is taking one's life, and another, maybe more important, taking one's innocence. Especially a kid.

Can you imagine how the kid will grow up. He is surviving right now physically. But mentally?

How long does he have to keep the image of a man who he adored the most taking his mommy's life?

How long does he have to keep the image of a man who played ball with him suddenly swinging a knife at him?

How long...?

The worst part... The father has pleaded innocent... as in innocent until proven guilty.

Fuck, in time like this, I really want to believe in hell...

complete story


Me? Writing that much...?

It's been a quite busy week for me. And dammit, how do I love the feeling. The adrenaline rush of having a tight deadline, the endless exploration of an idea and the finesse of an execution. Things that I do miss a lot actually... although you probably would see me in few months cursing at the very same situation... but hey, we're never satisfied, are we?

The thing I like about having my creative juice flowing is that somehow it also affects other area.

I was having a cup of cafe mocha at Plaza Senayan all by myself. I was sitting there, reading my Eco, frowning because sometimes I didn't get the words when suddenly I had the urge to write. Yes, I wanted to write stories that time and somehow I could feel all the plots just on the tips of my fingers. I frantically scribbled for about an hour and half, with a cigarette in my left hand, a cafe mocha in front of me and an aftertaste of strawberry cheesecake in my mouth.

Surprisingly, I wrote four short stories (or shorties, as I like to call them).

I could never write that much until that very evening.

It could be one of the so-called state of illumination where the ideas were just flying inside your mind. All you have to do is to catch them sporadically and then you'll have to try to put them together. I love having that state of creative euphoria. If only I could have that by a snap of fingers... or maybe I should do that solitary trip a bit more often. I don't know.

Maybe I would post one of them here, if any of you are interested that is...

Until then, don't take your life seriously... you're part of a cosmic joke, after all.



A story always has two authors; the one who actually wrote it first, and the one who's writing another one as he reads. How come a reader could be a writer at the same time? The answer is quite simple.

Because we have that little thing we usually forget to use called imagination.

That case happens to me quite often. When I read a book, I usually make my own scenario inside my head as I follow the story. The characters behave according to my wishes and they become any shape I want them to be. The personalities are not spared neither for I put some of mine into them as I recognize myself in their behaviors. The process is quite disturbing since sometimes you don't know where to draw the lines between reality and fiction...

A story is a reflection of its author. But as you go deeper into that ocean of words, you become fond of the story and you find yourself making changes that suit your imagination. Your subconcious is making a whole new world based on the one imposed by someone else. It's quite an experience actually. To be able to create something practically effortless.

Maybe that is why I love reading. The borderless and infinite worlds to visit, or even better, to uncreate and to create. Playing God and Devil at the same time.



Days and nights the earth turned around,
as the Moebius's ring time was round.

When I saw the eery midnight curtain of fog,
I softly stuttered words into a monologue.

Infinite questions played devilish tricks in my head
sometimes stopping me from stepping ahead
sometimes proppeling me to fly forward
sometimes pulling me to run backward.

The moment was nonetheless awkward.



The moment has arrived.

For a month, pratically 75% (this is a grossomodo figure, I don't have the mean to hire AcNielsens) of Indonesians will restrain themselves during the daylight from eating, drinking, smoking, kissing, cursing, fantasizing, having quickies, lying, gossiping... you really want me to write all the restrictions? I'm just afraid I'll blow my bytes quota.

But why, why, why...?, says you.

Primo, because the Big Guy said so.

Secundo, I personally think that fasting is a good thing. I mean, yes, we are terribly hungry and thirsty during the day, especially during the holy lunch hour. But then again, about millions of people feel that everyday, 24/7... I'm talking about those poor people who live in small shack by the river that's so thick with garbage you could practically walk on it. In a way, we are reminded of their suffering. Yes, I know that what we feel ain't nothing compared to theirs. However, it allows us to take a peek and maybe to realize how lucky we are.

Ramadan is also an opportunity to practice self-control. Imagine this situation. I am starving in the middle of the day, and guess what do I have to make at work. A freaking promotional ad with a picture of a huge juicy steak with the mushroom sauce slowly melting upon it. I'm thinking about eating my mouse right away. Anyway... as I was saying, fasting is a very good exercice of self-control. As the time goes by, you'll understand how to control yourself with your mind and eventually you'll become a bit closer to yourself by reducing your indulgence for a month.

I always feel that way, though.

In the end, being more emphatic and being able to control yourself are small prices to pay by fasting.

That must be the reason why Ramadan is the only religious thing I practice...


Thank you...

Thank you for...
... creating me by putting together both of your souls to blow life into me...
... the classical lullabies you've played for me .
... the hugs and the morning kiss as I stepped out my bed.
... cheering me when I was down and support me when I was up.
... teaching me to be true to myself.
... reading me all those nocturnal stories, filling my imagination with fairies.
... nagging me when I was bad, yet letting me do whatever I wanted.
... telling me to be a man who is bound by his promises.
... pushing me to the top with a finger, allowing me to crawl the hill with my bare hands.
... laughing with me, illuminating my world.
... painting my darkest night with the brightness of your smile.
... making me believe that sometimes you have to learn to live the hard way.
... trusting me in every choice I've made in the crossroads.
... believing in me when I didn't even believe myself.
... putting the passion of art into me.
... loving me no matter what, where nor when.

And most importantly, thank you for watching me all this time from above. Because eventhough you both aren't here with me, I can always feel your touch upon my shoulder telling me to keep on walking.

I'm sorry I couldn't tell it in front of you on this very day, but He's got another plan for us...

I miss you both, but I know that eventually we'll be together again...

Until then, I swear to keep on living... and enjoy every little second of my life.


It's a bird... it's a plane... it's a hero...

I was just a little kid back then. That very day, my mother came from the office, a beaming smile upon her face, pulled out a video cassette from her bag and turned on the TV.

Fast forward two hours, and I believed a man could fly.

I took a sheet from the laundry box and I climbed on the dinner table. I tied the cloth around my neck and I jumped, with my right arm pointed forward and my left pressed against the chest.

I flew for about a nanosecond, and I fell. Head first.

But I didn't cry, because I knew that he would never shed a tear. Because I believed that I was Superman.

The man I saw on the screen was soaring like a bird in the middle of a skycrapers jungle, he moved gracefully between the buildings for the sole purpose of making the world a better place. He was my first idol. My first hero. My inspiration.

Fast forward 22 years, I still believe that a man could fly.

Not physically, but eventually I could let my imagination soar in the middle of concrete mindscape. And he made me realize that a man could do anything by the force of will...

Mr. Reeve, I am grateful for the belief you've indirectly put into me, for your determination to live no matter how hard life is, for the inspirations you've spread all over the world.

Goodbye, Supes. I know you're soaring with the angel in the sky, with your arms pointed forward.

I promise I'll look up to the sky from time to time.


Fight for love...?

I had lunch with an old friend yesterday. The place was hot and crowded like most of cafetaria in Jakarta and the food was disastrous, but hey, we wanted only to talk. Although I would happily choke the waitress because she brought me a wrong meal after nearly an hour delay. But that's another story.

And I asked him how things were going with him and his girlfriend nowadays, because of all my friends, he was one of the rares who have a steady relationship during these past years. He told me that he is still with her, but I kinda heard a certain confusion in his voice. Me being a good friend and not to mention a bit nosey, I tried to dig deeper. What he told me was a shocker. He said that the girl cheated on him three times. I was like, what? I always see him as the one who would jump to anything that breath. I was wrong apparently.

Anyway, it seems that the girl has a steady lover and to make things worse, they study together in a same campus.

So I asked him, why don't you dump her or something? It seems that is the normal thing to do... or so I thought. I mean, come on, one time, that's cool, two times, it's kinda harsh... but three times?

My friend said that he doesn't want to be a loser, because for him, to lose her would be a sign of defeat. At that point, I realize that he's got a point somehow.

Men are natural born proud beings. We don't want to appear to be the weakling in every case. We always try to fight, eventhough we know that it's a losing battle. But somehow I think we'll have to swallow that pride and put it somewhere the sun doesn't shine, because if you think about it, there is no point to continue if you are sure to lose. If you don't win a fight, then make another battlefield.

However, I am the one who always believe to struggle when you know that it's worth fighting for. I did have some problems with my beloved partner in the past, but I kept persevering, because I believe that she is the one for me. And thankfully we are still together until now eventhough she's miles away from me. I love her as much as the first time I saw her... yes honey, you and your purple shoes...

What I am trying to say is, if you fight for something, you'll have to make sure that the reason is really worth it. Don't let the pride be the reason. Because it will hurt you more, and when you lose, you'll see that you were fighting for a wrong reason and you'll regret it even more.

It's a freakin friday and I write some nonsenses as usual... what a life...

ps: A happy birthday to Mikal, my colleague at the office... best of luck for you, bro...


On "On Acceptance"...

Wow... my very bestfriend from overseas posted a comment on my previous posting. Two things suprise me:
1. He certainly improved his english. I remember how he couldn't even construct a sentence. *Bon, avoues que ton anglais etait pire que mon francais, Yann...*
2. He pointed out a thing that was overlooked by me. About staying to be who you are.

I said before in order to be accepted, you'll have to mingle with the locals *someone told me that technically I was the foreigner in that country... it's true, bugger me* and cut your relationship with your peers. I still think it's relevant, but what I forgot to write is that, yes indeed, you'll have to be who you are, don't even change your personality, because it's what makes you unique and naturally, the ones who will befriend you are those who are worthy for they will be your mates for a long time. You have a living proof right about here. And no, I never touched him.

*A propos, Yann, si tu lisais ce truc, je veux juste te dire qu'il y a un copain a moi qui va travailler a l'ambassade a Geneve dans un peu pres deux semaines. Tu peux m'envoyer ton numero, s'il te plait...*

Now, it's been a long time since my last Link-o-rama... maybe I'll give you some of places I've been through these last weeks...

- If you like to drink and wonder how to improve your amateurish bartending talent, go here.
- And somehow, the party got nasty, so try to find some remedies here.
- Because if you get really drunk, you may end up having stories like this guy.

So, until next time, behave yourself and break some rules...


On acceptance...

I lived in a foreign country for years. I have passed my teenage in that very country, learning, adapting and eventually blending with the people. I did some hard works to get myself accepted and my unability to communicate was the primal factor of my one and half year of isolation. It sucked. Big time.

But then it changed, as I entered high school, things were getting better. I started to befriend them as I was able to talk in their language and finally I could understand their culture more or less. And that culture was being able to drink until you could only see the world in low-res mode. Yes, I am not ashamed to tell that one of the precious things I've learned there was to drink...

I could talk about it for a while, but that wasn't my intention...

No, I wanted to talk about acceptance.

I did hang around with foreign people. In fact, I practically never hung around with the indonesian people. Two reasons:
1. They were not my age. I prefered drinking and smoking pot instead of playing playstation and "chill".
2. Those who were my age prefered to hang in the upper class bar where a beer costs more than my pants.
Thus, I tended to stick around my high school friends and talked about anything with them. That habit remains until now. I love to talk about nothing... as you could probably notice by reading this blog.

Somebody once told me that it's hard to be accepted within a circle, especially when your on your own in a strange country. I do agree that it takes time, but it is not at all impossible, because after all, you're dealing with human beings. Indeed they got some prejudiced thoughts about you and your country, as you came from a so-called Third World, they expect you to be, you know, inferior. But that is because they don't know. All you have to do is to prove them wrong.

Don't be shy. That's a very big no-no. If you can't talk their language, try harder. If you don't know their culture, learn about it. Be one of them. The best way to do this is to practically cut yourself from your usual circle where you could safely belong. It's hard and harsh... but if you intend to get yourself accepted and also you intend to learn about their culture... that's the only way to fly.

I did that. And I never regret it, because now I have a strong relationship with my old friends and eventhough we are separated by about 20 countries and 2 continents, we remain close. Because after all, what is more valuable than a borderless friendship...

... and the fact that you could always get a free room everytime you visit the country.


Love Adtually...

It was about ten past midnight. The cafe was filled by a brouhaha of the so-called music played the home band. I could barely recognize the song, but well, I must say that their performance was quite entertaining, especially that drunken debaucherie near the stage. I was hanging with some friends and I was sipping quitely my drink while noticing with awe how hard a boozed up girl could grip her man like there's no tomorrow and dancing all the way through the song. I was laughing seeing the poor bloke face when suddenly I heard a sentence from a quite intoxicated friend of mine,

"Love and advertising... it's the same thing..."

I was like, huh? I tried to dig a bit deeper and this was her answer,

"yeah.. like love is.. blablablablalblalblabla...*unaudible rambling*"

Guess I'll have to buy that "The Cambridge Dictionary for Drunkard".

Having not succeded to pull an appropriate answer from her, I tried to make up some correlations between those two things. Funny how Mr. Jack worked on me that time. Well anyway...

Advertising is basically selling. I know I will get burned on a slow fire by saying that, but in the end, it is the ultimate goal. To put the brand in people's mind? Sales. To improve the image of a certain product? Sales. To win an award in Cannes? Sales. I know, I know... advertising is not only about sales, but let's just stick to this particular reason. And before you harass me for my limited knowledge, I must say that I really want to make my life easier.

To make a successful campaign, you have to know your target audience. You have to understand them, you have to talk in their language, you have to try to put yourself in their shoes. In short, you become emphatically close to your target. You have to build the brand's image, push it to the limit until a point where people will recognize it by a slightest peek of the logo, for exemple. And it doesn't stop there. You'll have to maintain a friendly relationship between the product and the people by continuing to communicate with them.

Do you sense something familiar about the whole situation?

Love could be seen as an advertising campaign. To be successful in it, you might need to use those tricks above and put yourself as the product and the partner as the target audience.

Hard work, I know.

Fortunately, my friend did not say "Love and Micro Economy... it's the same thing"

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