tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55921102011-11-22T15:29:43.493+07:00A bit of my thoughts about life in general and things that keep it worth living...ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.comBlogger1381100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-59909956432876030272008-04-01T00:36:00.002+07:002008-04-01T00:46:04.256+07:00

The question gone,as once again the time sufferedfor the thorns were cruel,yet the scent still lingered."What for?" The moon asked.Another broken path;a rectangular destiny,a circular hope."Kill me again." The old man said.The night spat into his black eyes."You blinded fool, how dare you?"A black rain, delusional as always.And the old man finally whistled,an old tune between a fading frame;a

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-23253059074437033552008-02-01T18:56:00.000+07:002008-02-01T18:59:59.161+07:00

I am opening a new home.But I still would come here once in a while, if not often.See you all there... :)

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-65811290737563702352008-01-27T04:16:00.000+07:002008-01-28T11:30:22.017+07:00

Writers are the director of their own story in which they have the freedom to create their own world; the core nature of the process of writing. They would put life in the environments that they constructed, filling them with characters they breathed life in. It’s their personal world. A world in which they are, dare I say, the God.Nobody else know better than they do.And when the time comes to

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-76800017543765536222008-01-23T02:50:00.001+07:002008-01-23T12:45:50.333+07:00

I was invited to the premiere of Radit dan Jani, a new feature film from Upi who directed Cinta, Realita & Rock n Roll, which I thought was one of the better teen movies in present time. Radit dan Jani has a quite interesting rooster such as Vino G Bahtiar, Fahrani, Marrio Merdithia, Fahrani, Joshua Pandelaki, Fahrani, Nungki Kusumastuti and did I mention Fahrani? So I went to see the movie last

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-40507067445079710332008-01-15T20:39:00.000+07:002008-01-15T21:27:20.574+07:00

2008.I like the sound of it... two thousands and eight. It rhymes with Create. And Great. And Fate.Create Great Fate. -Full rhyme, yay.-Maybe it's what we're supposed to do this year; creating a greater fate to ourselves. But the question is, is it possible for us to make our own destiny? Because it's kind of contradicting. Fate is supposed to be there whatever you do, and somehow there is

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-9774656366623762112007-12-27T04:41:00.000+07:002007-12-27T05:05:33.394+07:00

5. Having those afternoon excursions, whether to the shopping centers, eating out somewhere, book store or even your office. I would love to take you around, hanging out in places that I know you would love; having coffee at Tornado, eating at Bokabuka or having ice creams at Gelato.4. Traveling together somewhere, most probably Jogja for a start, then we could go to Europe; Geneva and Koln to be

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-36007797693201651562007-11-23T13:30:00.000+07:002007-11-26T12:29:04.041+07:00

Have you ever wondered if life could allow you to save your “game”?An option could pop up inside your head and you could choose a slot to save the course of your life before continuing its course. Let’s say you have three slots in your memory card and you could only save once, without rewriting over it.Three moments in your life that you could “play” over and over again.What would you save?What

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-14985362565349618852007-10-11T10:19:00.000+07:002007-10-11T10:20:37.468+07:00

Few weeks ago, I met an old friend of mine in a huge yet disorganised mall. One thing led to another, we talked about our chatting habit and she told me that she never tried the “transcript chat” feature. Then I remembered that my chat program transcripts all my chatting sessions automatically, up to one year I think.So I re-read my chats the day after.It’s funny though, re-enacting the topic du

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-42575732314700624342007-09-28T13:25:00.000+07:002007-09-28T13:29:22.082+07:00

I just chatted with a friend via messenger and one topic to another, we talked about our kind of vacation. I thought about it and you know, I realize that I am not really a “nature” kind of person.Yeah, I am not.Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate the beauty of nature such as deserted beaches and their sunsets, the solitary and contemplative corners in some mountains or just a long walk

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-34423472978378222662007-09-24T11:23:00.000+07:002007-09-24T11:26:10.246+07:00

“You’re lucky, cuz, no offense, because you already lost what really matter to you.”The discussion was taken around a year ago, between my cousin and me, in our intoxicated selves. I remember that I muttered silently that he was wrong; I could still experience another kind of loss in my future.And I saw that loss in one of my good friend’s eyes last week.She’d been married for about a year or so.

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-48781127901162533692007-09-17T16:43:00.000+07:002007-09-17T16:47:19.624+07:00

OilyLife isslippery,at bestunpredictable,while remainingas originalas our sinWet path,will you (or I?)slide along;choosingemotionover ratio;overrated?“Oh, Come Along!”It’s a short walk,you think?Life isslippery,watch your stepby stepas you (or I?)chase a distantdreama little dream(of us?)Go or no go?A silent answerwith no meaninganymore,when the path isinevitablyclosed.OpenSesamewouldn’t workonce

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-27113981573210547052007-09-04T12:33:00.000+07:002007-09-04T14:11:13.621+07:00

I remember the feeling of being lost, being betrayed by life or being abandoned by everything that you believe. It’s an empty void, a black hole that sucks every single one of your light into the eternal darkness.I know the feeling of losing everything that I care the most, everyone that I love and every single thing that matters to me.It’s that little thorn inside your heart, bleeding you

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-87216687905055191602007-08-20T17:06:00.000+07:002007-08-20T17:19:47.013+07:00

La nuit te reveille une fois de plus de tes cauchemars;qu'est-ce que tu cherches derrière ces larmes qui s'accrochentsur tes yeux rougâtres par la peine perpetuelle,te cachant de la réalité sombre, amer même.Marches un petit peu, pas au pas, pourquoi pas,jusqu'à cette destination inconnue qui t'amène au pays de merveilles.Vas-tu suivre le lapin sans montre;qu' il court déjà te laissant seul au

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-59552274977988305932007-07-05T22:04:00.000+07:002007-07-05T22:59:17.032+07:00

Last week I had to go to Jogjakarta to supervise a photo session. I was offered to travel by land by the photographer, my good friend and distant cousin Anton Ismael. It was going to be a 10 hours drive and I was thinking, cool.Little did I know that the journey would wake something within me.It was a clear night, we already left Jakarta about 2 hours before. I sat in the back seat, looking at

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-25575753099546178792007-04-26T17:59:00.000+07:002007-04-26T18:01:38.883+07:00

Finally, Robert was standing across the broken white house, unsure of himself. It had been years. Years of struggle between him and his own demons. It was a long and hard journey; it was his personal auto-da-fe. He looked at the perfectly blue sky above him, thinking of every single mistake he did and how he was finally able to find his way out. It was hard. A titanesque task that he overcame.All

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-79278833189563008632007-03-29T15:47:00.000+07:002007-03-29T18:23:24.071+07:00

A palpating darkness embracing every corner of this broken soul.Death wish, who pull you out and put you on parole?Once again rooting your claws, leading man, you seek your rolefurthermore nonetheless wanting more and more controlMake sure, Utopia, a distant lover, you're my cruel mistress,over and over pounding every single brick of my fortress.Mirror I spit on for nothing I find no such

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-21836656740154484592007-03-01T12:02:00.000+07:002007-03-01T12:59:08.608+07:00

I read an article in BBC yesterday, it was about the increasing popularity of the extreme-right party, Le Front National, in France. Its supporters is slowly rising in number, lured by the promises thrown by its front man, Jean-Marie Le Pen.Now, Le Pen is the man who once boldly stated that gas chambers in World War II was just "a point of detail", strongly opposed to immigration and, of course,

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1170052872976987082007-01-29T13:39:00.000+07:002007-01-29T13:41:12.990+07:00

You stand alone and you hold a small rock, then you effortlessly swing your arm and throw it to a pond. Its trajectory traced in a curve only you could see, because only you know the strength of your throw, the distance you are aiming and only you could know where it would land before anyone else. Because it was your doing. It was your decision to throw that rock.And it would land more or less on

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1169536005941434102007-01-23T14:03:00.000+07:002007-01-23T14:12:52.473+07:00

Story of OOver and over, on his heart overloaded by the overwhelming and ongoing obsession of her, he felt occluded. Omitting every old-age questions of her opacity toward him, he oppressed all his doubts. The opera of her being inside him that ornamented his soul, the orgasmic orgy of her that outbursted all over him. Outcast from his own reality, he didn’t really know the outcome of the option

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1168688426070905862007-01-13T18:07:00.000+07:002007-01-13T19:28:51.453+07:00

The world circles the sun.My world circles around hers.The sun would shine no matter what.My sun would only shine with her smile.Pain would make you stronger.My pain nullifies everything else.Love would always find a way.My love already found its way.Fate is an unknown fact for everyone.My fate is already in her hands.Mind is the only thing that would guide you.My mind is guided by my heart.Heart

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1168335320462695232007-01-09T15:38:00.000+07:002007-01-09T18:48:10.970+07:00

Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate.The sentence kept turning inside his head, filling every single corner of his thoughts. The dark room was once again embracing him with her shadow that danced around him, teasing him with her phantom scent.Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate.Still the phrase was screaming at him, strenously poking him exactly where it hurts and the pain, he knew it, would

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1167296649682192342006-12-27T16:01:00.000+07:002006-12-28T16:04:09.693+07:00

They...She felt the little thing within her embrace, the agitating little angel who just came from heaven, half of her soul that became this little boy who looked at her straight to her eyes. She was holding the fruit of love, the part of her that she knew she’d been missing all her life.Until now.The boy was cuddling lazily to her, maybe listening the familiar heartbeats that kept him company

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1167123290550696832006-12-26T15:50:00.000+07:002006-12-26T15:54:50.563+07:00

She looked at me shyly from the corner of the room. It was one of those family meeting where people were chatting, catching up with everyone. I was eating a piece of apple pie, suppresing my need to smoke. She had that questioning eye, for a moment I couldn’t remember who she was, but after a while, I finally got her.She was my nephew, and well, she had grown up since the last time I saw her. So

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1166539139108679352006-12-19T21:33:00.000+07:002006-12-19T21:38:59.123+07:00

Do I really know myself?Years and years living within this body, having this mind and feeling this soul inside me. Do I really know myself? It’s one of the oldest question that human had ever asked, in any form, “Who am I?”, “What am I doing here?”, etc.I live my life in a constant search of self, of discovering every single aspect of me, looking at myself using every perspective possible. It’s a

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1165931009812259112006-12-12T20:23:00.000+07:002006-12-12T21:54:40.326+07:00

Smokes from my cigaretteare slowly dancing around mewith your shadow,along the plaintive melodyof falling rain outside;thousands of dropletswith your name softly whisperedeach time they touch the earth.It feels empty once again.Yet nothing changes.But I'm still sitting here,waiting by the window panefor your sun to rise on my world.*I know who you are... do you?*

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1162989034443472672006-11-08T19:28:00.000+07:002006-11-08T19:32:30.170+07:00

I would refrain myself from writing in this blog, because of this.30 days.50.000 words.Wish me luck.

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1161780578584847472006-10-25T19:49:00.000+07:002006-10-25T19:49:38.586+07:00

Couple of beers, some snacks, National Geographic on the silent telly and three big fat joints.It was my traditional lebaran ‘weeding’ with my cousin.As I previously stated, I rarely see my family. So he and I were catching up on each other’s stories. He’s teaching in a university and doing his master thesis and I’m working as crazy in that same advertising agency.Then came the discussion about

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1161780458897018552006-10-24T19:45:00.000+07:002006-10-25T19:48:34.726+07:00

I don’t see my whole family as much as I want to, so, sometimes, when we gather for a certain occasion, there are many things to catch up. I often get surprised by my cousins seeing how big they become or knowing that one little cousin has a boyfriend.Even this one cousin telling me about his recent first sexual experience.A little asterix aside: Well, it was quite surprising coming from him, but

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1161319901797316682006-10-20T11:49:00.000+07:002006-10-20T11:51:41.806+07:00

and the eff word for now is forgive...Happy Ied everyone.

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1160709212457707302006-10-13T10:11:00.000+07:002006-10-13T10:22:01.646+07:00

The Lake.The place was amazingly quiet.I sat down on a broken tree trunk, staring lazily at the blue and green landscape before me. The air was cool, with few breezes suffling the falling leaves and playing softly with my hair. It was a warm afternoon.I reached out for my cigarette and realized that I forget to bring a lighter.Then suddenly I smelled something familiar, a very unique scent of

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1160058540130355392006-10-05T21:00:00.000+07:002006-10-06T14:20:54.376+07:00

I am gonna say something shocking to some of my friends.Uhmmm.Ok, here we go…Guys…I pray everyday.Yes, for quite some times ago, I do pray everyday. Although maybe not in the strictest sense, like doing my obligatory 5 times a day prayers, I always take a moment or two to close my eyes and start a dialogue with Him. Usually in my room, in a pitch black darkness, I would stay silent and have this

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1159943124594119512006-10-04T13:23:00.000+07:002006-10-04T13:25:24.603+07:00

What makes a man walking to a certain direction?Is it the flowery path with the sun shining from every corner of the sky, is it the pitch black darkness with the hidden monsters, or is it simply, he just doesn’t know where else to go?A man would choose his way according to his experiences in life and also his expectations of it, with its every single consequence. He alone knows that his choice

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1159090121800230522006-09-24T16:26:00.000+07:002006-09-28T12:09:47.413+07:00

Dialogue en Mono“Salut, t’es là? Oui, c’est encore moi. Ça fait longtemps qu’on a pas parlé, hein? Ouais, ‘y a beaucoup de choses qui se passent, tu sais... je sais que tu savais, t’es toujours là pour me regarder non?”“C’est bizzare… je peux même pas te décrire ce que je sens pour elle. C’est une émotion inexplicable. Tu sais, elle ne reste pas statique, elle bouge, dans toutes les directions,

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1158547307263341062006-09-18T09:40:00.000+07:002006-09-18T09:41:47.276+07:00

Last Friday I went to the a celebration of creativity and craftmanship, something that everyone waits for a whole year, a place to meet the industry and yes, a chance to show off your talent. The holy Citra Pariwara.And how did it turn out?For this kind of event, during my whole advertising half-life, I was only frustated twice. The first one was in AdFest 2005, when I looked at rows and rows of

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1157700525733995632006-09-08T14:26:00.000+07:002006-09-10T13:23:40.093+07:00

Another chapter.Another story.It was a sweet story. The writer fell in love with the story.But this writer doesn’t know how would the story go.So he decides to put the story down for a while, for he’s afraid that the story would disintegrate along the way.Too bad the story wouldn’t want this writer to continue it, ever.The writer sits down and ponders.He would play solitaire until then.*thanks

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1156220937767401982006-08-22T10:58:00.000+07:002006-08-22T11:28:57.780+07:00

It's already 2 am.She stares blankly at the screen, silently. It was all quiet, only the sound of her breathing, exhaling and inhaling as the seconds lazily walk.She lets go a little sigh.She reads the words she puts on the screen, forming a train of her deepest inner thoughts. But she only sees a bric-a-brac of nothingness. It's like something put a distance between her and the tale she chooses

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1155992934783641602006-08-19T19:55:00.000+07:002006-08-19T20:12:46.330+07:00

Let's say it again...Independence day.It does have a nice sound, doesn't it?Everybody is talking about freedom that, freedom this... you name a thing, put the phrase "free to" before it, voilà, instant spirit of independence day. To be consumed without moderation. Free flow, guys... enjoy your freedom.Bah.One thing I notice; everyone is doing things in the name of freedom. Freedom of speech,

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1153822772083956792006-07-25T11:13:00.000+07:002006-07-26T21:10:43.396+07:00

I decided to go out from the office quite early last night, escaping from my usually hectic evening. Oh, just to walk around, catch some nice dinner and maybe something else.And that something else turned out to be a rendez-vous with Superman.He was the first american superhero I remember. As I already wrote some times ago, he was my inspiration and he made me believe that a man could fly (well,

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1153112931659502682006-07-17T11:31:00.001+07:002006-07-17T12:09:33.483+07:00

I like to browse.I like to take a virtual promenade into the internet garden. So, I often stumble into few cool sites that I like to mention to my friends. But the problem is, I always forget to give them the urls after.It's time to pay some old debts.historical sounds in MP3 formats, very cool... you got MLK's "I have a dream", Einstein explaining the E=MC2, etc.Look for storylines, hear what

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1149176752105942472006-06-01T22:19:00.000+07:002006-06-01T22:45:52.163+07:00

Dear God...I am sorry. We are sorry.For neglecting You.For being arrogant.For looking up without seeing You.For looking down without remembering You.For opening our eyes without being thankful.For closing our soul to Your caress.For walking forward without looking back.For turning our head everywhere except to You. I apologize. We apologize.For tasting your blessings without sharing.For taking

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1144327609424034462006-04-06T19:37:00.000+07:002006-04-06T19:49:02.706+07:00

Sleepless nights.Counting every single second of every single minute of every single hour of every single day.Eyes locked intensely to the brightly lit screen while the hand is doing a devilish tango with the mouse.Every single cell in the body screaming a loud yet distant distress call, while the brain keeps pushing itself to the limit trying to convince every inch of the neural system that

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1141235763719736772006-03-02T00:25:00.000+07:002006-03-02T00:56:03.803+07:00

It was my granny's birthday yesterday.She turned 20.Well, a bit more than 20.20 and half then.Because she was born on 29th of february, so technically she didn't have any birthday yesterday. But well, that's technical.I congratulated her in the morning, seeing her sitting on her favorite sofa, sipping her tea, singing softly her favorite song. She wasn't even aware that it was her birthday.

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1139496043526230022006-02-09T20:58:00.000+07:002006-02-09T21:43:10.570+07:00

I only want to embrace youtaking your handto walk you into another worldwhere dreams become realand nightmares fade awayI only want to comfort youholding you tighttasting your falling tearsswallow your agonyand your deepest fearsI only want to cheer youlaughing with yousharing smilesbrighten your daysand your darkest nightsI only want to love youfeeling your heart in minebeating hardin the ups

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1138947164692212542006-02-03T12:38:00.000+07:002006-02-03T13:30:05.636+07:00

... is the trend du jour.I noticed that quite some moments ago. It happened around me and I did have some good insights from few of my friends as well.What is that thing actually?It's when you decide to be with someone for a or few rational reasons. Whether materially, financially or any tangible benefits. I.e. you marry a man because he's got your family approval and quite financially wealthy.

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1136449023909460682006-01-05T10:56:00.000+07:002006-01-05T15:17:03.963+07:00

Feeling across...He stares again into the empty space in front of him.No, it isn't empty. He just erases everything to make a place, a shrine, a throne to a face that he's holding dear in his head.Her face.The unreacheable. The Grail.No, the place isn't empty. People are still sitting, talking, buzzing. It's crowded. Yet, to him, they are all just a faded illusion that melt into a blurred

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1136180583075620502006-01-02T12:08:00.000+07:002006-01-02T12:43:03.243+07:00

It was a quite different new year's eve for me.First, my beloved and I didn't do the traditional countdown as we were watching a short film in Anton Ismael's studio. It wasn't until nearly 20 minutes later that we realized that the year has already changed.Secondly, as we joined our dear friends at Tornado Coffee, Kemang, we were bombed by series of questions.Yes, it was the moment of questions

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1135659816897670172005-12-27T11:23:00.000+07:002005-12-27T12:05:34.700+07:00

To: meniek_andaruwati@upthere.netSubject: Happy Birthday...-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Hey mum, how are you? Look, I am really sorry I can't be there with you right now. Yeah, been quite busy these days, but somehow I can manage to have some relaxing vacations as well. But I would come to your place as soon as I could, ok?Anyway

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1135073022254063012005-12-20T16:29:00.000+07:002005-12-20T17:09:10.556+07:00

I fell in love with a very strange creature recently...A 25 feet simian who goes by the name of Kong. Tore Kong. King Kong.That's right, I saw the remake by Peter Jackson last weekend, and all I can say that the film rocks. Hard. Core.Well, let's do this properly then. For all of you who saw the original one and loved it, you won't be dissappointed. It's a masterpiece in the making, although I do

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1134454496957437882005-12-13T12:41:00.000+07:002005-12-13T13:14:56.993+07:00

It's been years that I consider books as my bestfriends.They cuddle me into a dreamy sleep every single night. They take me away into parallel worlds. They cheer me up when I'm down. They tell me stories about everything and nothing.But then one day I realize something. It's actually not the books that give me their friendship.It's the authors. The men and women who scribbled their pads furiously

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1133949821759859662005-12-07T16:47:00.000+07:002005-12-07T17:03:41.806+07:00

Why everything that's supposed to be bad make me feel so good. Everything they told me not to is exactly what I would...(Kanye West, Addiction, Late Registration, Universal Music)That's exactly what I do.We always have a certain penchant to fall into the crevice of addiction. And I'm talking about bad addiction. Smoke, girls, money, power, food...What's an addiction?It's something that you know

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1132711770324984432005-11-23T08:52:00.000+07:002005-11-23T09:17:31.070+07:00

Love.What a strange word, isn't it?Four letters, one syllable. Millions of meanings.Some of us see it as a gift from above, taken for granted. Fell from the sky with the holy light and why not, toss in some semi-naked angels chanting with their harp.Some see it as a curse, something you seem not capable of living without, something depressive, something heavy, a burden, a brick, a window waiting

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1131959716115029732005-11-14T16:11:00.000+07:002005-11-14T16:15:16.126+07:00

emptyHer room was empty.Something was missing in her life.She just didn’t know whatWas it the pale moonlight?Was it the unforgetable tunes?She walked around her room, sometimes staring at the midnight sky, searching for a single star to shine. But there were none. There were nothing left except darkness. There was no light. Dark. Deep. Cold.Her hands trembled. A tear wanted to scream out, but

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1130219530085550642005-10-25T10:52:00.000+07:002005-10-25T12:52:10.230+07:00

Already the third week of Ramadhan.Or is it fourth, I don't know. I really lost count.I had a particular habit of counting down Ramadhan, and I would put it in my Y!M status. But this year I really lost count after the fifth or the sixth day. Blame it in my work. As usual.But really, why did clients have to push my patience to the limit? Did I do something in your past life, maybe I stepped on

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1129179422288108822005-10-13T11:39:00.000+07:002005-10-13T11:57:02.320+07:00

Yeah... it has been...One year. One that changed my life. It all began with a simple sentence One stain leads to another.I guess it's how life goes. A thing that leads to another.Like an avalanche.And it was a very good year for me. It offered a new beginning for me. In one way and another.But still I would not forget those who brought me up to this point.Some are dead, and some are living.many

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1128410255542915402005-10-04T14:07:00.000+07:002005-10-04T14:18:50.856+07:00

This is the day when my mail is full of all those pre-Ramadhan emails. Apologize. Be pure. Bla bla and bla.Somehow I decided not to send that kind of letter (moot point: are emails letters?).Because I feel that the only person that I should be apologizing doesn't need to be emailed to.I have to apologize to myself first.At peace with self.All the struggles within.And all the mistakes I did to

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1126172496828039222005-09-08T16:31:00.000+07:002005-09-08T16:50:33.526+07:00

Guys, I am sorry, but I don't think I would continue to write Adtopia...... here.Instead, I would write somewhere else. Longer and better -or so I think-. The call was made last night because I want to have a specialized site to that writing so it wouldn't collide with my other nonsenses.So, if you are interested, please do move your cursor here and click your way to this new project.And oh, due

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1126000332456525392005-09-06T15:25:00.000+07:002005-09-06T21:20:24.753+07:00

Setting: 10 pm, office cubicle, a cup of cold coffee, ashtray full of cigarette butts, me taking break from layouting and chatting with a friend.Friend: So, how exactly does one have to do to work in an agency?Friend is working in a small design company (or creative boutique, as they like to call it). He is a quite talented graphic designer who wants to take his chances to be an art director, a

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1124887185947827652005-08-24T19:23:00.000+07:002005-08-24T20:48:03.413+07:00

Somehow around the corner of my eyes, the light shattered into million pieces.Like cracked window pane I stand brokenwhilst the sun shined its arrogant smile. The rain might fall for ages,the mist might cover my soul,the snow might burn my blackened mindthe earth might stop turning for all I care.Because like a drop of a rainbow color, you paint my world.Because like a spring breeze,you chill my

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1123582757499184222005-08-09T16:55:00.000+07:002005-08-09T17:19:17.506+07:00

It's been a while...I know.I really didn't have the time to write, that's the reason I always used to answer the infinite strings of questions from my friends. It was always the usual suspect; work, work and work. And the more I think about it, the more unreasonable the cause seemed. Because you should always have the time to do whatever you like. Because work is not a good enough reason to delay

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1121147433459722732005-07-12T12:10:00.000+07:002005-07-12T12:50:33.466+07:00

Flashback Geneva, 1991.I was behind a barong mask facing about hundreds or so spectators. No, it wasn't a dare or something like that. I took part in a show, a Swara Mahardika show more precisely. I never saw the real show though, for I was behind the stage and waiting for my 2 minutes of fame - which I didn't get, since I wore a mask and well hidden inside the costume, hopefully the audience

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1120115594658478732005-06-30T13:33:00.000+07:002005-06-30T14:13:14.680+07:00

Last week I attended an informal gathering of Multiply users. It was held at a club called Parc, famous for its independent/underground bands. After meeting my friends and trying to chat despite the noise, I sipped my Jack and coke and started to look around. The place was packed with a particular genre of people. I was told they were called emo, whatever the hell it means. They were chatting,

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1116470788757434772005-05-19T09:30:00.000+07:002005-05-24T22:33:35.113+07:00

"So... how did you get the idea?""I wanted to know the origin of your concept...""What do you do to find ideas?""Are you gay?"Well, the last question is less frequently asked, but I digress.Anyway. In my industry, idea is something that we value the most, the pinnacle of all achievement, the lost treasure, the holy grail. It is something that could make us proud and make the competitors cry with

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1115621105004364532005-05-09T13:21:00.000+07:002005-05-10T19:49:00.573+07:00

I've been writing this particular story for quite a long time.It was fun creating it from the scratch. The story flew naturally, I did not have any difficulties whatsoever to grow every single plot. It wrote itself. I filled many pages with words, verses, paragraphs. And in my personal opinion, they were beautiful. I remember exactly how the idea came to me at the first place. And indeed, as any

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1114667294679464432005-04-28T12:32:00.000+07:002005-04-28T12:48:14.680+07:00

Two days ago...I was having my dinner with a friend and we talked about our path in life and how it would always be influenced by the will of our parents.Something hit me hard that very moment. I don't know why and how.I miss them.Somehow I want them to influence me. To tell me where to go. To guide me through this void. To give me some light in this dark room.Somehow I need to see them again. To

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1113983097244372002005-04-20T14:12:00.000+07:002005-04-20T14:44:57.246+07:00

Today two people whom I consider as my bestfriends would leave this country in few hours. They had a long adventurous journey behind them and they decided to end the trip in Indonesia. Today would be their last day being tourists. They said, dixit, It's sad but we're happy too. The paradoxal feeling that every backpackers must have at the end of their trip.Anyway.I knew them since high school. I

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1112103522349367392005-03-29T20:33:00.000+07:002005-03-29T20:38:42.353+07:00

I can’t sleep.You know how annoying is insomnia. It always hits you when you expect the least, when you’re at the peak of your fatigue, when all you desire is a long dreamless sleep… when you don’t want to think about anything in your life.But no, it ambushes you just like that. Some say that maybe I have too much thoughts in my mind, some say that my sleeping habit is shifting once again. I don’

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1111381738106813202005-03-21T11:58:00.000+07:002005-03-21T13:10:37.930+07:00

As you probably have guessed... yeah, indeed... Walking Street is a road full of bar and clubs and stripclub with gazillions girls and was-a-man-but-cut-my-thing-then-be-girls. It was quite scary actually... everyone was shouting and calling you, inviting you to enter their club with the menu in hand (boy-girl, girl-girl, boy-boy, boy-armadillo... arrrrgh!), the background filled with loud techno

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1110956158944057982005-03-16T12:47:00.000+07:002005-03-16T13:55:58.946+07:00

So... I've been in Pattaya, Thailand for a week to partcipate in the Asia Pasific Advertising Festival, or most commonly called Adfest. My partner and I were to compete in the Young Creative Competition and also to attend the YC workshops. It was a very interesting experience and it certainly opened my eyes of the present world of advertising. Let's recapitulate my trip.We departed from Jakarta

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1110112761843359652005-03-06T17:44:00.000+07:002005-03-06T19:39:21.846+07:00

My two good friends from Switzerland, Yann and Andréa, are visiting me few days ago... now they are in Bali, enjoying the beach and the sun -j'espère il fait un temps splendid là-bas... et dites bonjour à Simon de ma part-. They plan to go to Flores and maybe Celebes afterward. Lucky bastards...But that's not what I wanted to write now.During our nocturnal discussion in a Café in Jalan Jaksa,

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1108377798057869082005-02-14T17:19:00.000+07:002005-02-14T17:49:20.250+07:00

Let's dance under the pale moonlightFeel every step we make alightLet me kiss your cheek, slightBecause you're my true delightLove is a story... quite mysteriousLove is a plaque... deliriousLove is a joke... hilariousLove is a cocktail... uhm... deliciousSo drink it up, my sweety pieOpen your soul and away we flySwimming among the stars in the skyWithout any reason to say goodbyeYou make me feel.

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1106647225318011912005-01-25T16:23:00.000+07:002005-01-25T17:07:43.180+07:00

I am a voyeur. I am the guy you'll see sitting in a crowded coffee shop, reading a book and nonchalantly staring at people. I am the guy you'll surprise when you feel a gaze tickling your neck. And most of all, I am the guy who would mentally take note of every single thing you do... Scary isn't it? But don't worry, I am not that stalker who would follow you all day. My reason is pretty simple

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1105940834416440502005-01-17T13:30:00.000+07:002005-01-17T12:50:37.643+07:00

Ok, you wake up in the morning, you make plan for the day: come to the office at 9, lunch at 12, work until 5, and chat around until 6 or 7, then go home and watch tv until 10. That is how you plan your day. Now, this is the result: overslept until 10, come to the office at 11, skip lunch because of the tight deadline, new job for tomorrow morning, so you work your ass off until the sun rises.

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1105513405663376422005-01-12T13:11:00.000+07:002005-01-12T15:57:29.366+07:00

I was around 4 or 5 years old. It was around 8 pm, and as usual, my mom tucked me in bed and gave me a good night kiss. Then she would turn on the little transistor radio, and scanned the frequency until she found a classical radio channel. I would then sleep peacefully, lulled by some unknown symphony. It was how I got the love for music. Music is an important part of my life. I've been

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1105005131357331242005-01-06T16:23:00.000+07:002005-01-06T17:04:10.216+07:00

I always see my life as a journey. A trip toward something unknown, but at the same time, certain. I know that I would die someday; I don't know when, I don't know how... but that is something I take for granted. But the condition in which I would be when I'll finally arrive to that final destination, I can't say anything about that. For I am not a clairvoyant. I can't say that I don't want to

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1104759016936981732005-01-03T20:07:00.000+07:002005-01-03T20:30:16.936+07:00

Happy New Year? Somehow I am a bit disturbed with that word... "happy"... Thousands are having their life literally wrecked. And here I am saying "happy"? I don't want to be a hypocrite though, I did have some good times in Bali for the holidays... but still, there is something deep beneath me that bothers my conscience, like a piece of meal that got stuck in your throat... What did we do

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1104136272718003242004-12-27T15:11:00.000+07:002004-12-27T15:37:18.110+07:00

Ideally, I would wake up early before dawn today. After yawning and stretching a bit, I would sneak out, walk quitely to the kitchen. I would turn on the light, turn on the stove and prepare the breakfast. While waiting the water to boil, I would go back to my room and take the flowers from behind the table. I would curse because they forget to take out the jasmines, so I would spend few minutes

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1103881951094267012004-12-24T16:38:00.000+07:002004-12-24T16:52:31.096+07:00

So, after weeks of overtimes, working my ass off, this is my last day in the office. I'll be off for a year*. yippee kay yay... First, I would like to wish a merry christmas to whoever celebrate this holy day... and yes, you could invite me anytime for a good ol' christmas dinner. Second, I really appreciate you guys for every single critique, comment and most of all, letting me being your

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1103706804078080022004-12-22T15:43:00.002+07:002004-12-22T16:13:24.076+07:00

Son She looked at the tiny thing she was holding. It was moving, it was breathing, it stared back at her, it giggled silently. She always wondered how God could practically cut half of her soul and put it within this small body. She smiled and muttered, "Son... I know you can't understand me right now, but believe me that you are the one who brought life to me. I want you to be the one who I

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1103562910402490642004-12-21T00:15:00.000+07:002004-12-21T00:15:10.403+07:00

Hmmm, a quite busy week... another one like this I'll be dead. Now, the theme du jour is transportation. I am one of those few who don't drive in Jakarta. One main reason, I don't have a car nor a motorcycle not even a bycycle. Sad but true. I am not complaining, though, since my condition allows me to be creative. For example, I'm at my office and I have a rendez-vous at Plaza Senayan in 30

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1103020446050336912004-12-14T17:11:00.000+07:002004-12-15T16:04:46.840+07:00

For the last few weeks, I was doing this job of promoting an upcoming singer, which is quite a new experience for me because I never did something like this before. It was quite cool actually since I kinda learned few new tricks. The downside is because the job is not really official, I had to manage my already crowded schedule to fit in this one. So the last resort is... reducing my sleeping

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1102620732281423352004-12-10T02:14:00.000+07:002004-12-11T01:35:40.116+07:00

3 simultaneous accounts clobbering me 4 days in a row going home at 2. Countless cigarette butts in my ashtray. Gazillion ideas streaming in my mind, yet I could only choose a few. Dozens cups of coffee, galons of water. A stack of empty cans of beer, courtesy from my boss. A plastic bag full of candies from a very talented friend. Nearly a hundred working hours in just a few days *

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1102519285253696282004-12-08T21:50:00.000+07:002004-12-08T22:21:25.253+07:00

I love my job. I really do... The thrill of letting my personality split into different facets, the delectable pleasure of having a sudden illumination, the constant need of squeezing my brain, the long walk inside my imagination, the cheerful arguments with partners in crime and finally, the satisfying feeling of accomplishing a herculean task when everything is done. That's why I could never

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1102264369036754692004-12-05T23:31:00.000+07:002004-12-06T05:20:11.966+07:00

Some interesting tests... You're Watership Down! by Richard Adams Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you're actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You'd be recognized as such if you

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1102170653195181552004-12-04T20:44:00.000+07:002004-12-22T15:31:35.043+07:00

I was sitting alone... wait... naah, I'm just kidding... *this one is for you, SanityInc...* Rephrase. I saw two great films today at Graha Bakti Budaya. Jiffest is in town, I love it. So, I thought I'd give my two cents on them. This is a view from an amateur viewer, so no need bashing me with technicalities or saying that my analysts aren't that deep... here we go. Eternal Sunshine of a

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1101871268274030972004-12-01T11:32:00.000+07:002004-12-01T18:09:29.056+07:00

She was sitting alone in the porch, a hot coffee in her hand and a book in the other. The rain was pouring hard, knocking the roof making a hypnotic beat that filled her mind with millions of thoughts. Her eyes were weary and sore. But the light within her pupils was brilliant enough to brighten the dim atmosphere. A weak smile was hanging upon her face as she looked up to the sky. Her soft

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1101732006753248992004-11-29T19:05:00.000+07:002004-11-29T19:40:06.756+07:00

It's been raining these past few days. I love rain. The droplets hitting your window, the cold breeze caressing your senses, the freshly cleaned air, the smell of water surrounding me, the dark landscape, the clouds dancing above you, the knocking beats you hear... I love spending a rainy afternoon with a good book to travel in, a very dark coffee for bright ideas and a couch to lay on. I

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1101285104341454122004-11-24T15:39:00.000+07:002004-11-24T17:40:32.726+07:00

I am afraid of going to movies. Wait. I was afraid of going to movies. I still recall the very first time my mother took me to a movie theater. We were supposed to see Batman (the old one, you know, with KAPPOW and BANG during the fight scenes). I was excited. But when we arrived to the theater, she told me that we were going to watch Zorro instead. Well, I was a bit dissapointed, but glad

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1101099385171724502004-11-22T11:32:00.000+07:002004-11-23T13:44:14.540+07:00

Refreshed. A week of quasi farniente, roaming around the city aimlessly, eating disorder as I tried to engulf anything except the traditional lebaran food, scribbling furiously my notepad, hanging around with my cherished friends, travelling within the pages of any book, brainwashing self with asian movies, drinking coffee by galons, sipping wine surrounded by jazzy tunes, discovering excellent

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1100351620386156422004-11-13T19:56:00.000+07:002004-11-13T20:28:37.090+07:00

This is the last day of Ramadan. I know that we are supposed to be - what's the exact word - cleansed. For thirty days, we were trying to approach the Guy upstairs, being charitable to the less fortunates, restraining ourselves from various temptation, cleaning our innerselves. But do we have to stop now? Ramadan is just the beginning... for all that matters, I wish I could stay in this state

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1099887591425660832004-11-08T11:20:00.000+07:002004-11-08T11:34:42.013+07:00

Have you ever longed For that droplet of rain to fall from the blazing sky upon your thirsty lips? Have you ever looked for that last matchstick lost somewhere inside your bag when the crave is unsupportable? Have you ever searched your single pen buried inside your bric-a-brac when ideas are on your fingertips? Have you ever wished that your goddess miles away from you were here right about

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1099308506919515702004-11-01T18:22:00.000+07:002004-11-01T18:28:26.920+07:00

I am truly sorry for my previous angry post. It just came like that. Now, I am curious to know your thoughts about this story I wrote last week. Feel free to criticize me, to clobber me with your opinions and to be honest with me and yourself. So without further ado... Chessboard The old man was sitting alone among the loud chatters that surrounded him in this cool afternoon. The patio was

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1099071418470924562004-10-30T01:14:00.001+07:002004-10-30T00:36:58.470+07:00

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

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1098763360834042932004-10-29T11:48:00.000+07:002004-10-29T11:47:52.363+07:00

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

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1098261568372987742004-10-20T15:39:00.000+07:002004-10-20T15:39:28.373+07:00

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

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1098096017629487332004-10-18T17:26:00.000+07:002004-10-18T17:40:17.630+07:00

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.

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1097818597532346072004-10-15T11:52:00.000+07:002004-10-15T12:36:37.533+07:00

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...

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1097658503047790612004-10-13T15:33:00.000+07:002004-10-13T16:11:43.130+07:00

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

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1097496866829699432004-10-11T18:54:00.000+07:002004-10-12T17:41:34.733+07:00

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

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1097204075018285432004-10-08T17:11:00.000+07:002004-10-08T17:30:13.326+07:00

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

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5592110.post-1097035628556339052004-10-06T10:43:00.000+07:002004-10-06T11:15:19.326+07:00

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

ranggahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14568434396142836826noreply@blogger.com1