Forgiven and forgotten

Just got an e-mail from the person I love the most in life. He told me that although all is forgiven, it is not forgotten.

Made me wonder. Why do people tend to do that?

I mean, as a true Christian, I was taught to love and be kind to all, regardless how they are to me - which is quite difficult. I am also taught to be able to pray for everyone, not only for all those I love and love me but also for those who I hate and hate me - now it gets harder. And as if that is not enough, I have to be able to be grateful to God for all that I have. When I have a problem I must be able to thank God for that problem and not for a bigger one - this one is bloody well difficult. Then there is the teaching that I should be able to forgive those who wronged me, which is very hard and to make things a bit more interesting, I should be able to FORGET their mistakes, which for me, is the toughest of all.

Why?

Well, it's easier to forgive someone, but even when you do, in the back of your mind, there is always that little reminder of what he or she have done, you keep it to make you more aware and careful as not to get hurt the same way or by the same person ever again.

That's natural, that's normal and that is a part of all human.

But to forgive and forget? Well.. that's a tough cookie. Yet, that is what we are supposed to do. True Christians anyway.

Does not being able to do all those things perfectly mean that I am not a true Christian? Or even a good one?

Well, at the end of the day I try to trust God. After all He is our Creator, our Father, and I am certain without a doubt He knows us all. Us, with all our strengths and weaknesses. Since my God is the deity who is the Most Merciful, therefore I know He will be able to forgive AND forget our mistakes. He will let us start over with a clean slate.While with humans.. well, it is almost impossible to start over with a clean slate. Because while the forgiving part is a big possibility for us, the forgotten part almost always lurks somewhere deep in our hearts or in the back of our minds. But don't fret, just try to do the best we can. I am sure He understands.

Brussels, 25 October 2007.
Thoughts after Eid Mubarak.

7 Deadly Sins

Do you believe a person who says, "I cannot lie" ; "I'm an honest person" ; "I am a very down to earth person," or "I am not a judgmental person" ?

I don't. I refuse to believe those statements and others alike. Why? Because I have said one or more of the above and as soon as I said it, I realized that I was contradicting myself.

You disagree with me? Well, you can do that if you want. After all, you are entitled to your own opinion, so we can agree to disagree. But I personally think stating something about yourself - positive or negative - is a manipulative attempt of re-inventing your self-image the way you want it to be, or simply, a load of bullshit.

For example, I meet someone, we talk and get to know eachother.

someone: Yes.. I moved from x to z because I just cannot stand the superficiality of the people in x, they are just too much!

me: I know, right? I can't stand superficial people, I mean, I am not a judgmental person, but superficial people drives me nuts!

To many, the conversation above seems normal. People have, probably at one point of another in their life, said something similar. But I have just realized that it is utterly crap. It just proves that the two people are both superficial and judgmental.

I am a fair person. NOT!

I am very judgmental, as are all my friends and family. Nobody in the recent world except probably Mother Theresa and Gandhi are fair and honest. Most "honest", "non-judgmental", "unsuperficial" and "very down to earth" people have one thing in common. They are all putting an act and are feeling good about it. They use their supposedly good traits to make them feel good about themselves and most of the times, sub-consciously, their "good traits" give them the "right" to judge other people or put them down. Secretly, of course, they wouldn't want to be known for being self-righteous, would they?

But then again, I am that way sometimes, as I'm sure most people are as well. Ok, I confess, coming for me, "sometimes" is the understatement of the year. I am most of the times, superficial and arrogant not to mention judgmental and self-righteous.

Do I feel guilty about being that way? Most of the times, when I am aware I am being that way. But then again I don't feel too guilty, as I know that most human beings are that way too, at one time or another. I try to pray regulary and ask God to get rid of all negative traits in me and replace it with good ones. I am still waiting for the disappearance of all the negativity in me and for God to turn me into the next Mother Theresa (detect the wonderful sarcasm in that sentence).

But the truth is, negative traits are human nature, as are positive ones. We are all created with good and bad traits. When someone is good, it is harder for them to continue being that way because the challenge will most likely be risen up a bar or two and then some more. And as if that isn't enough, one or more of the seven deadly sins will follow and get the better of them.

Seven deadly sins:

1. Pride (latin superbia) is excessive belief in one's own abilities, that interferes with the individual's recognition of the grace of God. It has been called the sin from which all others arise. Pride is also known as Vanity.
2. Envy (latin invidia) is the desire for others' traits, status, abilities, or situation.
3. Gluttony (latin gula) is an inordinate desire to consume more than that which one requires.
4. Lust (latin luxuria) is an inordinate craving for the pleasures of the body.
5. Anger (latin ira) is manifested in the individual who spurns love and opts instead for fury. It is also known as Wrath.
6. Greed (latin avaritia) is the desire for material wealth or gain, ignoring the realm of the spiritual. It is also called Avarice or Covetousness.
7. Sloth (latin acedia) is the avoidance of physical or spiritual work.

I have given up on being frustrated by the fact that I am not as good a person as I would like to be. I have long learned to embrace my traits, good and bad. I am now in the process of being aware of the negative ones as opposed to ignoring it or refusing to believe that I am capable of such negative things. And you know what? I have learned that by being aware (most of the times) of all the negativity in me makes me somewhat more humble and less self-righteous, although far from being a saint, but better than before.

I have been lucky to be able to recognize my weaknesses and my mistakes. Extremely lucky to have been able to extract knowledge from my life experiences.

Being aware that you are normal human being with good and bad traits is realistic. Believing that you are a good person with more good than bad traits is the quickest way to self-destruction. Trust me, it will get the better of you.

"When you are down in the deepest pit, you might feel miserable but hope is apparent because there is no way but up from there. When you are on top of the world it might feel wonderful but doom is lurking because there is no way but downhill from there." - Rima Fauzi

Getting older is hard to do

I dont like getting older. It feels like shit.

I went to a cosmetics shop last week to buy face cream. In the past, when I asked what cream they would recommend me, they always say that I dont need anything heavy because my skin is in very good condition, that I am young and that I take good care of it.

Last week, I asked the same question. The lady examined my face then asked me how old I was. That made me nervous.

When I told her how old young I was, she told me I would have to start using something age-preventing. Dior 1st wrinkle was her choice.

Yes, I bought the damn cream.

Yes, it is a good product.

But No, I did not feel good about it.

Walked out of there with my tail between my legs and felt old and ugly. Thinking of having a mini face-lift and eye-lift.

Maybe sometime in the next 4 years, along with a tummy tuck after my first and only child-birth.

People Alone

Take me along,
I don't care where you have gone
And I don't have to know exactly where you're going

People alone may go very fast
But maybe not so far
Playing along is still solitaire...
Remember
People alone may reach for a love
But only half as well
People alone may seem satisfied
How can they tell?

Take me along
Let's not be people alone
I'm on your mind
So please don't leave me behind
Crossing the line
Where there's no yours and no mine..

PEOPLE ALONE
Randy Crawford
(L. Schifrin/W. Jennings)

Those, up there, are parts of the lyrics of one of my favorite songs from my very favorite artist, Randy Crawford. Ms. Crawford sure knows how to pick her songs. The words are sad, lonely and true. Which left me wondering, why don't we want to be alone? What are we so afraid of?

I was born in 1976. I was an only child for 6 years until Mom was pregnant with my brother and gave birth to him in 1982. As if that wasn't enough she had to have another one and gave birth to her second son in 1983. I was alone, an only child, for 6 and a half years. After that the world as I knew it ended. Mom and Dad stopped fussing about me so much, and they started fussing about my baby brothers. Knowing I wasn't able to pull a coup against the two monkeys, I decided to quit sulking and gave in to the temptation of playing with them.

I am very fortunate to have been blessed with plenty of nice childhood memories. As my brothers are so much younger than I am, I did plenty of nasty stuff and could always blame it on them. They were too little and dumb to know any better. Plus, they adored me so much that I could've probably gotten away with murder. But over time I started to adore them too. Especially when they were old enough to cover for all the nasty things I did (like going out with a guy that was old enough to be my very, very, VERY older brother) and other schemes that most of the time involved men and clubs.

I have gotten so used to having my little brothers (or as I call them "my own personal little servants and chauffeurs") around to pick and step allover on that when they had to leave me and start living their own lives, I felt cheated out of my rightly possession. I missed them terribly because not only were they my cute little brothers, they were also pieces of my heart and life (they still are). I was terrified of losing them and ending up alone.

When I was in the second grade of junior high a teacher made me sit alone. All the other kids in the class had sitting-mates (in Indonesian grade school we have up to 24 desks in a classroom, each sits 2 students together). It was a horrendous feeling! I unashamedly cried in front of everybody because I had nobody beside me. I was alone, and I was terrified to be alone.

My first real boyfriend was, (I had boyfriends since I was 10, but they were "puppy" love boyfriends) well.. let's just call him Danny. I was 14 and he was 15. I think of him as my real boyfriend because when we dated the thought of marriage started to tease my mind. I didn't think it was strange at all because some of my friends were dreaming about having a wedding way before 15. One even dreamed of marrying Jordan Knight from the popular boy band "New Kids on the Block", and even went as far as ending her signature with "Knight". Of course that never happened, she didn't marry Jordan, and to the best of my knowledge today, nor had she married anybody else (and I'm sure she is also terrified of ending up alone).

I was with Danny for about 2 months when my parents found my diary and read it guiltlessly. They (Mom, rather than Dad) made me promise to break up with him or I would be admitted to an all-girl boarding school (which later I went to for a whole year anyway, voluntarily, to gain their trust). So I agreed to break up with him (I felt convinced my life was over) and decided that diaries were for kids (until I saw "Bridget Jones Diary" 1 and 2). I was devastated for precisely 2 weeks, 3 days and 7 hours. That was when I gotten myself another boyfriend. Of course I broke up with the new guy not long after that and miraculously got another one, and another and another. It went on and on until it became a vicious circle.

My friends in college joked with me and told everyone that for me men are "gugur satu tumbuh seribu". An old Indonesian aphorism that means something like "lose one, thousands are waiting to be test-driven" I even had my own epigram, "why would I make one man miserable if I can make many happy?" which was repeatedly quoted among my friends (and former boyfriends who hated it). My friends joked about my having many boyfriends so casually, that it came to a point where it started to bother me.

I questioned myself and spent many sleepless nights wondering why I was unable to be alone. I mean, I can be alone in the literal sense of being alone, like in a room, or going alone to a supermarket, but not "alone" in the truest sense; without someone to depend on. Not financially, but rather, emotionally.

Since Danny, I have never been without a boyfriend for more than 3 weeks, a month tops. I keep on asking myself if it was normal, I mean, was it really normal for a woman (or man) to be like that? Was I suffering from a behavior disorder caused by lack of love or self-trust? Or was it just because I was terrified of being alone? I had so many questions unanswered until one summer in '97 when I was browsing through Mom's cassette cabinet and found Ms. Crawford's album. I listened to the whole album but I felt shivers when I heard one particular song. "People Alone".

The lyrics to that song were awfully true, and it had answered some of the doubts dancing round my mind. I suddenly realized that it wasn't just me, it was everybody! Some may not want to admit it or even acknowledge it, but it's there, it's true and it's sad. An eternal dilemma that shakes even the steadiest of personalities.

At that moment, I came to terms with myself. I grasped a new truth. I was no longer terrified of being alone. I realized that I was just afraid of being lonely. And while I might be alone, I have never been lonely. I've always had friends and family who love and support me; those who are loyal to me.

Lucky are the people who have other people in their life, even if they have just one person.

And so I guess, lucky me.

Me Love Me Dad

I know he knows when I am glad,
I feel he feels when I am sad,
I see how discontented he is when I am mad
He means the world to me, he's my dad

His love for me runs deep
the abundance of his love to reap
leaves everything for me to keep
although I now make him weep

I hope we'll have a happy ending
where everything is amazing
him, mom and i back to talking
share love and life and history in the making..

More Resensi Film Indonesia: Pocong 2

Akhirnya gue punya waktu untuk nonton film Indonesia lagi.. Tadi malem jam 8an gue dan suami udah kebingungan, soalnya semua "aktivitas" normal di akhir minggu udah kita jalanin, lebih dari sekali pula. Secara mau tidur, masih siang..maghrib aja belon, mau nonton TV, acaranya jelek semua.

Tiba tiba gue inget, beberapa hari yang lalu ada temen gue dari Bali yang baru nyampe Brussels, dan dia dititipin 6 buah film indonesia pesanan gue dari temen gue si "ayam menado" Olive.

Setelah gue ingetin suami bahwa kita punya stock film “lucu” dalam negeri, dia pun setuju untuk menonton "Pocong 2", yang judulnya I find a bit funny, karena Pocong 1 nya ga ada.. so baru sekali ini gue rasa ada follow-up movie that follows nothing.. (or is this just another brilliant marketing strategy krn di bungkus film tertera "lebih menakutkan daripada pocong 1 yang dilarang beredar!" itu jelas jelas bikin orang penasaran, kan?)

anyway, back to the topic, kita milih Pocong 2 karena lagi in the mood for something funny.. kan as you know, film indonesia itu semuanya thriller/mystery-comedy. Karena pasti pas ditonton bikin bingung (mystery), miris dan terkaget-kaget saking ancurnya (thriller) dan akhirnya ketawa terbahak-bahak karena parah banget mulai dari dialog sampe acting dan plotnya, belom lagi kalo udah ngomongin busana maupun make-up dan logis tidak logisnya setting dan cerita dari tu film.. (which automatically makes the movie a comedy)

Tapi, sebelum gue mulai resensi hari ini, bagi yang belon familiar dengan rating system gue, penjelasan mengenai Rima’s Rating™ adalah sebagai berikut:

kondom bekas: ancur, range keancuran dapat dilihat jelas dari berapa angka di depannya, 1 lumayan ancur sampai 5 yang berarti ancur be-ge-te.

kutang robek: lumayan. Antara lumayan jelek sampe agak jelek. Gak pake angka soalnya gak ngefek.

kolor emas: bagus, range kebagusan juga dilihat dari berapa angka di depannya, 1 lumayan bagus sampai 5 yang berarti bagus banget dah!

Ok, now that we have the rating system explanation out of the way, let me start my review of: Pocong 2

Ketika gue memasukkan vcd itu ke dalam dvd player, gue udah rada deg-degan.. takut kalau ternyata emang industry perfilman Indonesia itu (meminjam istilah tukul) katrok! Ndesooo!!! Minta disobek-sobek!!!!!

Ternyata… pas gue masukkin .. gue terkesima berat…………… oleh trailer film “Kala” (hehehhehe… filmnya kan belom mulai mas..)

Wah gila tu trailer.. keren abis.. udah bintangnya keren, (aduh, cakep deh itu fachry albar.. biasanya gue il-fil berat ama muka2 arab.. tapi yang ini kok membuat gue tersipu-sipu malu.. secara dia anak ahmad albar yang ga janji banget deh mukanya.. apalagi afronya .. hiiiy sereeeeeeemmm … ) settingnya keliatan keren banget, adegan berantemnya juga kaya pelem eksyen barat, lightingnya tu film juga bagus dan kok kayanya overall film tersebut sangat menarik ya? I have got to put this movie on the top of my next “titipan” list dari Indonesia..

Setelah nonton trailer “Kala” barulah film Pocong 2 dimulai. Eng ing eng….

.....

.....

Dan selesai.

Kesan gue setelah menonton Pocong 2?? Kaget, syok, surprised.. tapi unlike my past experiences menonton film Indonesia.. kali ini semua kekagetan gue adalah murni kaget, bukan kaget ketawa, tapi kaget karena kok tumben ya film horror Indonesia kali ini adalah actual film horror? Nothing funny about this movie at all!

Dialognya natural, thumbs up untuk acting lead actressnya (siapa sih namanya, revalina sapaaa gitu kalo ga salah), acting para pemain pendukung pun bagus. Nothing is over the top, nothing is too much, efeknya gak berlebih2an, settingnya masuk akal (tidak seperti film2 horror indo lainnya yang sok sok pake asap – emang winter? – atau bersetting di rumah sakit angker yang sepi – emang ada rumah sakit sepi di Indonesia? Kayanya selalu penuh deh – dan hal hal tidak logis lainnya) .. pokoknya semua pas kaya rendangnya sari bundo pasar baru..

Gue bener-bener pleasantly surprised to witness such a milestone, karena waktu orang-orang heboh masalah film jelangkung (yg pertama maupun ke sekian) yang katanya serem banget.. pas gue tonton, tetep aja lucu selucu mr. bean jaman baru ngetop..

But this movie, regardless of the tacky title, is a real horror movie. Gue demen banget dengan portrayal setan2nya, karena pas gue inget cerita temen2 gue yang ngerti soal beginian (setan, bukan perfilman) … si setan-setan tersebut, right on the money banget..

Camera worknya Rudy Soedjarwo yang dia pegang sendiri (katanya) juga berhasil membuat film ini tampil semi-documentary yang menambah factor keseremannya, scriptnya Monty Tiwa yang walaupun rada pretentious pada akhirnya bikin gue mikir dan berkata pada diri sendiri, “iya juga ya?” (dengar baik2 adegan di saat maya lagi membahas soal hantu/pocong dengan dosennya si cantik henidar amroe..)

The only bad point this movie has is, sound-nya yang pas dialog pelan banget tapi giliran pas setan muncul, tiba tiba volume menjadi sejuta decibel bikin kaget.com.. itu ngeselin banget.. karena tanpa music/sound efek yang bikin loncat, penonton udah takut kok..

Pokoknya gue recommend film ini bagi mereka yang cari entertainment, dan gak gitu tertarik untuk membedah film dengan uber-intelligence dan being sok-sophisticated.. ini film juga tepat bagi mereka yang udah lose hope dengan perfilman Indonesia and thinking of committing suicide karena udah malu banget olehnya.. this is a reason to postpone your suicide mission :p

Finally, I give this film 3 kolor emas, because although it’s good, it isn’t great yet (my example of greatness being Nicole Kidman’s “The Others” atau “The Shining” -nya Jack Nicholson), but definitely the BEST INDONESIAN HORROR movie so far..

(written early 2007)

une putain et une sainte

Si vous voudriez savoir le diffèrence entre moi et mes écritures, cette poésie est la description parfaite entre les deux. Une seul place où je peux m'échapper, le monde des mots.

Il n'est homme en l'Univers
Qui ne me couvre de blâme,
S'il estime que mes Vers
Soyent l'image de mon Ame.

Ils appellent le blanc, blanc.
Leur langage net et franc
Fait la figue à la contrainte.

Je l'avoüe. Il est certain,
Ma plume est une putain,
Mais ma vie est une sainte.

Playful, powerful and so very true.

Good Girls, Bad Girls.

I am a good girl. Seriously, I am.

I'd like to think of myself that way, even if some people (who think they know me better) would promptly shake their heads in disagreement. Ever since grade school (even kindergarten) I have been one. I worked hard at school - with my studies, and made sure all the teachers liked me. I was so good that it surprised me sometimes when Mom and Dad called me a bad girl. ME, a bad girl? Are they insane?

What was the definition of a good girl? Was it having straight A's? Was it wearing long baggy clothes to hide curves from drawing attention? or was it being excruciatingly polite all the time (even to the most annoying people)? My friends and I would talk about it. Some of them even conducted personal researches. None of us came back with anything remotely sound, but they didn't put more into it because they're all sure they're good, while I cringed because I wanted to appear good.

`Good girls are good because they're from good, solid families, and they are armed with good moral beliefs. Bad girls (even if they're from good, solid families) are just rotten to the core because they don't know any better, and they have no (moral) instinct.' That was a stupid theory offered to me by an overbearing ex-boyfriend. Screw instinct! But obviously I pretended to agree with him and didn't disclose what I really thought. I think every girl is good until a man comes along and trashes her life like he did mine.

I lived in Manhattan for a short while. It was heaven. A friend of mine who worked in a vintage boutique near Bleecker street, Danielle, had been living there for 10 years. Danielle was a very good friend, (which would fall into the "good girl" category in my book) but she had a knack for making other women jealous by drawing attention away from them. She would strut around in short skirts and itsy bitsy tanks, showing off her fabulous body for the entire world to see. I was proud to be seen with her (as did so many other girls with low self esteem who usually like to have good-looking friends), and I took time to secretly observe how people react to her. Men would drool over her whilst women would look at her disapprovingly. But I still think that she is a good girl. She has a good heart, she was a good friend and she was a good listener. (Though after 10 minutes of listening to other people's problems she would start to yawn and try to change the topic to what she finds more interesting. Herself.) Moreover, she would rather be caught dead than steal one of her friend's boyfriends which is another bonus for her friends.

`Good girls get up early and prepare themselves so that when they have husbands they will be used to getting up early and preparing breakfast for their breadwinners. They don't paint their faces and they wear clothes that cover all but their heads, hands and feet.' Grandma used to say when I was younger, almost everyday. I had to listen to her idea of how a good girl's supposed to be, painfully. She disapproved of me because I wore make-up, I have no plain covered-up clothes and I woke up as late as I wanted. I surreptitiously wondered what Grandma would say if she knew Danielle.

I once asked Danielle what she thought of herself. She said she didn't feel she's too good of a girl, but she would never deliberately hurt anybody she cares about. And that would surely exempt her from being a bad girl. She never took personally what other people thought of her. `I don't care, as long as I focus on myself, on my life and avoid having high expectations from anyone but me, I can live with myself.' I also thought she was a brave girl.

In college, I had a friend who was extremely funny. He was charming and witty, and he was straight (a bit strange since charming and witty do not usually co-exist with male heterosexuality, plus when I first knew him, I thought he was gay). DJ had a very positive outlook of life. When we became closer, I asked him what he thought of me. Good or bad. `And no grays DJ, black and white. Shoot it to me straight, Am I good or am I bad?' He told me it didn't matter. People would always have different opinions about other people. `I may think you're good, but others may think differently. As long as you're nice to me, I don't really give a rat's ass of what you're like to others, cos to me you are a good girl.' To him, DJism is what's important (how he loved and prided himself for coming up with that word). When I ask him what DJism is, he said, `It's a way of life. "Have fun on your way to heaven" is my motto, so stop fretting about what people think and enjoy your life, girl!'

Even Dad had his turn answering my question. With his usual dismissive tone, all he said was, `It's better to be an ex-convict than an ex-priest.' Short and sweet, just the way I like it. Abruptly, a new consciousness came to me in a rude awakening. I totally agree with him (which was rare) I do feel better off being a bad girl turned good than to be a good girl gone bad.

I haven't heard from Danielle for more than 10 years. But from our brief friendship in '95, I've learned a lot from her. I learned a lot from my college mates as well (particularly DJ, one of the more interesting, multi-faceted personalities I'd never forget) and I especially learned a lot from Dad. And the good girl that I am, I used my (newfound) knowledge to my best advantage. And while I once feared that people would perceive me as a bad girl, I no longer cared.

Like Danielle, as long as I don't deliberately hurt other people and as long as I do something good with myself, I feel good and that's what really matters. Who are people to judge whether a girl is good or not? I now find that It's OK if people think that I'm a bad girl, I don't beat myself up over it any more. After all, good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere, right?

Megalom-Amy-a. A story about my encounter with a megalomaniac.

Megalomania (from the Greek word μεγαλομανία) is a psychopathological condition characterised by delusional fantasies of wealth, power, or omnipotence - often generally termed as delusions of grandeur. It includes an obsession with grandiose or extravagant things or actions. It is sometimes symptomatic of manic or paranoid disorders,

or to put it in a simpler term,

Someone who is unrealistically favorable in their perception of self, and rather disproportionate comparison when referring to others.

Have you ever known anybody fitting those criteria? I have. It's upsetting, frustrating, takes a toll on your health and downright scary. Her name? Well, let's just call her Amy.

I have been blessed with a strong instinct that i call char-dar (character radar) which works when I meet new people. My char-dar warns me if I meet someone who will not be good for me, and encourages me to befriend anyone who is more or less on a similar wavelength. I know it sounds loony, but so far, it's proven to be very accurate.

When I first met Amy, she seemed very nice, but my char-dar was giving me code red. I thought that maybe this time char-dar is not working properly, and I chose to ignore it and went ahead befriending her. Plus so many people I know told me she is "an angel" (little did I know, the term "angel" thrown around to describe her was said in a sarcastic vein.. but keep on reading, you will understand after several more paragraphs).

She likes to comments on other people, often about their bad than good traits. But I thought that the people she comments on were not so nice anyway, and I chose to believe that it wasn't more than the usual gossip. But the more and more I know her, the more intense her comments become. It wasn't even harmless commenting anymore, it was like she was feeding me her thoughts and trying to form my opinions on other people. Trying to get me on board on her judgments although more often than not, I disagree with her take on other people. Of course I don’t show her that I disagree with her, partly because I always try to avoid confrontations, but mostly because I fear her and what she was capable of.

Why do I fear her you might ask? Well, a. she is much older than me, and I try to respect her as much as I seemingly can, b. I thought she had a strong influence over our social circle and to anger her and turn me into an outcast would be a disaster (I have seen this happen to another girl). c. I try to practice the saying "keep your friends close but keep your enemies closer". It is logical and it's true.

We hang out a lot, and we gossip a lot like all women do. But there is something strange in our daily conversations. She loves to talk and tell stories, she interrupts when other people talk, and she never pay attention to other people’s stories – except those she thinks are important or who can benefit her. In short, our conversations consists of mainly her talking and me listening.

One game that she often plays is being "the hopeless victim". When something goes wrong and someone blames her (which, most of the time - unsurprisingly I might add, is where the blame truly belongs) she will tell anybody who is willing to listen that she is used to being the blacksheep anywhere, that it is a test from God, that God knows she is innocent, that God will punish the people wronging her and that God will give her what she deserves (for the last part, I surely hope that she will get what she deserves :p). The funny thing is, she tries to appear as a victim, but at the end of the story, she will always appear arrogant and full of herself. I mean, to think that God and an angel is always on your side, (PUHLEEZE!) that you are always right, people are always wrong and out to get you. How arrogant is that?

Not only is she arrogant, Amy is also very competitive. She likes it when people like her better than somebody else, she thrives on people depending on her, and she makes sure people depend on her. I secretly think she gets orgasms from it. She likes to over eagerly help people, and just like a loan shark, collect them for favors afterwards. When people can't do things she asks from them, she will talk about them being ungrateful and in the process, ruin their reputations. I try to show her that I sometimes depend on her for things that in fact I am very capable of. It’s nice to make other people feel good about themselves, right? Seeing as she harms people she doesn’t need anymore, or people she feels are threatening and generally people who wont fight back, I know that this way I will be safe from harm. Well, I thought wrong.

A couple of months ago she started bullying me like she does to a lot of people. You might think that a barely 5”4 and 120 lbs woman is capable of bullying a 5”8, 180 lbs woman who is almost two decades her junior. But it’s true. She is starting to play mental games on me. I decided that it is the end of our so-called friendship. I refuse to be bullied but too chicken to confront her (people who know me in real life can attest that although I appear very strong and very intimidating, I am actually a softie at heart who cries a lot and can’t even kill a fly. Seriously, I cant even kill a fly) so I chose to stay quiet, distance myself from her and just stay out of her way. I think she realizes things have changed, but instead of asking me what is wrong, she practices her “ass-holier than thou” attitude, righteousness and moral superiority and assumes that the mistake MUST be at my end.

I recently started hanging out with new people, people I don't normally hang out with. It wasn't planned, it was very random. Funny enough, one day, the topic was Amy. these people are also seniors so unlike me, they do not fear her. They started talking about her, and incidents that occurred in the past involving her, some were unbelievable unethical and some were very, very funny. Then I realised, I don't need to be afraid of her anymore. She is just a human being after all, and unlike my initial thought about her great having influence over our social circle and the society (our society) in general, she has not. A lot of people knew her for what she really is, and they aren't fooled by her pretense. At last I feel that I am not alone anymore. Yes, it was so bad, she was making me depressed and the depression has taken a toll on my health. My acid reflux came back stronger than ever, and as a result my gastric band had to be deflated which led to my 20 lbs weight gain. (damn her!)

Despite all the horrible things I have experienced, one good thing came out of this whole thing. UNO.

Everytime I see her face (which is very, very frequent), I am reminded to protect myself so that I don’t become like her, an arrogant and sinister old witch who wanted to be so much more than who she is, feeling like a failure and then blames the whole world for it, taking her frustration out by victimizing unsuspecting people just for her own personal enjoyment. I really don’t want to be like that. It has been a long and painful lesson, but at least I learned.

Seriously guys, if you ever find me in similar vein, just tell me point blank that i am being obnoxious of full of myself, or you can always slap me. Don't spank me though, that is reserved for my hubby only. :p

FUMER TUE!

for those of you unfamiliar with the phrase above, let me tell you what it means...
it's the ever-popular phrase printed in big bold letters in so many packets of cigarettes, SMOKING KILLS!

Yes my friends, smoking does kill.
I used to joke around about it back in the day.. when someone points that bloody-catchy phrase from MY packet of cigarettes, I would smartly retort, "yes smoking kills. IF you light the cigarette while soaking with kerosene" or "IF you smoke in the middle of a highway full of speeding cars" and other brilliant comebacks.

Several people I knew died of cancer or had cancer and still struggling to survive, some smoked, some did not. When my husband told me to quit smoking, I told him that many smokers live well into their 70s, and there was no reason I would not be one of them.

When he deprived me of my daily dose of kisses and hugs stating that "I smell and taste of smoke, he doesn't want to kiss me because it's like licking an ashtray" as his legitimate excuse, I still wouldn't budge.

When he tried to scare me with cancer stories, I would tell him that healthy people who are sports nuts, vegetarians and non smoking-non alcoholic drinking individuals get cancer as well. I would come up with one excuse and rebuttal after another that he finally grew tired of saying anything at all relating to my smoking.

One day as I was enjoying my lunch in the office, I came accross a woman's magazine that one of my colleagues brought. I had nothing better to do so I read it. My eyes were glued to an article titled, "How cigarettes took away my chance of living a normal life". At first I didn't even want to read it. If you are a smoker, you will relate to this because most of us avoid any negative comment or news about tobacco. We just think it is one of the greater human inventions.

Anyway, I finally read the article and it was about a woman in England who had jaw cancer as a result of 25 years of smoking. She didn't even smoked as much as I did, I smoked 2 packs a day while she a half pack a day. To make the long story short, as a result of the jaw cancer, she had to have her jaw bone removed, had jaw-reconstruction surgery using bones from her hips.. and ended up looking like an alien. I mean, she was rather goodlooking before, but after the surgery, she looked horrendous!!!

The article got to me, the narcissist that I am. I thought to myself, "With lung cancer, at least I die with dignity, but what if I get one of those cancers that makes me ugly and still kills me?"

That was the deal-clincher. After reading that article I decided to quit smoking. Didn't do it for another month and a half after, but come August 5th 2005, 23.45, in a greek restaurant in Grand Place Brussels.. I vowed to myself in front of witnesses: Sarah, Zaim, Didi and my beloved husband. I told myself that I would quit.. for good.

It's been more than a year now since that day, the day I quit smoking cold turkey. Not a day goes by without my feeling relieved that I am no longer a slave of tobacco. I really like the fact that I am now smoke free and almost meat free except for the occasional chicken fillet (once or twice a week) and trying to live a healthy life.

I wish I'd quit smoking sooner though, a month after I quit, my voice pitch is recognizable higher, I can hit all the high notes in the song "Natural Woman", something I have never been able to do for as long as I can remember. There are so many good things about this healthy living thing that I am trying out, especially the part about saving money from burning away uselessly. Smoking is a really expensive habit when you're living in Europe! Of course there is a downside of it also, I am not going to lie. I gained weight. A lot of it, 15 kilos to be precise. But I can lose it again, and I am still trying to do so (lost some and then gained some but persistence will win at the end, I am sure of it).

So I'm a bit plumpier nowadays, so what? At least I am healthier and the fact that I no longer smell like a walking-living-shopping ashtray is an upside, for my husband anyway.

Again I repeat this public service announcement for all the world to read, SMOKING KILLS. Period. No Kerosene, no nothing. And don't let anybody tell you otherwise.

Dosa

"dosa yang gak ngerugiin orang, apalagi ngerugiin masyarakat
semisal korupsi, ngerusak fasilias umum, kebohongan publik,
yang kudu dihindari.

tapi, dosa yang asyik, mah kita jangan lari..."

Di atas adalah kutipan message teman saya, yang memang bernada guyon tapi sangat masuk akal.

Kenapa di negara kita orang takut melakukan dosa yang superficial?
Maksud saya dengan dosa superficial? well, misalnya makan makanan haram, berzina, takut merayakan hari yang bukan hari raya agamanya tetapi tidak takut ketika melakukan korupsi, menyakiti orang yang sepatutnya kita bantu (oh guys, check out THIS BLOG I found a few weeks ago - read "chatting dengan mas joko" you'd be amazed by the shit that some people do!), mengotori negara, mengambil yang bukan haknya dan lain lain.

Manusia manusia macam ini, yang mengaku beragama dan bermoral tetapi yang dilakukannya mencerminkan kebobrokan moral, adalah hal yang sangat memperkuat tekad saya untuk menjadi orang yang jauh dari agama manapun.

Saya memilih menjadi orang spiritual-romantis-intelektual. Yang berbuat baik for the sake of it, dan bukannya takut dengan malaikat pencatat dosa. Yang yakin bahwa Tuhannya adalah Maha Pengasih dan Penyayang, yang tahu bahwa Tuhannya adalah Maha Pencipta tetapi bukan pencipta agama.

The first human --> what religion does he believe in? none. He was just God's creation, created to live his life the best he can, to please his creator.

Bagaimana cara menyenangkan Sang Pencipta? Pakai otak saja, kita semua lahir dengan moral compass. Beragama apapun, atau tidak beragama, ataupun tidak percaya dengan Tuhan, kita tahu beda buruk dan baik, beda jahat dan baik. Pake otak, nalar, rasio, logika.

Tentang dosa?

Gampang saja. Sayangi diri sendiri, jauhi prasangka buruk, jangan menyakiti orang lain, meminta maaf apabila (tidak sengaja) berbuat salah, berbuat baik terhadap orang lain, menyayangi sesama, memelihara bumi. Apabila semua ini berhasil dilakukan, saya yakin lama lama kata ini akan menjadi semu, akan menjadi sebuah kata baku yang jarang dipakai, akan menjadi suatu fosil kosa kata.

If only..

Valentine's Day and Islam

Di Indonesia kabarnya MUI telah mengharamkan perayaan Valentine's Day, bagi yang beragama Islam karena katanya hari ini adalah hari mengenang pendeta, dan dipercaya mendukung maksiat atau perbuatan mesum.

It's bad enough they have declared Christmas Greetings to fellow Christians haram, but now Valentine's too?

Mmmmm.. aneh sekali menurut saya. Terus terang, saya tidak memperingati Valentine's Day karena saya pribadi merasa bahwa kasih sayang itu harus diperingati tiap hari, bukan sekali setahun. Tetapi bagi mereka yang ingin memperingatinya, mengapa dipersulit? Mengapa dilarang? Apakah Valentine's day itu identik dengan seks bebas dan mabuk-mabukan?

Saya rasa, mayoritas orang apabila ditanya,
"Apa yang terbersit di benak anda bila saya mengatakan Valentine's Day?"
akan menjawab,
"Kasih sayang, mawar merah, satu boks coklat, kartu ucapan, teddy bears ..."
dan bukanlah,
"Seks bebas, threesome, mabuk, pesta.."

Saya menyayangkan para otoritas di Indonesia yang mungkin otaknya selalu dipenuhi oleh prasangka buruk dan nafsu birahi hingga apapun dihubung-hubungkan dengan maksiat, seks dan propaganda anti Islam. Dan yang lucu, otoritas di Indonesia seharusnya diberi reality check karena Indonesia bukan negara Islam, tapi negara berazaskan Pancasila yang (seharusnya) membebaskan warganya untuk mempercayai apapun (sepanjang itu tidak menyakiti dan melanggar hak orang lain). Selama ini, segala macam peraturan absurd yang mereka keluarkan atas dasar "tidak sesuai dengan hukum agama" adalah tidak lain suatu jalan mengkotak-kotakan masyarakan, membuat para warga Indonesia makin merasa terasing satu sama lain.

Saya bukan mendukung seks bebas ataupun drunken drugs and booze parties, tapi saya mendukung kebebasan setiap manusia untuk berpikir, percaya, berkata dan berlaku yang sesuai dengan hukum - bukan hukum agama tapi hukum in general.

Saya telah me-renounce semua organized religion yang menurut saya adalah man-made dan mendukung pembodohan ras manusia. Tetapi saya agak salut dengan Jaringan Islam Liberal yang apabila diklik "about us" nya, cukup rasional.

This is the kind of Islam that should replace the current sects in Indonesia, if Indonesia wants to keep existing, the way it was intended to.

Kembali ke Valentine's Day.
Walaupun ini sebuah "Pagan Holiday" yang tidak begitu jelas sejarahnya, apa sih buruknya memperingati rasa kasih sayang?

Saya rasa para manusia Indonesia yang telah menjadi otoritas itu mungkin telah lama tidak merasakan yang namanya kasih sayang hingga kerap kali membuat peraturan yang tidak penting dan tidak menolong warganya.

Seharusnya MUI dan para otoritas itu diberondong saja oleh lusinan mawar dan coklat dan teddy bears untuk diingatkan bahwa sezalim-zalimnya mereka, seburuk-buruknya mereka berprasangka, segencar-gencarnya mereka memisahkan diri dari dunia luar selain sodara se-iman mereka, tetap ada yang sayang kepada mereka.

Mungkin kalau saya menang lottery tahun depan saya akan melakukan hal itu.

hmmppff... Saya benar-benar terperangkap antara benci dan cinta dengan negaraku Indonesia.

Interesting Question

I was just reading a very funny blog (on my links list), when I came across a question in one of his more serious posts.

He posed something that made me think, a question I have often asked myself. And when I thought about it again today, I suddenly came up with the answer.

The question is:

"apa yang kamu lakukan pada kenangan,
yang memaksa..untuk terus diingat?"

What do you do to memories that keep on surfacing, forcing you to remember?

My answer was (I also gave this answer to him)

"you embrace those memories, but if you know that you cant relive it then let the thought of reliving it die peacefully. you can always think about it before you sleep and hope you will have a wonderful dream about it, and there will be times when you see something, or smell a whiff of something particular that will take you right back there. but whatever happens and whatever you do, do not suppress the urge to reminisce but instead just embrace it."

I think that's the best way. That's what I do.

What do you think?

Do Stupid People Exist for a Reason?

I have recently been hooked on discussions in a forum of one of the leading networking site. There was one thread in particular that I participated in, enthusiastically.

We were getting along just fine, expressing our differences - unemotionally, when suddenly this guy participated. his writings were so full of stupidity and hatred towards one opinion (unfortunately that of mine and several others) that I immediately replied. At the end, it got bloody because he kept on attacking me personally and kept on giving stupid reasons and arguments.

I have met people like this, I have debated with people like this and i am sad to find that I no longer have the patience and strength to go against people like this.

I used to think that stupid people exist for a reason. My personal amusement. Well, I was wrong.
Turns out that it now saddens me to see moronic and idiotic opinions because, hey... this is 2008. I would have thought that education has reached a whole new level, that the information highway is on the go and is streaming into the minds of everybody in the whole world.
I was wrong. There are still stupid people. And by stupid people I mean bigots, racists, close minded, stiff, blind faithed etc.

I think that a mind is like a parachute, it only works when it's open. And there should be no excuse for stupidity to exist anymore, especially when the human race are blessed with brains, moral compass, logic and the limitless ability to grow.

My Breasts and I

Breasts. Two lumps of meat, fat and glands that if cut open looks disgusting and ugly but covered with silky smooth skin would terribly excite any man - or woman for that matter.

When I was 12 I hated my B-cup breasts that were well over endowed compared to my classmates and even to those who were 2 or 3 years older than me. I walked slightly slouched in order to hide them; I was ashamed of them as well as the rest of my anatomy. Including my face and hair.

Back in those days, the common perception of beauty was that of girls with long straight hair, jet-black nonetheless, light fair skin, thin lips and a body as slim as a boy's, very androgynous.

I, on the other hand, was quite the total opposite.

I had short curly hair, brownish (despite of many unsuccessful attempts of dying my hair black using mom's black dye), thick fat lips, deeply tanned skin and slightly plump figure if not a bit on the heavy side.

I hated my appearance, but I especially hated my breasts.

I thought they were high maintenance as all my mates were still wearing (cheap) practice bras and I was already wearing underwires which were extremely uncomfortable (and expensive) especially during sports.

I remembered looking at my girlfriends with envy while they were raising the flag in our weekly ceremonies on Mondays. They looked so smart and slim in their uniforms and they could all walk proudly without slouching because they had very little to hide.
When I turned 14, dad permitted me to subscribe to GADIS, an Indonesian teen magazine big in my days, and also envied all the models featured in them. `Why couldn't I look like that?' I used to ask myself while thinking how dreadfully unfair God was to give me a figure to die in shame of, while giving others a figure to die for. At this time, I am an embarrassed owner of C-cup breasts that weighed myself down, sometimes aching my back.

Not until I was 16 did I start to thank God a little for my appearance. Sure I was growing wider, but I was also growing vertically.

I was up to 5"7, which made my overall figure not as bad as I once thought. Being taller than most girls, I didn't appear too thick and my breasts did not look as humongous at they did when I was shorter. My short hair was also longer then and I learned how to use a blow-dryer to manipulate my frizz to ease and look smooth and straight.

But even so, I was still complaining about my weight and skin color, wanting to be slimmer and lighter skinned, but at least by then the beauty trends had changed a little. People were getting boob jobs (think Pamela Anderson) as well as collagen injection for their lips to appear more like Naomi Campbell or Michelle Pfeiffer (both known for their extremely luscious full lips). And the hairstyle trends also changed. Brown was the new black. And having natural brown hair, I started dying it a couple of shades lighter, gradually lightened it to dark blond.

At last I had some reasons to be happy about, my full lips, my brown hair and my breasts.

NOT.

I still hated my breasts.

Mom told me I was a lucky girl to have those (humongous) boobs. Hers were no bigger than a 12 year old. Normal 12 year olds. Not like me when I was 12. She told me that with my breasts, I can fill up dresses beautifully and I would look very sexy with low cut blouses.

So I started wearing low cut blouses because I wanted to know what sexy felt like. I still didn't feel sexy. I felt more dirty than sexy, because I kept on inviting stares and flirtatious come-on looks from dirty old men. Yuck! I hated it! I was even more self-conscious about them. My boobs, not the dirty old men.

That went on for a couple of years until I met a friend of mom's who has had breast cancer. Let's call her "Tante Uci".
Tante Uci was diagnosed with breast cancer several years before then and had to have a surgery to have the cancer removed. She was left with no breasts but she didn't seem to mind. I was a little confused, so I asked her how she felt about the whole ordeal while complaining about my life-long problem of DD cup breasts (YES, it was up to that size by then, such a nightmare that my beloved uncle Aa', started to call me "watermelon"). She said she felt like her world had ended when she found out she had breast cancer, and she told me that she, too, had the same problem growing up.

She was self-conscious about her breasts and she hated them. Not because they were huge like mine, but simply because they were too small (I secretly asked myself, 'how on earth could someone feel that their breasts are too small?') She finally had implants done in Singapore when she was 34 (she was already 40 when we had this conversation) and lived happily with her artificial C-cups up from AA-cups (which I then thought were more like zits rather than boobs) for 3 years.
She told me one day she felt suspicious about the small lumps around her armpits and immediately had them checked out. She was horrified to be diagnosed with breast cancer as a result of leaked silicone from her implants. The cancer was already advanced and she had to have them removed and she had several months of chemo to prevent the cancer cells from coming back.

She advised me to never be ashamed of what I looked like, but mostly to never do something as stupid as she did for the sake of "looking good".

She said: "If I can turn back time, I would have stayed perfectly content with my AA-cups and would've never had the implants because at least I would still have breasts instead of now having nothing at all. But it's ok, at least I still have my health and people who love me"

I was amazed.
But I was sad. For her, as well as myself.

Before talking to her, I was thinking of having a breast reduction surgery. After talking to her, I had a long thought about my twin buddies, and felt a strange gratefulness that I have never felt before. I was glad to have my healthy slightly over endowed breasts, rather than an illness leaving me with none.

Now, years after I had that talk with Tante Uci, I feet more satisfied with my appearance (Although I did have weight loss surgery, it was the last resort - a result of my obese-related illnesses and certainly not for the sake of wanting to look beautiful or ingratitude). I have learned to deal with my imperfections and now love myself (and my breasts) more than ever. I sometime wear my hair curly, I even sunbathe to tan myself (unlike so many other Indonesian girls who swear off sun and rushes to stores to get whitening lotions), I make my lips look fuller by pouting a lot (there goes my secret..), I am even proud of my curves and became a plus size model.

But the most important thing is that I no longer obsess about looking beautiful, but I believe that if I feet beautiful, the beauty will shine from within me.

I guess the cliche is true. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.

Back to the Present

I have not written for such a long time! Not because i dont want to, or lost interest but simply because i have no time.
Lately i have been immersed in the limelight of being a housewife, a working woman and an aspiring if not struggling singer. To say the least, I gave in to temptation and left the one thing that use to accompany me in times of lonelyness and sorrow, my computer.

How I love my computer, it never complains when I dont look good or when I smell by absence of a shower. It never gives me attitude when I was heavily overweight and drowned myself in total ignorance of what the rest of the world thought of me. It was always there when I needed it the most, and stayed there when I abandoned it to seek other pleasures outside my tiny apartment.

Why I am rambling on and on about my computer is purely a mistery, I have nothing much to say actually except to pour out words that are meaningless to anyone but me.
I have been soulsearching lately and got to one of the deeper layers that is rather fascinating. To say the least I have let myself grow to be a full-pledged woman both in the workplace and in the society in general.

People who knew me once would probably be flabbergasted of what I have become. Gone are the days where I would be an ungrateful bitch about everything good surrounding me, and I am now proud to say that I have changed. For the better.
I am a happier person, plus the fact that it is now the spring sale season helps. A lot.

Rainy days are gone, the sun is up, temperature is rising in the heat.. Life's good.. I'm good.. It's all good and I'm listening to Lewis Taylor, what more could a girl ask for?

Magic Pill

Went to a site referred by a friend who has lost so far 25 pounds (in 3 months).

Proactol

Looks convincing enough, doesn't it?

Am gonna get out and buy me some, and then let's see what all the fuss is about..

Strange

Strange that I am so tired. Tired of people. I want to live alone, inside the womb of a powerful beast. I often feel my emotions swell all the way up to my throat and nostrils then exploding into thousands of tears of frustration.

Strange that I am confused. Confused of how they think, their stupidity, idiocy, retarded and illogical minds. Things that should have been extinct but they still hold their dear life on to. It's 2008 dammit!! Use your brains, for fuck's sake!!

Strange that I think life is going too fast for me to cope. Day becomes night, night becomes day and if I'm honest, the person who made up 24 hours for a day should revise the concept and maybe make it 36 hours? 48 hours? 72? Anything but the crummy 24 hours per day that I have, which is simply not enough.

Strange that I'm young but feel so old. That I know many things I'm not yet supposed to know. That I am filled with the knowledge and wisdom of other people. Immaturely brewing up inside which sometime overwhelms me.

Strange that I can 't talk to anyone. I can't talk to anyone about this thing I am feeling but my fingers can dance beautifully on the keyboards producing incoherent words you are reading, that my voice and piano can translate my thoughts and emotions soulfully into songs.

So strange.

My weight-loss battle

Eating was my favorite activity.

Of course I enjoy other things in life such as shopping, reading, writing and I am very passionate about singing. But eating was definitely a favorite pastime. You might be a little confused of my choosing the word pastime to describe the activity of eating, it's not like I'm not eating anymore, right? You're wrong, but you're also right. I was once an avid follower of the "seafood diet". It's not so much a diet that consisted of sea food as a diet of "when I see food I eat it." I loved food and still do. My weakness was, and still is, chocolate and ice cream. I have a sweet tooth and frequent cravings that I indulge myself, relentlessly, by snacking - all the time. I could've lived off ice creams and chocolates, and nothing else. That was a terrible way to live but I did it nevertheless.

I was 35 kilograms overweight (at 170 cm, my ideal weight should be around 62 kg and I was then 97 kilograms, and was at one point, at the 108 kg-mark on my scale!) Closing in on 100 kg again, I knew I had to do something. So I went to a doctor. It wasn't because I feared turning into a cute baby elephant in pink, but since I had so many complaints about my health my husband started nagging me to go on a diet. As it turns out I had high cholesterol, uric acid, heart problems and high blood pressure. And all that was the result of years and years of bingeing and eating junk food (which, ironically, is the best food ever, don't you think?)I was never self conscious about my weight, I still thought I looked sexy and beautiful (well..that was not all true, I did wish that I was thinner, but I know that I shouldn't be shallow and should appreciate myself regardless of my weight - don't believe me? watch Jack Black's Shallow Hal! When you do, you'll know exactly what I mean), but I was a bit worried about my health. After all, I haven't yet hit thirty but my body was giving similar signs of those that belonged to the mile-high club, those who are over the hill and should be experiencing problems alike. The thing I hated the most was the fact that all my illnesses were so high-maintenance, I would gladly trade them with athlete's foot, ringworms or other fungus related diseases curable by cheap over-the-counter medicines.

When my doctor told me that it was time for me to seek the help of a diet specialist or a nutritionist, I was in a dilemma. Naturally I want to be thin and healthy, but my love of food prevented me to go to either specialist out of fear that I would not be able to enjoy life anymore.I had friends that ate as much as I did but would not even gain an ounce! I secretly hated them, and jokingly call them dragon keepers (you know how in poor countries kids eat a lot of high carbohydrate foods but never get fat because they have worms in their stomachs? Well my theory is that my friends must've had dragons in their stomachs because they ate like pigs but managed to stay slim anyway.) I was especially envious of those who were pregnant but showed nothing of the signs except the bulging stomach. It was as though they have just swallowed a balloon. And what's more, when they gave birth, Voila! Magically the bulge disappears! And this is so unfair because they could maintain perfect figures (not to mention a bonus of an enlarged pair of boobs that made them look even sexier than they did before) while normal people had to struggle with all their post-pregnancy fat. Quelle Vie! It must be good to be one of them.

One day, my husband and I were dining at a brasserie in Woluwe St. Lambert, (a part of Brussels near the suburbs, a place we frequently visited when I am in the mood for American food like a sloppy joe or a taco burger) when we were suddenly struck by surprise to see Garre, a waitress that was very, and I mean very, big boned (this is called being politically correct. Big boned sounds much more polite than just plain fat or big assed), who that night looked like she had left a third of her body in her closet at home. She was looking fabulous, and I felt sick. Gone was another reason why I liked that place so much (I loved going there cuz as she was bigger than I was, she made me feel less miserable.) A nano-second after we both saw her, my husband started to lecture me about going on a diet and hitting the gym. While I, being the lazy creature I was, quickly called Garre over and anxiously asked how she lost all her excess fat.

She told me that she had undergone a weight loss surgery called "Gastric Banding". When she told me her secret, I sank further in my chair because I knew it was going to be costly. My husband, on the other hand, was getting all excited and asked for her doctor's number. She gave it to him and he demanded that I call to make an appointment at once. I was not too crazy about the idea, because not only that it would cost us a lot, I was also afraid of even the thought of surgery. I have never had one, and I was especially afraid of needles. But he made me call the doctor, and I knew I had to. The night ended with him imagining I was already slim, while I imagined myself dying on the surgery table and started making mental notes of how I should write a will to determine who would inherit my precious belongings (which would benefit mostly my two beloved little brothers because, naturally, everything I own will be theirs.)

By the time I went to see the doctor, I was up to 100 kilograms. The doctor said that I qualify for the surgery, but he had to run some tests because should my heart problems be anything serious, it was a risk that he was not willing to make. Luckily, I tested fine, and I found out that I was a prime candidate.

I was the perfect 225 pound lab rat.


I was scheduled for the surgery a month after our third meeting, which wa the 17th of July 2003, and was getting a little gritty. I didn't like the idea of people probing my intestines and putting a strange silicone ring to make my stomach pouch smaller thus prevent excessive food intake, but my husband had his heart set on it, and I was beginning to feel the same. Even so, I was playing Advocatus Diaboli against myself, my own Devil's Advocate. I mean, I had to weigh in proportions the pros and contra of this extreme measure, right?

Mais finalement, I found myself favoring the surgery, for it would change my life, and change was definitely what I needed at the time.I initially thought the whole surgery would be a terrible ordeal, but I was wrong. The surgery was easy, but the days after the surgery were worse. I had to live on soup and water for two whole months! But I did lose 10 kilograms in those two months and I lost another 20 kilos in the 18 months after that.

My lowest weight was 70 kilograms, and then gained some back because I worked out, most of it was muscular weight. I seriously thought I was da bomb! I looked good, felt good and I have never regretted my decision of the banding.

Then I quit smoking. 8 kilos came creeping, I managed to lose around 2 kgs off by working out like crazy and body building, (by this time, I had a very sexy and muscular back, flat abs, and being big boned 75 kgs that I had looked like 58 kgs on a normal girl with normal bones. I was a size 6-8)

Still enjoying my new body, I had problems with my stomach. Apparently, I have acquired a new illness called acid reflux/heartburn. It was due to heavy stress (personal problems.. dont ask) and it is quite dangerous if left untreated for a long time. Could cause colon and throat cancer which I definitely do not want.

I went to my doctor again, and I had to have the band loosened up (no surgeries, it is with a simple needle injection procedure to extract some liquid from the port that is placed under my skin on my midriff section). Of course, with the band loose, I could eat more than before, and I kept on gaining weight. To add to matters to my problem, my "personal problem" rendered me unable to work out anymore -- and you all know what happens to a body builder once she stops pumping irons, right? yes. She gains weight and fat.

Damn it.

By June 2007 I have gained 12 kgs of weight and my heartburn has gotten worse. I went to my doctor again who ordered me for an x-ray. Bad News, the band has slipped due to the acidity level and is dislocated. Had to have another surgery to correct that. The good news is, the surgery will put the band in its intended place and cure the reflux. So I went for it.

10 days after surgery, I was losing weight, 4 kgs to be exact, and then my husband and I got into a car accident. Someone rear-ended us and we ended up in a hospital, me with minor surgeries and husband with a more serious one - a herniated disc. We were both put into anti inflammatory medications, and with that, I had to eat real food, no more dieting because the medication were too harsh on human stomach.

On the medication for 2 weeks, gained 8, yes EIGHT, kgs in the two weeks. And found out I have low-thyroid level which is the main contributor to all this weight gain. Bloody Hell!

I was so frustrated (still am) and haven't been able to lose any since, instead kept on gaining (Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year did not help). I am now back to the original weight I had before the surgery and feeling like crap because I know that people expect me to look good (my producer, husband) and I feel like I have let everybody down.

Of course I am healthy now, no known illnesses except for the low-thyroid -- which I dont want to take medication for, because as my doctor informed me, there is no guarantee that it works and it will just fuck up my hormones and metabolic system. I am just FAT, once more. But I seriously have to start again sometime, and today is my start.

So today, 1 February 2008, I am starting my battle head on, I will start with detox (liquid and fruit only) for the first month or two, and will check in from time to time to report any changes.

Pray for me guys, this is a very tough battle to win.