Wednesday 27 February 2013

curhatnya • populorum progressio

Hullo, guys.
 
Today I'm gonna share to you a little habit of mine: I always ate something to the very last bit of it.

Siriusly.

You might see this as an odd thing, but really—seeing leftovers in restaurants, or bits of food abandoned and thrown away in the streets—they broke my heart a little bit. You might say that I'm a greedy person or a cheapskate for eating and savoring it to the very last drop, but for me, it’s odd to left your food when it’s not done eaten.

But, Dhik, I’m full, what should I do?

Well, my parents taught me to measure how much I can eat first, before blindingly taking everything to my heart’s desire. That mindset is ingrained in my head since I was a kid. Coming from the in-betweens—the not really wealthy but not poor too?—my family always told me to take it ‘secukupnya’ (English: fairly—a fair amount) so it fits my stomach’s need. Back in the day, they said something that intrigued me:

“The rice will cry if we do not eat them.”

It sounds kinda odd, isn’t it? Rice have no feelings, let alone tear glands.

Many kids in Indonesia are probably taught the same way—at least in my generation, some of we did. Because I generally hate making someone sad, I always tried to eat until my plate is really clean, without any trace of rice—I ate it until the last grain! My friends sometimes laugh at my almost OCD way of eating.

Growing up, I watch the telly, and then see the truths for myself with my very own eyes—I saw the less fortunate people struggling for shred of better life, I saw how steadfast they take it—and then I realized that what I’ve been taught as a kid is true, in it’s quirky way.

Tears dropped, about foods.

According to United Nations Environment Programme’s website, one in every seven people go to bed hungry, and more than 20.000 people die of hunger everyday, worldwide.

THAT’S A LOT OF PEOPLE.

I have 28 classmates at school—imagine them as a crude sample, then, every night four of them go to bed hungry. There are a lot of people all around the world—like, A LOT. Many of them is left hungry, waiting to succumb to malnutrition or something else because they lack of food. Because some irresponsible people wasted tonnes of food that probably can feed 900 million hungry people in the world.

It’s not the rice, or the other form of food, that cry, it’s the people that longing for them that dropped tears.

And did you know that wasted food contributes their own share in global warming? People condone industrial wastes for destroying the environment, but leftovers that rotting in landfills emits methane—one of the most dangerous GHG the Earth faces.

Eat smartly might take baby steps to do—with people’s habit and different lifestyles we lived, but every scrap of food we waste, someone in the other side of the world might be dying to have that. So count your blessings and share them.

Eat. Wisely.

Toodles!

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Title's translation: The Development of People; an encyclical written by Pope Paul VI.

Sunday 24 February 2013

curhatnya • I VOTED!

So you all probably already know what's in this post, based on the title only.

PEMILUKADA JABAR, baby! (Eng: West Java's Governor Election?)

This is the first time I voted, so forgive me for being a little hyped up. It's just... When I was a kid, it looks really cool. And being the youngest in the family, I had to wait the longest to come of age, so I had to stay at home while my parents and brother voted in the previous elections. (Also, my head was filled with delusional justice ideas; that we helped this country to have better government and stuff... MUAHAHAHA. I was utterly stupid back then.)

Anyway.

It's really uneventful when you got to it. Come to the assigned place, get confirmed to vote, get the ballot, stab it, put it in the box, dip your little finger into ink to finalize the vote.


It's not even crowded like I usually saw on the telly.

What to tell about the procedure? I was in the voting booth, scrutinizing the ballot for a while, trying to figure out what to do. Because I very nearly stab one of the candidates faces, just for the sake of it. Then I yelled out and asked my Ma; but the answer came from the officials outside the voting booths.

Those overbearing eavesdroppers.

(You yelled, you moron. They heard you.)


Also, the seemingly mandatory photo of my little finger.

The official in the voting place said to not to wipe it. So I blow the ink dry and leave it alone. But suddenly, the purple ink is EVERYWHERE. So now I had my little finger wrapped neatly (not) so it won't stain every single thing it contacted.

Overall, the election is quite tedious. But fun?

I hope the one I vote win, yay! *fingers-crossed*