Thanks to being a member of FPN (fountain pen network), I recently came across something that I believe is worth sharing. I know that this may not be of an interest to everyone, but we as a society, globally, have started to loose one of the most important elements in life – hand writing. It is sad, but it is so true. And one that must be protected and advocated for many centuries in the future, despite our advances in technology. The content of this article is the very reason WHY I love the idea of pen on paper. It's part of human history and of our ancestor’s. And thus, it SHOULD be a part of us, now and for many years and generations to come.

Link:
ARTICLE

This month I’m using my Sailor in medium nib, fully loaded with Rohrer & Klingner Sepia ink. Though it is a medium nib, it writes like a fine nib, as it is a Japanese size.

I don’t know the name of this particular Sailor pen but it is of a vintage design. I got it at a small stationary shop in a small town called Kuching, in Malaysia, own and run by an elderly man. The shop itself is an old one, in what looked like a run-down historical building. It was by accident that I came across this shop, as I was on the way to a museum, on foot. The collection of fountain pens available at the shop is very limited as they no longer sell as many in comparison to the old days, thus they never restocked on their inventory. What’s left are very few pieces in various brands and all of the vintage type. After a brief test of few of them pens dipped in ink, I knew I just got to have this one, especially when the price offered was ridiculously low. The shop keeper is a very helpful and pleasant man to chat with, and was very pleased with the fact that someone was still searching for a fountain pen at his shop after all the years he’s been in the business, especially someone so much younger than he is. Needless to say, my experience at the shop was worth the trip to the town.

It was dark and wet when we stepped out of the restaurant. There was dampness in the air. Here and there were small dark pockets on the asphalt roads. In the company of Chris (@christao408) and Andrew (@stepaside_loser), tiny puddles of street water didn’t seem too bad. They were busy chatting and I was busy listening, right from the first flower vendor we passed as we exited Soul Food restaurant, to crossing the street, about a block away, to have our dessert. I was trying hard to capture the intense, seemingly interesting conversation between Chris and Andrew in front of me, and also between Tawn and another friend, S, behind me, but the traffic noise around us was not helping. Still, I tried my best to pay a close attention to their conversation.

Soul Food was as good as I expected. A cosy little Southern Thailand cuisine restaurant, that happens to be very popular among the expatriates. Having briefly studied the menu online prior to my flight to Bangkok, I knew it would be a pleasurable dinner occasion. Chris knows how to impress his guests and he did it well. He is a frequent customer at the restaurant and so we decided to have him pick out the dishes worth trying. We started out by having samosas and a cocktail. My second cocktail for the evening. The evening was one with approving mmms over the yummy selections of courses that ranged from banana flower to chicken to duck to lamb to pork to vegetables and curry. We even got a complimentary dish from the restaurant (Chris knows the owner).

If you want pictures, then you are in for a disappointment. I didn’t take any. I was too starving to think of clicking away my iPhone and to make everyone wait for me. We all were hungry. We didn’t get there until after 8PM. Prior to dinner though, Chris took me to a rooftop bar at Zense. A splendid looking place that combines an alfresco bar and dining with a warm contemporary indoor dining space, that serves five different ethnic cuisines from their five different main kitchens. Naturally, we had to have our first cocktail for the day there. It was a nice way to break the ice. And it was on Chris’ tap too. Thanks, Chris

By the time we finished the shared dishes at Soul Food, I was wet in all of the inappropriate places. Some of the dishes were spicy enough to have my head, face and neck drenched in non-stop trickles of sweat. I don’t know how my dining companions did it. They seemed just as poise and dry as the minute they stepped into the restaurant. I, on the other hand, was all hot and bothered and ready to jump into a shower. Chris’ suggestion to have a local icy dessert nearby was a very welcoming one. And so we headed out there after we settled the bill.

As we approached the area, stalls upon stalls of street food vendors filled both sides of the side walks along the road, leaving the middle section of the road wide enough for two lane of cars to pass through. We reached one vendor that displayed bowls of colorful ingredients that were mostly made with rice flour and legumes, soaked in liquid. Tawn confirmed that was our stop. He ordered five different types of desserts. The experience of sitting and chatting and eating at an open street side location was far opposite from the dining environment of Soul Food or Zense, but one that was equally pleasant and adventurous. I have to credit the hosts for that.

The desserts were what the doctor ordered. I cooled down quickly. I even finished the coconut ice cream that was to be shared between us all. Sorry, guys But this time around, I managed to bite my lip once in a while, so I wouldn’t talk as much as I did during my first xangan meeet-up back in June. I wasn’t even planning to blog about this meet-up, but having read Chris' post I felt a sudden urge to do the same.

Chris and Tawn were the most gracious hosts and the tallest people in Thailand I have personally come to know. I had expected to see Tawn as a petite guy, judging from how he seems compared to Chris in photos. But Chris is very very VERY tall, and so Tawn is actually taller than me. Don't let Chris’ photos fool you. As for Andrew, he is a pleasantly mild mannered guy, and shorter than I expected. He is actually thinner than me. His accent made me miss my younger years living in Australia. And to his credit, he was the first to notice my taste in clothing is similar to his. I said this to him in Bangkok, and I will say it again… “Smart people think alike”

This world is more colorful when you are around. The sun is brighter without blinding. The people seem kinder. The burden that weights in on my shoulder feels lighter. Each step I take feels quicker. Each mouthful of food I consume tastes sweeter. Each decision I make feels right. And each hug feels like the whole world is smiling upon me.

The world is of rainbow color when you smile. The few sparks of silver strands of hair illuminate the golden many. The wrinkled gaze reflects the clear blueness of the sky. The curviness of the thin lips blushes a pink kiss. And the perfect teeth cheerfully warms the heart like the milky white of marshmallows.

I longed for you. Never wanting to let go. All the blues and greys turned into lime greens and violets when you are near. Each morning feels like tasting pillow-soft rainbow donuts with a touch of maple syrup. That power you have. I crave, endlessly.

This month I’m using my Pilot Custom 74 Smoke Black Demonstrator in fine nib, fully loaded with Diamine Twilight blue ink.

I could describe how beautiful the island is. I could share you pictures of breathtaking landscapes that keep tourists coming back for more. I could enchant you with its hundreds of years of tradition that’s reflected on the buildings and ethnic dances and costumes. And I could enthrall you with its local dishes that speak volume in spices and intricate preparations. Yet, what was on my mind for the whole 5 days and 4 nights breathing the air and walking the sandy ground of Bali, is the fact of how foreign the island has become in comparison to the rest of the country. The very reason why I chose to keep returning to this island of the Hindu gods.

With the cool breeze flowing north from the continent of Down Under, Australian winter air keeps Bali cooler this time of the year, each year. The sun still shines blindingly but the lightness and freshness of the tropical-winter air makes it easily bearable. The humidity is at its lowest, thus my under arms stayed drier for a little longer than I was expecting. It made walking a much welcoming task. With the sand under my toes, I was a happy camper.

As in any of my travels, excellent nourishments come in first before anything else. However, it is NOT the overnight fire-pit roasted Babi Guling (suckling pig) smothered in chilies and spices that got my knees all weak. It is NOT the island’s famous bbq ribs that everyone was searching for that got me salivating. And it is NOT the staple Nasi Campur Bali, with its steamed coconut rice covered with various toppings ranging from fried, stewed, grilled, roasted, boiled, and sautéed goodies flavored in spices, herbs, chilies, coconut, palm sugar, and more, that making me loose sleep the night prior to my early morning flight to Bali. No, not those. What's beautiful to me, aside from its miles of fine-grained-sand-stretched beaches and lush green rice fields, is the many options available on various foreign cuisine, and nicely prepared at that.

Most would think that it is such a waste for someone to go to Bali and NOT basking oneself under the sun with orders of freshly cut coconut for its sweet water and silky cellophane-white meat. Or to bestow oneself to heart’s content with the many choices of spiced delicacies that could easily send one to a state of dehydration. I, on the other hand, would search for the opposite. For the opposite is what my heart desires.

This is not my first trip, and I couldn't help but noticing how the island has genuinely evolved to better suits the needs of its travelers. Specifically, foreign travelers. Even more so than before. Now numerous mini market shops can be seen within a walking distance from a hotel, any hotel. Countless number of western cafes and bars available, providing a quick relieve for an addiction on coffee or alcohol. And don't get me started on the restaurants. If sandwiches, puff pastries, and gelato you want, they all there. If you desire chili crabs & sautéed kai-lan, duck confit & foie gras, sauerkraut & crispy pig knuckles, humus & lamb gyros, pizza & gnocchi, sashimi & pork ramen, tom yum goong & green curry, or something as simple as nasi goreng & satay, you can have them ALL. And foreign travelers cherish these choices, as I do.

From the eyes of many local Indonesians, Bali is not Indonesia. Bali is… BALI. An island it may be, but an almost nation of its own. A tiny little island that encompasses diverse international tastes and lifestyle. It's a place for those who crave to get-away from it all, but want the availability and comfort of their own home-continent cuisine. No longer would I need to travel too far to pamper my palate for a good Greek food, or simply hang out at an outdoor café with no fear of pollution from the many traffic fumes such in the capital city. I, like many others, have come to call it the IT place to go domestically. Because in Bali, not only one will always have a full stomach, one is also encouraged to hang loose, wear flip-flops all day, and act like the world doesn’t matter. And you won’t be hissed for it either.

I worry that I won’t make it.
That I’m not cut out for it.
That the compassion won’t be returned,
And the passion won't be mutually shared.
I worry about these little things.
These little things that jump start my pulse.
How far must I travel,
And strive for what I hope to possess?
I don’t know how to commence,
Or to continue.
Must I ask,
And let history repeats itself?
I don't know how to be.
I haven’t a clue whom I shall be.
All I know is that I will always,
Continuously, worry.

You taunt me with your gaze,
Those little black sesame pupils of yours .
Your pettiness warms my heart,
And my imagination.
My fingers reach out to you,
And my pulse races.
Your pale flesh feels warm and dry,
My fingertips tell me so.
My lips press hard against your skin,
As my teeth dig deep.
My tongue tastes your crumbly sweetness,
With a hint of salt.
Your inner flesh smells of chrysanthemums,
And feels pasty against my palate.
I smile,
Knowing that my hand will reach out for another you.

This month I’m using my Pilot Falcon in soft-fine nib, fully loaded with Diamine Grey ink.

I laid her down gently. Her long thin hair brushed against my arms and felt soft. I bent down and smooched her on the top of her head. She’s just too adorable to resist. She turned around. She looked at me intensely. And without warning, she growled and BIT me.

The shih tzu returned my affection with a quick nasty bite. It stung. I bled. She left three little bite marks on my right cheek.

Not wanting to risk getting rabies, I went to the nearest hospital for a vaccine. I went to three different hospitals before I found one that actually provided a vaccine for rabies. And the stuff was NOT cheap.

For a full treatment, four shots of rabies vaccine are required within a three-week period. I’ve had three so far. My one last shot is due in two weeks.

I was told that rabies can be transmitted through bodily fluid, IF and WHEN one is found positive. This is scary. Not wanting to risk anything, the day after I got bitten I also went to my local clinic to get a transfusion, to clean out my blood. I had it three days in a row. My Chinese doctor recommended it.

I don't know what brought this unfortunate incident. I’ve been good. Real good. I still remember how the dog looked at me after she landed that nasty kiss. Her evil stare was saying YOU DESERVED IT. Sigh… chicks can be so cruel sometime.

Have you seen this? A video of survival tip that shows you how to use a tampon to start a fire. I have a feeling women around the world would start saying “If it's good enough for a woman, it's good enough for a man”.

reference:
tampon to start a fire.

It was early. Early enough for my eyes to beg at least fifteen more minutes of idle and stillness. But the cell phone kept on buzzing and vibrating. It was almost next to my right ear, by the bedside stool where I left it on recharging the night before. I reluctantly turned my head and grabbed the vibrating white and metal rectangular piece of electronic, with a small silver silhouette of an apple on it, slightly bitten on the right. I winced and tried my best to open my eye lids to read the name of the caller shown on the screen. I was stunned. It’s her. I had to close my eyes and reopened them wider to make sure it was her name I saw on the screen. Yes, it's her.

I wasn’t sure how I should feel. I wasn’t sure how friendly I should get. Eight months. Eight months of not a single reply to my messages and emails. She wouldn’t even reply me on Facebook. Eight bloody months of me racking my brain trying to makes sense of what was going on. Is she ok? Is it me? Did I do something wrong? Did I say something I shouldn’t have? I really thought it was over between us. I really did.

As soon I slide my finger on the screen to answer and said hello, a cheerful high pitched girly sound was saying “Rudyyyyyyy….!!”, then followed by a giggle, in a lower, deeper tone.
“I woke you up, ya?” she asked.
“No, no. I’m already up”. I lied.
“Listen, can I call you back with a different number? Like, right now?”
“Sure, sure”. I was sitting on the bed by now, still half asleep.
“It’s an unregistered number from work. It won't show up on your phone. But please answer it, ok?”
“Yeah, ok”.
“Ok, wait for my call, ya”. Then she hung up.

I quickly, but grudgingly, got myself up from the bed. My right knee was still making that crackling sound as I pushed myself up. But that was not important. At least, not now. The phone buzzed again. The screen read BLOCKED NUMBER. It must be her.

“Hi” I answered.
“Hi” she answered back cheerfully, then giggled again.
“How are you?”
“Good, good. And how are you, Rudy? And your family?”. I heard traffic noise on the background as she spoke to me.

I wanted to ask immediately what the hell happened. Why she distant herself from me all these months. Why she never responded back. Why? But I didn’t. I wanted to let her be the first to open the conversation. Let her have a chance to explain herself. She may have a good reason. It could be something important.

I paced myself back and forth in my bedroom as we chatted on the phone. She was on her way to work. A different company this time. It’s another international hotel chain. One of the few she had to turn down when they extended their offer to her many years back. She sounded happy. Very happy. She was down the last time we chatted, back in November last year, when I told her I was going to London to see a cousin on mine whom I had not seen in more than a decade. I still have the souvenir she asked me to get for her. It's been sitting on my book shelf in a clear plastic cover and in a carry-on bag from the shop I got it from. It's been there, waiting for her, for eight months now.

It didn’t make sense to me when I heard nothing from her upon my return. It still doesn’t. Why wouldn’t she respond back to my messages? Has something happened? Is it me? Is it not me? Many questions unasked and unanswered. She never did give any kind of reasoning for her behavior. As if none of it ever happened. I decided to let it slide. Better not make a big deal out of this. She did finally call me back, after all. Doesn't that count for something? That we still friends?

The rest of the day I was in a daze. Hoping and wishing that she would call back soon to suggest a meet-up and have an one-on-one chat. Sigh… I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore. I never understood women. And probably never will.

The day came when all residents of the city are given the exempt from working and encouraged to go to their destined location in their neighborhood to vote for their new governor.

It's been an engaging stint in the past several months for the six parties whom have been getting their head and asses on the saddle and ride the political horse to win the race. Many promises are made. Many somewhat sarcastic comments rendered against their opponents. But only one will be eligible to be elected, or re-elected, as the 2012 governor of the city of Jakarta, the capital city of Indonesia, and run the city for the next 5-year period.

Being someone who detest anything political, spend his days and nights avoiding the television, and have a lack of interest in the local newspapers, I, a permanent resident of Jakarta, have NOT a clue as to whom I should vote. I had not been following the progress of the race, and so had not a knowledge on the difference in their potential aptitude in running my city. An immature thought crossed my mind to just do the simple minnie-miny-moe method in choosing. But my conscious got the better of me, and so I asked around for useful details, only the day before the election day.

It was not my favorite morning. I remembered the scene of the location was a rather sad one. Under an outdoor blue plastic tent, there sitting behind cheap foldable tables, several personnel in their bored faces, with pages of list of names they can check-off to recognize that you are registered and eligible to vote. Two galvanized box stands placed on the opposite end, a good ten feet away, and five feet apart from each other. Behind each of the galvanized box stand, an ice pick (yeah, we are quite primitive) is placed for voters to use to vote. How? Well, when you registered, a folded paper is handed to you. Inside the paper are pictures of the candidates of the six parties, potential governors and their vice-governors. All you have to do is to prick through the number mentioned on top of your chosen party to win. A hole through the number is suffice to indicate that particular party has been voted.

Afterward, you fold back the paper, and on your way out place it inside a large galvanized box through a slot on top. Next, you dip one of your fingers into a bottle of ink prepared on site. The ink stain on your finger signifies that you have voted. Not wanting to dirty myself with a questionable ink (I doubt it was a fountain pen ink), I reluctantly dipped my pinkie (I was tempted to use my middle finger) ever so slightly on the top surface of the ink. The lady behind the counter where the ink bottle was placed gave me a peculiar look, as if I was terrified of contracting hepatitis from the ink. Others would gladly have dipped half of their finger in. But not me. No, sir.

Wanting to ever so badly to have a good day, I arranged a meet up with my mate. I was in need of good caffeine. Upon arrival at our meet-up spot, I ordered myself an affogato, while waiting for him to arrive. I was in a mood for an espresso and something sweet. I’m glad to say that after that shot of espresso, everything was all good.

Last month, during the most hectic week, we (the company) took part in an industrial exhibition to promote our company and, most importantly, the many brands of product that we sell. The following are few pics of our preparation at the site of the exhibition.

Our empty booth from a distance, upon arrival on the day before the first day of 4-day exhibition...

Cleaning and setting up the display cases...

During the exhibition...

This month I’m using my Duke 1853 in fine nib, fully loaded with Diamine Chocolate Brown ink.

And what a gluttony of a feast…

Peking duck wraps.
Duck in black pepper sauce.
Stewed pork belly with preserved vegetables, in steamed buns.
Shark’s head with garlic and chives.
Giant sea clams with broccoli and ginger.
Crispy eels with leafy vegetables and fermented red rice.
Steamed whole fish with soy sauce and green onions.
Stir fried egg noodles with pork and seafood.
Deep fried sesame balls filled with sweet black sesame paste.
Fresh yellow watermelon and papaya.
Hot Chinese black tea and icy cold Indonesian beer.

…and there were only 6 of us.

A single tablet of vitamin C every night for a week helped to chase away the germs. There was no way I was going to risk getting sick again. I got tired of feeling all weak and jaded from the meds. And so I drank a glass of the diluted tablet, blackcurrant flavor, every single night. Glad to say I was completely back to my normal self in only a few days time.

Came Sunday, I started out with my usual Sunday morning ritual – sitting by the kitchen counter with a pot of tea and a book. A much needed bliss.

I was planning to stay in all day and just chill, but ended up going to a book fair instead to kill time. I only got to bring home one book with me, a fiction titled “The Reader” by Bernhard Schlink. I’ve seen clips of the movie version and found the plot is worth reading. And so when I came across the book at the fair, and only at a cost of around US$4.00 (used), I knew it was coming home with me.

There were some 200 stands there at the fair, selling mostly local books for kids and for the Muslim community, but there were a few selling imported books and vintage books. At one stand, a particular book stood out and caught my eye…

It was quite a shock to see such book exists and available for sale here in a Muslim country, of all places. I came close to purchasing one (it was the only copy) for I was curious to learn what exactly in the content. The brief description mentioned that the whole content basically everything Hitler founded his believes on. I figured what purpose would they serve me if I do read them. And so I passed on the opportunity.

By the time I came back, the sun started to set. The air was cooler. The perfect time to take my sister’s dog out for a walk. It’s been a while since the last time I took her out for a stroll. I felt bad. I had been sick and busy for weeks that I have failed to allow her the freedom of roaming around the streets and sniff the scent of other dogs’ urine and droppings. Yeah, she loves doing that. She would stop at every spot she could sniff the slightest scent of another dog. She was so excited when she saw me taking the leash out. Made me smile and felt terribly bad for depriving her joy for so many weeks.

Not long after we came back, Vince (@vsan79) whatsapp me to meet up for a chat. We went out to an ice cream parlor and stayed and chatted right until before the place closed. He brought with him a big-ass Cannon camera to take pics with. I had to force myself to smile when he asked me to be his guinea pig and posed for the camera. I never liked seeing myself in a photo. But all in all, it was a nice relaxing Sunday.

This week will be a slow week. I only have one appointment with a Japanese supplier. He is retiring from his company and will be heading back to Japan this coming Friday, and so we felt that it's only fitting that my company will be treating him, along with his associates, a farewell dinner. He has a long history of business dealings with my company and has stayed here in Jakarta for so many years that he is fluent in Indonesian language by now. He is also a hardcore foodie and is known to have ventured to more street foods here than I have. He is saddened by the fact that he will be leaving a country that he has come to call his second home, for good. His choice of meal will be Chinese cuisine, for there are very few good Chinese restaurants in Japan. Well, at least according to him. I’m expecting to see gluttony at its best come dinner time with him this coming Thursday.

The coughs and flu are totally under control now, though I’m still finishing my meds. After a 2-week run of being ill, I was hoping to get an easy work schedule to get back my strength, so I can compensate my absent from exercising.

Wishful thinking on my part.

Upcoming schedule:
Sunday the 17th.
• AM visit to the clinic (my one last transfusion).
• Afternoon airport pick-up for a Japanese supplier (the president of the company & his associate).
• Dinner to entertain them.

Monday the 18th.
• AM pick up from hotel to office.
• All day meeting.
• Lunch and dinner to entertain them.

Tuesday the 19th.
• AM pick up from hotel to airport.
• Office day (emails, documents, etc.)
• Afternoon visit to an exhibition area to check on the set up for upcoming event (1.5 hour drive from office)

Wednesday the 20th.
• AM flight to Singapore for an all-day seminar by a Japanese supplier.
• Lunch and dinner with supplier (on their tap).
• Stay overnight (on my company’s tap and I’ll be snoring).

Thursday the 21st.
• AM flight back to Jakarta.
• Afternoon meeting with another Japanese supplier (the director & his associates).
• Dinner to entertain them.

Friday the 22nd.
• 2 factory visitations and a meeting (1.5 hour drive outside the city).
• Dinner with another Japanese supplier.

Saturday the 23rd.
• All day industrial exhibition (1.5 hour drive outside the city and my company is a participant).
• Lunch with two Japanese suppliers.
• Attend a PM wedding (personal schedule).

Sunday the 24th.
• Free day. FINALLY.

I know many of you may have a rougher schedule than mine. But please let me vent this once. Let’s hope I won’t get sick again by the end of this upcoming week. Keep your fingers crossed for me, will you? Sigh…

I woke up this morning and noticed something alarming. Not only the coughs still holding me hostage, now my right knee is stiffer and heavier than usual. No pain. But each time I bent it, I would hear a soft cracking sound, similar to when one wrinkles a paper or plastic. This. Can’t. Be. Good.

My mum once told me, the day I turned a year old was the day I started walking. I can’t help but feeling how old I’ve gotten, now that my knee is making that funny sound. I’ve always looked forward to getting older and getting wiser. Now getting older seems more like a bummer, especially when I get ill way too often in this past couple of years.

I rotate the use of my fountain pens on monthly basis and this my very first post on it. This month I’ve decided to use my Nakaya Piccolo in soft medium nib, fully loaded with Diamine Kensington Blue ink. No review of the pen and ink, though. Just sharing pics. A lazy post.