| February 16, 2011 |
Ah Tuhanku
Betapa Kau memanjakanku
Jiwaku takjub, tubuhku beku
merasakan besarnya cinta-Mu
Ah Tuhanku
Betapa luas kasih-Mu padaku
Keajaiban2 Kau serakkan di kakiku
Tinggal kumembungkuk dan memilih satu
Oh Tuhanku
Aku ini hanyalah sebutir debu
Namun Kauwujudkan semua asaku
Bagaimana mungkin ku tak mencintai-Mu
Ah Tuhanku
Jangan Kau terlalu sayang padaku
Kumohon simpanlah semuanya itu
Untuk nanti Kau berikan di akhir waktuku
| January 1, 2011 |
I am a Fighting Spirit, my friend, that's the only thing I can be,
Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose, just the way it should be,
That's why, nothing in this world could ever change me,
Because I AM a Fighting Spirit, and I will always be...
Pbm, first morning on 2011
| January 1, 2011 |
I will remember this day,
The day when my prayer is answered,
Thank you, Love, for today,
Now I know You Love me,
You create a special life for me,
I love my life You arrange for me,
I love all people You send to me,
With Your Love,
Make me able to Love You more,
More, and more, and more,
More, and more, and more...
PS : Thank you, Mother. I love you.
| Dec 24, 2010 |
10 days to go.... for 2200 days of my first lesson of life
Will I pass the test, my Love?Will I have a good grade, my Love?
Will You Love me then, my Love?
I'm gonna be better, my Love.
No matter what,
I'm gonna keep trying,
to have Your Love
Because, you're the Only One... I love.
PS : My loved ones, thank you for being with me... and always.
Palembang, South Sumatra
| Feb 08, 2008 |
Many things happened in my life... And this is one of them...
In another poem reflection... Not written by me of course
Baby, it's all good!
What do you see when you look at me
Do you see someone limited, or someone free
All some people can do is just look and stare
Simply because they can't see my hair
Others think I am controlled and uneducated
They think that I am limited and un-liberated
They are so thankful that they are not me
Because they would like to remain 'free'
Well free isn't exactly the word I would've used
Describing women who are cheated on and abused
They think that I do not have opinions or voice
They think that being hooded isn't my choice
They think that the hood makes me look caged
That my husband or dad are totally outraged
All they can do is look at me in fear
And in my eye there is a tear
Not because I have been stared at or made fun of
But because people are ignoring the One up above
On the day of judgment they will be the fools
Because they were too ashamed to play by their own rules
Maybe the guys won't think I am a cutie
But at least I am filled with more inner beauty
See I have declined from being a guy's toy
Because I won't let myself be controlled by a boy
Real men are able to appreciate my mind
And aren't busy looking at my behind
Hooded girls are the ones really helping the Muslim cause
The role that we play definitely deserves applause
I will be recognized because I am smart and bright
And because some people are inspired by my sight
The smart ones are attracted by my tranquility
In the back of their mind they wish they were me
We have the strength to do what we think is right
Even if it means putting up a life long fight
You see we are not controlled by a mini skirt and tight shirt
We are given only respect, and never treated like dirt
So you see, we are the ones that are free and liberated
We are not the ones that are sexually terrorized and violated
We are the ones that are free and pure
We're free of STD's that have no cure
So when people ask you how you feel about the hood
Just sum it up by saying, 'Baby its all good'
Author Unknown
| March 29, 2006 |
Today I receive two emails from my little sister. It's not an ordinary occasion
She seldom send me emails. One of them is very touching story. It is written in Indonesian language, but from the content, it can be guessed that it comes from a Chinese people.I want to share it with you all so I search the English translation on internet. It's just for being practical. My English is still not good enough and it will be very time consuming for me to translate the whole story. You can enjoy it below... and a little clue
, you can prepare some tissues or a handkerchief near you....I Cried For My Brother Six Times
I was born in a mountain village far, far away. Day in and day out, my parents plowed the dry yellow soil, their backs turned to the sky. I had one brother, three years younger than I.
Once, to buy a handkerchief that all the girls around me seemed to carry, I stole fifty cents from father’s drawer. Father quickly noted. He made my brother and I kneel before the wall, a bamboo stick in hand. “Who stole the money?” He asked. I was stunned, too afraid to speak. Father heard no confession, so he said, “Well then, you both deserve this beating!” He raised the bamboo stick high. Suddenly, my brother clutched onto his hand and said, “Dad, I’m the one!”
The long stick fell heavily on my brother’s shoulders. Father was so angry he kept on whipping until he ran out of breath. Afterwards he sat on our brick bed and scolded, “You’ve already learned to steal from home now, what disgrace will come of you later? ... You deserve to be beaten to death! You shameless thief! ”
That night, mother and I held my brother in our arms. Wounds covered his body, but he did not shed a single tear. Halfway through the night, I suddenly started wailing. My brother covered my mouth with his little hand and said, “Sis, don’t cry now. It’s already happened.”
I’ve always hated myself for not having the courage to come forward. Many years have passed, but the incident still seems like yesterday. I can never forget the look on my brother’s face when he shielded me. That year, my brother was 8 years old. I was 11.
When my brother was in his last year in junior high, he gained admittance to a central county secondary school. At the same time, I was accepted by a provincial university. That night, father squatted in the yard, smoking his dry tobacco, bag after bag. I heard him mutter, “Both our kids made such a good showing... such a good showing...” Mother wiped down silent tears and sighed, “What use is it? How can we afford them both?”
Just then, my brother walked up to my father and said, “Dad, I don’t want to go to school anymore, have read enough books anyway.” Father swung his arm and striked my brother on the face. “Why are you so damn short of spirit? Even if it means I have to beg on the street I’ll get you two through your schooling!” And right away he knocked on every house in the village to borrow money. I passed a hand as softly as I could across my brother’s swollen face, and said, “A boy has to keep up his studies; otherwise he’ll never leave this poor ravine.” I, on the other hand, had already decided to give up university.
Who knew the next day, before the break of dawn, my brother left home with some ragged clothes and a few dried out buns. He sneaked by my bed and left a slip by my pillow: “Sis, getting into a university isn’t easy. I’ll go find a job and send you money.”
I held on to that slip on my bed, and wept until I lost my voice. That year, my brother was 17. I was 20.
With the money that father borrowed from the entire village, and the money my brother earned by carrying cement on his back in construction sites, I finally got to third year. One day, I was studying in my room when my roommates came in to announce, “There’s a villager waiting for you out there!”
Why would there be a villager looking for me? I went out, and saw my brother from a distance, his body in a shabby overall covered in cement and sand. I asked him, “Why didn’t you tell my roommates you were my brother?” He replied, smiling, “Look at how I am dressed. What would they think when they know I am your brother? Wouldn’t they laugh at you then?”
I felt pierced, and tears brimmed in my eyes. I wiped the dust off my brother’s overall, and choked on my words, “I don’t care what anyone says! You are my brother no matter what! You are my brother no matter how you dress...”
From his pocket, he took out a hair clip in the shape of a butterfly. He sized it up against me, and went on to explain, “I saw all the city girls wearing this. So, I thought you too should have one.” I couldn’t hold back any longer. I pulled my brother into my arms and cried and cried. That year, he was 20. I was 23.
The first time I brought my boyfriend home, the broken window panes had been replaced, and it was spotless everywhere. After my boyfriend left, I danced like a little girl before my mother. “Mom, you really didn’t have to spend so much time cleaning out our house!” But she said, smiling, “It is your brother who came back early to clean up the place. Did you see the wound on his hand? He got the cut when he installed the new window panes...”
I went inside my brother’s little room. Looking at his slender face, a hundred needles pressed against me. I applied some ointment to his wound and bandaged it for him. “Does it hurt?” I asked him. “No, it doesn’t. You know, when I work on the construction site, rocks fall onto my feet all the time. Even that doesn’t stop me from work and...” Halfway through the sentence he stopped. I turned my back to him, and tears streamed down my face. That year, my brother was 23. I was 26.
When I got married, I lived in the city. Many times my husband and I invited my parents to come and live with us, but they never agreed. They said, once leaving their village, they wouldn’t know what to do. My brother disagreed too, saying, “Sis, take care of your parents-in-law instead. I’ll look after mom and dad over here.”
My husband became his factory’s director. We wanted to get my brother a job in the factory as a manager in the maintenance department. But my brother refused the offer. He insisted on starting out as a repairs worker.
One day, my brother upped a ladder to fix a wire, got an electric shock, and became hospitalized. My husband and I went to visit him. Seeing the white plaster cast on his leg, I grumbled, “Why did you refuse to be a manager? Managers will never have to do anything this dangerous. Look at you now, such a serious injury. Why didn’t you listen to us earlier?”
With a serious look on his face, he defended his decision. “Think for brother-in-law -- he just became a director, and I hardly have an education. If I became a manager just like that, what kind of message will be sent?"
My husbands’ eyes filled with tears, and along came my broken words: “But your lack of education was all because of me!”
"Why mention the past?" My brother pulled my hand into his. That year, my brother was 26. I was 29.
My brother turned 30 before he married a peasant girl from a village. During his wedding, the host of ceremony asked him, “Who do you respect and love the most?” Without even thinking he responded, “My sister.”
He went on to recount a story that I could not even remember. “When I went to elementary school, it was in a different village. Every day, my sister and I had to walk for two hours to get to school and come back home. One day, I lost one of my mittens. My sister gave one of hers to me. She had just one mitten on and walked all that distance. When we went home, her hand was so shaken up in the freezing weather that she could not even pick up her chopsticks. Since that day, I have sworn, for as long as I live, I will look after my sister and be good to her.”
Applause inundated the room. All the guests turned their attention over to me.
Words struggled out of my lips, “In my life, the person I am most thankful of is my brother.” And in this happiest of occasions, in front of this celebrating crowd, tears raged down my face like rivers.
Source:http://www.taimeng.com/writing/ProseEng/i_cried.htm
| March 8, 2006 |
Today is Wednesday...
Just like my ordinary life, I do my routine work.
It just crossed my mind about the old days and the poem I used to love... and still do....
Here I want to share it with you all...
Robert Frost: The Road Not Taken (1915)
This poem is usually interpreted as an assertion of individualism, but critic Lawrence Thompson has argued that it is a slightly mocking satire on a perennially hesitant walking partner of Frost's who always wondered what would have happened if he had chosen their path differently.
What evidence can you find in the poem to support each of these views?
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Source:
http://www.wsu.edu:8080/~wldciv/world_civ_reader/world_civ_reader_2/frost_road.html
Tags: my sketch...
Hi friends....
Welcome!! This is my very first blog. So I'm apologize if I don't give any interesting things. Actually I don't know exactly why I make this blog. I'm just an ordinary person with an usual life, I can't write easily and I'm not a talkative person
either...With all my weaknesses I mentioned, I try to start this writing and I hope you like it anyway. So this blog is just a puzzle of my thoughts where I just grab what I think and write it down here.
Please enjoy...
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