for better or worse

Do I love my country? I guess so.
One’s country is like one’s family. The majority of us don’t really have a say in that. We might as well learn to love it, because what choice do we have really?

What does it mean being an Indonesian? In the eyes of outsiders, it’s not something that is worthy of something. Being Indonesian is not the same as being an American. It’s not even the same as being a Singaporean.

No, I am not ashamed of being an Indonesian. It’s who I am. But I won’t deny the fact that generally, we Indonesian do not hold ourselves really well.

I won’t even go into stuff like corruption and bigotry. I’m going to cover the small, daily stuff. Stuff that is within my grasp, and of course stuff that is related to me. There are so many things that we have to admit that we, as a nation, are lacking.

1. Discipline
When it comes to discipline, I am 100% Indonesian. I have no passion, no focus, no competitive streak whatsoever. Why are we not superiors in sports? Why don’t we invent anything? Because we are clearly lacking on those things. Maybe it’s got something to do with the fact that our soil is so fertile that almost everything grows, therefore we don’t really have to create something. I don’t know. It’s still something that I also have to work very hard on.

2. Winner’s mentality
I’m not going to criticize our national football team. Those guys are awesome and they have improved a lot. I’m criticizing the mentality of the rest of us, the supporters, who automatically looked for something to blame when Malaysia humiliated us 0-3 in the AFF semifinals. There was nothing to blame. Malaysia simply was better than us. Period. We sucked. Admit. Retreat, re-strategize and re-attack. Yes, Malaysian supporters did use laser. But what right do we have to criticize them? Our supporters are worse! Supporters here can march into field right in the middle of a game to beat up the referee. Hello? My advice is, fellow supporters, next time we lose, don’t look for something to blame. Keep sending our support because our losing team needs our supports more than ever.

3. Fighting spirit
I was quite sad when I saw the Indonesian team gave up on the last challenge on The Amazing Race Asia 4. Sad because it was predictable. I knew he was going to give up once I heard of the challenge. I just knew he didn’t have it in him. I know it must be hard for him because of his height phobia, but isn’t the whole point of joining the race is to push himself to the limit? Compare it to the Singapore team who were left far behind and managed to catch up. It was because they kept on fighting. Him giving up is just so typical of us, Indonesian, who run away when faced with an impossible challenge. Yes, I am also guilty of this crime, but I am working on it as I grow old.

4. Speed
I’ve worked with people from Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Australia, India and New Zealand and I have to say that they are faster than us. We probably have the same IQ, but we tend to take things slow. When we are given a task, we don’t jump into it. We push it aside and continue our meaningless chats and only give it a thought when it’s nearing the due date. Why is that? It’s a mystery, even to me. I guess it’s because people take things lightly. I was guilty of this crime when I was at school because I hated school with contempt. Now that I finally found something that I like doing and it pays good, I take it seriously. There are millions of people out there who’d kill for my job so I intent to keep it by being irreplaceable.

5. Integrity
I guess there is no way I can talk about our nation without touching upon the subject of corruption. Oh well. We are so used to pay our way into anything. That is a sad fact that only a revolution can change. We have no integrity. No. Zilch. Nada. Zero. This is probably connected to point 2 and 3. We don’t really see the need to fight or be good because we can always earn it the easy way by cheating or bribing.

It is no wonder that we are not competitive at all, in every way.

I was talking to a friend yesterday about what we can do to make a change in this country. Her advice was really good and doable. Start small, do many small things.

So that’s what I’m doing. Starting with myself, of course, changing many small things about myself. Just like Michael Jackson said. That man was a genius.

everyday is a celebration

Today is Indonesian's mother day. It has been a mother's day since as long as I remember and nobody seems to mind.

That is until twitter came along.

I don't know how it is in other countries since I don't follow people I don't know on twitter, but Indonesians love to give an elaborate lecture on twitter. The topic varies and I usually don't pay any attention to them. I'm never one to listen to any kind of lecture so I usually just scroll up and won't bother to read them.

Today, naturally, the lecture was about mother's day. Someone posted that according to history, today was the day of first women's congress in Indonesia which happened in 1928, therefore is more appropriate to declare today as women's day rather than mother's day.

I'm not sure how the day shifted to being celebrated as mother's day. Most probably because we commemorate women's day on April 21, the birthday of Kartini, a prominent figure in Indonesian women's rights. Two women's days in a year is a bit too much isn't it? So I think it's logical to celebrate one as women's day and one as mother's day.

It's always good to learn something new. And it's good to know the story behind something. I thank the person who posted this because this is new information to me.

But as we know, twitter is full of smartass.

Soon there were tweets from people who want to straighten this fact. Those are the people who went: let's not continue this mistake. Let's celebrate today as women's day and not mother's day.

That's when I get tired.

I mean, is that really necessary?

Mother's day, women's day... how is it going to make any difference to us? On those days we still get up in the morning and do our things.

So by stressing the point that today is women's day rather than mother's day we shouldn't call our mothers? Or what?

I am not a mother nor do I have any intention to be one. I'm 37, childless, and plan to remain that way. But I have a mother and I love her and I like dedicating one day for her.

Most women are mothers anyway and almost every woman is willing to be a mother. In fact, every time I tell people that I choose not to have children, I tend to get raised eyebrows.

So what's the deal about straightening the fact that is not that important to begin with?

We just need to be informed on the history behind it, just like we are informed on the history behind Valentine's day or Santa Claus. And leave it at that.

Mother's day does not diminish the value of women's day one bit.

In fact, many great women I know are mothers.

And what does it matter if today is mother's day or not? It's not even a public holiday!

I can even declare October 4 as daughter's day. Or January 5 as wife's day. Who cares? For me, the more days we can celebrate, the better. Don't be a party pooper!

So now I raise my glass to celebrate this mother's day. I hope you raise yours too.

Here's to kickass mommas everywhere!

games people play

I'm not good at games. Any kind of game. When I was a child I didn't really like playing kiddie games with my friends. I had a lot of friends and I often had friends over to my house, giving my grandmother major headache but I was never really involved in the games they played. My sister was born when I was 6 so I was alone most of the time, therefore I liked having friends over. I just needed them for their presence. They would play and I would read in the corner, because I was and still am a big reader. Knowing how mean little children can be to one another, it was amazing that I wasn't cast out as a weirdo.

I'm one of those lucky person who's always surrounded by friends, in every stage of my life. Even until now, my house is still some sort of a base camp. Friends come over and just hang out at my place.

But yeah, I'm not good at games. Card games, board games, computer games, I am practically useless. I tried to play but I didn't enjoy them. Still don't. I'm a very spontaneous person, I don't like having to make calculated moves and I hate having to guess somebody else's move.

My dislike of games is probably one of the reasons why I become a very straightforward person. With me, what you see is what you get. It's probably not the best strategy to survive as an adult but I can't change who I am.

I don't trust people easily though. My life experiences have taught me that a lot of people are screwed in the head. I have had my fair share of cheating boyfriends and friends who lied behind my backs, but if people screw me, it's for a reason that is personal. It was because they wanted to screw me. And I have come to terms with it. I don't sweat it anymore. I know that there will be friends who betray me. That's just the way things are. But yeah, as far as I remember, those who betrayed me did so for a personal reason.

In life there's always the first time for everything. Yesterday was the first time I realized that someone can actually stab me in the back, for a reason that is not personal at all. How could it be personal when that person and I are not even close to begin with? That person and I are in the same circle but we can't be called as "friends". It's more to "acquaintances". I know nothing about that person's personal life and I believe that person doesn't know anything about me either.

Long story short, said person desperately needs to do some ass-saving. So I was the scapegoat. The reason was not personal at all. It didn't have to specifically be me. It could be anyone. As luck would have it, I was in the perfect position to be a scapegoat. It was inevitable. Life does happen like that. Sometimes it puts you in such an unfortunate position. An intern at my office one day had a wall collapsed on him while he was riding his motorbike and crushed his leg. What did he do to deserve a wall collapsing on him? Nothing. He was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.

How could I be at the wrong place to begin with? Because I suck at games. I never calculate my moves and I don't pay attention to the moves of everyone around me. I know this world is one big game, but I thought that I can choose not to participate in the game, I can sit on the bench reading my book or talking to the little people I invented in my head, not even watching the game, just like I did when I was a child. I didn't realize that the ball can actually fly off from the field and hit me in the head while I'm on the bench. That, ladies and gentlemen, sucks big time.

A lesson learned. Hopefully not too harmful. But do I want to start watching my back? No, I don't want to live like that. People can play their stupid games and I refuse to join in. If on odd days a ball flies off and hits me in the head, that's okay. I have a strong head. I can take a stupid ball. And if the mood strikes me I might throw that ball back on the person who threw it at me. And harder, of course. But I still won't join the game. If I want to injure somebody, the reason has to be personal. That's just how I roll.

For me, the reason why my life is beautiful is because I am as transparent as a child in anything. People feel secure with me. That's why I'm always surrounded by friends. True friends. Friends who know my shortcomings but still love me anyway. Friends who are as close as my family. Not ten thousands followers on twitter whom I barely knew. Or people kissing my ass, not that my ass is that important to be kissed anyway.

What happened yesterday did not change me. I still believe honesty is the best policy. Stupid maybe by adult standard but it's something that I believe at whatever cost.
And if for some sick twist of fate more and more people betray my trust in the future, that's okay too, I can always invent new, honest people in my head. I'm resourceful that way.

why so serious?

I was about to open my Yahoo email account and the Yahoo homepage had this news about how Ariel Peterpan cried when he celebrated his birthday in jail. Out of curiosity I clicked the link. It was nothing special but what’s interesting is the comments people were posting underneath the story. I was shocked to find so many people expressing their anger to Ariel. Not just anger, it was extreme anger. The kind of anger you feel towards a person who did nasty things to your loved ones or yourself.

They wrote something along the line of “Jail is too soft a punishment for him, Ariel should be stabbed to death/stoned to death,”

Now, I can understand if that kind of anger was directed to a pedophile, but wishing someone whose sex tapes were leaked to public to be stoned to death is a bit extreme don’t you think? And it wasn’t just an opinion of one or two people, it was a lot of them.

What’s those sex tapes got to do with them really? If anything those tapes were entertaining. He shouldn’t apologize to us for making them, we should apologize to him for making an entertainment out of it.

For me, what he did wasn’t even a crime, it was just an unfortunate and extremely embarrassing incident. He shouldn’t have been jailed in the first place, but I won’t go into that discussion.

What shocked me is the realization of how extremely judgmental Indonesian people are. There’s one comment that goes like this, “He shouldn’t have cried on his birthday. It’s his punishment for being a coward. He should just own up to it, like Cut Tari. Look how Cut Tari’s life is so much better now after she admitted the whole thing.”

It was beyond me how the person could be so sure about Cut Tari’s life.

I can bet that those people have never even met Ariel in person. I thought that kind of hatred can only be directed to someone whose action affected you personally. But I guess I thought wrong.

See, this is exactly what baffles me about my own fellow countrymen and women. I thought we are nice people.

Whatever happened to our hospitality? The friendly smiles of Indonesia that foreign visitors love so much, or so said the tourism brochures?

I think we’re turning into bitter and extremely self-righteous people. Or probably we have always been. How scary.

What possibly fueled so many people to be so angry about a rock star who made sex tapes? I really can’t think of any. Something must have gone wrong somewhere for a country to breed so many hypocrites. Too many people are too happy to cast the first stone.

I skipped classes too much during university therefore I can’t make an analysis from sociological or anthropological point of views. But my simplistic analysis is this: Indonesians take themselves way too seriously. Add to that our lazy ass attitude. That what breeds self-righteousness. We think we’re all that. And we’re too lazy to find out that we’re not. We never seek references.

Of course, that’s only my simplistic view on a much more serious issue. My knowledge is very limited therefore I can’t speak for the whole nation.

But that’s what I think.

I agree on death penalty. But only for pedophile, serial killers and terrorist.

We have too much hatred within us already. I wish everyone can just grab a beer and chill and laugh about life. Even if sometimes we don’t feel like laughing.

I know that I’m too insubstantial to influence anything on people. But if I were to be someone important, my one message to my fellow countrymen and women is this: Stop walking around with sticks up your asses. It's so damn annoying!

Now go and be crazy at the nearest bar. It's Friday.

Have a nice weekend all :)

the paying game

From 2003-2007 I worked freelance. The reason was pretty stupid at that time. I got somewhat promoted to a slightly more senior level and found that supervising other people’s works was not thing. I just wanted to write stories for God’s sake. Why couldn’t they just increase my workload to justify the increase in my pay and leave me alone at the bottom of the chain? I was more comfortable that way. People freaked me out. But of course it didn’t work that way. So I ditched advertising. Well, not completely, I was still doing advertising works. I simply stopped coming to an office at regular hours.



During that period I freelanced for agencies as well as acting as a “creative consultant” for several small budget clients who couldn’t afford proper ad agencies. I also teamed up with some friends writing TV shows, films that never got produced, as well as tried our luck as a small party organizer, which was a hit until two members of our group got married and they started doing their duties as one person but demanded payments for two. So the one-year venture as a party organizer came to a complete halt, after organizing one successful Vegas-themed year end party for the company that my mom works for. We parted ways for good. In fact we never spoke to the couple anymore after we, somewhat begrudgingly, split up our profits.

I came back working full time in 2007 almost by accident. I freelanced for my best friend at this agency I’m working now and we had such a blast working together so it was only natural that I agreed when she asked me to join her team full time. Last year the company underwent a restructuring and now she’s not my supervisor anymore. But I’ve gotten so used at having a regular job again that I’m still doing it. The job is fun anyway, so I figure why not stick it out for the second time around? It’s been fun so far and 4 years of working on my own clearly had toughened me up in dealing with people. I can listen to people more, or at least I’m getting better at pretending to listen. So yeah, I get by okay.

Is working on my own better than working for a company? I really can’t tell. I think I like them both just fine. What I liked about the years of working on my own beside the fact that I could sleep in on Monday morning is that I did not have to listen to people whom I did not think worthy of listening to. The downside is of course, more often than not, the payments were always late. I really hated having to chase people for my money but believe me, in this country, people really had to be phoned up multiple times before they finally paid, and by the time they paid, your phone bills would reach almost the same amount as your invoice.

It was a big mystery to me why they didn’t pay on the date they promised to pay. Every one of them came up with the same administrative screw-up stories, all the time. The reason was beyond me. The worst case was this particular client who didn’t pay for 6 months after the due date. It was quite a big order for me, the one that included large orders of printing materials. I had to pay the printer with my own money first and because the client was 6 months late it really damaged my savings. Not to mention that this client was not Jakarta based, I had to place several expensive calls just to collect my payment, which added insult to the injury. So by the time they finally paid, I lost probably 30% of my profit already (I suck at counting so I don’t know the exact number, but bottom line is I was not that profitable).

Now, a week ago I had coffee with a friend who owns a printing company. He told me that it was a hectic day for him, having to go collect payments from some of his clients. I asked him why did he have to do the collecting himself? Doesn’t he have staff to do that?

He told me that yes he has people to do that, but on special cases, where payments are stuck, he had to do some “personal approach”. I asked what kind of personal approach. He told me that he would ask the person in charge on how to make the whole process faster and then he would transfer some amount to that person’s personal account as a “thank you gift” for that person’s favor to help smoothing the payment process.

I had a hard time processing this information.
“So you mean you have to bribe that person to get your payment?”
“Yes, more or less.”

It suddenly dawned on me that maybe this is the reason my payments were ALWAYS late. I can’t believe how naïve I was, thinking I can be rewarded only by doing my best and working hard. In this corrupt country, we had to bribe people to get what is rightfully ours. Sad but true.

The thing is I wouldn’t know how to approach people like that. I am not smooth at all. I don’t drive, so I’ve never even bribed a policeman like my fellow countrymen and women. I simply don’t have the experience and given the fact that I am terrible at verbal communication, I just know that it’s a skill I will never master. And now I cringe to imagine what happens on a larger scale when even a small fry like me has to take part in this “smoothing” process just to get what is, by law, mine.

So maybe it’s true that not everyone is cut out for business because apparently to make it on your own in this country, talent alone is not enough. What a sad realization, knowing the reward system that you’ve been taught as a child is no longer applicable.

Last night I watched a debate on television about the controversy on the release of corruptors by the president and my heart sank. It’s like a gigantic cobweb of lies, impossible to untangle because well, everyone is involved. And my memory went to two weeks ago, on our independence day, where I watched poor, neglected veterans of our country came to stand proudly before the flag in their uniforms which somehow made it even sadder, and I thought of how much these people have been robbed on what are rightfully theirs and it’s just beyond me on how corrupt people can live with themselves when they fully know that they are taking from other people, especially people who are less fortunate. But I guess they can.

So this morning I woke up feeling grateful because I have lived an honest life, because even though some scumbags had nicked some money off me it was nothing compared to what had been robbed off the veterans, because I can still give even though I don’t own that much, and because I still have this job that I like that pays my salary every month without me having to bribe the finance people first. I do have a lot to be thankful for.

flirting with palmistry

I had my palm read by a masseuse at the shooting location. Background story for non local advertising people: ad agency people are usually treated like royalties during ad shoots here. The production house pampers us with magnanimous amount of food and little perks like massages to keep us from being too much nuisance on the shoot.



The palm reader only allowed us to ask one question and he would read the answer on our left palm. As predicted, the singles ask about love and the non singles ask about money. Whoever says each of us is unique must be shot in the head.

I asked the palm reader this: will I ever be rich?

I honestly don’t care about being rich (though I don’t mind being rich), I just thought it was a fun question to ask in front of everyone. Not that I take palm reading seriously anyway.

He pondered for a while, reading my palm I suppose, or thinking up some kind of interesting fiction in his head that will be entertaining for us all. I really can’t tell.

His answer was this: according to the lines on my palm, I was destined to be a huge success, and that includes financial aspect as well. I will gain the success by working for a company, not by building my own empire. But, in order to fulfill that destiny, I must use all my potentials and at the moment I haven’t used up all my potentials, I’m not yet the best I can be.

Of course after that my co-workers and I joked about maybe I have to plot a plan to take over the company that we work at.

But jokes aside, I started to give it a little more thought. Not the bit about me taking over the company, I can barely manage myself let alone a company, but about how I’m yet to be the best I can be.

Because, on some odd nights when my mind wanders and thinks about what I’ve done with my life sort of thing, as opposed to my usual normal daydreams about how to access my alter ego in the parallel universe (I am obsessed about things like this, it explains my fascination with anything mind altering), I do think whether is this really all there is to it.

I’m not stupid, that I know for sure. I know I’m quick on the uptake, but I doubt if I possess any discernible talents besides sneering and coming up with killer one-liners to shut up people whom I find to be annoying.

Writing I suppose is my one and only strong suit. It comes naturally to me. It’s been my outlet since as long as I can remember. If I have the faintest hope of becoming successful (or rich) I suppose it’s got something to do with writing. I have zero discipline in writing though, just as I have zero discipline in everything. I only write when the mood strikes me. I suppose my inability to give myself a push is the thing that stands between me and my success. Well that, and an almost complete disinterest of anything outside myself.

In my line of work I’ve met lots of wannabe novelists, those who dream about writing the equivalent of “the great American novel” someday when they can find the time. Now, time is never a problem for me. I am one of those freakishly efficient people who can easily multitask and compartmentalize my brain. My problem is that I have yet to come with “the great idea”. I don’t know what to write about.

When I studied creative writing in uni, the professor told us that to come up with something to write, we have to break the bubble, be somebody else, experience life through other people’s eyes. I think it was the best advice for anybody who wants to learn how to write. It has also been my excuse to live several kinds of life and to experience extreme emotions, it’s some kind of research for my unborn novel, because nobody wants to read about a contented person who is thankful for everything.

Will I ever find something interesting to write about and will my writing be my ticket to get out of this life as a downtrodden corporate slave? I honestly don’t know. The bad thing about being totally comfortable living in one’s own skin is that I can really live with my shortcomings such as my complete lack of motivation. I have no problem with that even it does sabotage my future success.

So even though I believe the palm reader didn’t really read palms and that he just made things up from thin air, I believe that at that precise moment the universe chose him as a medium to speak to me, hence gave him the inspiration to say that I haven’t used up all my potentials. He was totally right.

Well I hear you, universe. Here I am religiously writing one post after another. Maybe it’s the beginning of something great, maybe it’s not. One of the good things about being comfortable living in one's own skin is that I never view myself as a failure, even if I don't achieve anything :)

never too late to not be late

For us, lateness is a national disease. After all this is the country that invented the concept rubber time. I read somewhere the concept went way back to an era where most of people were still farmers, who viewed time as something fluid that flows like a river (huh???) rather than blocks of schedules and appointments to be filled. It’s the westerners who introduced the concept of “being on time” to us.

It’s so common here that 10 o’clock meetings start as late as 10.45. And the people responsible for that will stroll in leisurely, always blaming something other than themselves for being late. Now, I don’t want to be a prude here but I find that kind of irresponsibility really lame.

Blame it on my western education, blame it on my impatient genes (if impatience is gene-related like everything else these days) but I hate to be late. And hate it even more when people make me wait. And I never get used to the rubber time concept even though I spend the bulk of my life living here, in this country. I only lived abroad for three years out of the 36 years of my life so my “westernized” concept of time is not a product of my living abroad. I am just wired that way.

I do not understand people who are constantly late. Why? Because I always know when and why I am running late. It’s usually because I slack off. I wake up leisurely, I take my time sipping my coffee, I am enjoying my morning banter with hubby so much I don’t want to cut it off to get into the shower on time, etc. The point is: being late is a conscious decision. Unless an earthquake suddenly erupts as we are getting ready for work or for our appointments, the only thing to blame when we are running late is ourselves.

When I know I have a 9 o’clock appointment, it’s either I wake up an hour early or I cut those morning activities short to be able to leave the house at 8. Because I don’t want to be late. As simple as that. On the days I have no appointments or deadlines, I stop and smell the roses.

People blame it on the traffic. Now, how many years have we been living in Jakarta? Jakarta is always congested. Traffic is no news. It’s something that we have to anticipate. I have no car so I depend a lot on the undependable taxi service here. 80% of the time they never show. I know that. I have an option: I could take an ojek. Reliability: 100%. Comfort level: 0%. I will arrive sweaty and smelling like car mufflers. But I won’t be late.

So when I make that decision to wait for the freaking taxi instead of taking the ojek, I know I will be late. When I make that decision to wait for the freaking taxi, I am basically saying screw my schedules, screw the people who have to wait for me, because I don’t want to sacrifice my comfort in order to arrive on time. Because if I want to, I can actually arrive on time.

So moral of the story is: EVERYONE should be able to be on time. Yes, even those who are living in Jakarta. I can tolerate people who are late only if they have major drama in life: abusive husbands threaten to kill them, depressive wives hanging themselves or jump out the building, a dozen of hyperactive kids coming down with chicken pox at the same time, crazy ass mother in law chase them with an axe the night before… you get the picture. But the mortals, common people with common lives and common problems, should be able to be on time, like 90% of the time at least.

Now, there were times when I spent the night drinking and drugging myself into a stupor and there was no way I could make it to the 9 o’clock meeting. What did I do then? I quit my job to be a full time fuck up. That way, I won’t get in anybody’s way. That’s responsibility I believe. Now that I managed to get my act together, I got back on the game. And I arrive on time. And on occasions when I am late, I won’t blame anyone but myself.

If at first you don't succeed...

Try, try, try again.

I don’t know where the quote was originated from and I’m too lazy to google it. One thing for sure is that saying has been around way longer than I am.
It teaches persistence. It teaches us not to give up on the first attempt. It’s a positive message.

But if applied incorrectly, it could mislead us into wasting our time doing something we’re simply not good at.

It’s a fact of life that the majority of us are born without any discernible talents. There’s nothing wrong with it. Not everyone is meant to be great. I believe some of us are born to enjoy the simplicity of life. The task is to recognize who we are and which category we belong to.

Let me share this story:

My husband is a photographer/cameraman. It’s his passion. I think he is really good at what he does and he likes nothing else. Sure he plays sports and computer games, goes to the movies etc, but his passion is photography. I think he is very lucky to find such passion in his life.

He works at this TV station, as an associate producer for a news program. He started out as a news cameraman and he likes his job because there’s nothing excites him more than taking pictures.

Yesterday he got a call from his supervisor. He was to be assigned as a presenter in a new program, meaning he has to be in front of the camera, hosting a show and writing the script as well. He refused because he was never trained to be a presenter in his life and has no interest to be one. In fact he was quite pissed because he was assigned on something that wasn’t his expertise and thought that it was reckless of his boss to assign him on something which he knew he would fail.

One of his colleagues, however, told him that he should try it out first and told him to look at it as a new opportunity. My hubby, being who he is, flat out refused.
Now, his colleague saw it as letting an opportunity goes away and told him that he shouldn’t really pass up on a challenge without at least having one go at it, that he shouldn’t be afraid to fail. My hubby on the other hand knew that it wasn’t his thing and didn’t want to waste his time doing something he knew he won’t be good at.
I tend to agree with my hubby.

Some people are born multi-talented and can be trained to acquire multiple skills. Some are like my hubby, very focused in one particular skill. He’d rather spend his life polishing his one skill to perfection rather than learning one whole new animal that he is not even interested in to begin with.

I think we need to draw a line between passing up a challenge and knowing who we are. Saying no to something that we know we won’t be good at is not a sign of weakness like his colleague suggested. It shows that we know exactly what we are doing. It’s not that we are afraid to fail, we just don’t want to waste time doing something which we know we are going to fail. Isn’t it better to use the time to fail in something else, in something that we know we might be able to succeed someday?

People tend to be optimistic but in the wrong way. It’s good to see things as opportunity rather than threat, but then you have to be realistic and know your limit too. And to be honest, people who are optimistic all the time tend to exhaust me.

For me it’s ok to pass up on a golden opportunity, if you don’t see it as golden.

It’s ok not to try, if you think that it’s not worth trying.

It’s ok to bail on things, if those things bring out the worst in you.

Whether an opportunity is golden or not, is for you and you only to decide.

In the modern time people generally only live until 70 years old. Some are even shorter. Make a good use of every second of it. If you have the drive to be productive, then be productive until your last breath. If being productive exhaust you and you like nothing better than lying around wasting every minute of your life, by all means do it too. Just make sure you can pay your own way because having other people to pay for your shit is not the way to go.

Remember, it’s your life, not other people’s.

Which category do I belong to? I change my mind as often as I get hungry… which is very often. So I don’t know. Sometimes I have this drive to be fiercely productive, sometimes I am a lazy bum. I don’t care. I like it. This is who I am.

So if anyone is ever desperate enough to ask me the recipe to succeed in life, I have only this advice: Be Real.

to ink or not to ink

A brief discussion on twitter with a friend inspired me to write this post. We were discussing motives on getting tattoos.

For a lot of people, tattoos represent meaningful things in their lives. Now, for me, of course nothing is that meaningful. I am a very detached person, and that applies on my relationship with tattoos as well, even though they are permanently inked on my body for the rest of my life, or until the day I decide to erase them.

I restrained from getting a tattoo when I was younger because I didn’t want to regret it. I waited until I was mature enough to know that my desire in getting a tattoo wasn’t just a spur of the moment thing because I was desperate to be seen as this wild chick. Also, I wanted to make sure that I had already had enough money to laser it off should I regret having it.

I had tattoos not because of the aesthetics but for the pain. The design means nothing to me. It could be anything. In fact I once went to a tattoo parlor and just told the artist to ink me with whatever design he fancied.

Because by nature I have a dramatic disposition, I experience pain more often than what I would like in my life. What bugs me about pain is that it tends to come at random, usually at the time when I was enjoying myself. And I didn’t like being caught unprepared. But I guess pain is designed that way.

So tattoos, as well as piercings (I only have one piercing in my belly button, because my mom is scared of piercings and I don’t want to scare her plus it takes only about a minute to pierce, the hype is more on the moment leading up to it rather than the process, so it’s more about tension rather than pain), provide me an outlet to choose my own pain.

I get to choose when I want to feel the pain and where and for how long. I am taking control of my own pain. It gives me a sense of power, the ability to control my pain. I feel that I am the master of my own body and my own life. I decide.

Now, after relaying my motive on getting a tattoo to my friend I realized that it was indeed a bit weird. I mean do other people have the need to choose their own pain? I don’t know what it means from the psychoanalyst perspective, but I have a strong suspicion that maybe deep down I am a control freak even though I like to think otherwise.

And it got me thinking… there are a lot of things I still don’t know about myself. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ve known that I’m a control freak all along but I just don’t want to admit it because it doesn’t go with the “anything goes” image that I am projecting. I like to think of myself as this free spirit who goes whichever way the wind blows without a care in the world, but maybe I am fooling myself. Maybe the very reason I choose not to be attached to anything is because I don’t want to lose control of myself. Am I making any sense?

So, while tattoos for others might symbolize rebellion, for me they actually symbolize my imprisonment within myself as they serve the purpose of my taking control of my own pain.

Whoa, kinda heavy huh?
Here's a pic of yummy looking tattoo artists to lighten this one up. I'd kill for a tattoo by one of them. Any one of them.

a killer turning point

I’ve always had a very relaxed attitude towards money. I live quite comfortably according to my own standard and I can afford the lifestyle that I want to have. Never in my life had I had the desire to earn loads and loads of money because luxury means nothing to me.

But, there is one occasion where I wish I was one of those rich people. It doesn’t have to be Paris Hilton rich. Local celebrity or even president director rich is enough.

It happened in the beginning of this year. I was presented with a big dilemma. Now, don’t get too excited. This is my life we’re talking about and my life is frivolous. So of course my dilemma is somewhat frivolous as well.

Two of my favorite bands, The Killers and Muse were going to have concerts in Singapore and their concerts were only ten days apart. With my kind of income, I could only afford to go to one concert. Well technically I could afford both, but it would put a dent in my savings. Three years ago I wouldn’t have cared about dents in my savings but now I do. I’m older. I’m getting more and more boring and safe.

So anyway, after much tossing and turning at night, I chose The Killers. My consideration was that Muse does Asian concerts more than The Killers, so I might be able to catch Muse the next two years or so, whereas that might not be the case for The Killers. I was pretty sure I did the wisest thing and made the right choice. I bought the most expensive tickets for the concert, I booked the flight and the hotel in Singapore. I was ready to meet Brandon Flowers up close and personal.

But as luck would have it, The Killers freaking cancelled their Asia-Australia tour one day before I was supposed to fly to Singapore. I was beyond pissed. Had I known they were not serious about having this concert I would’ve chosen to see Muse instead! What a bunch of flaky bastards! Now, Sistic Singapore was going to refund the ticket money of course but I had to wait for about 2 weeks. Also, because I bought budget airlines tickets of course they can’t be cancelled. So I lost quite a bit of money, the money that could very well be used to buy Muse tickets. But of course by that time Muse tickets were already sold out.

That was the time when I wish I was rich. Rich enough to buy tickets to see both concerts. Rich enough to fly to Singapore back and forth in the interval of 10 days, or rich enough to afford staying in a Singapore hotel for ten days if I want to avoid flying back and forth. Rich enough to spend money on truly unimportant things like going to see my favorite bands whenever I feel like it.

People have turning points in their lives. I guess that was some kind of turning point in my life. The moment when I truly understand the power of cash. So that when life gives me lemon, I could go buy a bottle of tequila to drink it with instead of just making some lame tasting lemonade.

Oh and P.S to Brandon Flowers, if one day you are unfortunate enough to read this post, if the reason The Killers cancelled the Asian tour is because you guys are splitting up because you just had a baby and what not, I can only tell you that you need to learn a lot from Keith Richards. Women, marriages, affairs, babies, drug problems, depressions, nothing could slow him down. That’s why he’s still up there, partying and being the rock star that he truly is and you… well where are you now? Your solo album has better be something otherwise I would have to cancel my infatuation of you.

In my opinion, rock stars gone soft are worse than boy bands gone rough.

So there.

the great french wine debacle

Like Elizabeth Gilbert, I once came and stayed in Bali for a whole month to lick my wound. It was the end of 2005 and I just got out of a messy situation. Needless to say I was a bit of a wreck and hated everyone in my hometown Jakarta. One night at a friend’s house I was introduced to a guy who was high on weeds and he slurred that he spent a month or so in Bali doing practically nothing but lying on the beach or his cheap rented room getting high. He was my inspiration.

I booked my flight and kind of quit my job (yes, in that order). I was working freelance at that time so it was no big deal. I just told my boss that I needed to get away for a while and would give her a ring when I came back to town and see if my post was still available. Being in the state I was then, money was the least of my worries, let alone a career path. Next I asked around if people knew people who could find me a cheap rented room to stay for a month or so. One of my girl friends did. So I got the accommodation sorted out. Next I packed my bag and flew.

I didn’t know what to expect really, I never stayed in Bali for more than 5 days before that and it was always at nice hotels or villas.

Anyhow, for the kind of price I was paying, the place was not bad at all. It’s got air con, TV, a small kitchenette and a big comfy bed. But, the place being some kind of a guest house where people stay long term for a low price, you could expect to find some dodgy characters there.

On my first night, after I went out for dinner I walked towards my room after deciding to spend the first night staying in with a book rather than intoxicating myself. I walked past a room where two Caucasian guys and an Indonesian girl sat on the patio drinking and laughing. They must be my neighbors, so I waved a friendly hi. They waved back.

Now, on the risk of sounding snobbish and judgmental, to get a full picture of this story, you need to know that the Indonesian girl was what Singaporeans call “sarong party girl”, the type of local girls, usually from the small towns, who shag Caucasian tourists for money. Naturally, I never hung out with those girls because I didn’t even know where to find one in Jakarta. But it was Bali, the land of anything goes, and also I was game for adventure and I figured that I wasn’t the one to judge. She asked me to join her and the two Caucasian guys, whom I learned to be French guys, on their wine session.

Now, with a couple of French guys in the picture, I automatically assumed it would be French wine, so of course I said yes, somewhat gratefully, and sat down with them. On my first night and already got an offer to get drunk on exquisite French wine? Not bad at all.

So, the girl gave me a plastic cup and reached for the bottle of… not wine. What the hell? From the shape of the bottle I knew it wasn’t wine. I tried to read the label as she poured the foul-smelling liquid. And my heart sank. The drink was what we the locals call Anggur Obat or AO, roughly translated as Medicine Wine. It was an alcoholic beverage so cheap, beggars and street kids and homeless people of Jakarta got drunk on it.

Now, I couldn’t not drink the drink after I so gratefully said yes earlier, could I? So I took a deep breath and took a sip. The bloody drink burned my throat. It was so hard to swallow and I was sure my face went red at once. I suspiciously looked at the two French guys and wondered how the hell they could stomach the deadly drink when they’re used to French wine? But I figured that being travelers in Bali of course they were keen to try anything remotely local and “exotic”, the weirder the taste the more heroic they would feel.

So, being the friendly woman that she was, she kept pouring the wine and I didn’t have the heart to say no. Also, it was really entertaining to see how she tried to seduce the two French guys. It was quite an experience so I stayed on drinking with them for quite some times.

The next morning I woke up with the feeling that an elephant was sitting on my head. It was beyond horrible. Thank God I managed not to throw up because it would be even worse if I had to taste that deadly liquid on my throat again.

So, lesson learnt. Except for beers, never again did I accept an invitation for free drinks from questionable characters in the guest house. Ha!

family matters

Last Sunday I hung out with hubby's family. And his mom told us that the school where she teaches is organizing a trip to Bali. We thought she was going to be excited about it because she likes Bali a lot, but she told us that she won't be joining the trip. We asked her why and she told us that she feels weird about going on holiday on her own, with her own friends. Holidays are supposed to be with her family. By family she meant her children and grandchildren.

Hubby's mom is over 50 years old, so naturally she and I have different sets of values. Also, hubby's mom is very much a family-minded person, who puts herself only in context of her family.

Although I don't like to generalize, I guess it is safe to assume that most Indonesian older women, by older I mean one generation older than me, are like her. Their concept of happiness is not personal happiness but rather a collective one. Once they have children, everything has to be about the children. No more I, it's us.

For hubby’s mom, she can’t see herself as an individual being. She had blended into a family. Therefore the notion of having fun on her own, enjoying herself in the company of her own friends while leaving her family at home is not acceptable.

A concept that is entirely alien to me.

Now, I wasn’t brought up with traditional Indonesian family’s values. I am a product of mixed ethnics and interfaith relationship. My parents are truly individuals who never act like parents. They regarded my sister and I as individuals too, albeit individuals whose lives they financed until university.

When I was still living with my parents and sister, we were more like housemates rather than a family. There were no scheduled meal times, no family gatherings to attend, no obligatory visits to relatives, no religious celebration, nothing. Therefore I have no strong sense of family. For me, they are just people I happen to love. And it’s cool to have parents like them. They never questioned my decision in everything: the man I chose to marry, the career I chose, the life I chose to live.

From early on, I learned that they are just human like me, with their own portfolios of stupid decisions too. And it is comforting to know that, because it means that I’ve got friends in them instead of parents whom I have to perform duties to.

Like everything else in life, it has its own good and bad. The good thing is that I grew up to be a person who is very open to differences. I don’t really judge people. My judgment is usually based on whether they piss me off or not. Other than that, I have no opinion about anyone. Also, I am very quick in making decisions. I never over analyze and I never regret anything. I can easily shrug off a bad decision as one of my mistakes and don’t wallow over losses or setbacks.

The bad thing is, as my closest friends and hubby pointed out time and time again, I grew up to be a very self-centered person. When deciding something about my life, I tend to forget to take into account the opinions of those who care about me. Everything is about me, how I feel and how I would go about it. It sure is quicker that way, but only works if I am a hermit living in cave somewhere in the deep Borneo forest.

Now, marrying hubby who came from a close-knitted family who still live by their traditional values is a new experience to me. I learn a thing or two about being a family - about how to treat a mother, a father, a sister, a brother, a nephew – in the traditional sense.

At my age I get to experience what my childhood friends experienced, although I have it better because I can now experience it as a spectator and only participate in things that suit me.

I have my parents to thank for my individuality and I have my hubby’s parents to thank for this whole new experience of being a family member.

I always have everything in the end.

That’s what I love about my life.

f**k yeah I do

I had several conversations with a couple of my girl friends from different stages of my life over the weekend. Hubby was away on a photo assignment so I used the time to catch up with my girl friends. Being girls, of course we were not interested in talking about the iPad, or the Icelandic volcano. We talked about boys (or men, considering our age) and relationships.

Some of my friends are in what a friend of mine calls relationshits. The degree of shits vary, from the indecisive boyfriend, grumpy husband to a downright abusive partner. I won’t talk about their relationshits though, if you’re that curious about what kind of shit they are in you should look it up in their respective blogs.

No, I want to share my thoughts on commitment. Because I found that although nearly all my friends are in relationships, a lot of them are clueless about what it takes to have a commitment.

Those who know me well would do a double take here. Commitment? Moi?

I know, I know. I bail from things. I leave projects unfinished. I take off when things get hard because I don’t have the patience to see things through.
In fact I treated my past partners so bad, a friend of mine used to say that other girls may break men’s heart, but not me, I leave them traumatized.

Yeah I was a difficult child, impossible even. I never listened, I never cared, everything had to be done on my terms. In short, I did not know how to behave in a relationship. So naturally they bailed, one by one. Some nicely, some just disappeared, some I needed to hunt down to give me explanation. But all explanations were useless because I never thought I was in the wrong. I was so sure that I did everything I could for them, and they in return did not do their parts and I demanded them to change their ways otherwise I would make their lives a living hell.

No wonder all my past relationships were beyond doomed. Nobody could stand me. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of my exes ended up in a mental institution, considering the kind of scary stuff I used to subject them to. Consider this piece my apology, but don’t charge me the medical bills.

Now what changed me?

Nothing dramatic. I just got bored. I got bored of having to fight every single time to get my way. I got bored having to drill my principles into the brain of some eggheads. So I retreated from the dating game and relooked at my strategy. Maybe I should stop trying to shape a person to meet my needs. Maybe I should for once accept the person for what he is. If I don’t like what he is I should just leave rather than trying to change him. If the right person never comes, then maybe I will have to learn to have fun living on my own.

But, like a fairy tale, I met hubby. I had no expectations whatsoever when I met him. I hung out with him and found that we could have hours of conversations or even debates without me wanting to crush him. And I found, surprisingly, that I could actually put up with his antiques, just like he could put up with mine. We laughed at our misfortunes and believe me there were a lot of them. We are not exactly the brightest people on earth so we made loads of stupid mistakes but we always, always managed to laugh them all off.

Together, we acquired a new skill: a skill to let go.

That is, I guess, the key to a committed relationship. What to keep and what to let go differs for every couple, depending on their objectives in life. But I think we have to know how to let go of the things that don’t truly matter to us and don’t lose sight of what is important, which is us.

Of course, it can only be done with the right man. How did I know that hubby was the right man? Because he shares my sense of humor. That’s it.

So when he asked me whether I wanted to be his wife, I automatically answered fuck yeah I do, with a big grin on my face.

Oh, and for those who don’t know me, I got married to hubby when I was 34 so I had had my share of relationshits before I could identify him as the right man so I know what I’m talking about.

We’re on our 2nd year of marriage now, still pretty much a newbie, but I have to tell you this: we still laugh and talk as much as when we first met 4 years ago, effortlessly.

And I love being a couple, because for me it’s so much fun than being with myself.

nice is the new nice

As I mentioned in my earlier post, there are not many things that I dislike. From the list, one thing that I truly cannot stand is loud-voiced men who think too highly of themselves. Unfortunately, I deal with these kinds almost on daily basis. I can’t help it because I do corporate work and the corporation is full of self-important babies.

You know who they are. Insecure grown men in meetings, always have to make a point in a very loud voice, even if they have no point. Their craving for respect and credit is insatiable. I could go on and on about them because I despise them so much, but I will stop here. This blog is about positive things in my life. I have another blog for venting purposes.

So, anyway, I had this meeting. It was with several very important people. I was already being judgmental even before the meeting started. So I braced myself for an unpleasant experience of ego warfare. I was usually a wallflower in those kinds of meetings, nobody ever bothered to even look at me. But I was in for a surprise. Those gentlemen were very, very nice. They asked, they listened, they gave suggestions rather than orders, and I respect them so much for that.

You know the saying: it’s nice to be important, but more important to be nice? It’s cliché but true. Unless you train an army, you can’t get a lot from people if you yell at them. You would only scare them and make them hate you and bitch about you behind their backs and plot their ways out. Nobody likes working for a tyrant.

I, for sure, don’t like it.

I need to be inspired rather than pushed. And I am not scared of anything. Tyranny won’t work for people who are not afraid. So it’s useless being hard on me because it won’t increase my productivity or whatever. I will only be more productive in finding ways to kill you and that would take up probably 50% of my productive hours, leaving me unproductive.

To be fair, people in this country is still lacking professionalism. It’s a national disease I guess and I don’t see a cure is going to be invented anytime soon. But leading a team with a tyrannical attitude is just not the way to go, especially if what one leads is actually a group of individuals who are paid to think for themselves. And I can think for myself.

Back to that particular meeting. It was very refreshing. They were not overly humble and being too friendly or anything. They were still being important, but they treated us as equally important and that was nice and they inspired me to do great stuff for them. And I will give myself an extra push to do great things, because I like working with nice people.

Hitler, after all, is so 1940s.
Keep up with the trend.

1GB backpack

It was quiet Sunday night, the end of the Easter long weekend.
I was watching a rerun of my favorite TV show, CSI New York. Hubby was sitting in the dining table, browsing the internet when suddenly he said "f u u u u u u c k"

I turned to him and found that he was in this state of panic. I asked him what's wrong and he couldn't say a word. He was really pale, holding his iPod Touch and I saw that the screen was blank, only the Apple logo floating about on the screen and nothing else. The iPod crashed.

I asked what he did with it and he said nothing. It just crashed. It was a 64GB iPod and he had thousands of songs in there, not to mention video clips and photos and what not. So naturally, he was really bummed.

He took the iPod to the shop in the morning. He was told that the system crashed. It happens sometimes. Technology just fails. That's it. Now the thing with iPods are, they can't be opened and repaired. The shop will send the broken iPod to Singapore and my husband will get a substitute. So he would have to say good bye to this iPod and all his data. All 64 GB of it.

My husband looked like someone just died. All the songs and video clips that he religiously uploaded one by one over a period of time, will be there no more. He has to redo the whole thing all over again. My poor hubby was heartbroken.

And suddenly I got an enlightenment. I don't know why I'm easily enlightened these days. Maybe I'm that close of becoming Yoda. But the enlightenment is this:

Remember George Clooney's character's "backpack philosophy" in the movie Up in The Air? He said that without us realizing it, we accumulate so much in our lives. It could be things, or relationships, or responsibilities and one day our backpack will be so heavy and it will feel like a burden and we are so afraid of losing it because our everything is in there.

If we really think about it, why do people need a 64GB iPod? Who could possibly listen to that many songs? But the GB is getting bigger and bigger and I'm sure my husband will trade his 64GB for a bigger one should they launch it one day, even though he's not a musician and I really don't see a direct correlation between his life and a giant GB iPod. Maybe it's just basic human needs, the need to accumulate things, even if they are not that necessary.

Now, I may not possess many skills in life, but I certainly master the skill of detachment and that skill has saved me from a lot of heartbreaks. I never have the need to possess things, seriously. I own only things that are necessary to me. In fact my most prized possessions are my laptop and blackberry, which I need for work and for social life and networking. I don't collect anything. I have lots of books but it's because I like to read and I am not a book collector. I would gladly give them away for those who like to read as much as I do but can't afford to buy books. And I lose things from time to time, but it doesn't bug me because they were not that necessary in the first place.

I don't know why I am so wise and enlightened in this area, considering that I usually make bad choices with my life. Maybe it's got a lot to do with my parents excessive pampering when I was little. It got to a point where I had too much and started to denounce them one by one. In fact, there's this one occasion in my childhood that still amuses my mom until now. I can't remember any of it but my mom always tells people this story:

I was about 4 or 5, my sister wasn't born yet. We were on a holiday and my dad was known as a big spender on holidays. We went to all the nice places and ate at all the must-eat restaurants and it got to a point when I got sick of all the good things, literally. We were at this posh restaurant for dinner and I insisted that I only wanted to eat plain rice and shrimp crackers. I was sick of all the steaks and escargot and what not. It cracked the waiters up and I was an instant favorite at that restaurant.

Now if that wasn't little Yoda, I don't know what is.

Oh, by the way, I only own a 1GB (yes, ONE) iPod Nano that I bought 5 or 6 years ago and it NEVER give me so much as a glitch. From day 1 until now, my 1GB iPod Nano has been going strong. I have about 10 albums in it, maybe about 70 songs and that's about it. I never have the need to listen to more than 70 songs a day. I like to think of myself as this iPod, small, compact and does not contain anything that is not necessary.

Here's my prized 1GB iPod Nano, the one my husband now relies on while waiting for his substitude 64GB iPod Touch to come from Singapore.

how to be rich in an instant

How does eating a cup of super cheap, super instant noodle universally known as pop mie goreng make one feel like the richest person in the world?


Two possibilities: MSG-induced hallucination or random enlightenment that has got nothing to do with the said cup noodle. (Or when you think about it, the latter can be the direct effect of the first)

I'm not too sure which of the possibilities applied to my case, but it happened. I was craving for it and when I had the first forkful of the rubbery, chock-full of unknown chemicals noodle in my mouth, I did feel like the richest person in the world.

Why? Because I get what I want when I want it the most.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the secret of being rich. And I can proudly say that I am a rich person.

True, I do not own a house or a car, which are standard measurement for richness for most people. But I am rich because I always get what I want.

Do I want a house and a car?

I don't care about cars. I can't drive, I'm directionally challenged, I can't even instinctively tell right from left, I have to think about it, seriously. That's why I make a point of wearing my watch on my left wrist, so I know that it is left just by looking at my wrist. That's why I don't mind having to depend on other people to get me places. I won't be able to travel by myself anyway.

Now, as an adult, do I want a dream house? Every bank commercial says so.

Well, yeah, eventually. BUT I only want a house if it's in a location that I like. And I am very picky with locations. With the kind of earnings that I have now, I can't afford it yet. Thus, I don't want it. Why burden myself with a mortgage for a house I don't even like in the first place. Maybe I will own a house in the future, maybe I won't. It's not like I'm going going to be buried in the house anyway. Bad investment strategy? I don't do strategies. I believe in miracles. They happened in my life so I believe.

Do I want branded stuff? Nope, I'm terribly unfashionable. It's a disease I cannot cure, so I arm myself with a wardrobe full of black shirts, jeans, shorts and black dresses for weddings. They work just fine. I don't like to carry a bag, so I got myself a man's bag so my husband can carry it for me without him looking like an idiot. And I don't care about shoes either. As long as I have one or two comfortable pairs, I'm done.

My indulgences are books, booze and travels. Those are the things that I would save up for. I am a sucker for experience and I don't mind paying extra to experience alternative realities. Those indulgences enrich me, imaginatively.

So mostly, I get what I want. In fact, I have what I want and what I don't have, I don't want.

And I believe that is what makes me rich.

Conclusions: there are two possible ways to be rich:

1. Stop wanting anything, you'll feel like you own everything.
2. Start eating pop mie day in day out, they're really cheap so you could use the extra money to buy your dream whatever.

So there, get rich or die trying :)

the durian mission

I'm the kind of girl who eats nearly everything. I'm always hungry and I eat faster than most people. And when it comes to food I am gutsy too. I eat almost everything: innards, raw or half-dead animals, dried insects, anything.

Except durian. I hate durian with contempt. Not that I ever tasted one. The smell for me is so horrible I can't stomach the thought of bringing it to my mouth. It's like eating a dead person.

There aren't that many things that I dislike in life because my level of tolerance is relatively high. Besides durian, the things that I dislike are screaming children, loud-voiced men who think too highly of themselves (I can accept these qualities in women because I think insecure, high-powered women are funny. Men however, are pathetic if they have these qualities), smelly people, and performance appraisal.

I love my job, I really do. I have one of the coolest jobs which lets me be myself while selling something once in a while. But year after year I am always presented with this mission statement and that, ladies and gentlemen, freaks me out.

I don't have any mission statement. Or rather, I have no mission whatsoever. I just happen to like my job, that's all. For me, setting some sort of goal to it is diminishing the fun level.

Oh but... wait a minute.

I think I just found my mission statement...whoa! Why didn't I think of that before!

My mission is to have as much fun as I can in doing my job. Genius, eh?

I should go fill up that appraisal form now.

And just in case you're wondering what's with the durian intro and what does it have to do with the whole mission statement thing... well, I just want to prove a point that life has taught me that it's not that necessary to have a mission. Sometimes, when you just float and see where it goes you could end up in amazing places. You just gotta be open minded and able to enjoy every hiccups that might happen along the way.

That's what I always do anyway, do random things just for the sake of it.

But of course, don't take my words for it. Mission takes people to the moon and back. Mission brings us the movie Avatar.

I'm just saying that I'm not one of those people. Knowing that someone enjoys having a conversation with me is a great enough achievement for me.

So am I an underachiever?

How would I know? I don't measure myself. Life is too short and too beautiful to be worrying about standards.

Tomorrow's the first day of a long weekend, so live and let live!

me no academia

At lunch time today, I had a chat with someone with a very technical background.He asked me what are my methods in writing and I was like... my what?

He asked me what are my steps, how do I decide on an angle and how to formulate the words into a readable piece. I looked at him in total bewilderment and told him that I have no idea.

The truth is, I never consciously think. Ever.

And that is the truth.

I make a living by writing ads. It's a fun job, really. I'm given an advertising brief and I work on it, as simple as that. I like it because they let me wear shorts and sandals to work in the days that I don't have meetings and I get to meet lots of fun people. There might be some conscious thinking involved, but not much, because selling household stuff is no rocket science really.

I blog in my spare time. I have four blogs so far. One is to cater to my inner monster so there are some pretty gory stuff in there, one is to document the conversation I have with my imaginary friends, one is dedicated to my husband to document our adventure in culinary and travel, and the last one is this, my recent narcissistic blog that will feature only me, myself and I.

I write most of the time, but I never think about what to write. I just write whenever I feel like writing and I don't consciously attach any methods to it.

In fact, methods freak me out. Anything structured freaks me out. So much so that I bailed from Indonesia's finest university after only spending 3 weeks on campus and spent 3 years doing practically everything useless before my father decided that enough is enough and sent me to Perth, where I spent another 3 years lying on the grass at Nedlands Park imagining a parallel universe.

I did not bail out after 3 weeks because Australian universities are generally more laid back, you could be yourself and wore whatever and wrote about whatever in your papers provided you could back up your arguments, even if you back them up with the lamest and most messed up theories ever. A skill proven incredibly useful in my line of work now.

Until now, I still can't shake off my allergy in anything academia. I read strictly fiction so don't discuss The Tipping Point with me. I read lots of Japanese psycho thrillers and Brett Easton Ellis. I am fascinated by serial killers and stalkers and anything totally unnecessary.

So don't ask me to explain anything. I don't know how I get from point A to point B. I just do.

I guess the beauty of my life is that everything comes effortlessly. I can't be bothered with anything that requires conscious thinking. Don't be fooled with my appearance. Most people mistake me as an intelligent person because I dress shabbily and wear thick glasses, but it's only because I'm incurably unfashionable and can't be bothered with wearing contact lenses. And deep,meaningful questions freak me out. I am as shallow as anyone can be, and so far it's been good to be me.



Me, spacing out, not thinking.

the hitler doll

I don't have a mirror in my bedroom. In fact, I don't even have a dressing table. I don't see the need of having it since I never brush my hair or put on any make up. When I was a teenager, I thought I would grow out of my tomboy phase and would take an interest in grooming myself. Well, my teenage years were thousands years ago and I still don't see the need to put on any make up for any occasion.

Except, of course, for my wedding.

I got away with a lot in my wedding. Everything was hassle free, just the way I like it. It was a small villa wedding in Bali so I was able to go barefoot and wore only a simple white summer dress. I wanted to go bare face as well but my husband, sweetly but firmly, told me that no self respecting bride, even in the most primitive tribe in the depth of amazon would go sans make up in their weddings.

Personally I couldn't care less about some bride in the amazon but I love my husband so I relented. Make up it is.

The make up artist insisted on putting on these fake eye lashes. They were very long and made my eyes itch. Since the first time I saw those fake lashes I knew they were a bad idea. But everyone insisted they would make me a look like a doll. What made everyone think I would like to look like a doll is beyond me. But again I thought, this is a happy occasion, and a pair of stupid fake lashes won't kill me. So bring 'em on!

Bad decision. I was blinking like mad throughout the whole ceremony. That was one of the reasons we haven't really edited the video although the wedding was two years ago. Ha!

Halfway through the party, I couldn't stand them anymore. So I plucked them off and pasted one above my upper lip like a fake mustache. I felt so much better, not to mention that I could channel Hitler much better than I could a pretty doll. Luckily my husband was already drunk at that time so he thought the whole thing was hilarious and took this picture. That's me with my Hitler mustache, in the white tube dress.

now is the best time to begin

From all the three blogs that I have, none of them are about myself. This is my first attempt on baring my life for all the virtual universe to see. What compelled me to do so? I'm not sure either. Maybe it's got a lot to do with me being more appreciative of life.

Maybe this is just me getting older.
Maybe this is a result of me making peace with myself.

Or maybe, it's because I've got my life figured out.

No, I am not rich nor successful. I am still a lowly staff at a big company at the age of 36. I have no achievement whatsoever to display.

But I love my life. I love myself. I love waking up in the morning.

And for someone who used to think about 13,005 possible ways to commit suicide, that is an achievement bigger than anything.

I guess the most remarkable thing about my life is that I am blessed to always be surrounded by people who are amazingly able to accept me just the way I am, even if who I am is subject to change from time to time depending on what got me inspired.

So yeah, this is my first posting about myself. And I like it so far.