Goodbye, lil' fishie.

Yesterday, a friend passed away from a heart condition.

She was 33.

And that made me think about the fragility of life. And of all the things I want to do and achieve before my time is up.

But this post is not about those.

This is about her, a person who upon first introduction made me do a mental fist pump while thinking: "Alright, there's someone with a name as equally weird as mine!"

Her name was Salmon.

Yup. Like the fish.

And she's cool like one too.

Going by appearance alone, you might never have guessed that she's a rocker chick.

And that's part of her coolness, I guess. While other gals were busy swooning over the Backstreet Boys and listening to Michael Learns To Rock, her playlist was filled with guys who do know how to rock properly, like the Smashing Pumpkins and the Stone Temple Pilots.

And of course our group went to watch the Pilots together when they came over to Jakarta, 2 years back.

I still have the photos.

And I think that's how I'll remember her by, a cool rocker chick who live her life to the fullest.

Her heart may have suffered physical imperfection, but it was huge and perfect indeed in its metaphysical sense. And the sheer number of people who readily gave her supports in her final days is a testament to that.

Even as this is being written, the whatsapp group dedicated to her is still actively reminiscing the fond memories. It's plain to see, there may be plenty of fish in the sea, but she's the 1 Salmon we'll remember differently.

And I won't be wishing her to rest in peace. Nope.

Rather, I wish her a blast in the afterlife.

So, goodbye, Mon.

Rock on.

(k)Night Rider

Sometimes last week, I decided to take a different route home, and rode on a microbus.

The driver was a man in his 70s, nicknamed "Opung" (Grandpa) by the microbus community, as he is in fact the oldest guy around that still actively drives the microbus every single day. And that seems legit, because they say even his grandchildren are all already married.

And supposedly, he has been driving microbuses since the early '70s.

So that would be before I was born. A fact that somewhat...rattled me.

I mean, it's not that his driving is bad nor dangerous, because far from that, the guy drives pretty safely and leisurely, if not to say slowly. Opung seemed to gracefully accept the fact that he can no longer compete with the younger drivers and their hustlings, and as such choose to take things at their own pace.

It's just that, at his age, I think he has already earned the right to kick back, relax, and enjoy, you know? Which I'm sure his family would agree on also.

But I guess the guy prefers to spend his time doing something slightly more...productive, in a sense. Since from an economical point-of-view where time is money, he's clearly spending more capital than gaining returns. And that rickety microbus, which is not his and is a rental by the way, is a true reflection that his is definitely not a bling-bling job.

Still, watching him doing his thing humbled me.

Which is why I enjoy these kinds of late night 'adventures', 'coz there's always something interesting or fresh to be learned.

Like that night, in that same microbus, when 3 street kids got on, bringing in their party another passenger: a live chicken.

Apparently, they were supposed to sell the chicken to a fried rice hawker to be cooked, but the hawker turned it down for obvious reason, that being the chicken is still alive and breathing.

I personally believe most hawkers will prefer a ready-to-cook chicken over a living-and-yet-to-be-butchered-then-plucked-clean chicken.

Especially if they plan to spend the night actually cooking dishes, and not plucking chicken feathers.

Anyway, from there, I learned that chickens don't much enjoy microbuses rides.

I'll readily admit that the above is a sweeping statement that derived a general conclusion from just a singular occurrence, but you really should hear the sounds that one chicken was making that night.

They ain't happy sounds.

So if you think you've seen it all, try a night ride on a microbus sometimes.

You just might learn something new.

I used to be arrogant, but now I'm perfect.

Do you often do stuffs although you fully realize that they won't change a thing?

Well, from that first sentence alone, you should pretty much be able to see where this is going.

And I'll have to admit, I'm guilty of the above crime.

Just like today, when I was just reading through this blog and then read some stuff that I feel could've been written better. And should've been.

So what did I do? Yup, I went on to edit them.

Knowing full-well that the chance of anyone noticing the changes would be slimmer than, say, an anorexic pinworm.

But still, I did it anyway.

Not so much because I'm pulling a Sinatra and insist on doing things my way.

No, my friend.

I'll say it clear.

I'll state my case, of which I'm certain.

See, the reason behind it is more due to the fact that I'm a perfectionist of a sort. Especially when it's not in the way of my general lackadaisical nature.

And if that quirky little adjective I've used just now throws you off the topic, don't worry, that word is easily google-able.

Anyway, being a stickler for perfection to some degree, there will be times where I just can't resist the urges to change/edit/modify/revise stuffs to be better (at least to me personally) than they were before, even though they won't matter at all.

Or won't matter anymore.

Because I do realize that some changes, if done just at the right moments, could've made a heaven and earth difference on the outcome of things.

Still, sometimes, despite us actually making all the right revisions, it simply is...too late.

Or as they say, that ship has sailed.

But that's what keep us all humans, I guess. The errors and the misjudgements we made.

And the mistimings.

After all, true perfection is the sole prerogative of God.

And we're all perfect in our imperfections.

The fear of falling

Apparently, there's this bit of problem with letting go.

The fear of falling.

When you're so used to holding on to something to keep yourself from falling, letting go can be quite the challenge.

But it's pretty much all in our head, actually. The fear, that is.

Because no one could keep holding on forever. And by no means that anyone should either. Since if the thing you're holding on to with dear life is static and unmoving, that means you're not going anywhere anytime soon.

When you want to go somewhere, being stuck and going nowhere can be... Tiring..?

But pretty soon, you'll realize that there is some merit in stepping out into the world on your own.

In independence. And freedom. And confronting your fear of falling.

Only by letting go, experiencing falling, and learning to stabilize ourselves and control our fall, will all of us be able to grow.

And hopefully, become stronger.

Move (on) faster.

Bounce back higher.

And finally learn how to fly.

So, go on. Let('s) go.

Keep the faith

Today was the first day in my new office.

I was given a tour around and got introduced to 100+ other employees, which by the end of the day, I probably remember 8 out of. Well okay, maybe 6.

Among the highlights of the day includes the office-wide potluck that just happened to be today. There were so much food that what's left should be enough for another small party.

But what's really memorable was the trip going to office this morning. Which is where the faith topic came in.

To go to the office, I took this small bus, and incidentally today was my first time ever taking that bus, so I wasn't quite sure of what to expect. The bus turns out to have plenty fans. And die-hard ones at that also, who don't mind dangling from the door of the bus doing 80 on the highway. And boy, the driver sure likes to go fast.

And if you're wondering why the passengers would be dangling from the door, it's simply because the bus was sardine-can packed. And still the conductor kept yelling to the passengers to push inside a bit more to make space when the rest of us pressed inside are pretty darn sure there weren't any.

He was unwavering in his faith that there are actually some empty space in the middle area of the bus. Perhaps in some pocket dimensional rift. Which he urged us on to go to by dangling more and more passengers at the door.

His faith in the structural strength of the bus was also commendable, considering that the bus was definitely excessively loaded by at least 50% of its recommended payload.

And never question his faith in the skills of the driver, who continuously drove at top speed while zigzagging through the highway traffic. I half suspect the bus had an inertial nullifier system installed to support such driving style.

I'm also pretty sure the driver thinks that the bus is built for an off-road rally.

All-in-all, it was a pretty thrilling -- and somewhat religious from the amount of prayers recited -- ride.

I look forward to take a ride back on it tonight.

Long vs Short

When I was younger, so much young...errr, wait, let me restart that.

When I was little, I was trained to write essays and stuffs. Which does not necessarily mean that I enjoyed doing it, but at least I could do it with a somewhat high degree of proficiency.

And then I went to work in advertising. Where long copies seem abhorred and are treated like the plague.

So I retrained myself to write short copies. Or no copy at all. As long as it gets the idea(s) across, the shorter the better.

And there's also twitter, with its 160 characters or less.

All of which have led me to face this particular problem now.

I can't seem to write long copies on a whim anymore, not unless I force myself to. My faucet of sentences seems to have been set on drips. Which should explain why my blog entries are getting shorter and shorter. If I do write any.

Now, the only time I seemed to be able to fluently gush words and sentences out is when I am writing company profiles or annual reports. Which are basically 90% fluffs.

The thing is, there's no power in fluffs. You can't move people with fluffs.

Well, perhaps you actually can if the fluffs are extra fluffy soft, but that's beside the point.

So what should I do to get the sentences spewing and flowing out of my fingertips again?

Any suggestions, anyone?

What I don't understand is...

This universe around us is so huge that this big big world we live in is but a speck of dust in comparison. And even then, there are so many things in this 'speck of dust' that remain as mysteries, wonders, and oxymorons. And more often than not, we never question why are they the way they are.

But that's okay, since most probably our brain wouldn't be able to handle the truth anyhow.

Still, sometimes, I can't help but ask myself these:

* Why is it relatively easy to hold your pee all the way home, but the second you enter your own yard, whatever control you previously had on your bladder seems to vaporize in an instant? Sometimes you'll find yourself in the act of jumping and running in place to prevent...leakage, which are actually counterproductive to the steadiness you need for inserting the key as fast as possible to unlock the door and fly to the toilet.

* Why do places that are suppose to open 24/7 all through the years have locks on their doors? When are them locks gonna be used anyways?

* Why do we call it shipment when we send something by car, and call it cargo when we send it by ship?

* What will happen when Pinocchio says, "My nose will grow now."? If his nose does grow, then he'll be saying the truth, in which case his nose shouldn't have grown in the first place; but if his nose doesn't grow, then he'll be lying and his nose should've grown, but if his nose grows, then...

* Should atheists be allowed to get insurance against acts of God?

* Do infants enjoy infancy as much as adults enjoy adultery?

* If electricity comes from electrons, does it mean that morality comes from morons?

* If empires are run by emperors and kingdoms by kings, does it follow that dictatorships are run by dicks and countries by cunts?

* If you try to fail but succeed instead, which is it that you have done?

* How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

* Why in this relatively short existence of ours, we are not more open and honest to our real feelings, but instead often hide behind facades?

Wait, scratch that last one. 'Coz I think I already know why.

More or less.

Hope everlasting

I believe there are mainly 3 types of Jakartans.

The 1st are the ones that rush into a packed transjkt bus, although they can see that several other buses are coming in less than a minute away, with a chance of having more space (to pack into).

The 2nd, those who will squint their eyes trying to achieve superhuman sight to scrutinize and x-ray the incoming transjkt buses, so that they can determine which bus is the ideal one (to pack into).

The 3rd are those who don't bother with transjkt and swear by other means of transportation altogether.

Me? I'm the 2nd type.

I'll be the guy who will try my best to select the least packed bus, in that eternal hope to find an empty seat.

For the sake of an empty seat, I'll go as far as to sacrifice the chance to share the same bus with very attractive persons of the opposite sex.

I'll even switch buses in the next shelter, if I'm certain that the bus behind mine offers better chance of an empty seat.

I'm just wired that way, with a glass half full circuitry, so to speak.

Still, for all my hunting of bus seats, I'll gladly surrender mine to those in need. Like the elderly, those who are pregnant, and those with tykes. Other than those 3 categories, you're most probably won't be getting my seat, even if you're a highly attractive female.

Simply because I'm an equal opportunity kinda guy.

And besides, my lap is -- perfectly empty.

See, ladies?