Friends, thank you for visiting. I have moved everything and will post my future writings in:

LEONNIEFM.COM

There, both of my previous blogs will be put together. Some will be in English, some will be in Bahasa Indonesia especially for 3Popok which aimed for Indonesian readers, not necessary women.

See you all in LeonnieFM.com

"Talk about boobs? What to talk about exactly? Boobs are boobs!" was exactly what I had in mind when I found out I was tagged by Nindya a.k.a Kappa. *Sigh* OK, since she had done such a nice post when I tagged her previously on the 10 things viral project, let's talk about boobs now!
Boobs are just boobs. They are a pair of body parts I'm not so fancy about. I got them growing on my chest pretty late compared to most of my school mates back in junior high. I remember quite clear in my mind how the boys were so into girls' boobs back then. Some of them really noticed the growth of their favorite girls' boobs. Instead of just "discussing" about the size, they were also talked about the cover.

The cover was another story. Our boobs was not fully grown to wear bras so our mothers provided us with mini-sets. The boys examined very closely who had shifted from mini-sets to bras. They were pretty knowledgeable about the brands because to simply talk about colors would not be considered cool enough.

Boobs were the main reason why the line-up procession before entering the class was such a big fuzz. The boys were pretending of so many things and move around like some mad cows just to "coincidentally" touch or rub the girls. Pity, some girls were looking forward to what in their adult years now classified in sexual harassment.

I was certainly not their favorite, not close enough to be in their list. As a matter of fact, I was not considered someone who could actually grow boobs. I was listed among the boys. The little stat-board in front of the class room would add one more boy to the actual number and deduct a girl. "He" was me.

I wore mini-sets up to my second year of high school. The loose batik shirt could not let anybody tell my sex especially with that crew-cut hairdo which announced me a G.I Jane wannabe.
Oh, I hated my boobs back then. I wished they stop growing and I could somehow trans-gender myself. Fortunate for me, the boobs listened to my wish. They did not grow more than an A-cup size. My size was a 32A, I was also 22 kgs lighter.

A shocking moment concerning my own boobs happened when I had to buy some bras during my first pregnancy. The size I had to buy was beyond my comprehension. They were huge. I could not believe my boobs were that big but my weight was no less shocking too.

To gave birth changed me a lot including to my acceptance to my boobs. To watch a baby suckling milk from my boobs was beautiful beyond believe. I learned to take care of my boobs better than before. Make sure they were clean, etc, etc. There it was, the baby showed me why should I have boobs as female. Why were they so important. Many pregnancy books wrote about that fact and tried to picture the happiness a pair of boobs could bring to the life of a mom and her baby, and to actually experience it made me think the books were not accurate.

I never imagine a pair of boobs could bring me a deep sorrow. Not because they were not big enough to attract some silly boys. Not because their insignificant size changed my sex without any surgery. It was because they did not produced enough milk when Igo was just one month old. He had to totally depend on formula when he reached 3 months old. When we decided to stop to breast-feed Ilya due to the possibility of HIV infection, I cried for weeks in the toilet every time I had to trash the milk.

Now, after three kids and a plan of not having more, the boobs are just another body parts. But this time with some significant respects. They are not the body parts that made me a female but they certainly the body parts that made me whole.

---------------------------------------------------
Next task is to tag fellow bloggers, let me think................. :
Yemima, Sofia Kartika and Pico ! -- blog away fellas!

A homework I received from fellow blogger-mom, Desny. She's completely right by saying it wont be too hard to do, writing about self. For me the hardest is to decide to be completely honest or not to be too honest.

1. I'm a queen of procrastination. Those who know me best will tell you it is appropriate to be listed number 1. I procrastinate everything, if it can wait another minute, why not. I fight it hard for those things concerning my kids. One thing I know for sure they can't be procrastinated.
2. I love my kids; 3 angels sent from heaven to make my life matter. I'd go to hell and back for them. Dare me! -- Life now is ALL about them, even if it didn't appear to be.
   
3. I'm a food-junkie. I love to eat. My favorite are Chinese & Italian. The creamier the better. If one have many variant I will choose that with seafood. But don't ask me to cook. I cook just to make all the ingredient cooked not tasteful.
   
4. A social-net addict because I'm actually an anti-social. I used to love to secluded myself and ignoring people and whatever they're saying. I read books to ignore people and I started that habit since childhood. This is a fact I fight pretty hard for the last 5 years & my husband says I'm improving pretty well.
   
5. My memory is terrible; short or long. Except if those are written & I read it. So yeah, I was kinda good in history & geography classes; if I gained low I must had procrastinated reading until it was too late to read.
6. I'm a protester. I protest on many thing; ignorance, injustice, unfairness, lies & bad music. I can't help not to protest, so every time I must do it I will try to do it ethically. I may had failed few times, if it concerned you, kindly accept my apology.
   
7. I'm easily touched/moved, easy enough to shed tears. Whether to watch an athlete given the medal or to see a baby injured. Ironically, I usually hide these kinds of tears, afraid of embarrassing myself. I often couldn't hide my tears when I'm angry.
8. Beneath, I'm a detail+routine freak. So freak about them I expect my helpers to do things according to my details+routines. Learning sometime they know some practical things better than me, now I give them more room to do things their way. Maybe this is the root-reason why I love playing games such as Harvest Moon and Age of Empire (note to play HM this weekend!)
9. I dream to (again) have my own business. Fajar & I dream of having our own book store. The dream includes of camping with the kids in the store once in awhile. Yep, with yellow bubble tent and hot choco!
   
10. Indonesia 1.5 is my newest passion. It's my youth dream to be involved in something that can make a difference no matter how slightly to anybody. I really hope more people with the same unrest & passion of making a difference will join the group.
    

Desny said the next task is to forward this so-called homework to other fellow blogger. Those I write below, raise your hand! :

• Nindya a.k.a kappachan; the Daft Punk lady, ruler of 205, a nice young lady I will watch blossoming.
• Pico; dude I dare if you could manage to squeeze this between your schedule *digeplak*
• Fajar Jasmin; the father of my 3 angels & dearest husband. I challenge you to think simple.
• Ivan Sielegar; voluntarily taking this challenge. This is our chance to go back to his cool designed site. yay!!
• My nice friend Hasanuddin Tamir, who's up for the challenge too. Happy writing, Mr. blogger-dad!

Anybody who feels like doing it too, don't forget to share the link!

update:

1. Desny's 10 Habits & Facts; where I got the challenge from. More of her friends listed there with their 10 things.
   
2. Nindya & Fajar had written their 10 things & pass on the project to their peers. (happy blog walking fellas!) - 8-9/10/08
3. Patvandiest, tagged by Fajar has written the "mandatory" project and also tagged his peers: Puspa, Rifie and Anima. - 10/10/08
   
4. Puspa apparently had written her own post back in September 23. The tagging continues.
5. Ivan Sielegar & Toni a.k.a Neofreko posted their 20 facts. Yup, 20.. coz they both are the people behind NavinoT.com. (note in your 2009 calendar; we'll be meeting Ivan in Jakarta!) - 11/10/08
6. Anima, he shares 1 thing in common with me: we don't eat sambal! - 12/10/08
7. Rifie, who will get married in two weeks with the man she loves - 12/10/08
   
8. Chibialfa, tagged by Fajar has posted her good post. Read no 7 & 10, brave! - 14/10/08
9. Fikri of Bloggingly, amazingly he's born just awhile ago in 1990 tagged by Navinot Team- 14/10/2008
10. Rama, the notorious Rampok. tagged by Navinot Team - 14/10/2008
11. Java Jive, he rarely agree to this type of invitation that's why he accepted Chibialfa's - 15/10/2008
12. Daniel Hunt, who found it hard to stop at 10 after tagged by Chibialfa. - 15/10/2008
13. Brett McGuire, who's always up for a bit of fun. Like Brandon, who tagged him. - 16/10/2008
14. Lao Ocean Girl, she dreamed of marrying a chef as a kid. - tagged by Brandon - 15/10/2008
15. Nadia Febina, she just realized that it is a lot harder than she thought it would be - tagged by Brandon - 20/10/2008
16. Pico Seno, he said he's shy & open-minded. There are more of him - 01/11/2008
17. Hasant, a friend who loves gardening and the handsomest person in his home. - 02/11/2008
18. Venus, she wanted to do 100 instead of just 10, but stopped at 69. - 06/11/2008

I haven't got any good subject to write for a whole month until I read Unquote's post mentioning about the extra blessing I received. Ehm, allow me to tell you a little secret about it.
I'm not a religious person. I do not pray like most people because I believe most people do not say prayers in the toilet. Yes, toilet. Toilet is my most sacred place. In the toilet, except doing my most private business, reading books, listening to music, I pray.

"But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you." ~ Matthew 6:5-7

My prayers are not spoken the way people say with beautiful words & full of praises. My prayers go like:

"Dude, thanks for letting me go out of trouble back in that shit hole. Shit Dude, it was a terrible situation. So thank You, alright?"

"Sir, You know I kinda need a huge amount of money this month. Damn, I don't know how to raise them in a zap, so I let You do it for me, OK?

For many of you readers, you may find that story disgraceful, disrespectful to God. I'm not surprised if I received cursing comments or maybe some people will hold a demonstration like when they screamed to ban a magazine for publishing a cartoon with a prophet drawing.
Be my guest. I won't care for a single drop.
That last prayer I wrote up there was answered with the exact amount of money (down to the last penny) just 2 days after from a business I didn't even know was going to come my way!

“So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.” ~ Hebrews 10:35-36

I'm not trying to brag about my abnormal habit or simply trying to be different from anybody. I'm not even trying to make a testimonial post too. I write this because I'm amazed how I'm proven everything I (quietly) believe so far and to write it seems to be the only thing that can let out this bubble from my chest. So if it is a testimony, let it be.

I will let you make your own conclusion because like what I wrote before, I do not appreciate much of religious pep-talk, so I will not give you. Who am I anyway. I'm just a woman who said her prayer behind a closed (toilet) door.

"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. ~ Matthew 7:7

Since we moved to the new home, an apartment unit 1 floor above my office, on August 2 2008 , I have lunched at home more than I used to in 1 year. The lure for having lunch at home are 3 gorgeous angels by the name of Jeremiah Indigo Divine (Igo), Zipporah Imogen Divine (Immi) and the sweet Malachi Illarion Divine (Ilya).

My lunch will not be as comfortable as sitting in a restaurant which are growing like fungus around the area. Those angels will be literally sitting on me. Igo will be at my legs, Immi usually seats on my knees and Ilya on my lap. If I came when they also having theirs, they will soon leave their own lunch and prefer mine. I think that might be a bad habit but why should I ditch them for having fun with their own mom.

Igo loves to eat. Igo loves to eat he will check whatever we're eating. Igo will stand in front of us, or should I say in front of our plate if we had fried tempe. We didn't encourage him to eat it until we found out he likes it more than french fries. Seems like Igo loves local culinary.

Last long weekend of the Independence day, I gotta spent it without the help of my kids' nanny. But the angels won't be called the angels if they were not behave like one. They were all sweet, happy & cheerful, manageable to quote from the nanny. Our little home were filled with a lot of laughter more than usual. Each of their menaces was every reason to smile.

Immi ran to her dad's computer & play with the keyboard. She's now with a habit of repeating every word she hears.
Mommy: "Imogen........"
(to call her like this instead of just Immi is a sign that she's not allowed to do whatever she's doing)
Immi: "Monkey!"
(she recently got a toy-laptop which could help her to study alphabet, M stands for Monkey in it, and she pronounces it as Mogen)

Life has not been any easier this year, so does work. The angels keep me going and feel strong. Every crazy effort I made were all just worthy.

We took the kids for a second dinner at a food stall. Immi refused to sit & eat her pancake because she preferred to stare at the stall's banner with Goofy picture on it. She kept on calling it "Migy" (for Mickey Mouse which she mistakenly recognized)

God made them for me, God must be in love with me.

We don't talk much, me and Nila. Gosh, she's that kind who will disappear in 6 months and call you almost midnight and say “Hi... I'm in this deserted island somewhere on the map but too tiny to see.”

And of course, when she IM-ed me today and then call on the generosity of the United Nation, she said she is now in Kathmandu for the last few months trying to save the world with the peace keeping mission.

She's a wonder woman who does real things in helping others including for me when I needed helps. I never actually feel far from her no matter how far she is located.

She's my best friend. I met her in one of my previous work. Hard to describe her, really. She's tiny, she's fast and smart. Her mind and her feet are on a race to something or maybe away from something. I do not understand her completely. I just accept her.

Time would not allow us to talk about the latest fashion collection or the best skin treatment. Time only allowed us to give a quick update on each other then we would exchange strengthening words and prayers. We didn't even have time on our side to elaborate those prayers. We usually just said, “Ah that shit is too little to knock you down, I know you know what to do.” Then we will close the conversation saying, “I'm your family, OK bitch! Call me when you need me.” There, our friendship is now harder than ever.

I've been wanting to write something about friendship for the last couple of week when I saw a re-run of Friends on Star World. I don't know what's the title of the episode I watched, it was the one with Phoebe saying that one of her wish before she reached 30 was to have a wonderful kiss. Then she got the kiss from Joey who ran after her to make sure his friend got what she wished for.

What amazed me was Joey did it quite instantly, almost without thinking and without too many unnecessary blah blah. Joey lived in a fantasy New York.

To have friends who sincerely care and unhesitatingly do anything to make you happy should not be a fantasy.

Life is so precious and there are so many things we should be grateful about. Life should be more appreciated by not complaining to little things, among other things. To have a friendship strong enough like Joey and Phoebe's needs us to give time to the friendship. In time we will learn about each other then accepting one another. Valuing time also means we should prioritized between listening and talking. Make sure we have time to listen so stop talking once in awhile.

(article made on July 4, 2008 previously posted in my tumblr)

It is probably easier if I could kick and punch every person who make me mad. Or maybe it is a lot more satisfying if I could yelled every harsh words known in both Bahasa and English to the face of the person who make me mad.

The last time I tried to send some angry words to the person who made me mad, I had to ask my Plurk buddies for the best excoriation there is. Unfortunately nice sentence like “you are a peacock in everything but brain” was not a proper excoriation due to the English illiteracy of the person I sent the message to. Duh!!

To convert a guy as a punching bag is not an answer too. I mostly wear skirt and high-heel so it's quite hard to do all those foot steps, kicking and balancing.

To be angry is easy, To channel anger is hard.
This fact is my irritating fact at the moment. It became a serious discussion between me and my husband, Fajar, over the weekend. Because I rather be mad in a huge explosion when I was faced to a cowardice act and also idiotic. I am a person who try to do things appropriately and transparent. And when I failed to do so, I will never hold myself from apologizing. So I thought I was entitled to get a face-to-face confirmation when my act was questioned. Then when the person chose to open the question some other places excluding me, I would consider that rather cowardice.

So (again) here I am, angry, and thinking what is the proper way to channel this anger. Fajar said for me to collect all evidences and send them to those entitled to with a note saying that I was just doing my job as they ruled, and if anybody is refusing to do what's right then he should come to his senses before proceeding to anything. Surely I have all the evidences collected but I haven't sent the note. I don't have much faith on their commitment to what's ruled. Actually I haven't seen any commitment either. --ooopppss this one is confusing--

No, I will not send another e-mail to whole bunch of other people and “fishing in a muddy water”. If I have to defend myself, I will do it in much more integrity.

No, I will not place another excoriation on my Digsby status because I don't want to waste words on people who are too illiterate. On the second thought, they might understand the words but certainly think it is not meant for them. --clearly, I do not understand the exact word to describe such... character--

Forgiveness and forgetting
My friend LillyAnn, on Saturday, raise a subject on her Plurk about forgiveness She said forgiveness releases OURSELVES not necessarily the other person... You could read there too that I shared about how often I forgot I was mad to anybody. I guess I won't forget this particular one easily. I concluded for myself that to forgive is harder than to channel anger. Otherwise I will not write this. Yes, I understand now after I wrote this, that I am not just trying to channel my anger. It is because I haven't forgiven. Ooooooooohhhhhhhhh yes, it will be very hard to forgive any idiotic cowardice act especially when the anger itself haven't been properly channeled. --Gee, I gotta stop talking in circle, bad habit, bad habit!-- I have to go back to what LillyAnn said, I want to be released.

*!#%^$##^%#^$&#^%#*(^%##@%@$% !!!!! It's fuckin' hard !!!

Fajar said then I should channel this anger to something more physical like sport –certainly not by involving anybody as a punching bag-- I need a real punching bag, sand bag, whatever they called. I need to exercise maybe it will help me getting my shape back too. Maybe, just maybe, after those sweating activities I will be able to forgive. Hardly!

--Taking a deep breath-- I may still be angry and confuse how to channel my anger and certain that I won't easily either forgetting or forgiving. I'm still 31, still have a lot to learn. I see this as a good subject to learn. My husband said in this very subject I have a lot of improvement over the last 3-4 years. I'm glad. I know maybe until the end of my time I will never pass on the subject and certainly I will never quit on the subject too.

Yesterday, I hate for being a careful, self-controlled person I am. Today, I am that fortunate person who have a kind, smart, compassion husband who will always say what I need to hear. I am that fortunate person who have friends from around the world to share many thoughts, or to get cool excoriation from. I am glad I am one of those fortunate person who have access to many things including this lovely Tumblr.

I am that fortunate person who have a heaven filled with three little angels to go home to. And for this very one, no one's gonna beat me. No one will be powerful enough to make me feel low. I will go home this afternoon, and when I see my angels' faces, this anger will disappear. When my angels hold my hands, they will lead me to time where I will see I have forgiven.

(article made on June 30, 2008 previously posted in my tumblr)

I believe many people hold this one particular principle of keeping one's words. To keep promises or to do what said. Everybody or at least most people think it is part of a person's credibility so they expect other people to hold the same principal.

Skepticism aside, many also think that to help others a person should be able to at least help her/him self. Their basic needs should have been fulfilled. I too love to help others and wish to be able to help more but before I extend my hands, I will make sure my family is secured with their (at least) basic needs.

We are people of principles are we not?
When we promised a hungry man that he will receive 2 pieces of bread, we would bring him 2 pieces of bread. You came back to him bringing 2 pieces of bread and an empty stomach of yours. You could help him with 2 pieces of bread but you would be hungry and maybe you could get sick for not eating too. BUT HELL... YOU PROMISED HIM 2 PIECES OF BREAD! You are a man of your words.

I was promised of 2 pieces of bread. I did not have anything to get myself any bread at the moment. The man who promised me 2 pieces of bread came back hungry with 2 promised pieces of bread and asked to share the breads. BUT HELL... I WAS PROMISED 2 PIECES OF BREAD!

My other principle is to follow my heart. Be true to myself. And I failed. I failed when all of those principles collided on a cross road somewhere along my life line. My heart said I should let the man divided the breads between the 2 hungry people. Instead I followed one principle and made the man keep his words.

What would you do? How tough are you to stand a principle In the ancient or even the modern time, many open wars in many scales on the ground of principles. As if with one you are without guilt.

I have many principles in life and I dare to stand them. One principle colliding experience had told me there should be one principle stands above many others and that is compassion. And when compassion needs to be shown, one should do it unhesitatingly. At the risk of irritating you, I must add that The Lord Himself felt the necessity to rule this very line by sending His own son so we learn that there is only one principle in life. Love.

So now I will change my question; how far will you bend your principle in the name of love?

We have been looking for a new house to rent for the last couple of days. We have checked several including one right across my in-laws'. The house been empty for quite sometime and we have noticed that house also for quite sometime. It is a one story house which said to be unsuitable for Kelapa Gading with its seasonal flood. Despite all other similar unsuitable facts, the house is very suitable for our need, for our very own fact.

The house is planned to be lived in on the 2nd of August 2008, we are happy already because for the very first time of our marriage life, we will have something to be called a proper house. Not a room, not a pavilion, but a one complete, independent HOUSE.

Two bed rooms, a living room, a dining room, a bathroom, a maid room, a kitchen and a wet washing area. The size is perfect for our indoor activities. The existence is suitable for our dream. The dream we are building piece by piece each day.

Fajar and I agreed to fill the house without any unnecessary force. We both feel the same toward the house, it is where we want to build our future from. A place we want to stay long enough before we could afford to buy our own.

It takes hands to build a house, but only hearts can build a home.

The living room will not yet to have a living set. The dining room also won't have the proper table and chairs. Many other things will not yet be in there to make it a happy furniture-filled-house but the house will be a home of three angels who will immediately fill it with their voices. Makes it warm and lively again after its long emptiness.

It is a very exciting experience we are going to have in that house. It is like having a new clean white paper to do art with. We are allowed to use pencils or maybe charcoal, water paint, crayons, pastels to art our dream on. The fact that we will have to save every penny for any furniture we want is not making it any harder. It will be a fun process to go through. Every furniture will be picked carefully based on many aspects but to make them control us. Life is so much larger than the furniture isn't it?

I mostly imagine to have row of bookshelves by one of the wall. Maybe even two walls. A corner of working space for my husband after we make peace about the position of the computer. Other than that nothing seems to be pretty crucial to think about except for making all things clean and save for the children.

Home is the one place in all this world where hearts are sure of each other. It is the place of confidence ... and where we pour out the unreserved communications of full and confiding hearts. ~ Frederick W. Robertson

We have marked dates to do all the preparation necessary for the move-in. We have discussed a lot of things for us to be able to move into the new house. That is one of the thing I like about my spouse. No matter how ugly can a discussion goes, we discuss no matter what. All the decisions were made together, after all it's a home we are building.

Home, the spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. ~ Robert Montgomery

I am a hydrophobic, fear of water that is. Get me into a pool and you will see me sinking like a stone into the bottom of it, my body paralyzed in the water. Living in Kelapa Gading for the last 2 years had gotten me into two flood experiences which let my husband did all the wet activities all by himself.

I can still remember how it happened, a 5 years old walked all by herself on the beach, toward the sea, not realizing, busy collecting seashells. Then the ground disappear! No more to put my feet on. The water swallowed me. Rolled under water, gasping for air but drinking water instead. Then something bumped me. Big enough to hold, it was an adult's leg! He carried me back to the beach, put me on my stomach. The water went out. No more water other than bathing ever since. Never got myself close to any pool.

Then in April 2008 at the age of 31 years old, a company outing, I decided to face a river on a rafting activity. The lake was Citarik, the surrounding was gorgeous. The idea of facing my fear sounded so cool. More said to me not to do it, but it won't be me if I did what they said. I put on the life jacket, held my oar, put a proud face a little too soon. Then when the rubber raft hit the water and swayed by it, I couldn't help telling myself what a stupid idea it was. I cursed myself more vicious than I ever did to anyone in the world. It was only 100m away from the departing dock when we hit another raft between 2 giant rocks, our raft was literally folded like a sandwich by the water force from the back. All on board was thrown-out to the water. The water swallowed me. The life jacket made me spilled out by the dragon-mouth-like wave. But the dragon did not let me go so easily, I was swallowed back in, rolled back into the depth of the water and my right hand got stuck between 2 sharp rocks at the bottom of the river. Maybe that was the dragon's teeth. Needed 2-3 seconds to shake my hand out. On the surface a raft buddy already in a secure floating position and I fiercely held on to his life jacket until we all got rescued. I can still remember his expression when he saw me came out of the water, like he saw an ugly fierce dragon. Lucky he then realized I was not a dragon no matter how ugly my expression was. The next 4 kilometers of the river got through by ducking my body every time I saw some bumpy curves and that was not even instructed. When we reached the finish line I said, that was it? Horror had not even left my face.

I felt guilty for awhile for risking myself that way, I mean, I could've been so panic I couldn't let myself out from the rock and drowned. When I came back home, the guilt held me from telling the story to Fajar and for awhile looking to my children's eyes. I was fortunate God was there too at Citarik river. No, I will not do it again. Risking my life to proof something seems unnecessary. Next time I have to go facing a huge amount of water that will be when my children are in danger in it. Everytime I tried to excerpt a lesson from that decision, the picture of water swallowing me retained me from getting one. I hope by the time one of my children is to face a fear, wet or dry, I will have something good to say.

2008 has not been a great year for me. It is probably one of the worst since I was brought into this world. And it is still in July.

2008 has been the year where my strength is being tested to the very last bit of its thread.
In the early days of the year, we got a news of my husband being HIV+.
The news did not stop there, it was followed with many facts which submerged along with the research we did on the disease, including the possibility that my youngest son who still 3 months old at the time might also has it.
Oh yes, I might have it too but then dismissed by a screening test which did not confirm us that my youngest son, Ilya, has the good news too.
I really want to be excused from the obligation to explain why is it so, but then again, to have a blog comes with a responsibility. So, here we go.

A baby could not be determined of being HIV+ until s/he reached over 6 months old, since the screening test is based on the amount of anti-HIV in the body. The baby could have the high level of anti-HIV passed from the mother but not necessary the virus itself. If the level of the anti-HIV did not reduce within 6 months then the possibility of HIV+ is increasing, then more tests should be done from time to time until confirmed positive or negative.

Yes, I passed the test. But it was the screening test which should be done every 3 months. It is possible that by the time I did the test, I was still in the window time, where my anti-HIV has not formed. If I passed my next screening test then we can also celebrate for Ilya.
I hope to have a party to arrange.

Now please, spare me of telling you how I deal with this ordeal. My emotional battle and so on and so on. I will just say, I have it. Yes, tears and all.
The next day I went to a bank, made a new education saving on the name of my daughter. I also rearranged my attitude toward some assholes at work so I could manage to temporary save my job. Sometime my survival mode disturbed my husband. It disturbed me too, very much, coz I really like it sometime if I could just crawl on the floor crying for days and feel sorry for our family, for my husband, for my babies, for myself, break down. But no matter how much I like that idea I could never manage myself to be in that point. I am this woman who mostly cried because if a huge anger not sadness.

Angry? Am I angry? Why should I? To what? To whom?
To God? No... I could never be angry to the One who have taken care of me to this very second and will to my very last breath.
Let's stop there. On God, I mean.
Because even that I am not angry to Him, I do not like to discuss Him.
So save your words of telling me to go to church, read bible or pray.
He is my most private business so butt out!!!

My first born son, Igo, is a sweet child. A handsome boy with the sweetest giggle to ears.
No music even the masterpiece could manage to out listed the sound of his giggles.
He is the first of everything in our family. First son, first grandson, first nephew. Yes, to both sides.
He is now 3 years and 5 months old and an autistic child.
He has not yet talked. He avoids eye contacts more than 2 seconds. He does that only to those he please. That goes with touching too. You can not touch him unless he initiates. He likes round stuff, wheels, balls, etc. He likes routines.
According to our little research on the net he might have a mild one. To have the assumption confirmed by a professional is like taking a punch on the stomach. I saw it coming and when it touched my belly, it hurt.

Igo will have his sessions with the professionals, very soon I hope. Igo will not be treated differently. He is our son who will receive everything he needs accordingly. Igo will be brought-up with love toward his own-chosen future. Period.

My husband, Fajar, will also receive his medical supports. It goes without saying.
I will not treat him differently too. I still pout when he whines.
I love him.
With that love comes all effort simply to make him happy.
Happiness could put extra seconds or maybe minutes to his life.
I want him to live. Period.

The year 2008 may not be the happiest year of my life but certainly the year that built me.
The year 2008 has not shaken me down and will not too.
I promise you, o dear 2008, by the time you're finished I will only count the bless you bring.
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Related post from the hubby

Music has always been my favorite companion. So when unquote gave a gift of a features-packed MP3 Player, it instantly became my best friend. The ear buds really shut me out of the morning noise of Boulevard Raya Kelapa Gading on my way and back from office.

I packed everything pleasing to my ears from Chris Brown to Michael Buble, 3 Doors Down to Rammstein, Kosheen to Mika, Daughtry to INXS or U2, and of course I could manage to squeeze in my favorite classical number of Bach - Brandenburg Concerto No.3 and Haydn's Symphony No.8. These last two numbers are my favorite not only to walk but also to do my private business in the toilet. I call as it my private cultural moment.

My music taste is not special. It's rather common, in my opinion. I, however, am very poor concerning local music. Then again, it is about taste. Very few could indulged my ears nor my heart. And many failed to escape my scolding for their courage to call whatever they wrote as music.

One afternoon few minutes before I could happily wrap my day at office for not having much to do, a colleague was having a conversation about what she called music and she made a very brave statement that she knows music from most people (in office).
It was really a shocking statement to hear because she is not unquote with his mind-fucked playlist. Her playlist consists Kangen Band, Ungu and some second graded progressives.

Her statement was rather insulting to my cultural taste.

After a line (or maybe two) denial about not having any problem to the band and their tunes, she called her own cellphone from the landline and on the speakers too. Her ring back tone is that horrible sound from the-not-so-selling-band's-name. I immediately admit at the feet of my almighty and before the eyes of my fellow plurkers that I do have problems with that band and their courage to call whatever that was as music.

She has her taste alright, not sense. True, very true.
Playing Yoyo Ma's Cello Concerto or maybe even Alicia Keys's No One will not help to tell her that she is senseless in term of music.
So I continue wrapping my day at the office. Plug my ears with "Down with the sickness" from Disturbed. Beside, my dearest husband was already downstair with his own MP3 Player, probably playing Depapepe's Summer Parade.