A Little Passage Of Judith Ryan Hendricks

For  a number of loyal fans of contemporary literature, maybe name of Judith Ryan Hendricks is not as popular as Nora Roberts, Lauren Weisberger, or Stephenie Meyer, but sufficiently familiar sounded amongst the other phenomenal authors in America. Initiated her debut by  releasing “Bread Alone” (which went on to a best seller) in the early 2002, Judith has succesfully brought her name to the stamp of  “Sagacious woman” because of her affinity in assembling tactful words on her first masterpiece. Yet, her bright aptitude is clearly shown when kneading, roasting, and nibbling a bread have become usual in her life, even can be the curative ones.

Born in a small district named Silicon Valley, California  from  middle class family, the first daughter of two, whose parents didn’t hold academic title emblem and writing talent inheritance (she admits, her mother has affected her then to be an amiable reader). Nomadic circumstances coloured  young Judith’s life, from San Hose, Castro Valley, moved to Los Angeles until ended to the settlement in Atlanta. But Judith made her own path, leaped from one state to another and eventually stepped in to Santa Fe.

At the age of seven, she got her first ‘summon’ to write a story about a missing chrismast tree from one family then her best friend Lyn Davis followed her trace, plotted few stories to play  in her garage where full kids-loaded, and were eager to watch. She never mentioned any particular memory blissfully-happened in her teenagehood (just normal behavior of a teen girl, the crustiness overloaded to one of basketball teams in Senior High )

Obtaining a title as Journalism degree didn’t make her perception of the first job would steady permanently. Unlike the other writers who have many varian of  prestigious jobs before devoting their life in ‘literature sphere’, Judith’s life filled with lots of petty occupations. She worked as a copywriter and journalist as well at an unpopular mass media, tried to be a computer instructor then turned to a travel agent. Not long after, she swiveled her course to a telecommunication company, worked as a public relation then ultimately landed on what she became so in love with it, a baker. Though there was a time when she had to enforced  herself not to no longer baking due to serious surgery she had, she decided to give a focus on ‘writing endeavor’ (in her idle time period) at UC Irvine,  “It was like sitting down in an unfamiliar chair and finding it so comfortable you never want to get up,” she stated as quoted from her official website (-judithryanhendricks.com-).

At the time when she got some writing lessons at UC Irvine, she joined Squaw Valley Community of Writers, and it was Andrew Tonkovich who had given her the biggest affection in learning how to make a good story, though there many other instructors whom she admired. “The year I attended, they had not yet started a nonfiction program, but in his classes at UCI Andrew had showed us how to use fiction techniques—setting, point of view, dialogue, etc—to write compelling non-fiction. It was in his class that I came to the realization that it was all one. All writing. Andrew gave us the tools and the freedom to use them for anything we wanted to write,” she said as noted during interview session at (-www.litpark.com-).

Bread Alone is her first creative-writing and also a craft that make her so into with the plotline, which she always thinks twenty four hours in a day would have not be enough for her to work on it. Now Bread Alone has been known worldwide and translated into 11 languanges in the world. Follows  its success, the three more books she has produced (The Baker Apprentice, Isabel's Daughter and The Laws Of Harmony) gain a well-welcoming from her fanatics readers. There’s no record-written left on what year she was born precisely. Her current life now is with her lovely husband, Geoff  who once handed her a piece of poetic paper at her birthday without having children. (Nsri)

RECAP OF SCREAM 4

Woodsboro, the hometown where a thirties single woman Sidney Prescott experienced three times such a traumatic tragedy-killed is about to ‘celebrate’ the anniversary of the legend massacre that happened few years ago. Due to the promotion her newly-book “Out Of Darkness”, Sidney returns to Woodsboro and inevitably it brings her to the blackest remembrance out of her head since she was one of the survivors along with Dewey, and Gale in that tragedy. Sidney is trying to focus on the family who are the only one left to her, her mother’s sister Kate, and Kate’s delicate daughter Jill instead of getting deeply in recalling those memorable things. Unexpectedly, husky voice’s killer through phone back to haunt  and a set of murder plans for Sidney cannot be eluded.

A 10-year-married-couple smalltown police chief, Dewey Riley and ex-local reporter also “Woodsboro’s Murders” best-selling author, Gale Weather make theirselves jump into almost similar murder when a suspect undergoes his plan by stabbing Jill’s friends (Jenny and Marney) cruelty at the same time. It becomes signal of alarmed to every local resident that their lovely hometown is in danger again. Phone rings around and the terror has just started with those two young teens because other murders follow their  rhtym-stabbed when Jill’s best friend Olivia have to die scarily as like as Sidney’s assistant Rebecca Walters’s death afterward.

 After getting some clues from two Woodsboro highschoolers (Charlie&Robby) that the suspect could be some lunatic, horror movie’s fan who wants to remake the legend of “Woodsboro’s Murders” stories  into a real film, Gale makes her own move by sneaking in to the Club Cinema where all the horror movie’s fanatics altogether watching their favorite scenes in “STAB”. Gale makes her own investigation and  starts putting the cameras hiddenly to all over the place in purpose to catch the ghostface but then she got stabbed on her shoulder by the killer who already know her coming. By the time Sheriff Dewey takes turn to make a revenge to the killer for not letting him go.

The terror getting worse for Sidney, when she has to witness her aunt Kate suffering into a death after the ghostface unmercifully stabs her at the back. In the meantime, two Polices (Host&Perkins) found death by Deputy Hicks two blocks away while patrolling kate’s house. Sidney feels more suspicious in tense because of Hicks sudden arrival (Judy Hicks was known as Sidney’s mate from highschool). As soon as she knows Jill isn’t in her room and finds out  kirby’s messages over Jill’s laptop , with protective insting of a cousin, Sidney accelerates the engine to Kirby’s house.

The next killer targets are now pointing at Kirby’s house where Jill, Charlie, Robby, Kirby, and a-guest-uninvited Trevor (Jill’s ex-beau) are about to recontinue their “STABATHON” party with no idea that the killer is around. Dewey and Hicks who already knew something terrible is going on are heading to Kirby’house, but too late for them because blood floods in everywhere and two other lives have gone. All of them are suspiciously in one another, who’s the real victim and who’s the real killer. (Nsri)

--inadvertently, an idea to summarize this film into words came up when I thought that writing some stories in english was really hard for me, hehehe.. it’s just for my own pleasure, since I know that I have to really find my own pleasure in writing anything--

Rambling With Words Late Of Night

It’s raining outside, like the same other night that I have been through, I’m sitting on the cushy cushion which is always be my favorite one, making my own self busy by typing a letter one by one. It’s been a while since rain hasn’t come due to dry season that engulfed this country for last few months, and I’m glad that the weather has changed now. Though it’s still not as chilly as rainy season commonly gives to the athmosphere around yet, but at least I’m glad that my new blanket would be useful this time.

Perhaps, anyone who will drop by (or, can be said they just find out this site coincidentally.. hahaha) will have an idea that the blogger must have a kind of sleep disorder for scratching out such an unimportant words like this in the mid of night. Even my  digital watch shows its long needle almost to number one right now, which has mean there will be “tomorrow” again. To be frankly, having a mind to create words on paper like this  is not exactly my specialty, since i always think that my ability in writing (especially in English) is not really proficient enough. It’s because when I start  writing some prelude sentences at the very first paraghraph I always end up to the word of “stagnation”. Stagnation for not being in the mood to write. 

So, for those some reasons, an agreeableness of what Stephenie Meyer had said that “Writing isn't like math; in math, two plus two always equals four no matter what your mood is like. With writing, the way you feel changes everything.” Seems more logical to me even until now when I'm trying to speak out the words inside my head.

Another 3-In-1 Jockey Story

A three-in-one car jockey can be considered not only as an economy generalization, but also  social disease. Economy generalization because it’s a process of alms while social disease means enable to enlarge many jobless people in this country and in-fertilizes rules. But in fact, this kind of  ‘job’ has become earn-of-living for hundreds of  people who always think that seeking for a real job is absolutely difficult. And it’s allowable.

A Black tight overcast hung  over  to the sky and it looked darker as well. A nice silver Honda Jazz was running slowly,  paused its way headed to a young teenager who was  standing by himself  in  fronf of  Education Department Bulding on Gatot Soebroto  street. With a little grin on his face, he opened and got into the car. He was a three-in-one car jockey.

His name was Tison  (it  reminds  me of  the most popular boxer ever ‘Si Leher Beton’ ). In the morning and afternoon (during three in one time) he always stood there observing every single car. If there was someone looked driving alone, he immediately waved his fingers. A  kind of signal that he would be ready to be used  as a car jockey and might prevent the car’s owner from getting trouble with the police because of traffic violation.

“I’ve been being a car jockey  since I was ten. Now I’m seventeen. At the first time I just follow my friends,” he said. Besides being a three-in-one jockey Tison also turning a finger as a street singer nearby traffic light on Mampang Street. He conceded  being a car jockey has its own advantages, “I do not have to tied down by the working-hours like other people have to, and  every day I  can feel different sensations of riding up in different cars. Once I’d been a car jockey for an  actress, but I forgot her name because it was happened a few months ago. It was  a red  luxurious car but didn’t know its brand, she gave me fifty thousand  until Kota region, for the minimum fare  is ten thousand  maybe the most luxurious car that I’ve ever rode ,” he added with pure mimic on his face.

Being a car jockey was not easy as people thought, because according to Tison most car owners were too picky in choosing a jockey. “They won’t pick a disheveled jockey and impressed dirty,” Tison said. The original young teen from Aceh also told about his twice bitter experiences when some security officers caught and dragged him to the reformatory building at Kedoya, West Jakarta. “Thank God, I’ve never come through with a stroke  even for once, because one of my Jockey friends have to feel it. Slapped at his face by them.” he said again.

Not quite a long heavy downpour showered Gatot Subroto area and the jockey business must be postponed for a while. Tison immediately made a trot through paces heading across to the ojek-pool which was located next to the  Kartini Hall Building that covered by shady trees. Fastly his hands took  a tousled plastic out from his bag then put it  on  to his head. “ So, this is one of the risks of  being a three-in-one car jockey, I can’t get any money, if the rain still falling down.” He murmured a bit shivered. Tison said  that he would be able to pocket  eighty thousands in each day of ‘working’ as a car jockey. But the highest income that he ever made in a day is one hundred thousands, “It was only happened once when fasting month a year ago,” added a young teenager who had a dream he could be an army oneday.

A 17-year-old boy who only finished his school until sixth grades of elementary school stated that he always noticed the entourage of Vice President’s cars glided  on his jockey-working  area, “Almost everyday I see Boediono’s car  go through on here around 6:30 pm, maybe  because of his  house is located not far away from here,” with a little enthusiastic Tison explained. When he got asked how could he know that the cars were escorting the Vice President, a reasonable answer came out from his mouth, “Because  many cars and polices tagg along with him, all I know mostly dignitaries are always surrounded  by lots of guardians.” He stated.

Tison’s words were proved. Several minutes later, two military polices with complete uniforms wrapped by coats, stopped their big bikes over the curve between Kuningan and Mampang Prapatan strip lines that  half of it inundated with water. By stretching their hands, they secured the area where The Vice President would pass through. Due to the protocoler reason, all the riders sychronously halted their cars and motorbikes paces. And for about a minute faintly from the distance, strident siren of  the  safety military unit’s cars roaring in the middle of pouring-rain, escorting the honorable Vice President. like usually Tison always did, he just standing still, staring at those cars with his plain eyes.(Nsri)

Triatini A Tissue Hawker

 

Do  not  ever  surrender..

Life is a gift..

Keep moving on..

Doing  the best thing..

-D’ Masive-

Twilight put its face down while the darkness is creeping into evening. Summons to prayer come out loudly from behind of sound  amplifier that have been put on the top in the corner of  little Mosque inside Jakarta – Kota train station. People who will-be-passengers seem  to and fro, standing and sitting  down  on their platform seats which have been provided by officials station. They’re waiting  for the next arrival train to Bogor which will bring them to each of their destinations. Several of them are men and women who work at the nearest port in town.

Various appearances shown by the people. There are  young employees with dandy suit of clothes forming into a group chattering  each other right in front at the fourth platform, seem like the infatuation gushed from their fatigued faces. At platform number  twelve a few teenagers apparently come from a private high school occupying the seats cordially, a white-gray to colour their tousled uniforms just waiting  up for the train direction of Jakarta-Bogor to arrive. Among them a number of civil servants put the traditional fine dyed clothes on their bodies. As the UNESCO had officially announced that Indonesia traditional clothes as known as batik became one of  the World Heritages of  Culture on October last year, the region governments  obligates  all of them to wear Batik at least once in a week. The rest are fulfilled by ship’s cargo laborers who have to work ten hours in each day.

In  the vicinity of railroad platform, some officers with snappy top-to-bottom-outfits are pacing onto a path smoothly. Since the regulation had been made by the region government a few years ago that particularly managed the prohibition to every person drifting about to the wagons inside the train, offering  something for sale, guards were seen flaunted very often  in every corner station. As if they intended to show up their existences. Nevertheless, their existences apparently in vain because the offerors still easily to enter and market the variety of commercial goods in the wagon. Perhaps that could be the underlying reasons  why guards snapped at them contemptuously in many times. An irony is seen when the officers still let them back and forth to the wagons intentionally, it’s unclear whether their compassion or the offerer’s firm resistances.

Not quite long, a man’s voice echoed from the top corner of the railroad ceiling. The  information of Jakarta-Bogor train will have arrived in a few minutes. People who seemed  already impatient for some time, get ready for the train. Several of them put relieved expression on their faces. The train’s gliding  towards the people and eventually stop. The whole passengers from Bogor are stepping out from the train , jostling and shoving each other  amid the crowd while the next passengers with fully enthusiastic making an assault movement into  the wagons. Especially the ticket’s cost are affordable so people definitely could be able to buy  it. That’s   probably  why most people use train rather than any other transportations in this country.

All of the passengers fulfill the wagons at once. Hot atmosphere spontaneously mixes  up with untasteful scent that emerging from every of human bodies in it. It is the perfect time for disobedient marketers to do unruly-actions or properly  it  can say  like normal activities that usually happen every day. Variety of fruits such as  Oranges, Mangos and Guavas have been arranged into a scenic sight over a wooden push cart  wheeling onto the iron metal  deck of the wagon. Such a good effort to make people attracted so they will buy them.

Meanwhile from another side of the wagon come  out a man, with a high volume  of  voice trying to advertise  what he calls  an adhesive things which have been produced in Korea to every passenger he pass by. Expecting a sheet of five thousands will  come into his pocket and as he’s raising  its volume a little higher, an old man who  seems  do not  want to be defeated  lean  his body on rusty pole that is firmly implanted exact  between the passangers seat and entrance door. He’s grasping  his musical instrument originally designed by his own (an empty mineral bottle from plastic  with little  rice in it) when he starts  to shake it  a tremble voice  going  out from his throat and unclearly tone  threw from his mouth then for couple of minutes like a head  just been hit by a gavel, this consciousness abruptly realizes that he’s singing a familiar broken heart of  Dangdut song titled “I am Not a Beggar of  Love” with an extraordinary way. At the same time another miserable view is being captured on eyes when some  shabby children between five to seven years of age head to passangers by dragging bodies and lifting their right hand with the poorest artificial mimics on their face as much as they can do to make them feel compassionate. Unfortunately unexpected reaction emit from an old woman’s countenance when she’s raising her palm very gently  to one poor little boy, signaling another kind rejection.

Amid the whole paradox scene that has been visualized by the actors of live (well, I called  so) , appear  suddenly  a-middle-age woman and  next to her a  young little son  leading  her way. With her normal son’s shoulder as a grip ,  she’s  trying to market  tissues to every people  she approach. It’s sufficiently  clear  to  be  said  that the woman has no sight like  any normal person in there. She is Triatini, a-33-year old blind woman who works everyday as tissue hawker along the railway Kota train station.

In quantity,  there’s  a  lot of  people  without visions  spread out  around the stations and of course they might cannot  be counted enough by fingers if they were gathered together into one broad chamber.Though many of them scrap an advantage  by using their physical defects for earning money,  Triatini isn’t one of them. She prefer  doing something much more precious a kind of work to begging some money to any generous people.

Triatini has been always accompanied by her  little son Singgih (7) to sell the  tissues through over the wagons and will  stop hawking them around 8:00 in the evening right after the arrival of  Jakarta-Bekasi  express train is being  announced. And that occasion tri and her little son are  always been waiting for,  because they can get a lift by ascending the train to go home until Kemayoran station. In occasional time  they have to go on foot to their home because  some officers  do not  give them allowance to ride up the train free of charges. “I and Singgih sometimes go home by walking on foot because we do not have money to buy tickets, but there’s  also an officer generously give us a ride until Kemayoran station,” Triatini said.

Both mother and son are lucky on that day they’ve just got  permission from the officers to ascend the express train. Could feel the comfortable seat, the fresh of air conditioner emerged from ceiling top of the train (only express train has  AC  facility) , Didn’t have to make hard effort for breaking through a crowd and merged with some natty people became like special amusement for them at that moment. A little desolate inside, it looks only few people are sitting on the seats. Perhaps it’s because of the last departure train to Bekasi station.Tri and her little son take seats on the right corner next to the entrance door. The train engine’s roaring as the wheels starting  to roll over. While the train is  running a tragical story  that happened to Triatini a few years ago flowing  out from her mouth. “As Usual, I and Singgih are  passing slowly to  the crowd  to sell the tissues then a friend who a hawker  too gives me a sudden  push from behind until I am fell forward. It’s like a destiny to a person like me have  to get a treatment like that whereas we are on the same track, looking for money too”. Triatini said, stunned with exhausted feature on her face but afterward her face got back to  normal when she continued telling  about her three children; Singgih (7), Saddam (5) and Dilla (4). “The eldest one Singgih is still on the second grade of elementary school while Saddam and Dilla are not school yet. Though I only be able to earn Rp. 15.000-Rp. 20.000  in each day, but I always save my money for Singgih’s  fee education”, Triatini stated and  the train gliding constantly. After descending in  Kemayoran Station, they still  have  to walk to get  their home at Irian Village, Taruna  Jaya 1^st street  Number  18th,  Kemayoran,  in Central Jakarta. About two kilo meters away must be reached by them through the narrow curved and muddy path. Eventually end  up right in front of  a grimy little house that she’s  been being  leased  for three months  but in appropriate words  it’s  more like  “a  shack”  than  “a  house” . Especially when foot trying to step into inside. The whole partition  to  be wrapped  with  boards  which is dividing between her compartment to next door neighbor’s. Can be assumed  the extent covered only about 3×4 meters and it’s very clearly there was no space for bathroom so that Tri and her children do their cleaned up-activity outside the house.

A  big  size  unsheet  sleeping  pad  with fully blue color on its surface for which Tri and her children use  to sleep daily sprawled out on the floor. A clothes shelf made from vinyl was put on the right side in the corner of the room. In her house there was no electronic household goods to be exist  neither television nor radio. When eyes sweep the whole room, an attractive depiction of new ministers from the second United Indonesia Cabinet who has just been elected was unfurled exact the center of the wall and naturally it evokes a curiousity of feeling “Did she doit by her self or someone else did?”. From her story it is known that her eldest son Singgih who did it, “ I bought it for him so he can learn and get memorize them, he also once said to me that his dream is to became a minister oneday”, Tri added while she was groping a teapot and pouring the water into a green-plastic glass then apologized for not giving anything except water.

It’s not because of what people called “a trivial question” nor because she could not be able to see then she couldn’t do it. The question appearing is merely based on the writer’s awestruck feeling of what people say a lot ‘living in the middle of inadequacy it  means  that the only thing you can do is to  survive and ignore those daydreams’. A-seven-year old boy  has just broken up the phrase.

Since her husband who has name Abbas (49) (a man without vision too) died one year ago because of  Tuberculosis, Tri has been a single parent to her three little children. Have to play double roles as  parent  and struggle  up to raise her kids of course are not easy task  for her. Besides that she has to work from 1:00 pm in the afternoon until 8:00 pm in the evening hawking the tissues through over the wagons everyday. Tri sometimes accepts an offering from some people to give a massage twice in a week. “ Alhamdulillah (praise the Lord), I can obtain another  income  from it, but if one of my friends  requested me to give a massage, I would never  want to be paid.” She added.

The woman originates from central java also states that as an individual Muslim and God’s creature she will never forgets her obligation to do Islamic daily prayers as known as “Sholat”. In her thought, even if  she is  poor but she will not stop retaining on what her belief  has been taught that the upper hands are much better than the lowest hands. She also expects that people who had a physical defect particulary a blind one like her would not be discriminated nor to be underestimated because God doesn’t regard every mankind from what grade of social level he perchs, what color of skin he has, the shape of his body, jaw, and face and so on. That every human is equal, the only thing that makes different is only devotion to God.

Perhaps a little part of d’masive lyrics has been quoted  above can be reflected as her life principle. The persistence and patience in undergoing through the passage of her life may be a representative of every without-vision-person in this country. So therefore all the country leaders should  not  keep turning away and  pretending that they do not exist.(Nsri)

Ahmadijenad's Car will be Auctioned For Charity

JAKARTA--MICOM: The president of Iran Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, will auctione his 33-year-old car to prop up a fund for the charity foundation of  housing development project for youth.

When he was still a mayor of Teheran, Ahmadinejad  often looked using a Peugeot 504 which is hardly been used anymore since he was elected as a president of Iran in 2005.

The car will be auctioned sale on February in Abadan city and it is predicted can be sold out over than US$ 2.000 of rate, that is a normal price for a car like Peugeot 504.

A chiefman of Abadan’s  Free Trade Area, Asghar Parhizkar said to the Irna news Agency that the auction sale will be held when the classic car exhibition  is being carried out and the income money will be donated to the housing fund of Mehr.

Information about this auction sale appeared after Iran’s Government announcing severance of food and energy that will increase the cost of living of  iranians.

The government expended around US$ 100 billion each year for grant nevertheless Iran’s  economic is dependent on the petroleum and the fourth round penalty that  had been sentenced by the United Nations -- related to the controversial Iran’s Nuclear Program -- apparently started to affect.

Dear Mr. Muh. Naim

Jakarta, 1^st January 2011

THANK YOU.  Is the first word I’d  like to say to you, not only suitable but also catchable as an introduction phrase when i have to make my fingers started moving onto my old keyboard (well, can say so, because  it took  a few minutes until I got that word and typed it with caps lock.. *laugh). I did not really mean to show off my English writing ability or tell you that this 25-year-old girl has a good grammatical in english. No.. not at all.. (just tell your translator I’ve just ignored those ordinances) .

When my friend asked me to apply an application letter to the Health n Tourism magazine for the first time I was feeling that it’s gonna be my second shot to get back my activities life as a journalist. Yup,  accompanied by my friend I decided to look  for your luxurious office through long and curled road  (before we got to kemang we had to walk around along Fatmawati street  then found it) it was late of night and we just arrived to our destination (an elegant building with all the partition wrapped by white colour). I have no idea whether it’s a coincidence event or not but you were talking to security guard as I came passing into gateway where you’re standing at. By putting on your casual outfits you accepted my CV with a smile upon your face (Such a nice man that I was thinking at that moment) made my self more confident that I have a huge chance to get this job.

And my dream became closer when a few weeks later you called me by phone to come for interview and I’m absolutely positive that my application letter must have been considered. On the next day I went to your office with eagerness and enthusiasm, hoped that it would be great day for me. By having three times changes of  transportation ( I took buses and bajaj to get there)  for what I didn’t really care about. I walked into the lobby room and encountered with your editorial secretary. Like a common applicant usually did. She asked me to sit and wait.

For several minutes you came downstairs and we met up each other. I got interviewed and you started asking me with bla..bla..bla  (some questions), shortly after that you said “YES” to me by giving me the last question “ Are you ready start working by now?”

I didn’t give you an answer but suddenly  after that  straight  to the point you talked about my minus look. Since the first  time you noticed my appearance from head to toe and advised me to change them I realized that it might be a crucial problem that I was supposed to know from the beginning.

As I told you before that I am a girl (not yet a woman) who never put any cosmetics on my face during my life existence in this world, even for a lipstic (hehehe..I really don't).  And I always been feeling pleasant of that. I never brings a sweet briefcase or handbag like  normal chicks out there when they have to go hangout or attending a wedding party  of a friend. I still relish to carry my obsolete backpack whenever I go. I’m not a girl who’s always concerned about what kind of outfits should be displayed for today or tomorrow. And for that, various stamps will be directed to me as an out date, ancient, old fashioned or maybe  worse than that  a naive and hypocritical young lady standing  across with a class of people who’s always glorify a hedonism or whatever it says. For the sake of my sanity I  would not be mind at all if you really.. really.. think  about my self like that.

Related to the first word, I’d like to say THANK YOU for accepting me as a new journalist in your magazine. It’s  an honor to me. But I’ve been thinking for a while then I just got found you do not have to bear the burden up every day because I cannot give you a new present of me  like you wanted me to do even though your highfalutin magazine will  give  me more rupiahs for that. I’d rather not to change the way I dressed though you’ve already judged  the clothing I wear with pride. for me working as a journalist in a magazine particulary a life style magazine is not all about changing a life into the new trend it self. I’m completely sure GOD will show me the way to work as a journalist but in a different place and time. For once more THANK YOU.

A Blaze in The Philliphines

Filipina-MICOM: a blaze  in the Hotel  at  Tuguegarao, Cagayan Province, North philliphines  on Sunday  killed 15 people and dozens  injured.

The duration of the flame occurred few hours and destroyed portion of the building. Flame was assumed came from ground floor in the hotel.  when blaze happened some dwellers were being asleep nine of them are undergraduate students at medical Academy who are preparing to follow a test license.

“Their family are counting a big hope on them when they decide to send to school and have to end up like this,”  one of the  Official government said.

BBC correspondence reported thousands  of people had died  in conflagration accidents in the philliphines every year.

A conflagration happen frequently caused by building construction using materials  for which  easy to be burned and also in many times narrow road make fire fighters difficult to reach the  house or building that is burned.