Jun(e/i)

"My name is June," she said with a slight accent. She seemed to be Southeast Asian, maybe Thai or Filipino or Vietnamese.

Setelah Maret, yang dilabeli dengan ‘puncak segala rasa’, lalu datang April dan Mei. Mei.

"June, last month you wouldn’t have had a ‘Mei’ here, would you?"

Mei hilang. Perlu putaran 12 kali lagi untuk bertemu dengannya.

Sekarang Juni. Semua orang bergeliat menyambut liburan. Tidak semuanya, tetapi sebagian besar. Awal Juni sungguh terlalu. Menikmati Bandung, lengkap. Dari subuh hingga subuh lagi. Melawan angin di siang hari, tanpa mandi. Menikmati sore di Ciumbuleuit. Obrolan hangat dengan berbagai topik. Ditemani berbagai jenis rasa: pizza, kue keju klasik, teh jagung, caffe latte, kue rum, ramen, hingga berporsi-porsi salmon belly. Tentu dengan orang-orang yang datang dan pergi.

"No, it’s not like that. You don’t understand. We keep moving. And as we do, things around us, well, they disappear."

"I like jokes. And next month she is July, right?"

(unfinished personal journal, written on the second week of June ‘14, the conversation taken from Dance Dance Dance (Haruki Murakami). This piece was found on 28 September ‘14)

———

My long lost friend said:

"God is playing games with us. He loves jokes. He pokes us every single day with His jokes. But we’re humans, we see His jokes as miseries, series of unfortunate events, wrong situations. Then, we get sad and angry easily. God is too funny to be understood. That’s why we should poked Him back, with our jokes. Life is laughing at us, that’s why we should laughed back and joke them back."

-

That’s why I love to laugh without any reasons. And how I have infinite tenderness to my friend.

jeoy l. paula bronstein  lana slezic anja niedringhaus kate holt reuters, from a school in bori bana, a slum in abidjan, ivory coast altaf gadri  muhammed muheisen reuters, from a school in islamabad zohra bensemra

kastu-ba-mani:

rufisa:

nubbsgalore:

september 8 is international literacy day. globally, two thirds of the 775,000,000 illiterate adults, and 63% of the 126 million illiterate youth, are female. the discrepancy is a result of 33,000,000 fewer girls attending primary school than boys. but any child born to a literate mother is twice as likely to be immunized and live past the age of five, and is also twice as likely to receive an education. (sources here)

photos by (click pic) joey l. at a school for hamar girls in labaltoy, ethiopia; muhammed muheisen in pakistan; altaf gadri at an unofficial school run for slum dwellers held under a bridge in new delhi; paula bronstein at a thai refugee camp for burmese refugees; reuters, from a school in bori bana, a slum in abidjan, ivory coast; zohra bensemra from a school at a refugee camp in islamabad; anja niedringhaus at a makeshift school in budyali, afghanistan; kate holt in makuyuni, tanzania; reuters, from a school in islamabad; and lana slezic from a bombed out school in afghanistan. 

Inilah mengapa………. kita sering diingatkan untuk selalu bersyukur :’)

Buku Berjalan, boleh kan kita mimpi tinggi-tinggi berharap dapat meraih mereka? :)

afp-photo:

TURKEY, Sanliurfa : A Kurdish woman runs away from a water cannon near the Syrian border after Turkish authorities temporarily closed the border at the southeastern town of Suruc in Sanliurfa province, on September 22, 2014. Turkey said on September 22 that some 130,000 people had flooded across its border from Syria as Kurdish fighters battled Islamic State group jihadists trying to capture a strategic town. AFP PHOTO/BULENT KILIC

Consider this: Lebanon is hosting 1.14 million refugees from Syria, the equivalent of 83 million refugees in the United States — or the combined population of California, Texas, and New York. And what has the United States done to relieve the human burden on Lebanon and Syria’s other neighbors? In the first 10 months of fiscal year 2014, the US admitted a grand total of 63 Syrian refugees.

Food for Thought: Monday, 22 September ‘14

A few days ago, I had a chit-chat with my two friends who live abroad. One is in Den Haag, the other one is in Palmerston North. They told me how they miss their home country, Indonesia. Seeing the fact that two months ago they had just returned!

"I really miss the people. Not only the food. I can cook some rendang or opor here. Trying to do the recipes, finding the spices, are challenging. But I cannot ‘cook’ the people. I miss the chaos, somehow."

"Life in here is really boring, Day. Maybe you won’t believe me, but it’s really difficult to do things like Indonesian people do: have a cup of coffee or tea, and talk. Talk about deep things, common-complicated things. I don’t say these people are shallow, but it’s not their ground. O yeah one more thing! The coffee is like a bat-shit. I miss the cheap and standard Kapal Api."

"I thought there are many possibilities in there. More variations. You can travel endlessly, seeing beautiful lakes, great museums, feeling the vibe of central, staring at cute merinos, enjoying the sun in the park, embracing the melting-pot, or even having pot, legally."

"What you said is true. It sounds fun and adventurous. That’s what I imagine before I departed for the first time. Then, I realise that’s not what I need. What is the point of staying in one place but your heart isn’t there? You know how I hate Indonesia before. Now, I even don’t want to work here hahahaha even though it will be really tough to find a job back home, I just wanna get back as soon as possible!"

"You know, I used to dream to change my citizenship. Staying somewhere more pluralistic, you know. High tolerance people. But I don’t want it anymore. Permanent Resident is enough, but I will return at least once a year, on Christmas. Maybe twice, easter is also important. Or even three times? Hahahaha let’s see."

—-

I know some Indonesian people who are dreaming to change their citizenship. I used to have that dream too.

Millions of people are displaced, forced to flee their home country because of fear, they are dreaming to go back home. There are thousands of stateless people, no citizenship, no documents at all, no one protects them. Their children cannot go to school. They are dreaming to get citizenship.

Citizenship is just a legal things. Our true identities are determined by where we come from. Our cultural upbringings. Our roots cannot be changed. Our seeds are true, never changed — just adapt — in the new soil. I believe that. 

It will be shameful If I ‘flee’ because of I am sick and fed up with my home country. Let’s chin up, being optimistic and do something.