I tend to slip my mom into conversations. Most often by virtue of her insisting that I bring back tons of food and snacks to this city or asking when I would marry my current GF -- or when I'm GF-less, when I would start dating again -- or complaining that I treat my parents' as a hotel -- a hotel with tons of food and snacks, that is. While at times this may have had her near the level of Neil Humphreys's mum's, I have nothing but respect and love for her. Even as she screams at us to wake up and take a shower at six for a mass that's to start at nine.

I, however, rarely mention my dad. When I do talk about the man who has brought me into this world, it's usually in relation to the village in Bali he grew up in or his inevitably approaching retirement -- part of the reason why I choose this tiny dot on the map is its proximity to my family. Anything happens and I can be back in Jakarta within 2-3 hours. Although, given our capital's magical qualities, driving home from the airport may double that.

To say that my dad and I are not close is putting it lightly. Since I was a kid, we've seldom had meaningful conversations. We did have, however, meaningful scooter rides. When I was still an only child in Surabaya, my dad would collect me at home on his way to pick up my mom from her work. I would stand in front, looking all cool in my yellow sunglasses. The fact that I remember all these is how I know they were meaningful rides.

Another fond memory I have is how we used to play Catch Jerry. He would flex his biceps, making Jerry -- of Tom and Jerry, my fav cartoon then -- appear. Then he would relax it, making Jerry run the length of his arm and disappear. I would try to catch him -- Jerry, not my dad -- before he disappeared. Good stuff. Again, I was still an only child.

BTW, biceps is singular. Amazing what the net teaches you, isn't it?

But yeah, I deduce my dad had to work harder after having my brother (and then another) resulting in us seeing less of him. I suppose that's how we started growing apart. Because of this, I never joined in a my-dad-can-kick-your-dad's-butt debate. Because of this, I didn't have a last-weekend-my-dad-took-me-rock-climbing story to tell. Because of this, I didn't really know -- or care -- what my dad did for our living. I only knew he worked for a pharmaceutical company. Doing what, I wasn't exactly sure.

Despite all that, he was -- and still -- a great dad. He's always been proud of my achievements -- and, unlike my fav novelist, I didn't need to overhear him first to know it. He wasn't always there for me, but only because I didn't allow him to know I needed him there. He was always a good sport; when I beat him in chess, he would say well done and never once did I hear him blaming it on his own mistakes.

What I appreciated most, though, is how he always respected my decisions. For one, he never made me go to all those lessons. He did ask me if I wanted to learn piano or guitar. I said no and that was it. Later in my late teens, I would come to know how he had really wanted his children to take up musical instruments, he himself not able to play any. My mom -- because I do tend to slip her into conversations -- on the other hand successfully made me go to a swimming class. A firm believer that man was meant to be a land creature, I eventually managed to quit, citing the upcoming final exams.

My dad is also one of the fortunate few who could say with great pride that they've made the top from near the very bottom. I can't claim we were so poor we had to eat once a day ('cause we were not) but when our family started, the three of us were living in a rented two-room section of someone else's house. Privacy was at premium. We did not have a vehicle -- the scooter belonged to the company my dad worked for. Fast forward twenty-odd years and my dad has earned a comfortable house we call home. His career is all right, better than what we could've hoped for, and -- while he's not looking forward to it, I can tell -- he can see a good retirement ahead for him and my mom. For all I know, in the not-so-far future, I may well be creating a site for them to blog their travel stories from all around the world.

Here's something my prospective GF(s) would be happy about: one of the things I'm most proud of is the way my dad carries himself in front of my friends and especially the ladies I introduce to him. Nothing to be intimidated about, my dad's cool, really.

No, it is not his birthday today and thank God, nothing bad has happened to him. It's just that as I was going through my morning ritual, which consists of waiting for my puters (I have two) to boot up, making a cup of instant coffee (low sugar), gazing out of the window wishing I were outside instead on inside, and pretending to be busy working while surfing, I came across this Walk story.

I rarely mention my dad. But after reading that article, I had to.

Updated Sep 8, 07 22:33 WIB
Got my copy of Indonesian Idle, thanks to Jeng May. Seeing the two novels side by side, I couldn't help taking this pic.

Borrowed that funny bit of a novel from Panda. I'm only halfway through it and already greatly entertained. As the tagline goes:

A hilarious novel for anyone who has ever dumped, been dumped, or lived in a dump.

If you've recently been dumped by who you thought was The One and have yet to get over him or her, this is something you would be able to relate to.

Updated Sep 8, 07 22:56 WIB
Whoa, Israel has got a beautiful national anthem! Almost as beautiful as Indonesia Raya. I won't mind a date with the singer, either.

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Current mood: happy