Some Man Never Learn

A lot of people have been asking me about my big decision to move out from the second largest newspaper in Indonesia, Jawa Pos. True, I had a good career path. True, I got a huge amount of salary. But why do I leave?

I've discovered some of my friend's blog which had a better explanation on this matter. (WARNING: Some writings uses strong language)

I Think My Soul Is Stupid by Diaz.

Welcome To Da Club, Prend! by Amak.

Hey, Life Is (Still) Beautiful! by Danang.

Bangsat by Ocha.

And those are just the tip of an iceberg.

Azrul Ananda, if you read this, learning to be a better person is really not a hard thing to do.

Feels like getting a year older...

...when I woke up this morning.

Plenty of messages on the phone, e-mail and Friendster's account. Had several phone calls throughout the day. Got several presents from the loved ones. Some greetings from those who crossed my path. And on top of all, I had both my parents flew all the way here from Surabaya just to celebrate their son's birthday.

I love you, Mom. *kisses*

I love you, Dad. *hugs*

I love you, Bro. *hi-fives*

I love you, Fika. *kisses and hugs*

I love you, you and you, friends! *kisses for girls and handshakes for guys*

Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid (But Done!)

"Happy birthday!"
"Happy anniversary!"

Those are the often said phrases over the world. And what comes next? People would most likely be asking us to invite them for a bite of lunch or dinner. Or in a rude way, forcing us to spend our money on many things for them. That's so typical. But can we blame them for this habitual routine? Na-ah!

Then how should we react to that practice? Turn them down somehow, thinking: what's in it for us? Why do they bother with such a request? It's my birthday. I decide myself how I want to commemorate the day I greeted this wickedly interesting world. Don't I deserve a little time of my own to just appreciate myself for the things I've done or been through? These kind of questions would most probably cross our minds.

So? Ugh... what things have we done? We've been through a zillion things, that's for sure, but have we really done anything worthwhile? Can we positively say "Yup! That's me who did it!"? This question would probably jolt us, at least for a minute, to come up with the answer, and oops...! We're not even done yet with some of the things that we're supposed to wrap up. Aaarrgghh...!

The routine of thises-and-thats has forced us just to be busy, but we forget to see the bigger picture. Why are we busy in the first place? What do we want to achieve?

This leads us to realize how time flies while we tend to kill them by doing something else. It's been a year, and we have just come to our senses, that we could've done different things differently, in better ways, that is. Are we admitting failure? Does it sound like regret?

Whatever we call it, let's keep in mind that it's human to make mistakes. It takes maturity to learn from our mistakes and not to make the same mistakes all over again. What has been done is done, after one whole year, just like at any other time, a new day is beginning. Birthday or no birthday, anniversary or no anniversary, seize it! At the end of the day, we ought to be able to understand, not only say, that we really have done something. Some -if not all- things are better left unsaid. But make sure those things are done.

And what about our friends' request for a bite? Look on the bright sight, they realize that we exist and have a place -if not special- in their mind. So, the lesson of the day? Don't mention anything about a birthday, just seize the day! Seize the year! Seize life! And pretend you've just lost your wallet.

Brainless Servings

If you notice, there's a basic difference among Western and Eastern cuisines. Aside from its various taste and servings is the ingredient they use. Here in Indonesia you could find Tail Soup, Tongue Steak, Chitlings Satay, Lung Chips, Kneecap Black Soup and Fried Brain. Though those finger-lickin-good cookings comparatively high cholesterol, still many people finds it delightful to eat daily.

That noon, I crashed into a well known Makassar restaurant. Their speciality is Coto. A typical Makassar's soup-like cuisine, served with meat slices and some ox's or bull's "internal organ", such as Heart, Chitlings, Lung, Tongue and Brain.

It's a crowdy noon that I've to take a queue to get a table. The waiters were busy taking orders while I was busy looking for a place to sit and eat. There're so many visitors that the waiter has to yell out the order.

"Whose with extra chilli?"

A custumer raised his hand.

"Whose with tongue?"

Another customer raised his hand.

"Whose without chitlings?"

A lady raised her hand.

"Whose without brain?"

Suddenly, it's quiet.

"Hey, whose got no brain?"

A chubby guy in the corner raised his hand slowly. "It's mine. But I do have brain, you know!"

Better Eat This! (test completed)

-- UPDATE --

Isn't it wonderful to have a lot of friends who care about you?

Putting someone else's writing on my blog is just another excuse for a test to reader's awareness. I know it has "double edges" to my personal image. But the point is well taken. No matter how you modify the writings, it still called cheating.

My BIG apologize to Tucker Grubb for putting his "modified" article to my blog. It has no purpose of anything beside above explanation. Personal apologetic letter has also been sent to his e-mail address mentioning what I've done here.

My BIG thanks for my two best friends. I'm sorry if I ever disappoint you, guys.

Quoted from comments:

Donna: "..lu itu ga pernah sekali-kalinya nulis proper credits and all. emang sih lu nggak pernah bilang specifically bahwa semua blog elu itu tulisan elu semua. tapi tetep aja.."

Isman: "..Next time you want to quote someone else's writing, give proper credits, please.."

Here's the original article.

Here's my modification:

Hamburgers, hamburgers, hamburgers. Now doesn't that sound deliciously normal? Much better than crappy coffee or dogs or penis enlargement. Penis enlargement? Sorry, but I've just been reading that rather disgusting spam's subject in one of my e-mail inbox.

Really, it's totally unnecessary and you have to wonder how such spam got into my inbox folder in the first place. And look at who sent it -someone called Nino- probably a communist. Maybe it's the beginning of a communist plot to make everyone the same size. Mmm... Probably not a bad idea -I'd come out a winner under that scenario. Err! Well, yes, I did open it - but only on behalf of science. Oh dear - quicksand.

Okay. Now look here, I know what you're thinking so let's get a few things straight - with the emphasis on straight. I'm quite happy with my lot, right. I don't have any friends and I'm not a communist. Now let's get back to hamburgers.

Hamburgers, for the beginner, can be a bit confusing. For starters they are not made from ham as the name suggests but from beef or beef derivatives. There is quite a battle going on in the States over the evolution of the hamburger - devolution some may say - which included who first minced the steak with onions, who was the first to use buns, who first put sesame seeds on the buns and who was the first to turn the hamburger into a bad taste multi-national neo-imperialist vanguard. Okay, we know the answer to the last one (hint: they serve hamburgers), but the others are still the cause for much discussion in quasi-culinary circles.

The most favored theory on the origins of the hamburger and one that most explains the name, is that all begun in Hamburg, Germany. Here it was just a pounded beef dish known as Hamburg Steak. This steak immigrates across the Atlantic where eventually someone put it between two slices of bread giving us the steak sandwich (the origins of which nobody seems to give a rodent's bottom for). Then the steak was minced, herbs and spices added - etc, etc, etc - until we reach the great variety of hamburgers we have today.

No discussion on the hamburger is complete without mentioning the creme de la creme of hamburgers - no, not the one with beetroot - but MacDonald's burgers. In terms of sales and absolute world domination, this is THE hamburger. So let's talk about the Big M. My first visit to MacDonald's was a traumatize experience. It took my mom to sweet-talked me who was crying like hell seeing the cheery red-haired chap sitting near the entrance door which I found scary at that time. I had several nightmares ever since.

After I've recovered, which is a couple months ago, I decided to face the fear. The first thing I noticed was a picture of a Big Mac. My word! What a humungous and scrumptious looking hamburger. I went straight to the counter and ordered one Big Mac and one no-I-don't-want-any-fries-with-that. When it arrived, it was obvious that they'd got my order mixed up.

"I'm sorry" I said, "I ordered a Big Mac. Not this Small Mac. Big as in HUGE Mac. A Big Mac."

The counter girl assured me that it WAS Big Mac, pointing to the writing on the wrapper and ask me if I'd like some fries with it. I declined again and took my undernourished burger and myself to a table near the window where I could watch the smog go by. I was sitting contemplating my unwrapped Mac when suddenly I had this enormous brainwave - or a strok - sometimes it's difficult to tell them apart.

"Why don't I take this burger to the enlargement people. If they can do complicated thingies like penises, surely a small meat patty would be no problem."

There. I knew there was a perfectly simple logical reason for me to double check this enlargement parlour advertisement.

Psychiatric HOTLINE

Hello, Welcome to the Psychiatric Hotline:

If you are obsessive-compulsive, please press 1 repeatedly.

If you are co-dependent, please ask someone to press 2.

If you have multiple personalities, please press 3, 4, 5 and 6.

If you are paranoid-delusional, we know who you are and what you want. Just stay on the line so we can trace the call.

If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a little voice will tell you which number to press.

If you are manic-depressive, it doesn't matter which number you press. No one will answer.