A little bit of this, a little bit of that, and all the things the cat sees along her way
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Saturday, December 31, 2016
New Year Thanks
Tuesday, December 27, 2016
A Million Heartbreaks
Saturday, December 24, 2016
Board Game Xmas
Thursday, December 22, 2016
Christmas is Cancelled
The Song of Doubt
Tuesday, December 20, 2016
Tea Time with God
I looked at Her carefully: the lining of silver hair on Her head, the soft tender skin adorned with wrinkles, the grace and understanding, the patience. She looked like a content old woman in Her 70s or 80s, had it not been for Her piercing eyes. If eyes are windows to the world, I was lost in Her eyes because the whole world was truly there. The face was familiar too. It was my face, at least I hope will be in another 40 or 50 years. To be honest I was shocked when I saw Her face.
It took me a second or two to register Her statement.
"You do aware that there are wars fought on Your behalf?" I asked Her tentatively, all the while thinking was I talking with an impostor.
I was perplexed. Her words were surreal. The white linen adorned with lace, the beautiful china set spread on our tea table, the pretty little canapes and sandwiches, were all of those unreal as Her words? The sugar cubes on the sugar container, the honey, the jam, the flowers on the vase, all the delightful color beautifully arrayed on the table, were all of those unreal too? But they were all too beautiful to be untrue.
I sank to my chair. My head spun. The warm summer days seemed almost too much for me. The buzzing of the bees and the insect on the garden can be heard from our charming little gazebo. For a while nobody said anything. She only gazed calmly at the garden with a gentle smile, looking very much like a regular old lady who was enjoying Her life.
"No," I exclaimed. "You are wrong."
It took me forever to finish crying. By the time I was done, I knew I was unpresentable: red eyes, puffy cheeks, tears streak all over my face. Yet I strengthen myself to ask Her. I just have to ask her.
I held Her hands tighter, gushes of emotions flowing through me. My mind was blown away and I felt like I am in the state of delusion or even hallucination. I wanted to cry, to scream, to ask Her a million questions. Yet what came out of my mouth was: "When and how can I see You again?"
When I woke up I was in my bed, alone. It was a dream, I said. A dream. The thought that it merely a dream threw me in a sudden fit of depression. There was no God. There was only hate. There was only pain. I would open my social media account and be flooded with hatred and vitriol comments. I would turn on my TV and be drowned in conflicting news, an endless array of he-said-she-said. I would go out there to the world and there will only be despair and emptiness. I have had enough. Enough.
My phone beeped. It was a message from my friend. I opened it with a sinking heart, fearing what she had to say. It was a picture of a painting of a tea time table laden with goods and overlooking a garden, with a caption: "Look what I got for your bday!" Tears flowed down my cheek. One and two at first, then it was a river. I was wrong. There was also hope out there. And love. And Her. There will always be the three of them together. There will always be Her around. I wept in joy.
Friday, December 16, 2016
Hero and Storm
Wednesday, December 14, 2016
Dear China Airlines
Cold, Cold LA
Sunday, December 4, 2016
The Three Homes
It's been 13 days since I left LA. The tall buildings, the busy public transportation, the chilly wind, the frustratingly short fall/winter days, they all seemed light years away.
For a week they were replaced with humid (and almost suffocating) weather, bumper-to-bumper gridlock traffic jam, street food and somewhat fancy food, the skyline that stretch on forever, and glitzy malls that made you giddy with opulent excitements.
For the next week those too will be replaced with ceaseless scooter driving, with wind in my hair and the harmonic chaos of gamelan (Balinese orchestra) in my ears, suckling pigs on spit and mom's homemade cooking, temples to pray and bars to play with beaches and mountains in between.
One is a place where I was born and raised. One is where my rightful place is, the source of my blood within. One is where I can be myself. So which one is home?
Home is where I chat like crazy till 2 in the morning, and play card/dice games for hours afterwards. Home is where I sip coffee and gossiped with a friend, and on and on we went. Home is looking at my friend's attractive yet incredibly expressive face and totally understand why people loved her. Home is excitedly yet anxiously sitting in the car on the way to the temple, longing so bad to be there and find solace once more.
Home is running to the ocean with mismatched bikini, and jump gleefully into it. Home is laughing with the wave and splash the water around, feeling purified and rejuvenated and simply...happy. Home is drinking beer in a club made to look like a giant house party, and as the night went on the calm friend became more and more vivid. Home is little tiny hands touching me and calling me over and over again: "Bugek Ary!" (auntie Ary), Dad's plans and Mom's easy goingness, siblings love and bickerings.
Home is long commute with cool bus drivers and interesting passengers. Home is homemade lunch for the weekdays and freshly grilled bf-made meals on weekends. Home is cool job and even cooler co-worker. Home is intense business discus/tsion and entertaining board games. Home is the endearing "Hey" in messaging apps, and the smile I'll soon see in person. Home is lonely life yet a satisfying one, a state of mind where one become the city itself.
Three places, three life, three homes. To say I am merely blessed is a gross understatement.
A true prowess of human is his/her ability to adapt to his/her surrounding, and use it to the max; to be able to see both silver lining in even the most frustating condition and bloomed with it. We know limits in physical matters, but spiritually we are limit-free. Our soul, our mind transcend matter. And thus, we are bigger than we look, than we choose to believe.
Had I lived a life constrained to just a singular home, a life in any of the three homes I have would be fulfilling indeed. But I have three of them. Others might have less, or even many more. This knowledge buoyed my spirit and made me realized how vulnerable yet powerful we are spiritually, how fascinating our mind and adaptation power is, how truly beautiful my life is. We are not a flock of ducks herded by the unknown farmer, we are kings and queens of our own realms.
The three homes beckon me, calling me. I have loathed and feared and angry at each of my homes. I have loved each of them even more. And now I will heed their calling. I am home. I am home. I am home.