Something About Plastic Bags in Banjarmasin

It's been almost three years, since the local government of my hometown, Banjarmasin, banned the use of plastic bags in modern shopping places all over the city. So, it has become a habit for my mom to bring her own reusable bag everywhere.

But it doesn't necessarily mean that she becomes an anti-plastic-bags overnight, like I do. She still shops with a lot of plastic bags in traditional markets and everywhere outside of the air-conditioned shopping centers. 

I used to think that the regulation doesn't do anything much but merely a slight decrease of plastic bags consumption. But now, that I've lived in two different cities (Banjarmasin and Semarang) as an extreme anti-plastic, I know that the rule has done something way more than that.

It teaches the people that plastics are harming the environment, plus, giving a sample behavior to that new lesson, by banning the plastic bags. It may change people's behavior, though it's just in a very limited condition, but it's not the ultimate goal. The educational purpose is.  

The difference I noticed from both cities, which the other (Semarang) doesn't have this regulation, is that, people in Semarang don't even aware of the 'why' of my explicit behavior: refusing the plastic bags. A pecel seller would say: "sudah banyak plastik ya di rumah;" as an ayam geprek seller say, "hemat ya, Mbak;" or a nasi uduk seller say, "aduh, ini panas, Mbak;" and a chocolate drink seller say, "ndak tumpah, Mbak?" and the list goes on.

My fast conclusion is, those kind of responses are said only by people whose minds never been told that plastics harm the environment. They lost the most basic ingredient to changing a behavior: education, which become something that Banjarmasin people has been receiving since 2016.  

So, when I'm home, people would not say things like Semarang people do. Instead, they say almost similar words to "cinta lingkungan lah;" or "andak di tas kah?" when I opened my backpack; or just simply not saying a word and put the stuff I purchase without packaging.

I'm mostly pissed off by Semarang sellers because of their false assumptions, but here at home, I could say that I'm proud of what I'm doing, because people know the real 'why' behind my action. 

As plastics are that main pollutant to our rivers here in Banjarmasin and rivers play vital roles in our lives, I think, more people should be, at least, know that plastics are harming our rivers, though we don't directly dump them on streams, but still, we never know where the plastics reach their ends.

But as for now, I can't be more thankful to our local government for setting a stepping stone for this city to be less wasteful. 

Sincerely, 

A proud Banjarish 

Fucks Told by "The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck"

Here are some fucks told by this book, that is written in an ordinary way by Mark Manson, for ordinary people out there, who need to swear at their fucking ordinary lives. 

This is those ordinary fucks: 

1. if everyone were extraordinary, then by definition no one would be extraordinary is missed by most people;
2. while there is something to be said for "staying on the sunny side of life," the truth is, sometimes life sucks, and the healthiest thing you can do is admit it; 
3. we don't go from "wrong" to "right." Rather, we go from wrong to slightly less wrong;
4. pleasure is the most superficial form of life satisfaction and therefore the easiest to obtain and the easiest to lose;
5. commitment gives you freedom because you're no longer distracted by the unimportant and frivolous; 
6. but depth is where the gold is buried. That's true in relationships, in a career, in building a great lifestyle, in everything;
7. the older you get, the more experienced you get, the less significantly each new experience affects you;
8. and some other fucks, that I don't give a fuck about.

Pretty ordinary, huh? 

I don't recommend you to read this book if you've heard some (or all) of those fucks before. But if you've never heard any of those fucks, or if you've heard them but still want to read it, like I do, maybe this book is for you.

The main point about this book is that, unlike it's tittle, there's no way to not give a fuck, because not giving a fuck, is still a fuck given anyway. 

Something About Climate Change

I don’t know much about this issue, but I don’t need too much information just to convince myself that climate change is real.

I know it is, since I was nine. It was something about global warming, green house effect, acid rain, pollution and their impacts to environment and human’s life. My natural science book told me so, and my teacher said as it was just in a near future for the world to be in an apocalypse. Those were enough to make my poor little soul insecure. Anxiously, I waited for it to happen.

As years goes by, nothing such an apocalypse really happened. So, I stopped worrying and hold this weird belief that I might’ve dead before the climate change really happens. Turns out, despite of me being such an ignorant, the climate is changing already and it doesn’t need anyone’s belief to keep on happening, until it reaches its worst, then, at last, the world will come to an end.

The thing is, I’ve been a denier my entire life. I should choose, whether, I will stay with my irrational denial like an asshole, or try to, at least, do something that I’m capable of.

So, the decision was made.

I decided to do the latter.    

I started my journey by watching YouTube videos about people who live a sustainable lifestyle. But that wasn’t enough, I read a book titled This Changes Everything by Naomi Klen. Time by time, I changed one behavior at a time, while learning more about this issue by reading and watching news or documentaries.

But, the more I know, the less capable I thought I was. I got even more guilty of every meat I consumed, every unintentional plastic-packaged stuff I own and purchase, every ride I take, and even just being alive in general. The worst was, I hated people for not living a sustainable lifestyle. And when I hate people, I hate myself even more.

I told myself that I need to stop,

and start being forgiving,

to myself.

So, I did.

I’m still trying my best to reduce my impact to environment. The only difference is, I no longer set a too high expectation, pursue perfection, nor judge others. Because I believe, I could do something about the climate change, only if I do take care of my inner self.

What I’ve done for the sake of environment, might not seem that significant. It might be just small changes, such as refusing plastic bags, stop purchasing plastic-packaged stuff, eat more plant-based diet, do more walking than riding my motorbike. There are some days when I feel like in a huge success, and there are other days when I feel like I’ve messed everything up.

But as long as I cherish and forgive myself,

it should be okay,

because only by that,

this journey will last.

Little Women Has Reminded Me of Those Who Matter

As soon as I opened this book, Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, the magic happens. It tells me beautiful phrases I've never read before, it introduces me characters whom I laughed and shed tears with, it conveys messages in a way that warms my little heart.

I should disclaim that I'm not a fan of English classic books. I've read some of them, though, in past few years, but for some reasons, I just couldn't find myself enjoying any of them. Not until today.

I thought it was just something about this book that makes me so into it. But as I read along, this book told me that it was more than just about the beauty of 19th-century-English expressions or the lovely young female characters who wear dresses in daily basis. It reveals something within me that I wasn't even aware of it myself. That, first, I've evolved as a reader. And second, that I miss home.

I miss the hug my mother gives whenever we saw each other in the arrival gate of the airport, I miss the loud welcoming voices of my little rebellious cousins whenever I get into the car to our way home, I miss being bored and lazy all day long with my sister in the newly-air-conditioned room, I miss the silence my grandfather keeps whenever he washes and cuts some fish for dinner, and of course, I miss my father.

For every of his wrinkles and white hair, for every strength he keeps within, as he wishes, someday, to see me become a writer and marry a man who loves reading. Though he's not with me at home, he's always been a home to me wherever he is. 

"Make this home happy, so that you may be fit for homes of your own, if they are offered you, and contented here if they are not. One thing to remember, my girls. Mother is always ready to be your confidant, Father to be your friend, and both of us hope and trust our daughters, whether married or single, will be the pride and comfort of our lives (page 150)." 

This book follows four siblings who evolves as better sisters, daughters and friends as the story goes. I read aloud some paragraphs, as I get more immersed by the story. I was one of the players in a game they play, talked to strangers with the same insecurity as they feel, or simply was in their house, as if I was the fifth sibling.

There was this chapter which follows Jo, the second eldest, who was mad at Amy, the youngest, but at last, she gave the little sister her sincere forgiveness. This resonates with me as it reminded me of the past, that I disliked my sister and wished for bad things for her, that I was such a little thing full of hatred, that I was no way close to be forgiving nor brave enough to admit my fault. I couldn't help but cry as I flip through the pages.

"I let the sun go down on my anger. I wouldn't forgive her, and today, if it hadn't been for Laurie, it might have been too late! How could I be so wicked?" softly stroking the wet hair scattered on the pillow.

As if she heard, Amy opened her eyes and held out her arms, with a smile that went straight to Jo's heart. Neither said by word, they hugged one another close, in spite of the blankets, and everything was forgiven and forgotten in one hearty kiss (page 126). 

There are just so many pure little things written carefully and genuinely in this book, including the love of a grandfather to his granddaughter. I've never been so close to my own grandfather. He's a man of few words. He works despite of his age, he amuses himself by watching news on television, he cooks his own food that sometimes he burns the kitchen. In his silence, during most of the nights when I'm home, he texts my mother to bring me and my sister, to come over for dinner in his house.

"Malam ke rumah. Ada haruan. Bawai kekanakan," he texted.

That was short and that's just how he shows his affection to his granddaughters. I didn't remember having days when I was hugged nor kissed by him when I was little, as it is the scene in this book, but I do know that he does love his granddaughters, by the few words he speaks.
 

And was so touched by that confiding little kiss that all his crustiness vanished, and he just set her on his knee and laid his wrinkled neck against her rosy one, feeling as if he had got his own little granddaughter back again. Beth ceased to fear him from that moment, and sat there talking to him as cozily as if she had known him all her life, for love casts out fear and gratitude can conquer pride (page 89).

I haven't even finished reading this book. I'm still 500ish pages away from the end, but there are so many things already that I couldn't keep it myself. Maybe, once I've finished this, I'll come back here and tell you how my little heart has felt over the entire book.

As what this book has reminded me of, for the new year, I probably should be a more loving person, because no one could survive the cold and harsh world without the warmth and the comfort of love from those who matter. 

Things He Told Me About Death

This morning, I jogged in a field not far from my kos. Most of the joggers are in their late 30s. Some are 40s. Very few of them are above 50s. 

One of the elderlies caught my attention. He walked, seemed so careful of his steps and stopped for a while on the side of the field, before walking for another few steps. 

The view made me wonder.      

Will I live long enough to be that slow? 

No one answers, because no one knows. 

What if I don’t? 

What if I die in, like.. five minutes?

Turns out, I was still alive.

But, if I do, I’ll just have to wait until it comes, won’t I?

Death is so close yet so far. So close that it scares me all the time. So far that I’m being ignorant of the fact that I might die anytime soon. Despite of how I feel about death, it’s the only thing that I know about my future. 

In that matter, He sent me a guide about how to not die misserably, one of them is:

“And spend [in the way of Allah] from what We have provided you before death approaches one of you..”

Once I die, He told me through the guide, that I might regret for not doing enough good. I might willing to go back to where I am now. I might ask for the help of my relatives, but none of them will give a shit. They’ll be busy with their own matter, as I deal with my own. I will be punished for what I have and haven’t done, and spend my eternal life being punished.  

“But don’t worry,” He added.

The good news is, any kind of good deeds will be paid off. Every single of them. I will be rewarded and spend my eternal life being rewarded. 

Thus, He said, there’s no point of being too anxious nor too excited over the live I life today, because it all will come to an end after all. 

“And this worldly life is not but diversion and amusement. And indeed, the home of the Hereafter – that is the [eternal] life, if only they knew.”    

Since I finished reading the guide, I become less scared yet less ignorant of death, because I know my to-dos and not-to-dos. I might die in five minutes, I might die in my 50s. But, as long as I put my belief in His words, there’s indeed nothing to worry about. 

30 Things I Learnt From Finishing My 100 Pages Idea Book in (Almost) A Year: WIP Update #3

1. It took me the entire 10 months to think about at least 20 different ideas that have no depth at all.
2. It took me only 26 days to dig into one focused idea. 
3. I don't do tables. 
4. I do graphs. 
5. I draw rough sketches.
6. I don't need a neat hand-writing. 
7. I forget what I wrote.
8. I need to re-read (like.. thousand times) to go deep. 
9. I never really running out of ideas.  
10. I'm a hard-core plotter.
11. I outline better with a wooden pencil.
12. I don't do word count goals. 
13. I do focus-on-the-goddamn-idea goals.
14. Writing made me have nightmares. 
15. Writing made me cry.  
16. Writing 24/7 is not healthy.
17. My brain doesn't work at night. 
18. Coffee is a life savior. 
19. Coffee stops period!
20. Watching other writers' struggle helps.
21. Sharing to other writers about my struggle helps. 
22. Sharing to non-writers about my struggle increases anxiety. 
23. The 15-minutes-deep-work method works.
24. I don't need music. 
25. I need a raiforest background music.
26. I don't write in public. 
27. OneNote is better than Word (for though-dumping).
28. I say out loud ideas when I have too much of them.
29. When in public, I pretend like I'm on the phone, to record ideas. 
30. Imitating the writing structure of best-seller helps (a lot!).

Letting Her Go

I've been in a battle. 

Turns out, it's never been really a battle. 

It was just her, demanding my attention. 

Once I granted her request, 

she did leave for good. 

It was that simple.

But for some reasons, 

I couldn't see it back then.