An underwater ballad by Leslie Burke

I'm moving gently forward,

over the wild and beautiful

unexplored world below me.

I'm floating in silence,

and breaking it up

with the sound of my breath.

Above me, there's nothing

but shimmery light,

the place where I've come from

and will go back to when I am done here.

I'm diving.

I'm a scuba diver.

I'm going deeper 

past the wrinkled rocks and dark seaweed

toward a deep blueness

where a school of silver fish wait.

As I swim through the water,

bubbles burst from me

wobbling like little jellyfish

as they rise.

I check my air.

I don't have as much time 

as I need to see everything,

but that is what makes it so special.

Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus 

by Leslie Burke (Bridge to Terabithia)

Capitolo 1: Nautical baby

I think my mom gave birth to me in the ocean.

You know those water births? Some said it is less painful. Heck, I don’t know; I’m not even married yet, let alone having a child. Anyway, HEY, I’m not going to talk about water births here.

Yes, one day I just went blank and this thought popped up in my head:

I think my mom delivered me in the ocean, underwater. 

I always feel I have a special connection with the sea. Holiday time to the beach always excites me. That feeling of having your feet buried within the soft khaki sand where you get a ticklish sensation in between your toes. And then getting your feet soaked up by the breaking waves. Hmm…what an experience worth killing for.  

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

Gallery day

I went to Galeri Nasional Indonesia today.

It was my first visit to one of Jakarta’s local attractions this year. Not that I’m indifferent towards visiting local museums, art space and monuments, it’s just I had had no time. Heck, I didn’t even have the time to think of visiting those place when I was still working a couple of weeks back.

I, myself, am a fan of museums. Well probably not the museum, but the mystery each museum has.

So today, after my 6-month hiatus of visiting museum (the last museum/art space I went to before Galeri Nasional was Melbourne’s NGV), I finally set foot on one of the capital’s topmost art space – thanks to my ex-housemate-cum-best-friend Dyota, who took me there. 

Late night Ghibli snacks

Ever had some late night Ghibli titbits? Mmmm they’re ultimately scrumptious.

Lately, just lately, I’ve been spending my quiet nights with my sister’s laptop in a precise 5cms away from my toes, with my back leaning on the smooth faux leather upholstery of my sister’s bed, and having two thirds of my body buried from torso to toe by the warmth of my sister’s duvet. Okay, I reckon the possessive reference to my sister is getting a bit annoying. Obviously, the writer here has been numpang at her cozy little sister’s bedroom – because apparently her own bedroom is a wreck (we’ll get back to this topic a thousand post from now okay).

The point is, what my sister and I have been viewing on the laptop. Everyday, we dive into our daily dose of heroin: Studio Ghibli romps. Firstly, let me share an explanation on why and how we could get Ghibli films. I did buy several original copies of Studio Ghibli films in Melbourne. Spirited Away and Ponyo. However, these two are as many as I can afford.

Review: Something in the Way (2013)

As I said in the previous post, a friend of mine from AIYA Victoria - Daniel Brooks - kindly requested some students to write a review for films (one student for each film) we went to see during the 9th Indonesian Film Festival. The review was posted on AIYA's blog. The option was on us to decide what film we would like to do. I chose to write for Something in the Way which was screened for the opening night.

Film festival is always my favourite

The thing is, all film festivals showcase shortlist films - which means, the films screened are thoroughly selected from the best. Being a resident of Melbourne for more than two years, this year is my third in celebrating Indonesian Film Festival (IFF). Turns out, it's the 9th year for the festival. My, my..it's amazing to know how Indonesian films have been celebrated in Melbourne far before I came to study in this bustling city.

What makes this year's IFF more special is because this is the year where I sort of building up my career. As a present for my loyalty for the media I'm currently working in - that is, the fabulous OZIP - God gave me a special gift. I was appointed as the assistant for the new editor. And of course, new responsibilities follow my new position. I've been entrusted to take care some of the regular pages as well as organising workloads among our team to cover monthly events.

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

Feeling nostalgic

/ Il Battistero di San Giovanni, Piazza dei Miracoli, Pisa, Tuscany Province, Italy / 

Hey, it's been more than a year.
There was nothing to be called as an achievement.
It wasn't my part to boast.
How grateful I am!
To be able to venture out, satisfying my hunger and thirst to realise my dream.


Picture by Pingkan Isabella

The girl has never looked happy since December last year.

No more familiar curves of her bright red lips; they have probably been straight ever since she encountered the world's bitterness. That bitterness..that once was so sweet you thanked God for delivering you to the world. But now everything she wants is home.

"I want my parents," said the girl. Her lips were barely moving.

There was a moment of silence... I could hear her breathing. Inhale, exhale. In and out. I felt like a Kungfu Master, able to follow one's breathing pattern.

The silence was harrowing.

She threw her head to the other side. I could see her eyes shooting at the bare white wall.

"You couldn't find life's solutions on the wall," said her. "I used to be like that wall," she lifted her delicate arm and pointed towards the wall. "I was strong. People adored me for my strength."

I embraced myself to respond. "Was?" said I.

"I said I used to. Not anymore now. If I am, I won't be here, in this room with you."

I hesitated.

Tears were trickling down her cheeks.

"I feel like giving up," she said.

Tick tock: life's a clock

Look ahead!
A bird is flying graciously above my head and cutting into the thin air right in front of my eyes.
Look further down to its talons!
It is gripping something.
Something - a small, circular object.
It is a gold pocket watch.
My gold pocket watch. My time. 
"Oh! A bird just stole my time away!" I say.

I hope - I really do - that a bird really stole the time. That way, I could chase the bird and get my time back and therefore, relieve myself of the moments I hold preciously. Too metaphoric, I know. But I really wish . . .