Stairway to Heaven or Highway to Hell?


Shortcut is easy and always the favourite. But, we should think of others when we do take it. Do we actually occupy others’ space and respect others’ right? Just because we want to speed up our bike and get on the campus faster, it doesn’t mean we can let others in danger by cycling up on pedestrian.

Just because you want to be rich, it doesn’t mean you have to be misconduct and abusing people’s rights. Getting faster result by wrongdoings isn’t necessarily the best.

The pain is real when we try to climb up the stairs of, let’s say, more-than-two floored building. It’s taking up a longer time. The aching in your things and calves intensifies as you climb up one stair. But, isn’t the feeling of getting there high-up on top of the rooftop, let’s say, worth the ache in your thighs?

Don’t be afraid of struggling because you never know what’s on the top of the building until you get there yourself and see what they have for you.

So, stairway to heaven or highway to hell? It’s highway to heaven, of course.




How To Remember


How did you try to remember names of rainbow?

Thinking back, we’ve learnt so much in span of our lifetime. For me, it’s been twenty-two years. I learnt a lot. I’ve grown so much.

This post is going to use a lot of Bahasa Indonesia. Hehe. Come try to learn too.

Seeing this word on my dashboard, my mind went back to my pre-school days, or elementary days, I’m not so sure. There were so many exciting things to learn, to memorize. Now, these are some mnemonic I learned that still echoing in my mind whenever the subject comes near.

Colors of Rainbow
Possibly the first and the basic mnemonic for most elementary students in Indonesia, particularly, is how they memorize colors of rainbow. Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, and Purple. In Bahasa Indonesia, they are Merah, Jingga, Kuning, Hijau, Biru, Nila, and Ungu. We use the first syllable of each word to arrange a new word, basically. It’s ME-JI-KU-HI-BI-NI-U. Tada!

Days in A Month
When we were kids, remembering which month had how many days was such a bump. Which month has thirty one days, which one thirty? Like, there were twelve months and our fingers are only ten! I could hear myself whining that. So, to make it easy to remember, the grown ups taught us to use our knuckles to count. First, we have to make a fist! Then, we count from the very first knuckle, which is the knuckle of our pointed finger, as Januari, the first month. Then for Februari, it’s the slope between two knuckles, pointed and middle fingers. It goes on and on. When we reach the last knuckle, which is the pinky one, it means we already count to July, the seventh month. We have to come back to the first knuckle for August and it continues until December comes at the ring finger’s knuckle.

The months on the knuckles have 31 days and the others have 30, except for February, it can come as 29 or 28.

Names of Planets
This is kinda the up-level for my childhood. Everyone back then felt so cool when they could memorize all the nine planets (pluto was counted back then). So, it goes on like ‘Mer-Ve-Bu-Mar-Ju-Sat-U-Nep-Plu’.

Mervebu, Marjusat, Uneplu.

Here, ‘Bu’ is Bumi. It’s the Earth in Bahasa Indonesia. Like the name Bumi the Earth Bender in the Avatar: The Last Airbender series. You all know him, right?

via Daily Prompt: Mnemonic

From Planet Earth, Jakarta. It’s minutes past midnight. I drank too much coffee and had too many sugar. I’ve got work at 8 am. Send me supports.

The Meeting


Don’t you think I ace it when we finally meet again?

It’s about time

that we meet again.


with your shiny brown hair

jogging lightly

a bucket of flowers in your hand,

smiling widely

like there’s no end.




with pieces of broken heart in hands,

am in tears

as you compile me

as one.

Photo by Anthony Intraversato on Unsplash

Jakarta, something past 0 in the morning, finally posted.

Just Print Them Out!

This morning I felt so motivated to write; motivated to read.


Stack of Papers that Interest Me

I printed out The Ones who Walked Away from Omelas yesterday on used papers. The idea came at last minutes before I packed everything and headed home. It said that ‘minimal budget, maximum effort’. But, aye! Seeking for free pdfs on the internet, finding the used papers, and printing them out weren’t hard. It doesn’t need that many effort. I’d used to read on my phone, it was simpler, but then it was tiresome. It hurts my eyes to keep reading from gadget all the time, to be honest.

This kind of way is easy and free.

Minimal budget and effort; maximum result.

It really bothers me to see the used papers stacking up useless. It’s a pity to throw them away seeing the other side of the paper is still blank white, ready to ink on. For an occasion, there could be dozens of papers misprinted. In a day, there could be many occasions so that meant more dozens of misprinted papers stack up idly. It’s a shame if we just throw it away or shred them out (if there’s no confidential information for sure).

Everyone can do it. Just do a dilligent research on internet where to look for free pdfs. Print them out on used papers. Ta-dah! You can read your favorite story while used re-used papers!

Almost lunch, at a meeting room, ninth floor.
At a kind-of-skyscraper-kind-of-not, close to the heart of the capital.

via Daily Prompt: Minimal

How The Sky Tells Me Story

it was slightly dark, like mixed of navy blue and grey, as i saw it from between my two curtains. my eyelids tugged themselves down to once again bring me back to darkness. a huff left my lips unconsciously, trying to motivate the weak limbs. as i raised up from the warm bed, it was brighter tone of dark.

it was blue, bright blue. clear and blue. the sunlight warmed me up, making me feel hot everytime. sweats tickled down my back and temples. i cracked my joints; neck, fingers. the sounds somehow satisfied me, like i’d let go half of the burden on my back. it was blue, but i wouldn’t let my day be one.

it was golden orange when i looked up at it once again; not fully but with some stroke of blue-ish purple. i couldn’t even describe it. the afternoon wind friendly stroke my head scarf; it was rather chilly but somehow my heart felt warm.

it was pitch black when i once again looked it up behind the bars of my window. the aching was all over my body. exhaustion got me feeling like doing noting but letting the back met my cold sheets. it was still pitch black as i drew the curtain. just when i thought the day ended for me, it might start from many others.

it is always like that. how the sky tells me a story.

Sudah Telat Beberapa Puluh Hari

Ketika kedua jarum jam bertumpuk di angka 12 dan penunjuk tanggal di telepon pintar berganti menjadi 15 April, tidak ada yang berubah, tidak ada yang terjadi. Tidak ada letupan kembang api di luar rumah kos untuk merayakan dua puluh satu tahun eksistensi di dunia. Bahwa kalau di Amerika sudah bisa membeli dan menenggak alkohol dengan tetap bertanggung jawab.

Tidak ada ibu peri dan para kurcaci dengan riang membawakan gaun indah dan menjadikanku putri di negeri dongeng barang satu hari saja. Tidak ada perubahan dengan fisikku. Warna kulitku masih saja sawo matang, rambutku masih panjang dan berwarna hitam, kedua pipiku belum juga tirus, dan hidungku tidak mancung juga.

Tapi, salah jika ada yang bilang aku adalah orang yang sama pada dua atau tiga bulan yang lalu. Atau tiga hari yang lalu.

Aku menjalani hidup dua puluh satu tahun di dunia. Pertemuan pertamaku dengan manusia mungkin adalah dengan dokter penolong kelahiranku. Terima kasih, dok. Terima kasih telah menjadi yang pertama kali memegang tubuh kecilku yang berlumuran cairan itu. Meski kemudian tak kuingat lagi kapan aku bertemu denganmu, aku berterima kasih atas pertemuan kita itu.

Untuk teman pertamaku di masa-masa sekolah, terima kasih telah mengajari banyak hal. Terima kasih telah membagi kudapan makan siangmu denganku. Terima kasih telah mengajariku bagaimana berani bertanya kepada Ibu guru. Terima kasih telah mau menjadi teman sebangku. Terima kasih telah meminjamiku pekerjaan rumahmu. Terima kasih untuk masih mengingatku dan sebagian dari apa yang pernah kita lakukan dulu bersama-sama.

Untuk Ibu perpustakaan yang baik hati dan membuatku menjadi semangat membaca buku. Yang memperbolehkan aku menjadi petugas perpustakaan meski saat itu masih anak SD dan banyak omong serta merepotkan.

Untuk Bapak becak yang mengantarku berangkat sekolah dan menjemputku pulang. Terima kasih telah sabar menungguiku ketika aku telat bangun. Terima kasih mau berpayah-payah mengangkut delapan orang anak SD setiap pagi dan siang hari.

Untuk Ibu kantin SMA yang selalu sabar melayani remaja-remaja tanggung yang kelaparan saat siang. Yang memaafkan, jika aku lupa membayar makananku hari itu. Yang hanya berkata, iya tidak apa-apa, yang penting kan sekarang sudah dibayar. Terima kasih.

Untuk para sopir bus yang mengantarkanku ke kota-kota tetangga. Yang terkadang ngebut ke kanan dan ke kiri. Atau jalan pelan-pelan yang penting selamat sampai tujuan. Terima kasih.

Untuk kakak kelas yang dulu kuidolai, terima kasih sudah pernah membuatku belajar bahwa perasaan sakit hati itu nyata dan sangat tidak menyenangkan. Terima kasih sudah terlahir dari rahim ibumu sebagai orang yang baik dan rupawan.

Untuk Bapak Grabbike yang membuatku menunggu di pinggir jalan selama tujuh menit. Dan yang mau menungguku lari-lari menukar uang ke toko kelontong untuk membayar. Terima kasih, sudah mengajariku bersabar dan terima kasih sudah sabar. Bintang lima, pak.

Lelaki kurang ajar yang melakukan verbal sexual harassment kepadaku. Ah. Aku mungkin susah berterima kasih padamu. Tetapi, mungkin kau membuatku sadar betapa penting berani berbicara untuk hal yang tak kita sukai itu. Terima kasih?

Untuk orang-orang yang sesekali mampir dalam hidupku. Terima kasih. Meski kalian tak singgah dalam waktu yang cukup panjang. Ya, semua membawa sesuatu yang berbeda padaku. Kalian datang sebagai ujianku dan mungkin aku adalah ujian bagi kalian atau orang yang lain.

Terima kasih bagi mereka yang ikut ambil bagian dalam dua puluh satu tahun hidupku, yang hanya mampir dan tak pernah singgah. Dua puluh satu tahun juga akhirnya.

Ya begitulah. Telat beberapa puluh hari tetapi tak apa lah. Terima kasih bagi yang terkadang mampir membaca, meski tak lama. Selamat malam.


you don’t see me talking about marriage often, do you?

before you get too far reading and cursing, i apologetically say, beware of the lapslock!

alright, good morning everyone! even if you’re reading this at noon or night, i’m still going to greet you with a good morning because like what a sergeant told us when i was in a capacity building program, it’s ‘always greet with a good morning, let your spirit always be morning spirit’.

(that’s alright. but, apparently it doesn’t work for me on monday because oh no, my monday morning spirit is the worst and i won’t want to drag myself all day that way.)

the title is quite catchy, innit? (an attempt to do a british slang)

ah, yes. it’s probably because i’m being a periodic hormonal woman or it’s because i’m hitting age of 21 soon or it’s because i’ve been hanging around with people who will get married in like a year, i feel like i’m actually craving something bigger than attention.

i, who is in her last year of collage, have many friends who tell me stories of their friends having a marriage in short period of time. even my classmate is going to be married after graduation…

anyway, the reason why i decided to put up this post is because i thought i was conflicted and in a three-junction of life.

please educate me, but i once thought marriage was like far from my plan until my soft side appeared and yelled ‘you should get married soon and live a happy life with two children and a large house with wide backyard’ and yes, something shifted.

this ‘two people have each other and have trust on each other and be supportive partner of each other and be home to each other’ is a great concept. real great. you don’t see me talking about all that lovey dovey things or romantic things because it will come naturally when you are comfortable with someone, it’s always romantic.

this phase of life confuses me. this side i want to be a rich independent woman with everyone on their knees for me, to be a hard worker, a work-a-holic, a professional, the one to point whenever comes a question about a field i’m taking care of, dedicated her life to her job because like what has i learned recently, there are 8 work ethics according to Jansen Sinamo and i want to be a good person and that person should be a better one if s/he can provide something else for the society. if s/he can bring the best of him/her to contribute any kind of possible way for society.

work is a grace;
work is a trust;
work is a calling;
work is actualization;
work is worship;
work is an art;
work is an honor;
work is a service

(i found many articles in bahasa though, so sorry couldn’t manage to translate them well in english. i find those eight work ethics interesting and what a professional someone must be when they can relate to those eight points above.)

meanwhile, the other side of me wants to be a nice supportive mother of two kids who goes to concert and football match with her children and cooks super tasty and healthy food. that kind of mother who can be friend to her children, their favorite chef, their favorite trash dump (i’m willing to be called that, to be honest, because not everyone is trusty enough, and not everyone trusts everyone well), their favorite teacher and guru, their favorite protector (like physically and emotionally) and many more. the best mother someone can have? that’s totally amazing.

beside that, a great mother would make a great wife, a partner for life. the one to sail the ship with. the one to sew a fabric with, to build a home with, to work the field with, to be each other shoulders.

and, the one third part of me still wants to be free, to run some more myself, to play and to treat myself. to be not-attached with any relationship and just to make a lot of friends. this kind of me wants to learn more to be a better person, to get on the higher level of what i believe as the right way of living. this kind of me wants my happy soul to travel around the world, to take a lot of photos with strangers, to collect precious accessories from every places, to learn more and more about places and their cultures and do some more to’s.

there’s doubt from many people, even from my family, that you can’t do all those. you won’t be a great mother if you are a professional. and you aren’t a professional if you care much about your family. this kind of perspective annoys me. why should family be the one to stop someone from expanding their horizon of knowledge and roles in every possible way.

women, in this case, should not be prohibited to enlarge their roles. if she can be a financial manager of a multinational company, then let her be, she must be a greater financial manager for her family then.

if any, family’s– husband and children and/or parents– roles are the foundation of mental support. this is also one of the most important thing.

i surely believe, women can do those all. not all business women are bad parents, bad wives. we can’t judge them just because they leave at 7.30 in the morning and go home when the sun goes down. who knows? what we know? what if before a mother leave for work she wake up earlier than other people in the house, making breakfast for her family, getting her breasts pumped for her baby boy, anything. what if after she gets home, the first thing she does is holding her baby boy in her arms, or saying hi to her ten year old daughter and talking about each others’ day, or joining the family helpers’ in the kitchen to make dinner, or doing anything, really. we don’t know. who knows? who are we to judge them that they are bad parents?

what if a woman works for her family because her husband not able to. what if she wants a better condition for her family, what if she wants to help her husband raise a little more penny to send their children to a better school to get better education, for the children better future. can we really say she is a bad mother, a bad wife?

a loud shout out to strong mothers out there, wherever you are, who work in a nice and clean room with cold freeze of air conditioning in a tenth floor of a building, who work in a hot, crowded market with unpleasant smell and rude customers, who work in an open field– burnt under the sun, anywhere. you are an incredible piece of art.

anyway, where am i? down here, long long journey to join the holy community. to be a great woman, wife, and wondermother.

(and another shout out to my beloved mother, who works but still takes care of her children and husband, and house, well.)

alright. the theme shifted a bit but it’s okay. being a woman isn’t always getting married and pleasing the partner, i mean that’s also very important, but there are many things that we can dig up to be a better person. right, ladies?

and, also Happy International Women’s Day to all beautiful women around the world, wherever you are, whatever you do. i took notice from a friend from college, do everything with confidence and you will be more than okay, you’ll be doing great. believe in whatever we do. we can contribute more, we can do more, we can be so much more.

last, i apologize if my words hurt anyone in any kind of way, i didn’t mean to. i’m still learning and learning.

there sky is getting darker, this place is getting crowded. there are no men in this room, more than three women here. and i end this writing with the thoughts that 2/3 of my class are women.