From 11 to 1, and Il Dottore is back in the business again!
So fun to watch MotoGP Assen with the two guys of my life, all of us were hoping to be entertained with a great race, and ended up satisfied by the cool performance of Valentino Rossi.
To be honest, for me it’s hard to choose between si Rookie and si Rossi… both are impressive lately. My head usually picks Stoner, but of course, my heart goes for Rossi always (maklumlah, kita sebangsa dan setanah air huehehehe…)
Last week my head was right, this time my heart won in the three last laps, which made everything more fun and more entertaining. And, it was so beautiful to hear Fratelli D’Italia again at the podium.
Also congrats for Hayden for tasting his first podium this season, but….VIVA VALE PER SEMPRE!
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Friday, June 29, 2007
CORAGGIO!
I was awakened from my slumber by a beep of my cellphone. The message reads:
When God leads you to the edge of the cliff, trust Him fully. You know why, only one of the two things will happen: Either He’ll catch you when you fall, or He’ll teach you to fly.
I was struck by the power of encouragement in it. Yeah, it’s something I can really use today, after getting one of the worst news in my life.
If I look back to my endless efforts, buoyant anticipation, high expectation and unwavering confidence, along with unquenchable enthusiasm and unbeatable determination to get what I really want and what I believe I really deserve more than anyone else in this world, of course, ending up not getting it, nay… even not being given a chance to prove it in the first place, is supposed to feel like a slap on my face, a pierce in my flesh, a wrench to my heart and a blow to my head.
BUT, to my surprise, I found myself so matured dealing with it, calmed beyond explanation and I haven’t even shed any tears so far. In fact, I slept soundly. What a miracle, to realize that my hope is not lost, my passion is not dead yet, and my love is not fading away, at one sentence or two from some people who don’t know me well, hence don’t have the slightest idea that they have slammed the door right before my face when I was hoping so much to enter inside, because they chose to close their eyes at my hard works.
That’s okay. I have done my best, and that’s what really counts. And no… no… their no will not end my life nor kill my hope. Rather, it is like a rod which makes a horse run faster, faster, and faster….
I believe everything is beautiful in its season. A seed has to die first to be able to grow. Lazarus had to die first to glorify the Lord when he finally was resurrected. So have I now, learning how to die. It’s not too painful when you understand that it is not the end. Rather, a beginning of new life.
Most important, I am not afraid anymore to keep dreaming big. When it’s not turned out the way I have expected, I believe it’s only a temporary sleep, not eternal death. A delay, not a cancellation. A closing of one door, but the windows are still wide open. Yeah… coraggio!!!!!!
(thanks for the sms, Ryan… it was like a drop of water when I was walking in the desert)
When God leads you to the edge of the cliff, trust Him fully. You know why, only one of the two things will happen: Either He’ll catch you when you fall, or He’ll teach you to fly.
I was struck by the power of encouragement in it. Yeah, it’s something I can really use today, after getting one of the worst news in my life.
If I look back to my endless efforts, buoyant anticipation, high expectation and unwavering confidence, along with unquenchable enthusiasm and unbeatable determination to get what I really want and what I believe I really deserve more than anyone else in this world, of course, ending up not getting it, nay… even not being given a chance to prove it in the first place, is supposed to feel like a slap on my face, a pierce in my flesh, a wrench to my heart and a blow to my head.
BUT, to my surprise, I found myself so matured dealing with it, calmed beyond explanation and I haven’t even shed any tears so far. In fact, I slept soundly. What a miracle, to realize that my hope is not lost, my passion is not dead yet, and my love is not fading away, at one sentence or two from some people who don’t know me well, hence don’t have the slightest idea that they have slammed the door right before my face when I was hoping so much to enter inside, because they chose to close their eyes at my hard works.
That’s okay. I have done my best, and that’s what really counts. And no… no… their no will not end my life nor kill my hope. Rather, it is like a rod which makes a horse run faster, faster, and faster….
I believe everything is beautiful in its season. A seed has to die first to be able to grow. Lazarus had to die first to glorify the Lord when he finally was resurrected. So have I now, learning how to die. It’s not too painful when you understand that it is not the end. Rather, a beginning of new life.
Most important, I am not afraid anymore to keep dreaming big. When it’s not turned out the way I have expected, I believe it’s only a temporary sleep, not eternal death. A delay, not a cancellation. A closing of one door, but the windows are still wide open. Yeah… coraggio!!!!!!
(thanks for the sms, Ryan… it was like a drop of water when I was walking in the desert)
Sunday, June 17, 2007
REMEMBERING ACEH
Last night I spent some time reading the journals I made back in Aceh, 2.5 years ago (Is it really that long ago, seems like yesterday to me). Several days before my departure, my journal entry read, I got a hunch that I’m going to meet someone very special there. It’s not just a hope or prayer, it’s a faith.
But Aceh was so unpredictable.
I had anticipated social rejection, traumatized people, chaos, blood, building ruins, dead corpses and tears everywhere… (yes, I had experienced some of that too later on…), but the very first ‘problem’ that I encountered (or should I say we instead?) was…. the bathroom dilemma. We had one bathroom only for around 10 people, with limited water supply. The one I had to use had no roof, and the water container was so icky and muddy you could not help wondering, would bathing really make you cleaner, or even dirtier.
Absorbed in page after page of my own scrawls during my stay there, I was surprised to be reminded about my mixed feelings at that time; from excited and fearful anticipative to bored, overwhelmingly sad, frustrated and full of fatigue, yearning for some time alone and to get away from the crowd (but could not, cos afraid to be kidnapped by the separatists), angry and annoyed, moved, thrilled, compassionate…. and finally, counting the days til I could go home.
Yet, when I remember my time there now, I only can do it with delight and warmth in my heart. Despite all the difficulties, there were also lots of laughter, smiles, jokes, loving service and affection being shown, even among strangers who came from many different nationalities, a hard-working team which inspired me to do my best without expecting any reward.
And, instead of meeting only someone special, I met many special people, people so selfless and passionate in doing good for the suffering ones. And though, our friendship kinda ‘ended’ (except for some scanty e-mail exchange or a phone call once in a blue moon), as our term was up and we had to separate going our own ways, I found at least someone, who stayed, and stays closer to me, to my heart, to my life as we got to shared so much in the following days, even until now and I hope forever more.
(Doc Wu, you know you’re the one I’m talking about!)
But Aceh was so unpredictable.
I had anticipated social rejection, traumatized people, chaos, blood, building ruins, dead corpses and tears everywhere… (yes, I had experienced some of that too later on…), but the very first ‘problem’ that I encountered (or should I say we instead?) was…. the bathroom dilemma. We had one bathroom only for around 10 people, with limited water supply. The one I had to use had no roof, and the water container was so icky and muddy you could not help wondering, would bathing really make you cleaner, or even dirtier.
Absorbed in page after page of my own scrawls during my stay there, I was surprised to be reminded about my mixed feelings at that time; from excited and fearful anticipative to bored, overwhelmingly sad, frustrated and full of fatigue, yearning for some time alone and to get away from the crowd (but could not, cos afraid to be kidnapped by the separatists), angry and annoyed, moved, thrilled, compassionate…. and finally, counting the days til I could go home.
Yet, when I remember my time there now, I only can do it with delight and warmth in my heart. Despite all the difficulties, there were also lots of laughter, smiles, jokes, loving service and affection being shown, even among strangers who came from many different nationalities, a hard-working team which inspired me to do my best without expecting any reward.
And, instead of meeting only someone special, I met many special people, people so selfless and passionate in doing good for the suffering ones. And though, our friendship kinda ‘ended’ (except for some scanty e-mail exchange or a phone call once in a blue moon), as our term was up and we had to separate going our own ways, I found at least someone, who stayed, and stays closer to me, to my heart, to my life as we got to shared so much in the following days, even until now and I hope forever more.
(Doc Wu, you know you’re the one I’m talking about!)
REDEFINED POINT OF VIEW
Yesterday morning I heard a heart-wrenching but happy ending testimony of a converted ex-transvestite (let’s call him Jon), born with birth defect so horrendous that his own Dad thought of him as a curse instead of a son. He was without legs, so when he stands, he’ll just reach your waist.
He grew up being rejected, an eyesore to his Dad insomuch one day he intentionally stepped on his mouth as he was laying on the carpet watching TV. Jon was also locked up in his room every time they had any family feasts. His Dad would threat him not to make any sound so that no guest would know that he existed. Once he swallowed all the drugs he found in his room in a suicidal attempt, but he survived.
When finally he could get out and play like he wanted all those times, he could not keep up with boys who were running around, being tough, so his companies were mostly girls until he finally turned to be one of them.
‘She’ left her house and started to make a living, standing out in the streets with scanty clothes, her face now pretty with lots of make-up and seductive smile, her heart yearning for a father’s figure, man’s love she always wanted but never got. 14 years passed and she fell deeper and deeper in the black abyss. She now ‘worked’ in a pub, had a steady boyfriend, sold and used drugs, sold some girls and being sold herself.
“I knew I was so filthy, disgusting, a social thrash, good for nothing,” he admitted. His face was tearstained, his voice trembled. “I came to God once, not planning to repent, but asking Him to take my life. But instead, He came and touched me and healed my wounds.”
Her quest to find God had not been smooth either. She tried several time, all of them ended with some ‘holy’ people told him what to do. “You have to change right now, otherwise you’ll go to hell!” one of them told her so, at their first encounter. “They didn’t ask me how I ended up that way, they did not want to know. They just judged me in the first place,” he said. To me, it sounds like asking someone to go to the fiercest battle without equipping him with any weapon. So there’s only two possibilities; either he’ll die miserably, or he’ll run off. Fortunately, Jon didn’t stop there. But, the next one was even worse. Shes was invited to a youth fellowship where he saw warmth, kind of family she’d longed to be a part pf. She was moved that she shared everything with them, but when she admitted her being transvestite. “The leader of the group cut me off right away, and then told my friend not to invite me to come again. I was crushed.”
Listening to his amazing stories and watching his slideshow about his past really moved me. There’s a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes, as well as guilt and shame in my heart for my tendency to also judge people like him by their outward appearance. How many times did I met them on the streets and shrugged my shoulder in disgust, and could not help feeling alarmed being near them? How many times they wished they had never been born, when the police raided them, or when people abused them and made them the joke? Nobody wants to be that way, including them. And instead of understanding and helping them find a solution, we shoo them away, looking at them with disdain, treating them with disrespect or indifference while up above, God loves us both equally, and He must’ve been hurt to see our arrogance and their misery, both is related to each other though most of the time, we’re not even aware of it.
I really want to see them with God’s eyes and see them through their hearts, with mine. After all, we’re all created by Him according to His good image, though unfortunately, some (or should I say all of us, to some extent?) have been ruined by the sinful nature, abusive parents, social prejudice. And clearly, some damages are worse than the other. Jon’s story has helped me a lot redefine my point of view. I’m not saying that I agree with their behavior or that I want to justify their choice of life. There are some things that are clearly black or white, wrong or right, to me, and I can’t compromise my belief just to make others happy. But, what I mean is, at least we can learn not to judge, but listen to their reasons and understand them. By understanding more, we can love more too. And through love, nothing is impossible, even if it means to straight up a messed up life.
However, the only question that remains with me now is, what can I do for them? Crying, lamenting, or writing about it doesn’t seem to help much.
Jon’s case ended happily (praise the Lord for that!). He found his God, reconciled with his Dad, and leads a new life with a new spirit. But how many have a different ending with his? And does not it strike us to think that actually we, as a community, might’ve taken a part in their bad endings, or might’ve helped them go through it and triumph?
(Yea, you might as well call me a naïve girl who wishes to change the world with her little hands, and the awareness of her helplessness often more than not, frustrates her…)
He grew up being rejected, an eyesore to his Dad insomuch one day he intentionally stepped on his mouth as he was laying on the carpet watching TV. Jon was also locked up in his room every time they had any family feasts. His Dad would threat him not to make any sound so that no guest would know that he existed. Once he swallowed all the drugs he found in his room in a suicidal attempt, but he survived.
When finally he could get out and play like he wanted all those times, he could not keep up with boys who were running around, being tough, so his companies were mostly girls until he finally turned to be one of them.
‘She’ left her house and started to make a living, standing out in the streets with scanty clothes, her face now pretty with lots of make-up and seductive smile, her heart yearning for a father’s figure, man’s love she always wanted but never got. 14 years passed and she fell deeper and deeper in the black abyss. She now ‘worked’ in a pub, had a steady boyfriend, sold and used drugs, sold some girls and being sold herself.
“I knew I was so filthy, disgusting, a social thrash, good for nothing,” he admitted. His face was tearstained, his voice trembled. “I came to God once, not planning to repent, but asking Him to take my life. But instead, He came and touched me and healed my wounds.”
Her quest to find God had not been smooth either. She tried several time, all of them ended with some ‘holy’ people told him what to do. “You have to change right now, otherwise you’ll go to hell!” one of them told her so, at their first encounter. “They didn’t ask me how I ended up that way, they did not want to know. They just judged me in the first place,” he said. To me, it sounds like asking someone to go to the fiercest battle without equipping him with any weapon. So there’s only two possibilities; either he’ll die miserably, or he’ll run off. Fortunately, Jon didn’t stop there. But, the next one was even worse. Shes was invited to a youth fellowship where he saw warmth, kind of family she’d longed to be a part pf. She was moved that she shared everything with them, but when she admitted her being transvestite. “The leader of the group cut me off right away, and then told my friend not to invite me to come again. I was crushed.”
Listening to his amazing stories and watching his slideshow about his past really moved me. There’s a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes, as well as guilt and shame in my heart for my tendency to also judge people like him by their outward appearance. How many times did I met them on the streets and shrugged my shoulder in disgust, and could not help feeling alarmed being near them? How many times they wished they had never been born, when the police raided them, or when people abused them and made them the joke? Nobody wants to be that way, including them. And instead of understanding and helping them find a solution, we shoo them away, looking at them with disdain, treating them with disrespect or indifference while up above, God loves us both equally, and He must’ve been hurt to see our arrogance and their misery, both is related to each other though most of the time, we’re not even aware of it.
I really want to see them with God’s eyes and see them through their hearts, with mine. After all, we’re all created by Him according to His good image, though unfortunately, some (or should I say all of us, to some extent?) have been ruined by the sinful nature, abusive parents, social prejudice. And clearly, some damages are worse than the other. Jon’s story has helped me a lot redefine my point of view. I’m not saying that I agree with their behavior or that I want to justify their choice of life. There are some things that are clearly black or white, wrong or right, to me, and I can’t compromise my belief just to make others happy. But, what I mean is, at least we can learn not to judge, but listen to their reasons and understand them. By understanding more, we can love more too. And through love, nothing is impossible, even if it means to straight up a messed up life.
However, the only question that remains with me now is, what can I do for them? Crying, lamenting, or writing about it doesn’t seem to help much.
Jon’s case ended happily (praise the Lord for that!). He found his God, reconciled with his Dad, and leads a new life with a new spirit. But how many have a different ending with his? And does not it strike us to think that actually we, as a community, might’ve taken a part in their bad endings, or might’ve helped them go through it and triumph?
(Yea, you might as well call me a naïve girl who wishes to change the world with her little hands, and the awareness of her helplessness often more than not, frustrates her…)
REDEFINED POINT OF VIEW
Yesterday morning I heard a heart-wrenching but happy ending testimony of a converted ex-transvestite (let’s call him Jon), born with birth defect so horrendous that his own Dad thought of him as a curse instead of a son. He was without legs, so when he stands, he’ll just reach your waist.
He grew up being rejected, an eyesore to his Dad insomuch one day he intentionally stepped on his mouth as he was laying on the carpet watching TV. Jon was also locked up in his room every time they had any family feasts. His Dad would threat him not to make any sound so that no guest would know that he existed. Once he swallowed all the drugs he found in his room in a suicidal attempt, but he survived.
When finally he could get out and play like he wanted all those times, he could not keep up with boys who were running around, being tough, so his companies were mostly girls until he finally turned to be one of them.
‘She’ left her house and started to make a living, standing out in the streets with scanty clothes, her face now pretty with lots of make-up and seductive smile, her heart yearning for a father’s figure, man’s love she always wanted but never got. 14 years passed and she fell deeper and deeper in the black abyss. She now ‘worked’ in a pub, had a steady boyfriend, sold and used drugs, sold some girls and being sold herself.
“I knew I was so filthy, disgusting, a social thrash, good for nothing,” he admitted. His face was tearstained, his voice trembled. “I came to God once, not planning to repent, but asking Him to take my life. But instead, He came and touched me and healed my wounds.”
Her quest to find God had not been smooth either. She tried several time, all of them ended with some ‘holy’ people told him what to do. “You have to change right now, otherwise you’ll go to hell!” one of them told her so, at their first encounter. “They didn’t ask me how I ended up that way, they did not want to know. They just judged me in the first place,” he said. To me, it sounds like asking someone to go to the fiercest battle without equipping him with any weapon. So there’s only two possibilities; either he’ll die miserably, or he’ll run off. Fortunately, Jon didn’t stop there. But, the next one was even worse. Shes was invited to a youth fellowship where he saw warmth, kind of family she’d longed to be a part pf. She was moved that she shared everything with them, but when she admitted her being transvestite. “The leader of the group cut me off right away, and then told my friend not to invite me to come again. I was crushed.”
Listening to his amazing stories and watching his slideshow about his past really moved me. There’s a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes, as well as guilt and shame in my heart for my tendency to also judge people like him by their outward appearance. How many times did I met them on the streets and shrugged my shoulder in disgust, and could not help feeling alarmed being near them? How many times they wished they had never been born, when the police raided them, or when people abused them and made them the joke? Nobody wants to be that way, including them. And instead of understanding and helping them find a solution, we shoo them away, looking at them with disdain, treating them with disrespect or indifference while up above, God loves us both equally, and He must’ve been hurt to see our arrogance and their misery, both is related to each other though most of the time, we’re not even aware of it.
I really want to see them with God’s eyes and see them through their hearts, with mine. After all, we’re all created by Him according to His good image, though unfortunately, some (or should I say all of us, to some extent?) have been ruined by the sinful nature, abusive parents, social prejudice. And clearly, some damages are worse than the other. Jon’s story has helped me a lot redefine my point of view. I’m not saying that I agree with their behavior or that I want to justify their choice of life. There are some things that are clearly black or white, wrong or right, to me, and I can’t compromise my belief just to make others happy. But, what I mean is, at least we can learn not to judge, but listen to their reasons and understand them. By understanding more, we can love more too. And through love, nothing is impossible, even if it means to straight up a messed up life.
However, the only question that remains with me now is, what can I do for them? Crying, lamenting, or writing about it doesn’t seem to help much.
Jon’s case ended happily (praise the Lord for that!). He found his God, reconciled with his Dad, and leads a new life with a new spirit. But how many have a different ending with his? And does not it strike us to think that actually we, as a community, might’ve taken a part in their bad endings, or might’ve helped them go through it and triumph?
(Yea, you might as well call me a naïve girl who wishes to change the world with her little hands, and the awareness of her helplessness often more than not, frustrates her…)
Yesterday morning I heard a heart-wrenching but happy ending testimony of a converted ex-transvestite (let’s call him Jon), born with birth defect so horrendous that his own Dad thought of him as a curse instead of a son. He was without legs, so when he stands, he’ll just reach your waist.
He grew up being rejected, an eyesore to his Dad insomuch one day he intentionally stepped on his mouth as he was laying on the carpet watching TV. Jon was also locked up in his room every time they had any family feasts. His Dad would threat him not to make any sound so that no guest would know that he existed. Once he swallowed all the drugs he found in his room in a suicidal attempt, but he survived.
When finally he could get out and play like he wanted all those times, he could not keep up with boys who were running around, being tough, so his companies were mostly girls until he finally turned to be one of them.
‘She’ left her house and started to make a living, standing out in the streets with scanty clothes, her face now pretty with lots of make-up and seductive smile, her heart yearning for a father’s figure, man’s love she always wanted but never got. 14 years passed and she fell deeper and deeper in the black abyss. She now ‘worked’ in a pub, had a steady boyfriend, sold and used drugs, sold some girls and being sold herself.
“I knew I was so filthy, disgusting, a social thrash, good for nothing,” he admitted. His face was tearstained, his voice trembled. “I came to God once, not planning to repent, but asking Him to take my life. But instead, He came and touched me and healed my wounds.”
Her quest to find God had not been smooth either. She tried several time, all of them ended with some ‘holy’ people told him what to do. “You have to change right now, otherwise you’ll go to hell!” one of them told her so, at their first encounter. “They didn’t ask me how I ended up that way, they did not want to know. They just judged me in the first place,” he said. To me, it sounds like asking someone to go to the fiercest battle without equipping him with any weapon. So there’s only two possibilities; either he’ll die miserably, or he’ll run off. Fortunately, Jon didn’t stop there. But, the next one was even worse. Shes was invited to a youth fellowship where he saw warmth, kind of family she’d longed to be a part pf. She was moved that she shared everything with them, but when she admitted her being transvestite. “The leader of the group cut me off right away, and then told my friend not to invite me to come again. I was crushed.”
Listening to his amazing stories and watching his slideshow about his past really moved me. There’s a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes, as well as guilt and shame in my heart for my tendency to also judge people like him by their outward appearance. How many times did I met them on the streets and shrugged my shoulder in disgust, and could not help feeling alarmed being near them? How many times they wished they had never been born, when the police raided them, or when people abused them and made them the joke? Nobody wants to be that way, including them. And instead of understanding and helping them find a solution, we shoo them away, looking at them with disdain, treating them with disrespect or indifference while up above, God loves us both equally, and He must’ve been hurt to see our arrogance and their misery, both is related to each other though most of the time, we’re not even aware of it.
I really want to see them with God’s eyes and see them through their hearts, with mine. After all, we’re all created by Him according to His good image, though unfortunately, some (or should I say all of us, to some extent?) have been ruined by the sinful nature, abusive parents, social prejudice. And clearly, some damages are worse than the other. Jon’s story has helped me a lot redefine my point of view. I’m not saying that I agree with their behavior or that I want to justify their choice of life. There are some things that are clearly black or white, wrong or right, to me, and I can’t compromise my belief just to make others happy. But, what I mean is, at least we can learn not to judge, but listen to their reasons and understand them. By understanding more, we can love more too. And through love, nothing is impossible, even if it means to straight up a messed up life.
However, the only question that remains with me now is, what can I do for them? Crying, lamenting, or writing about it doesn’t seem to help much.
Jon’s case ended happily (praise the Lord for that!). He found his God, reconciled with his Dad, and leads a new life with a new spirit. But how many have a different ending with his? And does not it strike us to think that actually we, as a community, might’ve taken a part in their bad endings, or might’ve helped them go through it and triumph?
(Yea, you might as well call me a naïve girl who wishes to change the world with her little hands, and the awareness of her helplessness often more than not, frustrates her…)
PRAISED PLAGIARISM…BLAH!
This morning one of my nephews who ‘inherited’ my avidity in reading came to my room and reported, “Aunty, I found a comic book that really looks like Tin-tin at the bookstore yesterday…look!”
As I scrutinized the comic in my hand, I could not agree with him more.
Alright, the name of the main protagonist is not the same (almost similar though…), but he looks like Tin-tin, not blondie but brunette, and instead of having a dog as his company in investigating and catching bad guys, his company is a girl. The setting is being made believe to be as Indonesian as possible, but really, it’s a copy cat of Tin-tin.
It’s like a cookie taken from the same mold, not with the same ingredients and they added some other stuff here and there, and of course, the taste is not even half as good. Besides, I’ve already lost my respect. No imitation shines as good as the original one, and you just simply can’t argue with it.
There’s even an imitation of Doctor Calculus and my beloved Captain Haddock, only his vocabulary of cussing and swearing is not that impressive. As a big fan of Tin-tin, I am terribly offended!
Furiously, I flipped over the pages to look of any ‘disclaimer’, or better, any ‘acknowledgement’ for their efforts of imitating the famous Tin-tin, or anything stating, “We have got the permission from Herge blablabla” or whatever, that would probably justify it a little bit.
Instead, I found some reviews from some supposedly top dogs, bragging about it being the breakthrough in the comic world of Indonesia, ladies and gentlemen… very original, very Indonesia…local comic that deserves to be put alongside the world class ones…BLAH!!! Shed me some light here, am I the only one here who knows TINTIN??? Get out of it!
However, I still wanted to compromise. It might be different in content, I thought, so I started to read it. I only could do it til page 10, and then I tossed away that book in resentment, imagining Herge rolling restless in his tomb if only he knows about it.
Being objective, the illustration is not bad. Pretty good actually, which makes me even sadder. What a wasted, misused talent. Why not trying to make something of your own (you can do it if you try!), why committing plagiarism and forcing people to ‘praise’ it. Isn’t it enough that all our TV series are but copycats of some foreign dramas?
As I scrutinized the comic in my hand, I could not agree with him more.
Alright, the name of the main protagonist is not the same (almost similar though…), but he looks like Tin-tin, not blondie but brunette, and instead of having a dog as his company in investigating and catching bad guys, his company is a girl. The setting is being made believe to be as Indonesian as possible, but really, it’s a copy cat of Tin-tin.
It’s like a cookie taken from the same mold, not with the same ingredients and they added some other stuff here and there, and of course, the taste is not even half as good. Besides, I’ve already lost my respect. No imitation shines as good as the original one, and you just simply can’t argue with it.
There’s even an imitation of Doctor Calculus and my beloved Captain Haddock, only his vocabulary of cussing and swearing is not that impressive. As a big fan of Tin-tin, I am terribly offended!
Furiously, I flipped over the pages to look of any ‘disclaimer’, or better, any ‘acknowledgement’ for their efforts of imitating the famous Tin-tin, or anything stating, “We have got the permission from Herge blablabla” or whatever, that would probably justify it a little bit.
Instead, I found some reviews from some supposedly top dogs, bragging about it being the breakthrough in the comic world of Indonesia, ladies and gentlemen… very original, very Indonesia…local comic that deserves to be put alongside the world class ones…BLAH!!! Shed me some light here, am I the only one here who knows TINTIN??? Get out of it!
However, I still wanted to compromise. It might be different in content, I thought, so I started to read it. I only could do it til page 10, and then I tossed away that book in resentment, imagining Herge rolling restless in his tomb if only he knows about it.
Being objective, the illustration is not bad. Pretty good actually, which makes me even sadder. What a wasted, misused talent. Why not trying to make something of your own (you can do it if you try!), why committing plagiarism and forcing people to ‘praise’ it. Isn’t it enough that all our TV series are but copycats of some foreign dramas?
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
MY TWO BIGGEST ENEMIES
… now are solitude (hence, loneliness) and boredom—those two make me a sloth, really. I want to write but I’m lazy, napping is not that refreshing anymore, and reading is not that exciting cos the stories are too thin.
All I want is a company, to just talk and be around me.
Only practicing violin makes me happy, but still my hands and shoulders could not cooperate as long as my heart wants. Oh well, maybe I should start cooking with Mom….
All I want is a company, to just talk and be around me.
Only practicing violin makes me happy, but still my hands and shoulders could not cooperate as long as my heart wants. Oh well, maybe I should start cooking with Mom….
BETTER THAN PULITZER PRIZE
Last week I wrote a super lengthy letter (around 10 pages), conventional one (with paper and ink, I mean) to one of my best friends since college. She was the most faithful listener I’ve ever met. We shared the same boarding house for almost four years, got through lots of spiritual phases together, and spent lots of time talking heart to heart, almost about anything.
I will always remember how patient she was in listening to all my incessant rambling about my crush(es), my dreams, my thoughts, my feelings, my fears…. She is one of the very few people with whom I am not afraid to show her me, just the way I am—whether I was feeling down, negative, or even sometimes, dark.
When I was in Aceh, I wrote to her everyday, in a book, and then I sent it to her when my voluntary work was done. I knew she would not write back, at least not as much as I wrote her, cos writing is not her strong point. But it never stopped me from sharing with her, and writing seems to be the most economical way to do it cos she now lives in her hometown, in a different island. Ironically, Jambi, where she lives, is basically the only big town in
SumatraI never had a chance to step in. Hopefully someday…
Anyway, yesterday she sms-ed me to inform that my package (i.e those pages, one copy of my novel, and 5 CD’s full of songs and my pics) had arrived, and she told me that my letter really encouraged her and reminded her once again that God was, and is real.
And really, knowing that my writing could make a difference in someone else’s day by encouraging her and reminding her of God’s goodness, it means the world to me. I’d rather touch and build up somebody’s life with my private writings that probably won’t make me famous or rich, than say… winning a Pulitzer prize, or even a nobel (which can be nice too, if it ever happens to me)
Yes, fame and money and satisfaction of having accomplished something taste really nice, but to think that what you write, what you tell, and what you feel (no matter what it is) have brought a smile upon a formerly cloudy face, and sparks to an almost dying flame, or some cheerfulness to a lonely heart—it tastes even better, cos it is so personal, and hence, much more meaningful.
After all, someone’s heart and soul are much more precious than any worldly acknowledgements, at least for a touchy feely person like me.
I will always remember how patient she was in listening to all my incessant rambling about my crush(es), my dreams, my thoughts, my feelings, my fears…. She is one of the very few people with whom I am not afraid to show her me, just the way I am—whether I was feeling down, negative, or even sometimes, dark.
When I was in Aceh, I wrote to her everyday, in a book, and then I sent it to her when my voluntary work was done. I knew she would not write back, at least not as much as I wrote her, cos writing is not her strong point. But it never stopped me from sharing with her, and writing seems to be the most economical way to do it cos she now lives in her hometown, in a different island. Ironically, Jambi, where she lives, is basically the only big town in
SumatraI never had a chance to step in. Hopefully someday…
Anyway, yesterday she sms-ed me to inform that my package (i.e those pages, one copy of my novel, and 5 CD’s full of songs and my pics) had arrived, and she told me that my letter really encouraged her and reminded her once again that God was, and is real.
And really, knowing that my writing could make a difference in someone else’s day by encouraging her and reminding her of God’s goodness, it means the world to me. I’d rather touch and build up somebody’s life with my private writings that probably won’t make me famous or rich, than say… winning a Pulitzer prize, or even a nobel (which can be nice too, if it ever happens to me)
Yes, fame and money and satisfaction of having accomplished something taste really nice, but to think that what you write, what you tell, and what you feel (no matter what it is) have brought a smile upon a formerly cloudy face, and sparks to an almost dying flame, or some cheerfulness to a lonely heart—it tastes even better, cos it is so personal, and hence, much more meaningful.
After all, someone’s heart and soul are much more precious than any worldly acknowledgements, at least for a touchy feely person like me.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
AWWW...TURNING 26! (….and being in love)
The image that flashes in my mind lately is Jennifer Anniston trying to bang the door when her friends were trying to make her a surprise party, she was turning 30 in FRIENDS… when I saw it I thought it was odd, how could someone be that afraid of birthday??
But oohhh… I guess now I can share a little bit of that feeling. The last two years my birthdays were always so full of people, laughter, gifts, surprise parties with cakes, balloons, confetti and trumpets… just like I wanted them to be. But today, I had a quiet birthday, still just like I wanted it to be.
I’m 26, feeling like a woman, but at the same time, I know I am still a girl deep inside my heart, and I will always be like that.
Being a woman seems to be so full of responsibilities, and I know that the most often asked question from now on will be, “When will you get married?” instead of “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
I was tempted to wonder, would turning 26 be less scary if only I had found my soulmate? But then I realized that a lover’s love will be but an icing on top of the cake, because I already got the greatest love of all—love so perfect and beautiful, selfless and flawless, poured down on me abundantly, though I don’t deserve it at all. I feel and see this love inside me, and all around me, in my parents’ smile and service, in my siblings’ affection and supports, in my nephews’ innocence, in the prayers and loving attention of my brothers and sisters in Christ, and even in the laughter, stories and friendship I had a privilege to share with some people I haven’t met yet—yes, most of them are scattered in so many different places, but yet, we are so close in our hearts, bound and united by the greatest love ever.
Yes, thinking about how time flies makes me scared, scared to let these years pass by so quickly without accomplishing my duties. Sometimes, I want to go back to the great ole’ days and wish that time stopped back when I was 22… but I know that life goes on and there is a bright future waiting for me ahead.
So, instead of being freaked out or panicked or worried unnecessarily, this morning I made a resolution. I asked my true love to find me in the river, I asked him to bring me to my knees with my soul lay bare in front of him, and I said to him once again that I would gladly take up my cross to follow him, and if our path were stony and for some reasons he chose not to carry me, I would be willing to walk with my knees, as long as he holds my hand and never lets me go, cos he is all I’ve ever needed. I am thankful for his faithfulness, for the blessings and joy, and even tears and sorrow he has allowed to come in my life—knowing that they all will shape me into a better person.
Yes, on my birthday, I’m falling in love deeper with someone who has always been loving me unconditionally, and this feeling is greater than any chemistry or romantic story. This one I definitely want to keep forever….
But oohhh… I guess now I can share a little bit of that feeling. The last two years my birthdays were always so full of people, laughter, gifts, surprise parties with cakes, balloons, confetti and trumpets… just like I wanted them to be. But today, I had a quiet birthday, still just like I wanted it to be.
I’m 26, feeling like a woman, but at the same time, I know I am still a girl deep inside my heart, and I will always be like that.
Being a woman seems to be so full of responsibilities, and I know that the most often asked question from now on will be, “When will you get married?” instead of “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
I was tempted to wonder, would turning 26 be less scary if only I had found my soulmate? But then I realized that a lover’s love will be but an icing on top of the cake, because I already got the greatest love of all—love so perfect and beautiful, selfless and flawless, poured down on me abundantly, though I don’t deserve it at all. I feel and see this love inside me, and all around me, in my parents’ smile and service, in my siblings’ affection and supports, in my nephews’ innocence, in the prayers and loving attention of my brothers and sisters in Christ, and even in the laughter, stories and friendship I had a privilege to share with some people I haven’t met yet—yes, most of them are scattered in so many different places, but yet, we are so close in our hearts, bound and united by the greatest love ever.
Yes, thinking about how time flies makes me scared, scared to let these years pass by so quickly without accomplishing my duties. Sometimes, I want to go back to the great ole’ days and wish that time stopped back when I was 22… but I know that life goes on and there is a bright future waiting for me ahead.
So, instead of being freaked out or panicked or worried unnecessarily, this morning I made a resolution. I asked my true love to find me in the river, I asked him to bring me to my knees with my soul lay bare in front of him, and I said to him once again that I would gladly take up my cross to follow him, and if our path were stony and for some reasons he chose not to carry me, I would be willing to walk with my knees, as long as he holds my hand and never lets me go, cos he is all I’ve ever needed. I am thankful for his faithfulness, for the blessings and joy, and even tears and sorrow he has allowed to come in my life—knowing that they all will shape me into a better person.
Yes, on my birthday, I’m falling in love deeper with someone who has always been loving me unconditionally, and this feeling is greater than any chemistry or romantic story. This one I definitely want to keep forever….
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