K.W.

The End

2009-04-10T12:15:00.002-04:00

I am... tired of this blog (a manifestation of my ADHD tendencies). Moving to Wordpress =)

The cheating gene

2009-03-05T21:31:00.003-05:00

At least two cousins are getting married this year. And one getting a divorce. Sadly, it won't be the first one in the family. On that, I would like to reconfirm my belief in karma.

Here's the story. My cousin will be divorcing her husband because he cheated on her. Apparently he had been fooling around with this other woman and one day he suggested that she... move in with them. Sinting kan?

This evening, while I was mindlessly mashing ginger and garlic in the kitchen to cook my tofu, my mind flew to her and her family, specifically her mother, my aunt.

My aunt, at the time no doubt a feisty young woman, was a Chinese language teacher. She gave private lessons to rich people's kids in their homes. What followed was a classic soap opera storyline. She fell in love with one of her students' father, who also fell in love with her. He divorced his wife and married my aunt. The ex-wife allegedly committed suicide and one of the man's children became mentally unstable. Crazy, isn't it? My aunt, a homewrecker.

And now, a similar storyline seems to befall her own daughter. I wonder if she and her husband are now saying to themselves, "Gee, this looks familiar."

More time for myself

2009-03-02T22:18:00.004-05:00

I recently approached my department head at work and asked, "Can I work just four days a week?" Thanks to the economic slowdown (yes, there's always something to thank for!), she said yes. So starting the second week of February, I have been a persona non grata in the office on Wednesdays. Of course, that means forgoing four or three days' worth of wages each month, but I can't help to think that it's a sweet deal. Work for two days, break, work for another two days, then break again. I originally intended this arrangement so I can have more time to practice writing and basically launch myself into a freelance writer. Credits to Malcolm Gladwell and his concept of the 10,000 hour rule.

But last Wednesday afternoon, as I was walking on Sherbrooke Street without a very defined destination, I realized how else those free Wednesdays benefit me. They keep me sane and unjaded from the debilitating routine of having a full-time job, living in a comfortable home and being in a steady relationship.

Those three things, I have realized, make me feel like I'm being nursed in a mental hospital, if I may use that rather dramatic illustration. You live in an environment where your needs are attended to and where you are kept safe from harm, but slowly and unknowingly, you start to lose yourself in your own comfort zone. You forget what else is out there and you've become too lazy to get up and find out.

I'm not saying I don't want my job. I'm not saying my home is a shit hole. I'm not saying I don't love my boyfriend. In fact, it's the total opposite. They could be my downfall because they make me comfortable.

Isn't it funny, absurd even, that I'm saying all this? When a lot of people out there are homeless, starving and heartbroken. Maybe it's just me, maybe it's human nature. We just can't help but fuck things up for ourselves.

I think I had a good weekend

2009-03-02T21:41:00.003-05:00

Finally, I did it. I sent my very first query letter, proposing an article idea to the arts & life editor of the Montreal Gazette. I worked on that letter for the whole weekend. It was not unlike writing a cover letter to apply for a job. It is a job afterall.

They say that most query letters go unanswered and the key is just to keep trying, trying and trying. So I will!

Of course, I didn't spend the whole weekend tweaking that letter. On Saturday I went to this ceramic studio cafe with Perrine and we spent no less than four hours there. I think I've found a new favourite hang out place in this city. It is a combined cafe and place where you can paint ceramics. If it sounds boring, wait til you see the collection of ceramic objects to choose from. There were more than just mugs, plates and bowls. The massive variety takes up the entire second floor of the cafe. I chose to paint a teapot for my recently acquired habit of drinking green tea. In keeping with the theme, I painted green turtles on it. It won't be until the coming Saturday when I can see take home the result, though. My teapot is currently being 'baked' in the oven along with Perrine's blue salamander mug.

I spent a quiet Sunday staying at home until around 4pm when my mood started to deteriorate and I just had to get out of the house. That's my body's normal reaction when kept inside for too long and too long means more than half a day. Also, the bad mood could have something to do with my failed cooking attempt at lunch. The menu I had in mind was chicken with carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, mushrooms with creamy mushrooms sauce on couscous. This is how the events unfolded: first I burned the mushroom sauce, then I burned the couscous and in the frantic scene that followed, I forgot that I had carrots frying madly behind me. I turned around and voila, the carrots had turned black too. It was probably my worst culinary failure. What kind of idiot burns sauce? In the end I made do with some 'saved' carrots, chicken and cauliflower (the broccoli turned out to have kinda yellowed in the fridge...), flavoured with Lee Kum Kee's black pepper sauce. By this stage, I was no longer hungry and just wanted to bury my head in the pillow and cry!

Later on we went out for a walk at Parc Lafontaine and I was glad we did because there were lots and lots and lots of doggies to look at! There was a baby Rottweiler who chose to follow me into the icy surface of the park and the poor thing, not knowing what lay ahead, jumped in and slipped! I think that scene brightened my mood instantly.

Orang nyolot di kantor

2009-02-25T14:35:00.002-05:00

Salah satu orang di tim gua di kantor baru-baru ini resign. Hari Jumat ini hari terakhir dia kerja. Gua seneng banget. Senenggggggggg banget.

Mungkin gua udah pernah cerita tentang dia di blog ini. Mungkin belum. Yang pasti, udah gua blog atau belum nggak mengurangi betapa menyebalkannya orang ini. Pertama-tama, tampangnya bikin gua pingin kentut. Kedua, cara pakai bajunya bikin gua beneran kentut. Ketiga, gaya jalannya bikin gua mencret! Perihal penampilannya yang bikin gua stres, rambut orang ini selalu rapi jali (dengan bantuan hair gel dan antek-anteknya yang pasti). Lalu, gaya berpakaiannya dia sangat sok skateboard, dengan jeans yang ujungnya digulung, memamerkan sepatu ketsnya yang bermerk. Ditambah lagi kerah kemejanya yang selalu ditata keatas. Semua itu dibawa jalan dengan postur peacock (dada dan dagu keatas). Ekstrim gak tuh? Tapi itu belum semua! Pasalnya, orang yang sama ini juga punya gaya bicara yang membuat gua berkomentar seperti, "Ih lu najis ya?" tiap kali dia buka mulut. Dan baru-baru ini, gara-gara ada sedikit restructure di kantor dan dia dipindahkan ke tim gua, gua notice kalau dia punya iPhone.

Pertama kali gua lihat dia dengan mainannya ini adalah ketika tim kita makan malam bersama. Gua ingat, waktu itu kita lagi ngobrol tentang bubble tea. Namanya juga bule, konsep bubble tea yah masih sangat asing untuk mereka, jadinya gua dan satu teman yang lain mencoba jelasin ke mereka apa sih yang dimaksud bubble tea ini, ketika tiba-tiba si A mengeluarkan iPhone-nya dan di layar iPhone tersebut tertera sebuah webpage mengenai bubble tea, komplit dengan penjelasan dan asal usul tapioka. Sah-sah aja sampai sini. Resehnya, dia nggak berenti-berenti main dengan iPhone-nya itu. Orang-orang lain ngobrol, dia malah ngutak-ngatik itu barang. Lagaknya kayak businessman yang punya banyak appointment. Hahaha, emang gua bitchy kali ye?

Tapi tunggu dulu, cerita gua belum selesai. Ternyata! Di kantor pun, dia gak bisa terpisahkan dengan iPhone-nya ini! Orang-orang sibuk ngoceh-ngoceh di telepon (urusan kerja maksudnya), jari-jari dia dan iPhone-nya sibuk sendiri di bawah meja. Aduh, pathetic banget. Kayak anak SD yang sembunyi-sembunyi main Game & Watch di dalam kelas. Ngomong-ngomong, masih ada yang inget Game & Watch gak? Gua hobi banget tuh main Game & Watch waktu masih kecil.

Home sweeeeet home

2009-02-07T23:41:00.003-05:00

After spending hours browsing the net looking at people's DIY home decoration projects (this is the main culprit: www.apartmenttherapy.com), I've decided to take the plunge.

Today, I painted one of my walls with black chalkboard paint. Which means that I'll be able to write stuff on that wall and easily wipe it off - just like in the old primary school days! Things that I have envisioned to write on that wall include:
1. Calendar for the month
2. Growth chart (although I don't think I'll grow any further, but it'll be a handy super long ruler)
3. Shopping list (unfortunately this will be hard to carry to the grocery store...)
4. Outing plans for the month

In addition, I spray painted one of the plain Jane Ikea dining chairs. I picked a purplish blue colour to go with the yellow cushion. The result looks rather shabby chic, which I'm rather pleased about. Someone's got to put some feminine touch to balance out the zen of this place, hehehe. Now I have to decide if I want to paint the table blue or yellow or another colour altogether. I'm thinking... black, to go with the chalkboard wall that stands right behind it.

Excited. Very, very excited.

Just need to chat right now

2009-02-05T23:38:00.002-05:00

I wish I didn’t have to finish off those tax obligations back home, one of them is a few months overdue, hanging off my skinny back. As each day passes, I feel their fangs coming closer and closer. Yet, menacing as these tasks are, I don’t feel compelled to get them over and done with. My writing pursuit comes first. Funny, I feel embarrassed typing out that last sentence.

I’ve read countless articles on being a freelance writer, finding article ideas and writing query letters. I can probably start a book on these subjects without ever having had a feature article in any newspaper with my name as a byline. I guess you can say that I’m overqualified as a freelance writer. The way a 25 year-old Master’s graduate who has never had a job in his field of study is overqualified for his first job.

I cringe every time I think that I’m wasting precious hours in my day job, conducting mind-numbing interviews. When I say mind-numbing, I don’t mean it’s a brainless job, it just means that I’ve known the job so well that I can talk, type, grab a marshmallow, answer an IM message and pick my nose at the same time. My point is, it’s not a bad job, but after almost one year, it is starting to get mechanical.

I did try to do something about it though, spice up my professional life a bit and apply to no less than three internal positions. Failed. Being (or striving to be) someone with high self-esteem, I attribute that to lack of preparation rather than incompetence. But if I want to be more honest, I suspect that I failed because I didn’t really want those jobs. No no, I wanted those jobs, but I didn’t desperately want them. Get the difference? So perhaps, just perhaps, the interviewers caught a whiff of that insincerity.

Happily, I can feel things starting to come together for me. I’ve started writing a query letter, though I’ve stopped short of explaining what my article will actually contain. Ha! But we all start from the bottom, right?

For the second time in my life, I am opting to take the lonely path. That of breaking away from a Monday to Friday, nine to five (or in my case ten to six) job, though this time I am still retaining some of that lifestyle. Mostly for the money, but also to retain a bit of sanity. Repulsive as the word may sound, I do need some form of a r.o.u.t.i.n.e.

I thought 2007 was my year of soul searching and I thought I was satisfied with the results. No. It was just the beginning.

Ocehan Minggu malem sebelum besok kerja lagi

2009-01-18T22:53:00.003-05:00

Sudah setahun di Montreal. Cepat sekali waktu berlalu ya? Tahun 2008 berlalu sangat cepat, seperti kereta tanpa rem. Kemana perginya Jumat-Jumat malam dimana gua main kartu semalem suntuk sama roommates gua sambil makan nachos? Kemana perginya akhir pekan-akhir pekan di musim panas dimana gua gak ada capek-capeknya ngiter kota naik sepeda? Kemana perginya sore-sore dimana gua bela-belain naik bis satu jam buat ketemu si doi? Hehehe... (walapun kalau dipikir-dipikir lagi, ga produktif banget sih?)

Ingin rasanya supaya ingatan gua tentang akhir tahun 2007 dan 2008, masa-masa awal gua kenalan dengan kota ini, dibekuin supaya tidak kadaluwarsa. It was the time of my life where I found myself saying, "Life is beautiful."

Ini musim dingin gua yang kedua disini. Sudah mulai ngerti gimana caranya supaya jari-jari kaki nggak kena frostbite. Sudah ketemu restoran Thai yang pad thai-nya seenak bikinan Benjarong (lebih enak malah?). Dan yang paling penting, sudah punya orang yang bisa diandalin kalau gua ketemu susah.

Gua teringat suatu malam di stasiun metro Peel, kalau nggak salah November 2007. Sambil menunggu kereta datang, tiba-tiba tercetus ide untuk menghabiskan dua tahun mendatang di kota yang berbeda-beda. Tiga bulan di sini, tiga bulan lagi di sana. Gitu terus, sampai dua tahun. Membayangkan gimana serunya gaya hidup kaya gitu, gua excited banget. Sampai deg-degan sendiri. Sesampai di rumah, gua langsung menyalakan komputer dan menulis email ke kakak gua tentang rencana itu.

Fast forward satu tahun, apa yang terjadi? Gua masih disini. Dan gua nggak punya rencana untuk pindah ke kota lain, seenggaknya dalam dua tahun mendatang. Gua udah ketemu 'rumah' gua dan masih senang-senangnya mengutak-ngatik rumah itu, menanam bunga di tamannya dan mengecat dinding di dalamnya.

Tahun ini gua banyak rencana. Memang, belum tentu semuanya tercapai. Tapi yang pasti, gua excited dan deg-degan. And it's a good feeling.

Indonesia's response to Israel's attack into Gaza

2009-01-15T23:17:00.003-05:00

I wrote the following essay during the first few days of Israel's attack into Gaza, which started in the last week of December. It is an opinion piece that I subsequently sent to The Jakarta Post. It did not get published and the opinion editor explained to me that it was because "we demand clear attribution to our articles". Which means that I better get myself some sort of political science degree if I want to have my opinion on this kind of subject published. Oh well. If you decide to read it, though, keep it mind that it was based on the early reports of the attack.

A handful of Indonesian online readers have made comments responding to the news that our government has pledged to send some US$1 million worth of humanitarian aid to the Palestinian victims of Israel’s latest bombings in Gaza. Interestingly, most of the comments clearly indicate which side they are on: neither the Palestinians, nor the Israelis. Rather than commenting on the number of civilian casualties or the right and wrong of the invasion, nearly all of these readers expressed disbelief and annoyance that the government is so ready to dispense such an amount to people above their own. Given the pitiful state of our own economy, it is no doubt a sentiment shared by many others in the country.

What the readers did not make a comment on, however, is how self-righteously our government is in condemning the attack.So far, while speaking at press conferences about the topic, the government ministers have not made any reference to the reason why this bombing took place at the first place. They are either unaware or ignore the facts that the Hamas group had been launching rockets to Israel, blindly and daily, before Israel finally decided to initiate the bombings. Also, while the government laments the civilian casualties that the bombings have claimed, they are also – or choose to be - ignorant to the fact that Hamas members disguise themselves as civilians and operate within the civilian population. How is a bomber pilot, flying hundreds of feet above ground, able to differentiate a Hamas from a non-Hamas if they are all wearing civilian clothing? The only thing they keep their eyes open for then, it seems, is the fact that the victims are Muslims – people like us - and the perpetrators are Jews – people who, by indoctrination, we do not like.Some say that Israel overdoes it on the scale of the retaliation because while Hamas rockets flew daily into Israel's civilian territory, they have killed far fewer than the 320 victims that Israel's bombs have claimed so far. And by definition, they are right. Israel is indeed overdoing it. After all, retaliation is defined as: return of like for like. But beyond that, let's stop and put ourselves in the Israelis’ shoes. They may not have got hit by Hamas rockets, but does living under the threat that they might this day or the next make it any better? In any case, we are talking about retaliation on a national defence level which in Israel’s case, there is the extra weight of defending its right to exist. A dictionary definition of retaliation has no relevance.

We can perhaps liken this situation to the ultimate US retaliation against Japan: the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki that ended World War II. The history is clear cut: Japan brought the US rudely into the theatre of war by bombing Pearl Harbour, an act which cost 2400 lives. In the end, the US decided to end Japan's aggression by bombing their two cities and in doing so, claiming 220,000 lives. It was definitely not a return of the like for like, but as 'beneficiaries' of these atrocities, have we, as a nation, cried foul condemning that particular US action? After all, though the method of their retaliation will always remain in an ethical debate, the desired result – Japan’s surrender – was in our interest, as was the case for other countries under the Japanese occupation. We rejoiced over the deaths and sufferings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki's civilians because effectively, thanks to their destroyed lives, we were finally able to claim our independence and build our own lives.

And so, in responding to Israel's action over Hamas, our government must always keep itself in perspective. It must try to prevent its personal feelings from seeing the facts, and the fact is that this is just another border conflict, whose participants could easily be Baltic, European, Asian or Middle Eastern countries. Taking sides with anyone just because they – victim, perpetrator or both – share our religion will only further damage Indonesia’s credibility. Even if we ideologically ‘belong’ to that part of the world that denies Israel’s existence, let’s face the facts. Israel is strong both militarily and financially. It is also an ally of the most powerful nation in the world. Whether we like it or not, Israel is here to stay.

And finally, while an act of charity is indeed a wonderful thing, let’s not overdo it – after all, millions of our own desperately poor people could benefit from a tiny bite of that US$1 million pie.

A day-off

2009-01-13T20:37:00.004-05:00

Today is that kind of day. First, you wake up late. Then you spill your cereal on the kitchen floor. And you find out that you've run out of paper towel. So you quickly clean it up and take a shower. You have a lot of errands today, the first being going to the bank, naturally. You get there - yay there is no line - but then the bank teller tells you that the service you're after does not exist. With a dejected facial expression, you limp away from the counter towards the exit. Then you remember that while there, you also have to change your address. You turn around and see that, out of nowhere, there are now at least five people in the line. After a 10-minute lull that seems like 40 minutes, it's your turn. The bank now knowing where you really live, you happily walk out of the bank towards your next destination: a bank that offers the first service you're after. Logically, you pick the most popular bank. There, a bank teller greets you and asks how you are, but in a tone that suggests that he doesn't care about his job, nor about you. He then proceeds with telling you that you need to go to another part of the branch to request that service. You go there and voila, there is no one. A little note on the glass window asks you to go to the receptionist, strangely situated further inside the room. You explain what you need and then you are sent back to the window to wait for someone to be dispatched there. You twiddle your index finger on the counter top. Just because. Then a face appears behind the window. It's the same person that greets you beforehand. He tells you that the other person is not available. That's okay. What matter is that finally, someone will take care of you. Or not. The most popular bank , you are told, does not offer that service either. Try the bank next door, he says. This time with a genuine smile. You feel a little better. It's true that happiness is contagious, isn't it? Walking to the bank next door, you start putting together the introduction of a letter of feedback to your bank. Which quickly gets shelved, because finally, finally you find a bank that can give you what you need. The teller seems to be on another planet, though. It is not after two torn cheques later that you have what you need neatly tucked in your bag. Perhaps she is having the same kind of day as you. After a brief feeling of relief, you realize that your errands are far from over. You have only just ticked off the first item on your list. Next, you need to get yourself two passport photos. Tired of walking around, you go straight to the information desk. You want to know where the instant photo booth is. You see two men at the desk. One is serving a customer on a wheelchair. One of those that tells you that the user has far more troubles than just not being able to walk. You stand in front of the other staff that is not occupied. His attention is on the wheelchaired customer. Finally, he realizes that you are there. You say hi. Not saying anything first but smiling, he points to the writing on his t-shirt. You don't get it. And after awhile he gets that you don't get it. "Promotions," you hear him say. Your question is not about promotions, so you take your place behind the wheelchair. Another introduction to a letter of feedback pops into your head. Then you spot it. The photo both is on the ground floor, next to the ice cream shop. You take the stairs down quickly, congratulating yourself on your sharp eyesight. As you get nearer, you notice that the booth looks unusually artsy. Is this how they make photo booths these days? Yes, it turns out, if the photo you are after is your own caricature version. You nearly kick the otherwise innocent photo booth. Nearby, thankfully, is an information board. Good, there is another photo booth in the building. Even better, it's close to the post office, your final destination. Finally, everything falls into place. You go inside the booth, take off your bulky jacket and comb your hair. You skim through the instructions quickly. You don't really understand, but then you think, what's not to understand about instant photo booths? So you insert two $2 coins into the slot. Next you press the green button, while keeping your eyes fixed on the instructions, to really make sure that you are doing it right. The next thing you know, a flash light floods the room, catching your face in the process. Shit. Is that it? you think. Before you know it, the machine has gone to work to fulfil its advertised 3-minute promise. You frantically look for some sort of cancel button. There is none. You curse yourself rudely, hoping that your facial expression that appears on the photo is still within the acceptable range of what the Canadian Consulate General allows. "The face must be square to the camera with a neutral expression, neither frowning nor smiling, with the mouth closed." The result comes very close, but you decide to throw it away. Though not mentioned in the rule, you are certain that a confused expression with upward looking nostrils featuring in the photo will do more harm than good to your application. By this time, you are totally, unapologetically upset with your day. But you go on. You have no choice. You ask at the pharmacy if they do passport photos. They don't, but there is a shop in the building next door that does. So you go there. Yes, the place does do passport photos. In fact, it's the only thing that it does. No grey areas there. You pay the $14 fee and sulkily sit yourself on the stool. Click. It's done. The guy shows you the result. You look like a lettuce. But you don't care. You just want to go home. One last thing to do. The post office. You put the documents in the envelope and watch the guy seal it, stick a registered post label on it, and you sigh a big relief. Finally it's over. You start walking out of the post office. For what can be classified as a miracle though, something tells you to stop and check again. Has everything indeed been put in the envelope? You quickly realize that the answer is no. You frantically go back to the counter. The guy hands you back the envelope. You put the forgotten item in, all the while thinking what else might you be forgetting. You double and triple check everything. Satisfied, you walk out of the post office and out of the building. You head home. Hungry, tired and cold. It has started to snow again. A lot. Back at home, you sit down and drink a glass of water. You smile and say to yourself, "I made it." Then a jolt. You realize you have forgotten to buy an onion.

Hello 2009!

2009-01-03T11:28:00.005-05:00

New year, new home. Moving in with the boyfriend. Third move within a one-year period (fourth if moving to a new country is included in the count). Cramming in two grown-ups' worth of necessities and junks into a studio apartment. A crazy, seemingly impossible feat that has manifested into a rather weirdly cosy establishment, with the sofa placed diagonally almost in the middle of the room, its right end nearly touching the bed.

This living arrangement means neither of us has our own personal space. Practical implications: I'll have to live with the football game commentaries coming from the TV and he'll have to live with my obsession to keep everything clutter free and crumbs free.

It's Saturday morning, the first of 2009. I'm happily typing away at the dining table and he's happily reading his weekend newspaper on the couch. The TV is off (happily). In its place: incomprehensible old French music, and the quietly humming sounds of my laptop and the refrigerator. It's definitely not what I had imagined a year ago, but I like it and with a little luck, maybe I won't have to move again in six months.

It's nearly over, this thing called 2008

2008-12-28T09:19:00.005-05:00

One year has passed since I first started this blog. I'm no longer 27yo, like the blog address suggests. Soon, it will be 2009 and I will be well on my way to become a 30yo. Like everyone of my age, we all feel a certain anxiety entering this next phase of our life. Though we all have different challenges: some face the constant battle of a little child demanding utmost attention and wit, others scramble to find the buttons to move up the corporate elevator (admit it, no one ever takes the stairs at work anymore unless it's a fire drill, right?).

My sister asked in an email on my birthday recently: "So have you achieved a great deal this year?" Being my sister, she enjoys the privileges of being direct and in-my-face with me without coming across as accusatory and loaded with expectations - even though she used the words 'a great deal'. If that had been my dad asking, I probably would have got on the defensive.

I answered: "I don't know... define "great deal"? Actually I had a realization the other day that I have a really simple life, but happy one! I don't know if I could say that two years ago, so from that point of view, I think I have achieved a great deal."

And that is the truth.

I do realize, however, that a fulfilling personal life hinges on many other factors, one of which is having a fulfilling life outside of that. As much as a person loves their partner and family, if they don't have anything else that they look forward to or challenged with, sooner or later that family satisfaction will wither. I have seen this happen with my mother and her situation is not uncommon with the rest of the stay-at-home wife population.

Therefore, having said that, it is imperative that I have a goal. And it is imperative that I achieve it. So my resolution for 2009 is this: finish what I have started, whatever it is I have set out to do. For I believe that anything is possible and that not finishing what I have started is the primary reason why I have achieved relatively little success so far in my life.

Thank you for reading and happy new year!

Another laughable gimmick

2008-11-25T22:11:00.002-05:00

Recently, the top Malaysian Islamic body issued a fatwa against yoga, arguing that its practice contains elements of Hinduism and might corrupt Islamic faith. It added that while yoga as a pure element of physical exercise might not be against Islamic beliefs, Muslims should avoid practising it because "doing one part of yoga would lead to another."

The chairman of the fatwa council advocated, “There are many other forms of exercise that Muslims can partake in, especially when the religion promotes healthy living and lifestyle. Performing prayers, for example, is a good form of exercise." Perhaps soon the council will unveil a new method of praying, which involves strapping weight belts around the worshippers' waists and arms while they stoop back and forth during their shalat.

The only glimmer of hope I have is that more and more people, including Muslims, will find that this religion is slowly choking their lifestyle and will finally form their own voice and make a stand against these dictatorial religious bodies.

Note: More recently, MUI declared that it is considering following the footsteps of their Malaysian counterpart. How original.

Don't break my heart unless you have to

2008-11-09T22:48:00.003-05:00

There's nothing more sobering than a break-up, when somebody breaks up with you, that is. It immediately signals a failure, and at first impression, your failure to live up to someone's expectation, though after given some time to mourn and reflect, one might find that the failure actually belongs to the person who breaks up with you.

I've had a number of break-ups throughout the years, one no easier than the one before. My most recent one was in June this year, when my boyfriend of some six months decided that it would be best for us him that we just be friends. Boo. Thankfully, he went overseas shortly afterwards on vacation, and with that it was proven to me convincingly that out of sight is indeed out of mind - if, ironically, you really put your mind to it.

Still, the ten days between the breakup and his departure was difficult and decorated with tears. Somehow, because we agreed that we would still be good friends, I expected that he would still drop by ~~now and then~~ every two days and hang out with me after work. Indeed, I'm one of those girlfriends who love spending a lot of time with their boyfriends. A lot, meaning as much time as is physically possible. I'm rather embarrassed to admit it, really, because we all know that that isn't cool.

True to our words, we are still good friends now. We only see each other maybe once every two weeks nowadays, but that's actually quite special because that's even more than the frequency with which I see my other friends. The other night we went out for a drink and it was amazing sitting there remembering that I once thought that this guy was the one. How wrong can our feeling be and how clouded can our judgment turn out as a result. And it's not at all because he's a bad person. It's just that he's bad boyfriend for me.

I guess all I'm trying to say is this: a break-up is always good.

More chatter

2008-11-08T21:56:00.003-05:00

Right now… I’m dreaming of a bowl of Bakmi Gajah Mada. Oh man, just thinking about it makes me happy. Of course, the reality is quite different. Dinner tonight was (canned) cream of chicken. No bread (too lazy).

I had a nice Saturday, though. Woke up not too late, just in time to go to McCord Museum, which admits visitors free of charge between 10 to 12 on the first Saturday of each month. I only had the energy (and patience) to see one exhibition ‘Reveal or Conceal’ which traces the evolution of women’s clothing from the 19th century until the present time. Specifically, its relation to modesty and eroticism. Noted two interesting things:1. A ‘full dress’ actually means a dress that reveals the shoulders, arms and even cleavage. It was the dress code for elite women in the late 19th century (don’t quote me on the exact period though, it could’ve been early 20th century) when attending balls. At one such occasion, the invited women were instructed to wear a full dress where failing to do so required them to submit a medical letter saying why they could not wear one! Crazee…
2. Of course, an exhibition named ‘Reveal or Conceal’ has to mention veiled women, right? One woman’s comment on why she loves the veil so much is because “after wearing the veil all day outside, when you come home, take it off and see yourself in the mirror, you’ll find yourself even more beautiful [than you think].” Also, “I love wearing beautiful and soft fabrics. Wearing the veil just gives me the excuse to wear these nice things everyday.” I knew that thing has nothing to do with modesty! The other comments defend the veil because the veil gives the wearer self respect. Ay ay ay… I don’t buy that crap. You don’t need a piece of cloth covering your head in order for others to respect you. There are things like being smart, being friendly or being generous.

Moving on... I then went the Salvation Army shop to look for clothes I can wear to work. Didn't find any decent looking tops, but I did find two really nice skirts (one even bears a Polo Ralph Lauren label, though authenticity is in doubt) at $4 each! Woohoo.

The rest of the afternoon was spent walking around the city which, thanks to the rain, is no longer a smog factory. I love this city full stop.

And tonight , we learnt that Canadian TV journalist, Melissa Fung, who was kidnapped last month in Afghanistan has been released. Great news, of course, but it does remind us that, while we go to our warm beds tonight, fearing nothing but the alarm clock that might strike at any moment to remind us that we have jobs to go to, many, many people around the world live in captivity. Held by political enemies or, even scarier, by people close to them. Remember earlier this year the story about this guy who held his own daughter in the basement for 25 years and had children with her? It's stories like this that sometimes makes me think - despite the obvious invasion of privacy - that we all have to be electronically chipped.

Remembering a Saturday

2008-11-06T23:01:00.003-05:00

It feels like yesterday. I can still feel the warm late spring wind blowing in my face, with fatigue starting to take hold of my body, as I was biking back to Parc Laurier, where we were supposed to meet. With every minute that passed, I grew more and more anxious and started cursing my own inability to bike faster. After all, it had been almost one hour since we were supposed to meet. I turned right on Laurier Ave, hoping that it would be a shortcut, but not knowing that it would eventually prolong the trip as the street took on a zigzagging path, with hilly ways that seemed to be plotting together to slow me down.

When finally the bike ‘ordeal’ came to an end, I carelessly locked my bike to the first pole I saw and raced towards the soccer field. Not again, I thought to myself, would I be so cheap as to prefer to bike than to pay $4 to catch public transport. I seriously overestimated my fitness that day and as I would soon find out, it would cost me very dearly.

I saw Eric and some of the French girls at the soccer field, went over and said hello. My eyes wandered from left to right and then right to left. There was no you. Maybe you went to sit down under the tree or something, away from them. I know you aren’t the social butterfly type, especially around people you hardly know. I excused myself to find a public telephone, which happened to be on the other side of the park. Really, everything seemed to be so out of reach that afternoon. I dialled your phone number and grew more desperate as your phone kept ringing, unanswered. Then your recorded voice came on the line. “Bonjour, vous êtes bien chez Emmanuel, laissez votre message and je vous appelerai.” or something to that effect. I love your voice there. You sound so warm and welcoming. But at that moment, it was the last thing I wanted to hear. With a heavy heart, I left you a message, letting you know that I would be going home and if you wanted, we could meet there instead.

I could have looked for you around the park once more and then tried to call again, but you know what, I was exhausted and I had no more coins. So I went home and as soon as I got there, reached for the phone and dialled your number again.

This time, you answered the phone. You sounded so different from your recorded voice. You sounded so.. cold and distant. You already left the park and were on your way home, which at the time, was far, far away from where I lived. My hope of seeing you again that day was dashed. “Sorry Karina, I’m very tired. I’m going home and rest.” Reluctantly, almost to the point of wanting to scream, “No! You can’t do that to me! You were supposed to wait for me!”, I hung up. I went to my room, put my overexercised feet on the desk and was suddenly enveloped by an overwhelming need to cry. What a shitty Saturday afternoon. And I sobbed, and sobbed, not knowing what I was really sobbing for.

I heard the door open and the sound of my roommate’s rollerblades filled the apartment. I spent the rest of the early evening with my roommate, talking and watching hockey on TV. It was during the Stanley Cup and of course, the Canadiens were playing, but I really can’t remember now who they were playing against. I cared very little about hockey then. After awhile, I was so tired that I fell asleep right there and only woke up when my roommate – the same one – came back into the apartment clutching his poutine dinner. I didn’t even hear him go out!

Feeling a little better, I turned on my laptop. You were online and you said hello. I wasn’t sure what to say, but you started apologizing for not waiting for me earlier. You said you were really feeling unwell, but “that’s not an excuse. I should’ve waited for you. I’m sorry Karina.” You asked me what I was doing. I said I was just semi-watching hockey on TV, but really, I said half-jokingly, I’d rather be hanging out in the suburbs tonight. I was referring to Riviere-des-Prairies, of course, your little quiet suburb. To my surprise, yes back then I wasn’t really good at reading what you were really thinking, you invited me to come over. I looked at the clock. It was almost 8.30pm. I said I wasn’t really sure which bus to take and even if I did, I didn’t know where to get off! You quickly gave me the directions, which confused the hell out of me.

When I got home that afternoon, I really did not imagine that I would be doing another long trip. And yet, there I was, waiting for the metro to take me to almost the end of the orange line, to where I would catch a bus that would take me to almost the end of the island. It was madness from my part. To think that at the time, I always told you stubbornly, “I just want us to be friends.”

I brought my iPod and a book. Still, the ride seemed to outlast the two put together. The whole trip was new to me though, so from that point of view, it wasn’t that horribly boring, though the rain outside made the bus windows foggy and I had to wipe the one next to me now and then so I could stay on top of your directions. God forbid I should miss my stop that night. It was raining, I didn’t know where I was, and I didn’t have a mobile phone.

I virtually ran as soon as I got out of the humid bus. It was after 10pm then and it was getting cold. As soon as I saw you standing there outside your apartment, though, I said to myself, "it's going to be alright."

I'm turning all the lights on

2008-11-05T20:58:00.003-05:00

First night alone in a long, long time. So far, no problem. But then again, it's not bed time yet. As much as I claim myself to be an independent, modern woman, I actually hate living by myself. I do enjoy my own company when I have a good book and a glass of ice cold chocolate soy milk, but I won't last very long that way. Once my eyes are tired from reading, I would want the company of another person nearby.

I have not been separated from my boyfriend for more than 24 hours since July 1st, 2008. This afternoon, however, he flew to Europe to attend his beloved grandmother's funeral on Friday and won't be back until Sunday. What the hell am I going to do with myself? Yes, thank Goodness, there is cable TV and for the next 4 days, I can watch whatever I want there without being interrupted by hockey matches, football matches, rugby matches and the rest of them. I can finally have french language channels on at all times, in the hope that, unconsciously, my brain will pick up new words here and there. Wishful thinking, I know.

I don't even know where the hell am I going with this journal entry. I guess I just feel like talking, but there's no one here I can talk to because I'm not a telephone person and because it's a weeknight and I don't feel like going out anywhere. Plus, I'm starting to get a cold again. My throat is feeling scratchy.

AGGGGGGGGHHH.

Don't worry, it's actually not so bad :) I'm just whingeing because well, I'm just so not used to being in this apartment by myself :)

By the way, my boyfriend's grandmother died last weekend. She died at 1am Belgium time, which would have been 8pm here. Here's the funny thing. Earlier that evening, we had a nap, but I woke up at around 6.30 while he continued sleeping. At 8pm, however, and I remember this because I just read a little clip on lapresse.com saying that the Canadiens were down 1-2 after a 20-minute period and Saturday night games normally start at 7.30, my boyfriend screamed out of his sleep. He said that he dreamed that the Canadiens scored. Over there in Belgium, though, his grandmother died at that same time. Isn't that so freaky?

The freakiness doesn't end there. Later that evening, we went out for dinner and, I can't remember what led to that topic, we started talking about our dead relatives. I think he first mentioned about All Souls day and he then explained to me what it was about. He said that on All Souls day, he used to go to his grandparents' graves (the ones from his dad's side) and put fresh flowers there. I then talked about how I, too, used to go to my grandfather's grave in Jakarta (in freaky Joglo cemetery yg becek banget kalo abis ujan) with my parents, aunts, uncles and cousins, and we used to put cakes, oranges and the like around the grave for my grandfather to "savour". From there we talked about our other relatives who had died.

It was the morning after that he learned from his mother that his "mamie" had died. It's heartbreaking to see a grown man cry. I hope I'll never have to see him like that ever again.

What saddened me also was that, I realized that I wasn't there for my parents when their parents died. My sister told me that my mother and her younger sister were crying the hardest at my grandmother's funeral. I know my mum often dreams about her and I know that sometimes she cries in her sleep - a mix of sleeptalking and whimpering.

AGGGHHHHH. Excuse me, but I'll have to continue this another time. It's such a depressing topic!

Dreaming of good food

2008-10-21T19:42:00.003-04:00

Have you ever talked so much that you got sick of your own voice? I have. Actually, I am, on a daily basis. It's unbelievable how much water I have to consume each day to keep my throat from overdrying from too much talking. Yes, yes, I love my job, but no, no, this cannot go on and on.

The weather has turned cold. Hello winter! Hello bulky jackets that hide the fact that I'm all skins and bones - yay! There is no turning back. From now until at least April 2009, my days will once again be filled with taking the metro to work, slathering hand lotion every conceivable minute and screaming, "Damn, it's cold!"

But for now, I'm happy and warm. I'm taking advantage of the free wi-fi at the foodcourt in the underground city. Don't want to go home yet because that means I have to think about what to eat for dinner tonight. Which reminds me, I had a few disappointments yesterday in the domain of food.

Seeing that I have now bought myself a weekly metro pass, I am now free to go from A to Z on the metro network without any worry in the world, if time permits. So, after work yesterday, I decided to go to the Jean-Talon suburb, which is a haven for Vietnamese treats. My intention was clear: Vietnamese springrolls. Or, if they are sold out, Korean instant noodles. After which I will reward myself a steaming bowl of pho at the nearby Vietnamese restaurant. Got to the door of the oriental grocery store and, "What the hell? How come the door wouldn't open?" Crap, the shop closes at 7pm on Mondays. I was 30 minutes late. Unbelievable. I thought all Asian-owned shops open until at least 9pm. Oh well, not to worry, at least I can still eat pho. Or so I thought. The restaurant - it turned out- closes on Mondays. What the hell? I thought all Asian-owned (except Indonesian-owned) restaurants open Monday to Monday again.

So I dragged my feet back to the metro to go home, all the way comforting myself that at least, AT LEAST, I can get some delicious Portuguese roast chicken at the corner of my street. Romado's - the place is called - is never not busy, so when I got to their door, seeing that there was no line-up, was overjoyed. Walking to the counter, I was rehearsing in my head what I would order, but I didn't get to practice my line. "Il n'y a plus de poulet, cherie," the little lady said from behind counter, in what usually looks more like a chicken's worst nightmare. The kitchen, when it's in full swing, truly looks like a hell for chickens. But of course, this time all was quiet on the chicken front. Romado's had run out of chickens for the night. In the end, I had the classic Indonesian student's budget meal: steam rice with fried eggs.

I guess it's time to go home now. Hopefully, I"ll have better luck with food tonight.

What are you thankful for?

2008-10-10T11:53:00.003-04:00

Believe it or not, my stolen bike has been returned. To the exact same place where it was stolen a number of weeks ago, tied to the same pole on rue Sherbrooke.

When I first spotted it, I was enraged, "How dare this person park the bike exactly where he or she stole it?" I immediately thought, "Ok, this must be some kind of a prank." On a closer look, however, I noticed that the bike was not locked to the pole. It was simply tied to it. There was no note, unfortunately, but I suppose the thief`s intention was clear: I don`t need your bike anymore. In any case, this is not a common occurrence in Montreal. Bikes are stolen - full stop.

The funny thing is, I actually no longer need it or want it. I bought another bike shortly after that bike disappeared and I immediately loved the new bike. It is so much nicer to ride on and I no longer dread the hellish climb between rue Duluth and rue Rachel on the way home.

Funnily enough, this kind of thing often happens in human relationships. When we lose someone through a break up, oftentimes we don`t realize that it`s for the better. On the other hand, we might have let someone go, only to find out later that it was not a good decision. By then, however, it would`ve been too late - that someone no longer wants us.

So do I have a piece of advice to conclude this somewhat cheesy journal entry? Absolutely not. But I would love to say this:

Happy Thanksgiving!

The fathers of all boy bands

2008-09-21T11:43:00.004-04:00

(This picture is taken from the Montreal Gazette)

Do you recognize these faces?

The old kids on the block have reunited, apparently. Of course, they still retain their old name: New Kids On The Block. Gee, some people just refuse to grow up, don't they?

Nevertheless, how the hell did I manage to miss their concert last night? I did hear about them coming to town a few weeks ago, but somehow that idea just sat quietly at the back of my mind.

They came to Indonesia many years ago - I think at that time I was in grade five - and my two best friends went to their concert. Although their visit to Indonesia generated bad publicity for the group as people and journalists reported how stuck up these kids were, I have always rather regretted not having the guts to ask my parents if they'd give me the money to buy the (expensive) tickets to watch NKOTB perform.

I am seriously contemplating to watch their concert in Boston. After all, kapan lagi gua bisa 'hangin' tough' bareng boyband favorit gua?

Ethics and Religious Education in Quebec

2008-09-14T14:21:00.003-04:00

I just saw a tv program that told about a new educational program for primary school children in Quebec called Ethics and Religious Education. It is still in a pilot stage and the purpose of this new program is to teach school children about the various 'major religions' of the world and subsequently, foster a tolerant mentality towards them. This means that, if their parent once sat in class listening to the stories of Jesus and his twelve sidekicks (only), now the kid can skip that and learn not only about Christianity, but also Judaism and Islam instead, for example. Great, huh? What an appropriate new school program for children brought up in a world full of news of bomb threats and bombs actually going off.

Unfortunately, some parents (backed by some Christian religious authorities) do not agree. They have organized a resistance group and filed petitions to have their children exempted from this program. The good thing is, theirs seems to be a lost cause. School boards around the region have rejected their plea, leaving behind a trail of pissed off parents.

One parent was quoted to say that he is worried that if his kids learn about other religions on top of Catholicism, they will become confused by too many choices. Another said that the course threatens his children's Christian faith. A child's Christian faith? I don't believe that there is such a thing. As much as I don't believe in a young Muslim girl wearing a veil just because her mother does.

The purpose of sending your children to school is to equip them with life skills. Skills that will ensure their survival in society, especially one that is becoming more and more diverse. If these parents want their children to have Christian faith, that kind of education should take place at home, where the children learn about Christian faith by observing their parents living according to those values.

There was an incident recently in the Laurentians where a Jewish man was assaulted. The Gazette reported that "A group of young guys started staring at us and then, from five metres away, they threw a whole bunch of coins at us - I don't know, maybe thinking, 'Jews are cheap' - a typical joke," recalled Haouzi." The incident led to poor Haouzi being punched and injured. A witness nearby refused to call the police.

While fundamentalists and racists can never be completely eradicated, a program that teaches about what your neighbours believe in and how, deep inside, we're all more or less the same, can ensure their numbers stay low. I have to admit, I am guilty of an ignorant thought from time to time too, but maybe that's because I didn't grow up with an Ethics and Religious Education course.

Just another stolen bike in Montreal

2008-09-07T23:06:00.003-04:00

Akhirnya apa yang semua sudah wanti-wanti terjadi juga. SEPEDAKU DICOLONG ORANG. Pagi itu, hari Jumat, sepeda yang hampir dua bulan terakhir ini nongkrong setia di rue Sherbrooke menunggu pemiliknya bangun dan berangkat ke kantor sudah lenyap, walaupun tidak tanpa bekas. Si maling yang beroperasi pada malam hari itu menyisakan gembok sepeda gua sebagai kenang-kenangan. Sopan juga tuh maling. Yang bikin gua bingung, gimana caranya dia ngelepasin gembok tersebut dari sepeda gua tanpa tanda-tanda forced entry?

Lucunya, dua hari sebelum sepeda itu hilang, gua sempet mengambil foto ini:

Ceritanya gua lagi jalan-jalan malem, dan setelah gua foto sebuah rumah (yg malam itu terlihat cantik sekali di bawah sinar lampu jalanan), gua terkesima karena ternyata sepeda gua juga nggak kalah cantik di bawah lampu jalanan yang sama.

Gara-gara si maling itu pula, gua mesti keluar duit beli sepeda baru. But, like all the wise men and women before me have said, all things happen for a reason. And the reason is, my new bike - which is cheaper - is actually a much better bike, though it's uglier and rustier. Still, sebel aje mesti keluar duit lagi. I was doing so well with this week's budget. Grrrr....

Marilah kita sama-sama berdoa supaya sepeda baru gua bernasib lebih mujur.

From Aceh with love

2008-08-24T05:43:00.002-04:00

This video will put you in a lighter mood (baca: kocak abis).

As to the lyrics of the song, I'd like to say... no comment - though I wouldn't mind getting a full translation. After all, ignorance breeds prejudice, no?

Superman comes to town

2008-08-17T21:07:00.004-04:00

This man left me breathless today, and as a result, I nearly died... laughing.

Little Boy Blue

2008-08-16T22:10:00.003-04:00

The picture that got me interested in www.markryden.com.