JOB VACANCY: An Experienced Social Media Strategist

For job seekers interested in social media, this job vacancy may be what you exactly need.

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URGENTLY NEEDED!
A seasoned social media strategist responsible for:
1. Creating useful and valuable web content,
2. Setting up digital campaigns of company site,
3. Managing social media activities,
4. Engaging followers and fans to eventually generate leads and close sales.
For further info, email me ASAP at akhlispurnomo(at)gmail(dot)com.

Gonjang-Ganjing Rupiah (Indonesia Belum Kiamat)

Indonesia seperti tertampar. Sanjungan-sanjungan super manis mengenai betapa cerahnya prospek ekonomi negeri yang baru saja merayakan ulang tahunnya yang ke-68 bulan ini seolah menguap seiring makin merosotnya nilai tukar rupiah. Inikah realitas yang sesungguhnya?
Lembaga pemeringkat investasi Fitch juga sudah memperingatkan pemerintah kita agar secepatnya mengambil tindakan jika tidak ingin terseret arus krisis ini. Kabar gembiranya, kita tidak tenggelam sendirian. India juga demikian.
Kondisi Indonesia memang tidak seburuk tahun 1998 atau bahkan 2008. Namun, Bank Indonesia sudah mengambil tindakan pencegahan krisis. Ok, why the hell should I write about this here on my blog?
Karena saya sedang menyaksikan acara talkshow MNC TV (3rd anniversary MNC TV) bertema makro ekonomi yang diadakan entrepreneur dan politisi Hary Tanoesoedibyo.
Sekali lagi, memang sinkronisasi visi dan misi mengenai arah kebijakan perekonomian kita sangat PAYAH! Pemerintah mau kita terus maju, cepat, pesat, melesat. Akan tetapi di sisi lain BI seolah hendak mengerem pertumbuhan itu.
Melihat ke panggung, seolah ada 2 kubu: kubu pengusaha dan pelaku bisnis yang diwakili Hary dan Sofjan Wanandi ketua Asosiasi Pengusaha Indonesia (Apindo) dan kubu pengambil kebijakan yang diwakili Difi Johansyah Direktur Eksekutif Komunikasi Bank Indonesia dan ekonom Purbaya. Yang lucu di panggung, mereka awalnya seperti mau berkelahi, di sesi break juga masing-masing menolak berbicara sepertinya. Sofjan mencondongkan tubuhnya ke Hary, dan Difi ke Purbaya yang tampaknya lebih membela BI dengan statement: “Tak semudah teorinya pak!”. Lalu di sesi break berikutnya, mereka berempat sudah akrab dan saling bertukar pendapat. Ah, boys will be boys. Setua apapun manusia pasti ada sisi kekanak-kanakannya.
Jika Indonesia memang bisa lolos kali ini, patut dihargai bahwa perjuangan para penentu kebijakan ini dilakukan tanpa intervensi lembaga asing seperti IMF atau CGI.
Tetapi yang paling penting lagi apakah semua ini bisa membantu rakyat dari himpitan kemiskinan dan beban hidup yang tidak ada habisnya.
(Ok, itu gaya jurnalis formal untuk situs bisnis. Lalu sekarang pakai gaya blogger yang lebih lepas.)
Ultah MNC Business yang ketiga ini memang berkesan relatif meriah kalau disaksikan di layar kaca tetapi saat saya di sana menyaksikannya sendiri, ternyata ukuran ruangnya tidak sebesar bayangan saya. Mungkin bisa dikatakan seperempat kapasitas ballroom di hotel Mulia Senayan.
Pengaturan acara ini aneh. Pertama, ada teman saya yang bernama Ailsa yang mewakili Unesco yang diundang tetapi tidak mendapat kursi di meja untuk jamuan makan malam. Untuk awak media seperti saya, mungkin masih bisa memahami kalau kami dipisahkan dari tamu undangan penting alias VIP, tetapi teman saya diundang bukan sebagai pewarta. Sangat aneh. Jangan salahkan jika Ailsa pulang segera setelah masuk ruangan.
Sebagai sebuah perusahaan media yang sedemikian besar, MNC tidak menyediakan naskah press release apapun. Dan saya tidak bisa memahami ini. Apakah penyediaan selembar press release itu terlalu berlebihan, memberatkan atau menguras tenaga, waktu dan uang? Sebagai jurnalis, saya hanya mau deskripsi singkat tentang acara yang saya liput. Saya mau tahu nama-nama orang yang hadir, nama dewan juri yang dilibatkan, rincian mengenai poin-poin penting yang disampaikan CEO dan itu semua supaya laporan yang saya susun lebih akurat.
Dan saya menyayangkan sikap kurang profesional sebagian panitia yang berteriak kepada temannya,”Fotonya cuma dikasih untuk tamu VIP ya!!” Saya ada di hadapannya di meja pendaftaran dan saya bukan tamu VIP. Jadi saya agak terkejut dengan ekspos informasi internal yang terlalu frontal ini. Saya bukan gila hormat tetapi setidaknya instruksi itu diberikan secara lebih tertutup dan terpisah sehingga tidak melukai perasaan mereka yang tergolong “Not Very Important Person”.
Sangat tidak adil kalau saya menilai acara ini buruk seluruhnya. Tenang, tidak seburuk itu. Sebagian panitianya ramah-ramah dan mengatakan bisa membantu meski nyatanya tidak demikian. Misalnya, saya meminta press release. Alih-alih membuat saya kecewa dengan jawaban telak seperti “Press release tidak disediakan,pak”, mereka memberikan jawaban yang menggembirakan tetapi kabur. Semacam lip service. Saya girang mulanya, menunggu press release sembari menyibukkan diri berkeliling ruangan lalu akhirnya menyerah pasrah dengan kenyataan tak ada press release resmi untuk acara ini.
Tentang makanan, tidak ada masukan dari saya. Semuanya ok. Bakwan Malangnya pas, terasa gurih dan hangat di badan yang agak meriang di kepungan pendingin ruangan terpusat di Menara MNC. Nasi Langgi yang disediakan juga lezat. Sayang, mungkin kalau menu buah dan sayur segar ada, pengalaman bersantap akan lebih baik.

Ketika Suka Ria dan Nestapa Sama Saja

W. S. Rendra dan puisinya

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Ayah / ibu adalah pelukis kehidupan anaknya, dan akan menjadi bagian penoreh sejarah kehidupannya. Bahkan keberhasilan anak yang menoreh sejarah yang hebat, akan melibatkan peran ayah / ibu sebagai guru bagi anaknya. Setiap gores pena kehidupan seorang ayah / ibu akan menampilkan bentuk kehidupan yang akan dimiliki anaknya kelak.
Kata WS Rendra (alm):

Sering kali aku berkata,
ketika orang memuji milikku,
bahwa sesungguhnya ini hanya titipan,
bahwa mobilku hanya titipan Nya,
bahwa rumahku hanya titipan Nya,
bahwa hartaku hanya titipan Nya,
bahwa putraku hanya titipan Nya,

tetapi,
mengapa aku tak pernah bertanya,
mengapa Dia menitipkan padaku?
Untuk apa Dia menitipkan ini pada ku?

Dan kalau bukan milikku,
apa yang harus kulakukan untuk milik Nya ini?

Adakah aku memiliki hak atas sesuatu yang bukan milikku?

Mengapa hatiku justru terasa berat,
ketika titipan itu diminta kembali oleh-Nya ?

Ketika semua itu diminta kembali,

kusebut itu sebagai musibah,
kusebut itu sebagai ujian,
kusebut itu sebagai petaka,
kusebut dengan panggilan apa saja
untuk melukiskan bahwa itu adalah derita.

Ketika aku berdoa,

kuminta titipan yang cocok dengan hawa nafsuku,
aku ingin lebih banyak harta,
ingin lebih banyak mobil,
lebih banyak rumah,
lebih banyak popularitas,
dan kutolak sakit,
kutolak kemiskinan,

Seolah …

semua “derita” adalah hukuman bagiku.

Seolah …

keadilan dan kasih Nya harus berjalan seperti

matematika:

aku rajin beribadah,
maka selayaknyalah derita menjauh dariku,
dan Nikmat dunia kerap menghampiriku.

Kuperlakukan Dia seolah mitra dagang,

dan bukan Kekasih.

Kuminta Dia membalas “perlakuan baikku”,
dan menolak keputusanNya yang tak sesuai  keinginanku,

Gusti,
padahal tiap hari kuucapkan,
hidup dan matiku hanyalah untuk beribadah…

“ketika langit dan bumi bersatu,
bencana dan keberuntungan. sama saja”

(WS Rendra).

No One but Hardgainers will Understand

(Having dinner)
mr. ahn: still eat?
me: yeah (taking a glance at my fried rice)
mr.ahn: itu mau habis

me: not yet… (showing him my second meal)

mr.ahn: dua kali?

me: yep …(still munching)
mr. ahn: u want kimchi?
me: sure (still digesting)
(he came into the room and got out with fresh home-made kimchi his friends at church gave him)
mr.ahn: here..eat it all ok..

me:감사합니다…
mr.ahn: dua ?
me: yes.why?
mr.ahn: ke mana? (eyes directed to my belly)

me: somewhere? (shrug)
(he came into the room once again, coming out with an apple on his hand and sitting in front of me)
me: what are u doin?
mr.ahn: looking at you eating …(biting his apple with disbelief that I can eat a lot)

IT FREAKS ME OUT HOW PEOPLE AROUND ME REALLY CARE ABOUT WHAT I SWALLOW, LITERALLY!!!

Who Do You Think You Are? I’m … (Insert any Nouns Here)

After watching BBC’s documentary series “Who Do You Think You Are?”, I decided that it must be cool to know my family history. I saw the episodes of J. K. Rowling, Stephen Fry, Kim Catrall, Emilia Fox. And I felt like, “Wow, I really really wish I could trace my roots back like that.”
But I live in Indonesia. This is one of the places on earth where you cannot rely solely and happily on the recording and documentation systems. Not to mention about the accuracy. We have no idea that the National Archive (Arsip Nasional) still holds papers like birth certificates, marriage documents, census records or whatever that showed precious information on how, and how and when my great great great grandparents with their offsprings lived their lives.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like Indonesians hate their roots but we are more of an oral society by nature. Writing a journal, publish a book or posting on a blog like this means we one step ahead than our predecessors. You spread the words not only to people around you physically and emotionally but also people around the world.
Maybe documenting our important life events is not one of our strongest genes but one can find stories of familial journey in the minds of the people. I find Indonesians mostly are great storytellers (well, most people are) but not many eventually pour their words into printed stuff for the next generation to read.
Yet, knowing how our predecessors lived their lives is not a mere attempt at understanding our identity and origin (which in turn may humble us) but also understanding how the entire nation and the world of that era in general worked. So I can more easily relate myself to historical events, simply because I know some people living in that era were . Suddenly, the long history of my nation seems closer and more relevant to me because I have that strong connection. Knowing my family history proves to be helpful when I have to understand and make sense the history in a larger scale, both national and international. And boy, why should I care about the history in the text books every school student must read in the country? What I find there is a compilation of compromised pieces of so-called facts gathered and assembled by the winning parties, the corrupt rulers ready to distort anything at their advantage. Some cynically said the word “history” actually derives from two separate words: “his” and “story”, which is not necessarily an honest recount of facts or real events. Anyone (a story teller) can manipulate it, improvise as s/he wants to, emphasize this but conceal that, overstate that and understate this. There are abundant rooms for anyone’s creativity and imagination.
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But in family history, there is no or much less political influence. Families here, as far as I know, don’t really care about their family history (not even document or record that carefully) because of course even if one can manipulate it, what can s/he benefit from the distorted chronicles? Not much.
In the process of writing, I need to really workd hard on understanding the explanation of my paternal grandmother. She hardly speaks Indonesian, and never ever learned English in her lifetime so the one and only language she employed is Javanese, which happens to be my mother tongue. Yet, as I have been growing older, Javanese has gotten less and less spoken around me because Indonesian (bahasa Indonesia) started taking place in academic and other formal contexts. Even English was first introduced to me when I was a sixth grader. I was happily embracing the foreign language just like a new toy. And it IS a toy to play with, linguistically speaking. I hoped to learn more by acquiring English, and I really did. I had always wanted to live outside my hometown, where almost my entire family reside. And English enabled me to do that. Reaching out something new. That is what I want: newness, novelty. I didn’t give stability a damn because it translates to boredom. I refused to embrace the teaching world in which the majority of my family members earn a living, partly because there is part of me saying:”You don’t have to follow them. Find your own path or you’ll be sorry for good!” So I did and thus far there has been no remorse in my life for listening to this voice in me. There are of course a price to pay but the excitement seems to be surmounting the ordeals.
Muntianah, my paternal grandmother, had been raised as an orphan since her being an 8-month old fetus. Her mother (my paternal great grandmother) had died many years ago. I still recall her face and remember her funeral back then. There was no hollow feeling or great terrible loss sensation because I was too young to even think of and experience such painful emotion. I knew people mourned, wept, prayed for her peace up there but I just couldn’t make sense of the whole situation, like “She died. Oh, so what?” All I cared about was that I knew I could still watch my afternoon cartoon series on TV and eat foods I liked and went to school with all of my homework that day properly answered and being free from the fear of being grounded by the teacher. So that makes me help understand why the younger brother of my deceased cousin looked lively and act normally still even after he found out his eldest sister lost her life following a series of legs amputation procedures. He has his own world and the sister was apparently like a nice-looking gadget to his eyes; something cool to have but not his (almost) entire world.
One day, young Muntianah was told by her mother to clean up the house in and out. In the meantime, the mother was doing her chore: preparing foods. Kudus, like other towns in Java during Japanese colonial era which only lasted a few yet very bloody years, experienced food scarcity. Muntianah knew first handedly people around her dying of extreme hunger. But that very day, the family was lucky enough to be able to find things to eat: waloh (pumpkin-like fruit) and kangkung (a type of green vegetable having thicker stalks than spinach). Young Muntianah was struck by a bundle of ‘treasure’ thrown away in the rubbish basket. She opened it and found that in it there was some garlic and onion. Definitely not something worth getting rid of! She shrieked at her mother who was still cooking.
“What’s wrong?” my grand grand mother said to her daughter.
She replied and showed the garlic and onion, “I found these, Nyai (yes, she seriously called her mom this way to show respect which in today’s context sounds more like a total derogatory joke)!”
She later found out Nyai had deliberately put all of them into the rubbish basket, only to test how much young Muntianah really cared about the entire household, even what was thrown into the rubbish basket.
Nyai was really really stern when it came to household management. Young Muntianah had better clean all the floor of the house, refill the bath tub (in which one couldn’t soak him/herself like in what we have seen in the West), and make sure the house chores done very well or else she had to miss the breakfast. The breakfast was ento-ento. It went without saying that it wasn’t the best or most delicious food ever but that was what they could afford that time. The texture of ento-ento was not particularly pleasant to the tongue. As coarse as pebbles, only you could swallow that safely.
As a good mother, Nyai also sometimes treated her daughter when she knew she still had enough money even that meant there was very little extra money she could spend. Off they went to “Menoro”, which was an area of Sunan Kudus’ cemetery (as it was told by the ancestors). Sunan Kudus is like a local saint here. Along with Sunan Muria (whose corpse was laid in Mount Muria, according to folklores). They were two of the 9 walis (Wali Songo) who helped spread the Islamic teachings around Java that used to be Hindu and Buddha-centric. Nyai was there to buy a serving of delicious home-made soup which was usually accompanied by rice. Young Muntianah jumped with joy. It was the word “rice” that made her act that way. Rice was a culinary luxury of the era. Japanese troops would choke any natives to death in case they caught one hiding or eating rice for themselves or their own family members. High quality rice was to be sent only to the Japanese. But Indonesians as we know didn’t accept that as it was. There were many methods devised to violate the rule. People could enjoy rice but only when there was no single Japanese soldier around. Nyai was happy to give what her daughter wanted but Young Muntiah was far than happy. She was disappointed upon knowing that gobet (I hardly know what this is but it is very likely that gobet is another pariah’s food) was the replacement of rice in her ‘extraordinarily nourishing’ menu.
Young Muntianah was never ever a fan of school. In almost every occasion, she reminded the audience (well, you know, it is her descendants) of how awful the system of education of the time to her eyes. She held begrudge towards a highly disciplined male teacher wearing blangkon (Javanese male attire).
“He (the teacher) was insanely inhumane. He made a student stand inside the school restroom all day long. The poor student couldn’t help telling his parents and everyone as soon as he was done from being grounded. Everyone dreaded such teacher,” she reminisced looking up to the house ceiling. It was still the same house she used to live with her mother decades past, only much bigger and taller. My father and uncles had helped her renovate the house.
(to be continued=> http://akhlispurnomo.net/2013/09/08/who-do-you-think-you-are-part-2/)

Attachment or Sense of Belonging?

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The two can be mistakenly understood because no one can define the fine thin separating line. What seems to be a sign of attachment can be one of sense of belonging and vice versa.
It too happened to me once. The confusion stirred some argument between a yogi I reckon as a teacher and myself. He wanted us to find another place to practice at. But I refused. The park I usually practice at is so far the most agreeable and closest public place I have around the neighborhood. That’s I guess the strongest reason for me to stay there. I don’t have to pay higher mass transportation fares, I don’t have to walk too far (which means I can save a lot of sweat and calories I need to stack up as a hard gainer), I can eat great cheap foods soon after practice within walking distance. What to ask for more?
And at the very same time I feel like I have become the host of the yoga activity at the park. It is beyond my imagination to miss the practice at the park on Sunday mornings because usually I am there, basking under the warm sunlight while sweating and breathing deeply and standing upside down or twisting right or left. That explains why leaving seems a lot harder. It is as if I belonged to the park, or, the park owns me. Maybe it is the other way around, which seems to be how my guru views the situation.

Treasure Your Memory. That’s What Makes You Humans.

Humans are creatures of memory. You cannot remain yourself when you lose your memory. That explains why some people with dementia, like my grandmother, are losing their identity. They’re not who they used to be any longer and that’s kind of scary. But even if your body weakens with your memory still intact, there’re things that still remain and that is you. When people talk to you, it’s still like you, the real you.

Catatan Singkat dari Memoar Elizabeth Gilbert “Committed”

Sebenarnya bukan catatan juga. Hanya sekelumit kumpulan kutipan yang menggelitik untuk ditelaah lebih lanjut. Misalnya nih:
“Kau memiliki seseorang untuk sementara waktu lalu orang itu pergi.” (Hal 206)
Cukup menohok juga terutama karena baru saja saya kehilangan sepupu tercinta. Memang benar adanya. Kalau kita mau lebih berpikir lagi, pada dasarnya setiap manusia itu menjalani hidupnya sendiri. Mungkin ada orang tua, ada saudara, anak, pasangan, kakek, nenek, tetangga, teman kerja, musuh kerja, dan seterusnya tapi mereka semua adalah orang yang kebetulan bertemu dalam sebuah periode dalam hidup kita. Periode itu bisa singkat, bisa lama, bisa pendek-pendek tapi sering, lama tetapi jarang, dan lain-lain.

“Aku mencintainya, sehingga aku ingin melindunginya – bahkan dariku, jika hal itu masuk akal.”(Hal 208)
Ya kadang memang diri kita juga merusak orang yang kita cintai, dan itu banyak terjadi dan memang sudah hukum alam tampaknya. Manusia yang saling mencintai juga bisa saling menghancurkan satu sama lain dalam berbagai cara yang tidak terpikirkan. Namun, itulah yang namanya pengorbanan cinta, yang bagi orang-orang romantis sering dilebih-lebihkan hingga terdengar sedikit menjijikkan. Padahal sebenarnya wajar saja, tak perlu dramatisasi.

“Semakin muda usiamu saat menikah, semakin besar kemungkinanmu untuk bercerai. Bahkan kau sangat mungkin bercerai jika menikah muda.” (Hal 210-211)
Sangat ceroboh untuk menarik generalisasi seperti itu. Setiap kasus pernikahan itu unik dan meski ada benang merah satu sama lain, akan tetap ada perbedaannya juga. Terlalu banyak faktor yang berperan dalam sebuah formula pernikahan yang sukses sehingga terkesan musykil untuk disederhanakan menjadi satu faktor pembangun saja: usia yang matang. Semua orang bisa bercerai kapan saja di usia apapun jika mereka merasa sudah saatnya untuk itu.
“Semakin tinggi pendidikanmu, secara statistik, maka pernikahanmu akan semakin baik.” (Hal 212)
Pendidikan yang dimaksud di sini mungkin pendidikan formal, begitu saya menangkapnya. Secara logis, memang ada benarnya. Masuk akal jika makin terdidik, seseorang akan makin terbuka wawasan dan cara berpikirnya sehingga pernikahan nantinya akan berjalan lebih stabil karena tidak dikuasai emosi dan nafsu semata. Tetapi kebanyakan logika juga bisa berbahaya, apalagi pria jaman sekarang.

“Keadaan darurat yang pada akhirnya menghadangmu adalah yang tidak pernah kau siapkan sebelumnya.” (Hal 218)
Atau mungkin kondisi darurat itu karena kita terperangkap dalam pemikiran kita sendiri hingga lupa dengan kondisi riilnya. Ini mungkin yang namanya “mind trap”, jebakan pikiran yang membelenggu.

“Orang selalu jatuh cinta dengan aspek paling sempurna dari kepribadian pasangannya. Bagaimana tidak? Siapa pun bisa mencintai bagian paling mengagumkan dari orang lain. Tapi itu bukan trik yang cerdas. Trik yang sangat cerdas adalah: Bisakah kau menerima kekurangannya? Bisakah kau melihat kekurangan pasanganmu dengan jujur dan berkata,”Aku bisa menghadapinya. Aku bisa melakukan sesuatu mengenai hal itu?” (Hal 222)
Biro jodoh terlalu sering mempromosikan kliennya dengan cuma menyebut kelebihan. Bagaimana dengan kekurangan? Bukankah itu juga nanti harus diterima satu paket dengan kelebihan yang bisa diterima dengan tanpa susah payah? Seperti berjualan, sudah terlalu sering kita mendengar orang membanggakan kelebihan barang dagangannya dahulu tapi berapa penjual yang dengan apa adanya berkata panjang lebar, “Ini lho barang gue kelemahannya di sini, di sini sama di sini. Ga bisa dipakai kayak gini kayak gitu. Yang lainnya ditanggung bagus. Silakan mau beli atau tidak.”? Eh, kita membahas pasar atau pernikahan sih?

Someone Needs a Wig

Getting to Know the First Novelist on the Planet, Murasaki Shikibu

According to historical records that were mentioned and cited by penghuni60.blogspot.com, Murasaki Shikibu is the first novelist on earth. My skeptic side keeps asking what made this believable or acceptable as a fact. I have nothing to prove otherwise, so let’s find out if this really made sense.
It is told that the name is only a pen name, instead of a real one. So there’s no use to trace it back. She may have employed another pen name or her own name which may be very different from the one known by public.
Ms. Shikibu was told to have been born in Fujiwara, Japan. I can’t tell you where it is located for sure as I have never been there, roaming Japan. Yet, she was born presumably circa 973 to a well-endowed family. She was a descendant of the first ruler of Fujiwara.
As a woman, she had tremendous level of intelligence at the time. At the age of 25, she married and of course had sex with the man she was married to and gave birth to a daughter. In my wildest opinion, 25 seemed to be quite old for a virgin to get married. She was a spinster,but Ms. Shikibu certainly was not a creature with a womb to be taken for granted. In 1001, the husband was dead, leaving her daughter orphaned. Afterwards, the shrewd lady was summoned to the palace of Heian as she was known for her outstanding writing talent and eruditeness.
Wait, she was a novelist, wasn’t she? So what did she write anyway? Was it any good? Or was it just a piece of crap people of the era thought of as a work of literature? The novel she produced was Genji Monogatari or The Tales of Monogatari. If I think “The Casual Vacancy” of J.K. Rowling is extremely long a read, I must change my mind when I found out the novel is 1000 pages thick, chopped into 54 chapters. Holy cow, she must have really liked writing, mustn’t she?
And apparently, like modern day authors, she also wrote her autobiography in the form of diary entries kept well and published nowadays.

My First Graduation

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Taken in June 1989, this photograph reminds me of “The Picture of Dorian Gray”. I wish to trade the aging me for the eternal youthful look. But being more greedy and ungrateful than the dashing Mr. Gray, I would also demand turning back of time.
I dont know you but as I grow older, I come to realize that I WANT MY PAST BACK. Badly. Losing youth time is horribly inevitable and knowing that you can revisit physical places and people that remind you of the past but cannot enjoy the youth back is more like a torture. The more time you spend reminiscing the past, the deeper your disappointment that you lost it already. You cannot halt the moving train of time. You can either sit and cry or stand up and face the world. Some sit and cry. Others stand up and bravely face the world without even turning back. And I along with the eternal Peter Pan inside create my own world, a present world with the flavor of the past. I may need to reconsider archeology or history as my career path other than being a contortionist or a yoga teacher or a part time English teacher.

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