The World of Mine

Okay, I have published some of these photos on the photography group, but I think I need to bring some more colors, too, into my own blog. I took them on my own, by the way ...

When I started to dream about 16 years ago (I was around 10 at that time), I dreamed of visiting Australia, one of Indonesia's closest neighbors. The reason is simple: I have an Australian uncle who frequently sent me Australian stamps (for my stamp collection) featuring beautiful portraits of the country, prompting my eagerness to see it with my own naked eyes. I'd like to visit Queensland, Brisbane, Melbourne, etc. And Savage Garden's "Truly Madly Deeply" video clip made me want to go those places even more.

However, then, as I entered my teenage, the focus changed. I then eyed the United States, which appeared to me --at that time-- as the coolest country on earth. The reason is, well, because it was a supreme-power nation, the world leader in economy, education and technology, the trendsetter, bla3x... I thought I could have boasted before my friends how I ever visited the US, the place where great Hollywood movies were made and great artists and celebrities rose to fame, great scientists made great science and technology inventions, if I could only step my feet there.

Then the Sept. 11, 2001 terrorism attack occurred. Along with the twin WTC towers it smashed; it ruined also my dreams, my hopes to fly to the US. Why? Because I already wore headscarf at that time. And the tragedy, allegedly committed by Osama bin Laden and the gang, immediately sparked increasing, widespread hatred among Westerners against devout Muslims like me. And that made me afraid of going there, worrying I would be treated like criminals, or even terrorists; though I hated and have been hating these so-called Muslim terrorists as immensely as perhaps the families of the victims because they cowardly killed innocents and sparked the spreading hatred against the rest of the Muslim communities.

Children movie "Secret Garden" helped me start dreaming again; and this time my dream was to fly to the United Kingdom, wherein I wished I could see beautiful, enchanting gardens; green Scottish meadows; and old but pretty stony castles, among others, as those in the movies scenes. And I dubbed UK as friendlier to Muslims because, well, from what I read it's been home to the biggest Muslim population in Europe. It was during this period I started my hobby of collecting photos on the Internet. Of course, that time most of them portrayed best, most beautiful places in Britain.

But, then, there was another stupid terrorism tragedy, the 2005 London bombing, which made Muslims once again under scrutiny. I asked my friend, who had been in the region before and after the happening, how people there reacted to the attack. And, well, as I expected, she (also wearing headscarf) confirmed that dislike over Muslims in Britain, as well as in other European countries (there was the Madrid bombing, too, remember?) had been growing ever since.

I really needed a quite some time to struggle with all despairs I felt because of those heart-breaking situations. I thought, forget about how I could or would ever fly to those lands of my dreams; what's so fun about coming to places where the people stare at you suspiciously, despise you and think that you could readily murder them anytime.

And so, slowly but surely, I lost my appetite to go to the UK.

Then I set my eyes on fresh, beautiful Swiss Alps; which to me seemed to be more peaceful, far from any sorts of conflicts. It was prompted by my reading of an adolescence novel titled "Postcard from Switzerland" by Sharon Creech, which beautifully describes the beauty of the mountains and meadows. While I read the book, I was listening to David Foster's song theme for "St. Elmo's Fire", which somehow helped me imagine the Alps more clearly. Johanna Spyri's "Heidi" also helped make me long heartily for an adventurous travel there.

I collected many photos of Swiss nature at that time, during which I also started developing interest in European old towns. Bored with nature-themed pics, I collected these old towns-themed pics more frequently, which inevitably sparked my interest to visit, to travel to the towns. The interest then grew immensely as I started listening classical musics, which was introduced to me by a friend. The musics helped bring images of these romantic old towns into my head, causing me another longing for traveling, this time with European old towns, including Vienna, Frankfurt, St. Petersburg, Prague and Venice, as the destinations.

But, then, with the Danish cartoonist's picturing of Prophet Muhammad, Dutch lawmaker's making and publishing of 'Fitna' film, and supports for them from many Europeans; I learned that I was too naive expecting people there to welcome me in their countries, though I never intend to propagate any of my so-called 'conservative' lifestyles to them. I've been just too individualist and selfish to do so, excuse me.

So, I finally also lost appetites for these beautiful old towns, and started preferring places where I don't have to meet people who would only judge me wrongly, and therefore temperate forests in the northern part of the earth has become my next destination. I long to dip my feet into cool forest creeks, to see otters build their dam homes, to see salmons jump over small waterfalls, to sit in old logs while inhaling the fresh cool air of evergreen coniferous wood, surrounded by tall pine and fir trees, which in the distance draw an imaginary line between the ground and the snowy-on-the-top mountains. Of course I don't expect to meet any Grizzly bears or wolves while doing that.

But, well, well, well, just a few months ago I actually began to think how I had always considered the grass on the other side as greener, and, prompted by my adventurous trip to beautiful Tomini Bay in eastern Indonesia last year, I started to set my eyes onto my own warm homeland; a tropical archipelago of more than 17,000 islands (fantastic isn't it?).
I realized that this country has abundant beautiful places to visit waiting to be discovered by adventurers like me. Besides, I thought, well, at least I know Indonesians, who are more used to girls with headscarves, will welcome me better. And I won't have troubles trying to find halal food (not as troubled as trying to find it in those countries I mentioned above, at least), and domestic travels are obviously more affordable.

So, now, there are least three destinations I am eyeing: First, the temperate forests (probably in those in Canada), the Swiss Alps, and ... the Indonesian archipelago (more specifically Lombok, West Sumatra, Yogyakarta and another Tomini Bay).

I'm sorry to inform you that visitations to all those places I've mentioned above, until now, are still merely my dreams. But, hey, there's nothing wrong with writing your dreams, right? It'll remind you of them, and help you continually do your best efforts to make them come true.

Besides, dreams are food to soul, and some, if not many, of them indeed come true...

So, happy traveling, and happy dreaming ...! Ciao!!

(For my dearest blue flower...)

I want to go to where you are
To where the wind blows softly
Upon the yellow dry grass under the oak tree
To where the ablaze surface of nearby lake glitters enchantingly
To where small birds sing and play
Amid a mild sunny summer day

I want to go to where you are
To where light white clouds pass by above
While on the ground their shadows run
To where friendly sunshine spreads its warmth
And the clear blue sky extends its arms
To where bundles of shady trees draw an imaginary line
Between the heavens and the distant wavy meadows

I want to go to where you're at
To where there are only smiles and laughs
To where sorrows melt as soul sees its mate
To where longing ends, as broken heart mends

I want to go to where you are
Only there and nowhere other
To where I see home and love
To where I find shelter and a glimpse of future
To where I've always wished to stay
And my drifting heart meets its quay

Okay, I admit I was a loner. I had not many friends, spent most of my time alone at school (I mean, outside the classroom sessions), found something to eat at canteen and walked home all alone by myself. Only occasionally was I accompanied with a friend when doing those stuff. I'm not sure, but I guess people saw me as a weirdo, though not quite as a geek (I didn't look like those bookworm-type, upon my words!), which was why I liked Radiohead's Creep very much.

But, hey, that was my choice. I consciously picked to outcast myself instead of being outcast by my schoolmates. The reason is, well, first, I was crazy about being 'one of a kind', a uniquely different person who lived in her own world; and, secondly, I was too disappointed with friendship. Those calling themselves my best friends had often left me for somebody else, they had never been there when I had needed them, and so I learned to depend solely on me.

That 'outcast moment' happened in my high school time, which also saw me developing hatred against almost everybody because I felt disappointed by almost everybody. You know those stupid youth' search for identity; I guess that was what was going on with me.

I pledged, however, that I would change all the situation by the time I entered college. And so that was what I did when I started my life as a university student, which was about 7.5 years ago. I made friends with everyone, I talked confidently in front of mass (of my fellow university mates), I joined at least four student organizations; that a friend said I was one of two most confident persons she had ever known. That was far beyond my expectation.

Anyway, during my last university years, again I was outcast. This time it wasn't because I wanted it, but rather because I joined a minority student movement who had intense frictions with some of the major ones. Members of the two different groups act like enemies whenever they met, though it was rather a cold physical war. And, well, because they're the majority, me and a few friends at the minority group were outcast. Silly wasn't it? Thaz why I hardly respect student movements now, unlike I had used to do in the past when university students were on the peak of their popularity (because they, along with other movements, successfully forced former president Soeharto to resign in 1998). I know too well how they often have stupid, unnecessary clashes with one another.

I didn't at all enjoy the outcast times at university. I generally perceived my high school and university days as a failure, part of the past I'd like to skip, I'd prefer to forget. I've learned the lessons, I know it happened, but it doesn't mean I have to remember it.

And so, when I entered the career world, I again pledged I would never do the same mistakes I had done in the past. I would this time make friends, I would never be outcast anymore. I still would not let myself keep any sorts of expectations on people, because it hurts when they let you down, however that doesn't mean I would let myself alone. I need to make friends, need to do it everywhere because, well, basically it is part of network building, one of the very important demands of my reporting job.

And I made it. Okay, most people seem to judge me wrongly when they first see me (due to my rather unusual attire and awkwardness before strangers, I believe), but as soon as they get to know me better (if they give themselves a chance for that, of course) they will mostly like me. I'm that type of person that doesn't likely bring any air of harm to people around me. I'm not among those who can make people 'socially' threatened, as I don't give damn care about competing or showing off (even if do, I am too smart to do it too obviously : D). If I don't like a person, I will not, unless very forced to, slam him or her frontally; I would instead choose to avoid them secretly. If I like ones then I will not be too aggressive (which can make some people run from you), I will perhaps greet them or make acquaintance with first, but I give over the next moves to them. If he or she comes to me again, then I perceive it as a green light. It means they very probably like me, too, and are ready to welcome me warmly anytime in the future.

However, then, this 'success' in interpersonal strategy appears to be likely too much for me. Now I have this queue of friends who each periodically ask me to hang out or to have serious talk with. It looks like they dub me as a good listener, and they like my responses to their problems. Even though still I play passive, they don't get bored proactively asking for my opinions, comments, remarks or whatsoever. I don't know better way to make them do these stuff less frequently. I don't know how to say now without disrupting the friendship.

Yes, as I write this, I'm not trying to say that I'm bored with these people I dub as friends. And I don't by all means wish they would stop talking to me (be careful with what you wish for, says one of them). I do, from the bottom of my heart, like them. They equally listen to me when I talk, and do show their care for me; a treatment I had hardly received from those I called friends in high school or university times.

But, perhaps, I'm not used with this attention, not used with this hectic social life. Little by little I start to realize that basically I am indeed a loner. It doesn't mean I want to be alone all the times; it's just I'm getting aware that I am that sort of person who always need enough time to be alone every once in a while. I always need some time to contemplate, to think about things happening in my life or about next steps I have to do in life, to hear the sound of the nature, to listen to my own inner voice; to the sounds appearing in my head, without being distracted by arriving SMS or phone calls, by friends continually coming to me, or by Mum's or my sister's calling. Then, after I'm done with that alone ritual, I can return to everyday life, where again I greet and meet my beloved family and friends.

That some time to be alone is now a luxury to me. My hectic job and social lives don't allow me to have it. I am mostly alone in my own room at night, but on such times I am usually very tired and sleepy already. On office days it is my job that cause me exhausted, on holiday it is my friends that do me so.

Part II (see the Part I in my December posting file)

The old man, who looked indeed like a cartoon character in Nickelodeon's Chalk Zone, descended the hill and walked toward us, followed by his bleating, obedient sheep.

As he came closer, I could see how he was interestingly short and fat, but walked very lightly as if almost had no weight. His curly red hair and cheerful round old eyes gave him a funny look. As he moved, the long yellow cane on his left arm went up and down.

"Why, how strange; what are you all people doing here? I see no bus or other thing that could possibly bring you all into this place; so how did exactly you come here, may I know?"

A man who was standing nearest to the shepherd explained what had happened, how the airplane we aboard fell but strangely disappeared while the entire passengers were left intact and safe. Other passengers added a few information, while the old herd, who continually nodded every once in a while, listened carefully.

After they finished talking, he started to talk.

"Okay, I see; hmm... that is indeed a very strange of an occurence..." he murmured, seemingly engrossed with the story.

In less than a second, however, his round grey eyes turned as cheerful as when he just came. And, in an equally cheerful tone, he asked, "So, is there anything this old man can possibly do to help you?"

We all replied, but rather spoke to ourselves instead of to him. Of course we wanted him to do something; calling some people who could rescue us, or, most desired, get us to our original destination because we each had important business to do. As we all talked noisily, the old man lifted up his cane and shouted,

"Shshshshah....!!!"

And everybody fell silent, looking at him, who was standing on a place higher than all of us, thus enabled everyone to see him.

"Okay, I understand, I understand. I can help you. Now, I see that the point is you all want to go to where you were formerly heading to. If that is indeed so, I would like you all to close your eyes ..."

Some passengers protested, but the old man told them to quiet, which they obeyed. He then repeated his instruction.

"Okay, let's start again. Now everyone, I want you to close your eyes tightly, no peeping, please. Okay, that's good.

"Now, concentrate, think about the most place you want to be in. Yes, that place only, that place only, no other; and wish with all your heart that you can go there..."

As we closed our eyes, doubtfully but wishfully thinking about our destination, the old man said something we could not understand. He waved his cane in the air, and a magical thing happened.
*

The first thing I heard was traffic buzz. Then I felt a strong wind blowing upon my face, and heard a long approaching whistle of what sounded like a big vessel.

I opened my eyes, and was jerked to find that the green hilly meadow before me had now turned into a big busy bay, with dozens of big vessels approaching or leaving the harbor.

There was a long steel fence between me and the waters; and across the bridge I saw a busy, crowded peninsula.

I turned around, and saw two-way busy asphalt road a few meters from the sidewalk I stood at. Vehicles passed by with high speed on either part of the street.

I had no idea where I was at; it did not at all seem like the place I was originally heading to with the airplane, neither did it the place I had visited before in my life.

"Welcome to ... ," said someone, who appeared to be the young man I had been along with during the flight and during the eerie wandering at the meadow; the same person whom I now recognized as a dear old friend; my own Huckleberry friend who had now grown taller, handsomer, much more mature and somehow seemingly wiser.

There were only me and him at the new place. Not even one of the other passengers was around.

"But, this isn't where I was heading to," said I.

"What was on your mind when the old man told you to concentrate on your destination? I think he sends us exactly to where we want to be in," he said, still smiling

I thought, and remembered, that when the old shepherd gave us the instruction, I did firstly imagine about my original flight destination, but, well, as he mentioned it as "the place we wanted to be in the most", I started imagining a distant place; a place I had never been in but had always wanted to be in; the place where I could find him, my Huckleberry friend, who was now standing right next to me, with one of his hands holding the top of the fence.

I smiled, and said, "Okay, I guess I now understand."

"I'm glad you thought about this place," he smiled wider before leaning his both arms against the fence and staring straightly upon the middle part of the bay. He closed his eyes there, and took a deep breath in, saying, while opening them back,

"I like this place; it's fresh here."

He then asked me to come along with him, which I obeyed. As we strolled leisurely along the sidewalk, he explained to me several things about the city, where he had been seemingly living in for the past few years.

I didn't quite pay attention, though. I noticed that the place was evidently a more developed city than Jakarta, but it was neither as big as New York nor as classy as European towns. I had no idea where it was.

I felt half tremendously happy, for finally really seeing him in my life; but half odd as well, as I wasn't yet used to really have him around.

His clear, gentle voice came straightly into my head, went down deeply into my heart; his handsome figure I tried to record in mind. And, hence, what he was saying I failed to listen. Luckily he wasn't aware of that.

At the end of the sidewalk, where we had to cross an empty street to get to the other sidewalk, we met a gang of about half-dozen bikers; all were female.

They dressed and wore make up like rockers,complete with leather black jackets, jeans, leather boots, colorful hairs and tattoos everywhere on their open skin. They all rode big Harley Davidson motorcycles.

They were parking about 100 meters from the street, on an empty field. I was so amazed with their appearances that I couldn't help fixing my eyes on them, on their every details. That was when my eyes met with those of the girl with big thick pink hair sitting on a big Harley in the middle of the group.

She did not seem so happy with what I did.

"What's your problem, HUH?! Can't find anything else to look at, b@$#€!!?"

O, gosh, what have I done, I said in my heart, trying to pretend that I didn't listen to her. Her shouting, however, grabbed my dear friend's attention. He stared at the gang, and spontaneously held one of my arms.

"Keep walking normally; don't show any fear," he whispered, while his holding of my arm was getting tighter.

The bikers turned their big motorcycles on and, shockingly, headed quickly toward us. And now they besieged us; using the moving motorcycles as barricade and forcing us to stay right where we were.

"What do you guys want?" he said icily, though rather calmly; with eyes fully alert. He was trying to shield me.

"That €%&#&! with you has some problem! Don't try to cover her, get off, unless you want to mess with us, too!" said the pink-haired girl, whom I believed was the chief of the gang.

"It's my fault, it's my fault," said I, shaking his arm.

"Relax, we'll get over this," whispered him again.

The bikers laughed, enjoying my fear. They threatened to impose on us cruellest punishment we could ever imagine, while continually making horrible sound with the motorcycles' engines.

He felt my fear, and drew me closer to his side, whispering, "When I say 'run', run as fast as you can."

I nodded; that was the only thing I could do, aside of praying that we could escape from the stupidly horrible situation.

I had no idea what drew the bikers' attention; however they all suddenly looked into one direction. Some only slowed down, some turned off their Harleys. I reckoned they thought they had heard a police siren.

He did not miss the chance. "Now," he said, "Run!" He pulled my arm, leading me quickly to unguarded space between two motorcycles, whose riders were obviously too surprised to react.

We ran as fast as we could; through the street, through open fields, through long narrow tunnels, while the bikers, who had now been awakened, were chasing us behind.

He surely ran much faster than me, but always adjusted his speed with mine so as to ensure that I would not be left behind. He kept holding my hand along the run.

After running a few kilometers, and after I could no longer hear the sound of the motorcycles; I ceased, panting, pulled off my hand and begged him to stop.

"Please, please, I can't run anymore. They've missed our traces, right? They've missed us, haven't they?" said I, throwing my butt on a rock. We were on an edge of a deserted field.

He stared at me worrily, also panting, though not as severely as I did.

"I'm afraid not. We're not saved yet. This is an open place, they will soon find us. C'mon, we have to keep running," said he, holding out his hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry; this is all my fault! If only I wasn't so stupidly, curiously staring at them, this stupid thing wouldn't have to happen..." now I bursted in distress.

He fell silent; and then sat on one of his knees, stared at me affectionately, held my trembling hands, and said, "Hey, it isn't your fault. You did nothing but staring. Had you known they would get so easily pissed off, you wouldn't do it, would you? I'm sure you've never seen people like them in your place, right? It is normal you don't know they will do something this far. But they will, and I'm afraid they can do things that they said they would. Now, shall we move on?"

I reluctantly decided to nod, and welcomed the hand he offered me once again.

*

For some time indeed I thought he had mistaken; that the biker gang was still chasing us. But, as we approached a big, quiet building seemingly closed due to weekend or holiday, I realized he was right.

When he examined the side entrance into the building, which was locked, we heard the bikers approaching.

We were at a very open space, so we didn't have a choice but to somehow illegally enter the building. Luckily he found a steel stick nearby, which he then used to forcibly break down the door.

We moved in, but it was too late; one of the bikers saw us. She told her friends, and they all quickly headed their motorcycles toward the broken door.

Luckily it was too narrow for them to pass through the door. They had to walk on foot if they insisted to do so. And that was not their opt.

For a moment we were saved. He led me running through the long, dark passage until we arrived in what was seemingly the main hall.

The building appeared to be a giant, modern library whose millions of book collections were placed in dozens of giant steel bookshelves lining across the large hall. The bookshelves were very huge; tall and long. Their tops almost reached the high ceilings, and they stretched from one side of the hall to the other, which could be barely seen; a seemingly perfect place for hiding.

Just as that thought came across my head; the bikers successfully broke down the main entrance, which was only a few hundred meters on our left. They crashed the door with their motorcycles. They instantly saw us.

"RUN!" he pushed me into the dark passage between two bookshelves standing before us. We ran and ran along the surprisingly very long aisle, while frequently looked behind to see how close our chasers were with us.

They appeared to divide themselves; one biker for one aisle, I reckoned, as now I could only see a biker behind us.

When we met the edge of the first couple of bookshelves (there was another couple after them), he told me to make a left turn. The biker did not see, hence she wrongly drove her Harley through the aisle between the second bookshelves couple. We escaped from her.

But, there were five other bikers; and for some time we continually met them and escaped from them at one spot and the others.

I was getting slow; one of my legs was painfully cramped, my abdomen was aching, and my lungs felt like they were going to blow.

But, he never left me. He was always there, guiding me and accompanying me all the way along the run. He patiently slowed down when I slowed; and stopped when I couldn't help stopping to take some breath in. He told me to turn left or right, or to hide; while looking at me anxiously Sometimes he was in front of me, pulling my hand; sometimes he was behind, gently pushing me and telling me to keep running. It was indeed a thrill situation, but his being there by my side along the run made me somehow feel safe. In fact I'm not sure if I could feel more secure on ordinary days when no body was chasing after me and so passionate about slaughtering me.

We then arrived at a corner on the other side of the hall, where we found an old wooden bookshelf having doors on the lower part. While the upper part was filled with books, the lower one was fortunately empty and big enough for both of us to sit in.

We hid in there for about half an hour, though indeed it felt like half day. We heard the bikers shouted to each other in their desperate attempts to find us, and even passed before us several times.

But, they failed to find us. They thought we must have gone out of the building, and in the end decided to leave.

"Enough the game for today!" said one of them, whom I reckoned must be the chief.

She ordered the others to leave. Just after the last motorcycle passed the entrance however, dozens of police sirens arrived, followed by warnings to drop guns, and then sounds of shootings lasting for several seconds.

When the fire ceased, he asked me to keep hiding, saying he wanted to see what was happening.

Several minutes later he came back with news that there had been indeed shootings. Two bikers were shot dead, including the pink-hair chief. One ran away, and the other three were arrested.

He said the bikers fought back when they were told to surrender, so the police shot them.

"The police hunt them because they allegedly attacked some people a few days ago," he said.

He then escorted me to an exit, which he had found while trying to get back to me.

The exit brought us to another two-way asphalt road, which was much wider and busier than the one near the bay. Along its either side was endless line of tall modern buildings, and wide sidewalk flocked by passing-by pedestrians.

We walked leisurely among them, releasing our stress and enjoying the mild sunny day, the cleanliness of the air and the regular rhythm of the city.

This time we really talked a lot, sharing with each other what we had been doing with our lives. He asked many questions about my family, about my studying abroad brother, and my reporting job. He said he was surprised I decided to be a journalist and not a scientist, though added that the job somehow suit me.

We joked, laughed; we indeed had great time together after years of having not seen each other.

That was before we arrived at a bus shelter, where he suddenly stopped.

"So, I guess it is time for you to leave?"

I was puzzled with the question, indeed. I had not a single plan to leave him so soon.

"But, why should I leave now? I still want to stay here with you."

He smiled, replying, "You have an HIV/AIDS conference to cover, remember?"

Yes, of course I remembered. But, I thought, after the eerie flight accident, all the adventurous escape, after magically arriving at this place I had not planned to visit; wasn't it weird that I still had to attend a very ordinary conference?
He could read my mind, and laughed... "I know this doesn't make sense. But, what makes sense among all the eerie things we've just gone through? You have a life, and you must live it."

"But, how about you? Aren't you coming with me?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm sorry, but I have to stay here, unfortunately. Hey, don't be sad. Now you know where to find me, don't you? And you can now come back here anytime you want."

"But, I don't even know where this is. How can I get back here? If I leave, I will perhaps never see you again."

"You will see me again. Just come back here; you'll be able to do that as easy as you will leave this place."

He told me to turn around, and showed an almost invisible connecting gate between this place and the world where I lived.

"You can go to the conference through that door and can easily come back here through the same door," he said.

I looked at it, and then looked back at him, who was smiling gently and staring affectionately at me.

"I'll always wait for you here. I will. Take care," he said.

Although not easy, I finally chose to smile back. I chose to trust him, and left him with belief that I could indeed return to him someday.

"You, too, take care. I'll be back as soon as I can," said I, waiving my hand and smiling, and seeing him do the same before turning around and stepping my feet toward my next destination.

I did leave him that day, and has not seen him again until now. But, the meeting has somehow made me feel content; for I know now that he is there in that big somewhere out there.

-- THE END --

When Mumbai attacks, which killed at least 173 people and injured 308 others, occurred last November; the world knows the only thing that could end and has indeed ended the tragedy was the stepping in of Indian armed force into the fatal chaos.

Nobody thought that mere medication, food and financial aids could have ever made the so-called Muslim terrorists cease their attacks. Neither did anyone naively believe that the attackers could have ever been persuaded, or forced to end their ill-actions through mere calls or condemnations, even if it had come from the whole part of the world.

And so, I wonder, why the world now thinks condemnations only will ever be enough to make the aggressor Israelis end their brutal actions against Palestinians. As of Friday evening (Indonesia time), a week after Israel launched their strikes, over 400 Palestinians have been slaughtered and about 1,700 others have been injured in an evidently unequal battle between the so-called militant Hamas jihadis and well-equipped Israeli military force (death tolls in the Israeli

side, at the same time, only reached four people).

But, still, nobody thinks it is necessary to do more than condemning, or sending food, medication and financial aids, like Indonesia is currently doing; as if obstinate Israel would ever want to listen, or the aids sent would ever help Palestinians save their lives.

Big countries like the United States and Europe are even worse; they remain speechless. U.S. president-elect Barack Obama, too, is very disappointing. Where is the so-called changes he's promised? He did not even speak a word about the brutal murdering of Muslims in the Gaza Strip. It looks like one of my editors is right; Obama will never deviate the United States' traditional blind backing for Israel, whatever mess the latter makes in the Middle East.

This is despite, ironically, the fact that the Israeli troops are much more powerful, much better armed, evidently much more in numbers, and much more resolute in continuing their deadly strikes against the Palestinians than the Mumbai attackers were against Indians and the foreigners.

This is despite the fact that Israelis killed and injured much more than the Mumbai attackers did, and has openly pledged they will continually the strikes for perhaps weeks, until, Israeli defense minister Ehud Barak said, Hamas stops their pathetic rocket fire.

Are world leaders turning their blind eye, or their deaf ear, into evidently a gross crime against human rights that are broadcast and publicized intensively by the media?

Is that solely because Hamas, which is fighting for their own homeland, is still on the United States' list of terrorist organizations that they don’t want to do anything? Or because everyone is afraid of Israel, or of the US?

No countries are moved to do something to end the deadly strikes, not even the neighboring, stupid Middle Eastern countries, who ironically even close their borders and brutally ban Palestinian refugees from seeking safe shelters.

They're doing nothing about the strikes, only condemning, and now begging the United Nations' Security Council to issue resolution to stop Israel, although they know such resolution will never be issued, with the US ready to instantly use its veto rights anytime to fail it.

I don't care about who has the rights to claim the disputed land. Even though, let's say, historically the Jewish is the original owner of the land, will that grant them the rights to destroy houses and murder the dwellers so that they can afterward live and build their own residence in the place? Moreover, everyone knows it is not the nowadays Palestinians that have allegedly seized the land from them. The Jewish doesn't, by all means, have the rights to seize the land "back" with force and subsequently claim people's lives for that.

And about Hamas, I deeply regret the fact that its struggle to seize back its homeland is construed as terrorism act. If an abusive aggressor comes; destroying homes you've been living all your life, robbing your lands and forcing you to go away, just because, well, they say they're the original owner of the land; isn't it normal that you would want and try to seize it back? And, won't that deeply hurt you and spark your anger when you're then called terrorists or militants when trying to do so, while you know peaceful attempts would not work to deal with such abusive and inhumane aggressors?

Don't get me wrong; I'm talking about Hamas, which commits their pathetic rocket fire attacks in what is evidently a battle ground.

I'm not at all on the side of the stupid, coward so-called terrorists (including Osama bin Laden and the gank, and Jamaah Islamiyah) allegedly involved in a number humanity tragedies outside the battleground, including the Sep. 11 attack, the Bali and London bombings and the recent Mumbai attacks.

Back to the Palestine-Israel conflict, isn't it evident that there is a huge injustice here? Then, why, the world doesn't do anything about it? It can only condemn, and, sadly, tell Palestinians to stop their desperate fight for their own fate. Aren't the world leaders aware that they're in fact telling Palestinians to just die? Well, they have only two choices; fight and thus very probably die, or surrender (by allowing the Israelis to continue their seizing over the disputed land) and, slowly but surely, die, too, because of having nothing to move on with their lives?

Some observers said this no-action-talk-only stance that world leaders are posing would only spark more terrorism acts in the future, with each believing that terrorists are depressed Muslims that don't know what else to do to end their fellow Muslims' miseries.

I am, too, afraid so; although it is still rather odd to me how these so-called Muslim extremists can easily kill innocents anywhere outside the battleground yet do not dare face the well-armed enemies in what is evidently a battle ground.

If the world leaders, especially those condemning Israel's abusive attacks, are serious with their objection over the aggression; they must indeed do more than talking and condemning. They must disarm Israel and, perhaps, use force when Israel resists the disarmament and fights back.

There's no other way; unless Israel decides to end its attacks, which isn't likely. If the world refuses to do the disarmament, I'm afraid there will be some individuals or groups that will attempt to help Palestinians with their own way; a way that could be too reckless and or too unacceptable that we all agree it is another act of terrorism.