Month: September 2010

O, hey yo, amigo!!

Hello 2.0 world citizens! How are you? Last year, I joined Postcrossing and started to fall in love with postcards. Have you ever received a postcard all your life? I promise myself to teach my children, someday; how to walk to the post office, say hello, and send postcards to whom they miss. Then I wonder if postcard would survive this decade. People are getting less real each day, so unreal that they will just disappear when the electricity goes off. Do you want to remember what it feels like to receive a postcard? Do you want to know? I’m making a little project now. I dedicate it to my unborn son and daughter just in case the postcards don’t make it to the year they are six or seven. I’ll tell them in details, how it feels to send postcards, and to receive them. You can name this project anything, but I call it “O, hey yo, amigo!!”. There is no particular meaning and no particular purpose and I do it on my own …


Going to (Ayah’s) Hometown (5 years later)

After a journey, even a long one, everyone eventually has to go back home. I don’t know how my father took our return trip to Bekasi after spending weeks in the town where he was born. Was it like coming home, or returning to another tiring long journey? I would never know because home is defined only at heart. It has an ordinate of phase upright the axis of space. My father’s hometown has turquoise horizon and long straight road to the place I was named after. It has breathtaking vista, where the rivers meet and the mountains rest. Where the tea comes with egg and our morning comes without local newspaper. With my father discussing in his mother tongue; with my brother and cousins playing; and the afternoon shopping, it perfectly defines a home for me. The night I returned to Bandung, I felt like, I didn’t know where to put the focal point. Whether I should look at the hundreds tiny holes filtering the window, or through them; at reality of continuing a …

Going to (Ayah’s) Hometown

I’ve never been to Athens or Berlin, but I believe, that nothing compares to a town where your father came from. Where your grandma lives. Where people speak and you can only listen. Where the good foods are. “Oi rang rantau nan jauah, pulanglah ka kampuang Jan lupo yo sanak, mari kito pulang basamo…” Betharia Sonata – Pulang Kampuang