Looking back when I was a young boy, I had lots of hobbies. Like most kid at my age, I played robots, action figures, mini vehicles, cartoon, etc. One of my interest was collecting books and comics. This was started earlier even listening to music.

Some name to be mentioned in my favourite list, Lucky Luke : the poor lone some cowboy who shoot faster than his shadow. Choose Your Own Adventure, The Secret of Blue Whale : a classic encounter of cold war. Three Detectives’s series created by maestro of thriller, Alfred Hitchcock. I even had read Agatha Christie’s in early junior high years. Of all, it is clearly seen that my favourite was a mystery packed with detective sense and action. But one left to mention, my all time favourite : The Adventure of Tintin.

Tintin, created by Georges Remi known as Herge, is a wonderful story, a complete journey of a Belgium journalist. Skilled with his curiosity that lead him to many adventures. He and his long life mate, Mileu (a spaniel white dog), travel across the globe, visiting many countries for right reason confronting villain Communist Regime in USSR, Al Capone (Tintin was the only comic character to face The Scarface in his lifetime), Sydavian Kingdom (old Germany before WW II), central America guerilla, legacy and ruined of Inca’s old tample in Machu Pichu Peru, UFO, and even landing his feet in the Moon 15 years earlier than Neil Armsrong did. From bottom of the sea (Red Sea Sharks) to outer space (Explorers on The Moon). Meeting new people, some of them later became his close family, like Captain Haddock, Cuthbert Calculus, Dupont and Dupond, and others.

I remember one day, I went with my father to Majestik in Kebayoran Lama searching and hunting for some old edition of books and comics. There I got the The Crab With The Golden Claws. In another chance when I went to Senen old book market, I purchased The Seven Crystal Balls along with The Prisoners of The Sun. The first series I read actually The Black Island, which I borrowed from my long mate. After that came The Shooting Star and Cigars of The Pharaoh. The Broken Ear, Flight 714 To Sydney, Castafiore’s Emerald, Tintin And Picaros, King Ottokar’s Skeptre and Tintin In America was next on the line. The hardest series for me to collect was The Red Rackham Treasure, it took me almost five years of searching which I finally got the hardcover version with high rated edition. The rest of album mostly I got from bookstores.

Else, Tintin wasn’t just an individual hobby. It was a family interest actually. Since my sister and my father liked it too. This condition was truly an advantage for me as my father wouldn’t hesitate to buy them for me. He wouldn’t complain nothing about books. I remember one time, he laughed loudly when he read Destination Moon. It was quite funny, though.

After sometime collecting, searching and hunting, it was set to completion. I was proudly announced to all my friends that I had all the Tintin’s album. Shortly, they came after me and asked for lending some titles. I had to give it to them, as they pursued over me. I would be kind to all my friends. Unfortunately, some of them didn’t give back the album. So I lost one by one, even most of them. I was careless at the time. I couldn’t blame noone but myself.

And now, more than 20 years after, I still have a kind interest of collecting Tintin. The one I used to collect in the past was publish by Indira. News for past years they have bankrupt and so Tintin was no longer available in stores. The recent collection is publish by Gramedia with a book format and glossy page papers. The difference was the old Indira translated from UK published version of Tintin. This included all the characters mentioned in English name. The Gramedia version translated from the original Casterman Belgium, which I think have a very close similarity and reality to the story (as Tintin is Belgium, he speaks French). So, it is more natural and more enjoyable to read.

Tintin is a very smart story. A brilliant character. It is down to earth. Natural and reality of life. By reading it, you will be able to travel to the past, knowing some piece of history. Learnig new culture in another part of the world. An alternative way of education for all ages, yet entertaining. The album itself is worth of a collectibles. The whole is a masterpiece.

Tonight, it’s very quite. Nothing moves. Noone can hear any footsteps. The lights are all off. The streets are empty. The buildings are envy. The cars are parked. The doors are locked. The sky, the wind passes, embraces cold soft skin. Alone. Silent.

I sit here in the middle of the room where it all begin. In the far away from home. Waiting and longing for something about to come. Time and hope.

My mind flying somewhere across the ocean. Flying high and fast to place safe and comfort. Close my eyes, soon the space will take me there.

Ticking clocks and the sound of this loose hall. Followed me like shadowfax which has meaning of haste. The picture I see, they tell everything or anything. It bears in my head for a while. Playing like puzzles and scramble of words. I try to describe them in a frame of picture. Capture one by one like sequel of recently.

Nothing seems to clear. It all blur and gather immensely. Slowly fade away, leave me still in alone…

The air is breezing, breathing deeply, it frozen me like ice. Crystallize in lung. I didn’t make a move, I didn’t make a sound. I didn’t want to. I plea where time would take me. Seconds away of changing moment. A new page of life. One by one. I see them though my eyes. Everyday. Everyhour.

The dark horizon is brighten. Thin red line cuts into two worlds. Sunrise wake the earth. Right at the beach where white sands and waves broken.

This is February 14th. This is valentine’s day. The day of love. Everyone said that. Not everyone I suppose.

So, do you prepare yourself for today? What are your plans? Do you buy gifts, say chocolates or flowers may be? Do you go out on a romantic candle light dinner? With whoever you may be, the one you care and love?

I don’t prepare anything, coz I don’t have any plans for today. I don’t celebrate valentine’s. I never did. I don’t even recall on the day. For me, it’s just an ordinary day, just like any other days that pass and go. I guess, I’ll stay at home tonight with my family, and without any discussions of valentine’s. If you don’t, so what bugs you here, sitting in front of the computer, writting unnecessary things in your blogs?

…

Back in 2002, when I was a student of architecture department at UNDIP Semarang. I did recall on the day. That day, I was going back home from college in the afternoon after a tiring day with tasks and presentations. I stayed with my grandparents in their house during that period of time. On the way home, on the bus, I kept heard the voices of my friends, discussed everything about valentine’s, in my head. They were about to buy gifts, and planned to go out on a dinner. Did romantic stuffs. I didn’t have any plans for that day.

Suddenly, I remembered my grandma. She was like a substitute mother for me. She looked after me, taken care of me. She loved me very much. Once she said, ”Rangga is not my grandson. He’s my son”. (FYI : Rangga is taken from my last name-Septarangga- which is my family call me with). And this thought came crossed my mind, that it would be nice if I bought her something as a gift. Something to show that I loved her too. So, I bought her a flower. It was a beautiful pink rose.

When I got home, she was there sitting in family room with grandpa, reading a small book of prays, with her a cup of hot tea. She was surprised when I gave the flower.

She said, “Rangga, is this flower for me?”

I answered, “It’s for you”.

She kissed the flower. And still in unbelief thought she said, “But for what occasion?”

“Coz it’s valentine’s, and I don’t have anyone who love me but you”, my replied.

Then she hugged me and kissed me. She smiled and said, “Thank you very much. It such a beautiful rose. How do you know that I like flowers?”

I didn’t reply, I just smiled. I could see her eyes sparkled. Grandpa was stood next to her and smiled too. Then she quickly put the flower in a vase on a table in family room that would last for 3 days. During that time, she was so happy. She proudly announced to all the guests who came-even to all her children and grandchildren-that she received a flower from me as a valentine’s gift.

…

But now she’s gone. My beloved grandma. Later, my aunt (one of her daughter) told me how grandma loved me so much for many reasons, one of them was because I’m the only one of all her grandchildren to gave her flower-ever. She said grandma kept saying my name, remembering me, especially for that valentine’s flower gift. The one she would never forgot. Neither would I. Even now, I still can feel her embrace, her smile, and her sparkling eyes on that day. The day that I gave her flower.

For my beloved grandma, this is your grandson’s writing, remembering you, and missing you.

“Grandma, may God forgive all your sins and pay all your kindness, put you in a place at His side in heaven. Amen.”

The original writting was with the tittle “For My Beloved Grandma”, posted in Friendster Blog Paranoid Android back in 2006

Two hours to midnight.

We were on the edge of the time. The last moment of 2008. Less than two hours we would face a new beginning of 2009. New years eve, was what they called.

Many people gathered for some happenings. Some had fun, really fun. Others spent sometime to have reflections of all that occured during last year. And so resolution was made. The plan for a brighter and better year to come.

You could hear the sound of joy not long before 12 pm. It was kind of tradition run in our culture – yet in many people – to celebrate the change. For some, they blew candles, then made wishes. Others honk their trumpets. The streets were crowded by traffic of any kinds of vehicles. The celebration took every place in every corner of the city all night long.

Fireworks flew high, lightning beautifully in dark skies.

…

Here in Jakarta, and many other cities around the globe, people made New Years Eve as one of the most important moment of the year. Fireworks was important too. In our neighborhood, they only light them up for such occasions. We saw them through our window in our bedroom. The celebration was coming.

Television made it even real. They captured all live events such concerts, parades and shows. All dressed up with gloom, happy faces all around. They forgot pain and left behind sadness for one night. And then the fireworks was live. We saw it, I saw it.

My daughter, Aleisha, she was suddenly woke up by the bang bang of fireworks. She was crying, felt disturbing. But it was for short, as she didn’t recall it yet. The light and the colors filled the horizon, at which she stared. Over and over the sound and the lightning strike like rainbow in the night. She was confused, stood still. We were explaining to her not to be afraid. She was there for a while, look back to us, and smile. Her first smile in the year 2009.

Ticking clocks and movement of time, nearly and directly brought us to zero. Fireworks started afterwards.

…

In another part of the world, in the city of Gaza, Palestine, the people had no chance – by meaning – to celebrate new years eve. While we had fun, they had misery. We clapped hands and embraced to light of fireworks. They had too, fireworks, that destroyed their homes, ruined roads, crashed down schools and killed their family. Even killed them too.

They heard the sound, and saw the light of fireworks. Our fireworks looked so preety, theirs created destruction. Their fireworks even started earlier than ours. It had been above their sky days before, and brought nothing but fear. They shed tears and blood. We asked for fireworks, they cried for them.

Hours before while we were laughing, they were crying. By midnight the light of our fireworks was bright and the sound was loud, their fireworks even more brighter so blinded and the sound even more louder so defted. We wished the fireworks last for long, they wish it last only in dreams. As the celebration ended, we fell asleep of our heavy eyes, they hadn’t sleep for days and wonder to put their head just for rest and closed their eyes just for minutes. The sleep in counting seconds would become forever. Never been woke up again. Their life was in the edge.

Was new years eve make any different to them? Was that have any meaning the sound and light of fireworks in the night? They had seen fireworks before, know what they would have become to their world. They had been in the situation for years long. It wasn’t sure that any brighter or better future would come to them. All they had was pray and hope. Struggle and fight for freedom.

So, we share a common thing with them, fireworks. But yet different ones. As we wish to see them again in years to come, they were hoping to buried their sad memories then walked on by. Saw their life up in the sky, so beautiful like a light and sound of fireworks.

Ticking clocks and movement of time, nearly and directly brought them to zero. Fireworks had not been stopped yet.

…

We kissed our love ones saying happy new year, they kissed their love ones saying goodbye.

Have you seen the streets lately? I mean, where you walk, which bus you’re taking to, or just somewhere in the neighborhood. There are symptoms sound familiarly in ears. It’s Christmas. The air you could breathe in the athmosphere.

This year is just so different. I could be wrong, but I’ve never found things like this in the past years. You could find many street musicians in the pedestrians, on the bus or at the traffic light, sing holy songs. As they were celebrating the event, they became beggars on the street collecting pennies. It could be meant or not meant to be, but it’s a rare to happen.

One morning, on a bus there was a street musician playing holy songs. With his guitar and some simple notes, regarding his worship for all in early day. Praying to Lord for His Blessings and Love. But he wasn’t the only one, in the next day there were some like him entering bus and entertaining the passengers with such things. I was dull at the moment. Feeling trapped. Maybe enjoying, maybe bugging.

Was it just a coinsidence? Or was it on purpose? Were they really need the money? Well, it could be done for such reason. Holiday is coming soon. For instance, this Christmas they might need the money to prepare things. It was all their celebration. Or could be not from any of mentioned above. As simple as they might just need the money for living. Selling the drama in form of holy words. But, I couldn’t tell the truth. I passed it to the guitar man with cross on his neck.

Last night, when I was going home taking on bus 213 route to Grogol, there’s another street musician entering the bus at the Slipi Traffic Light. This man, was a Chinesse, carrying a bag contains a small sound system completed with a microphone. Then he sang Josh Groban’s You Raised Me Up, but changed in lyrics with some praying words. He mentioned some God or Jesus, with a deep feeling shown in his facial expression. I wondered maybe next time there will be Santa Claus coming on the bus, carrying a bunch of presents, and give them to the passengers. I didn’t consider that would be real, though.

…

I fed up after long hours of working. Keep it up for tight schedule. Running against time. When I got home, there’s nothing left for me but sleepy eyes and nice warm blanket. The hunger strike had gone. I got up, laid myself on bed. In silent night, there’s still the images of street musicans playing holy songs remain. As if they had sang a lullaby. But, there wouldn’t be any Christmas lullaby for me. I whispered, Bismika Allahuma ahya’a wa amuut. Goodnight.

Zero

Early November almost all mass media, paper and electronic, were put the execution plan of Bali bombing terrorist – Amrozi, Imam Samudra and Ali Gufron. Those three party convicted guilty sentenced death were popular by numbers in news, beating all government, celebrities and even global financial crisis effects. The execution were supposed to be held by somewhere around 10 to 13. By the end of November 13^th, still there was no sign about the stick to the plan to execute them.

In addition, many pros and cons about the plan. The pros were outnumbered the cons, of course without comment what they did, bombing that coused 200 lives passed away, were absolute death to be penalty. Whatever the story, whatever the reason, what they did was wrong. They killed innocent people without a single right cause. The cons were minor in this part. They were part of the sentenced death families, friends and symphatisan. Their family argued that they deserve second chance. They were backed up by a bunch of so called Muslim Defender Team. This bunch of lads just defend any muslim, even though they knew they defended were guilty by killing humans. They plagued even God Himself merciful, so the decision of allowing people dead or alive was absolutely His, not human. They put many press confrences in mass media, some flyers, even banners said : RELEASE IMAM SAMUDERA, AMROZI AND ALI GUFRON. THEY ARE MUJAHIDIN.

Mujahidin they said. They were arguing in a matter of life and death was only by God’s will, no human can interfere. Let’s go back to start and ask a simple question to them : when those three killed large numbers of people, did they realize that life and death of those victims were only God’s will? So, why were they playing God instead? It seemed that jihad were taking in a wrong false. They took it in a wrong meaning. They mean killing non muslims – especially Americans and their allied – were jihad. There were many non muslim in Indonesia, why it had to be foreigners in Bali? Why not start pulling triggers and aiming to non muslims in another part of Indonesia? Indonesian non muslims in this meaning. They translate jihad in a narrow and barely different from the original meaning. Jihad were only right in their head. When they said jihad, it had to be right, no matter what else said.

In jihad, when mujahidin got killed they foresee to God’s heaven. It was the only goal of jihad. To be killed in a battle field. Bombing those tourists in Bali definitely not in a certain kind of battle field. Battle was only in their mind. It was their mind set to do jihad in such place to be considered as a battle field. But they were not dead when they did it. They manage to survived. And now, they were facing death. In this part, let’s consider their death will be equal to jihad’s goal : sacrifice life in battle field, to be killed in battle field, in a war, in defending 4JJI religion. So, they need no scared about it. They didn’t need any defender. They didn’t need any symphatisan for what they’ve done. They will receive what to be the ultimate goal.

As death comes at the end. Finally, God’s law spoken the truth, no man bullet proof. And only He who decide life and death. They placed in a column with tight hand and feet. Eye to eye to death himself. Their life was short. A group of snipers were gathered, prepared an end life task. One bullet, one target. They wouldn’t miss. Not at this chapter. Death to the end, as a zero.

…

Hero

November 10^th, we celebrated National Hero Day. A day that originally dedicated for heros who died in a war defending this nation from Allied Army’s aggression. It was back in the year of 1948, in Surabaya, the battle of people who were lead by national hero, Bung Tomo, sacrificed life, spleeded blood for freedom land.

They were hero. No argue about it. No pros and cons for their status. What they did was right, and noble indeed. In this matter they were considered as mujahidin too. If they were muslims and defending nation from land aggressor, fight for their right of freedom land, fight with 4JJI’s Name, they were kill or be killed. They were mujahid. What they did was in a name of jihad. The highest jihad was to spleed blood in a battle.

It was barely different to what those terrorist did when bombing Bali 2002. They had reason, unargue believers. While those terrorist were short meaning in jihad. They just want to kill non muslims – neither they were friends or enemies. Heros fight for rights, something good. Something we behold together as an individual, group or nation. Therefore, we kept enchanting their name years after years for remembering all things they’ve done.

Do we have to die for becoming a hero? Like they said, death don’t solve problem, and so hero does in meaning. There’s lot we could do to become hero. For instance, common people in usual condition where we live in peace no war, work for living could be determine as hero thing. They who work hard, everyday, for the living of family could be understood as jihad. It’s another meaning of it. Jihad came from Arabic jahadu which means by effort and determine. In order to meet the meaning, any activities done by effort and determine such work, could be interprate as jihad. It’s not possible to do things by effort and determine, not just as classified war activities in such terms and conditions, have a value of jihad. So, husband be hero for wife. Parents be hero for children. Children be hero for grandchildren. Hero not acclaimed by death, but with value things have done in life. Life decide.

Many freedom warrior passed before us. We respect and honor them. For what they did and they belief, we live and have things as we are now. They sacrificed everything for the the generation to come, us. Their death was meaningful, as a hero.

22.00 pm – Slipi Traffic Light, Jakarta

On my way home from office after one day full of burst. Bus PPD 213 took me to Grogol from Sudirman. I was working late hour preparing stuffs for upcoming project tender next month. The preparation was taking 2 months earlier, due to safety and completion of all needed documents.

I sat down in a semi full bus. I sat alone, by the window, my favorite pick so I could see things outside. I didn’t notice my shirt, pants, bags or others. Rather than those passengers with faces of unknown recognize people. One people came inside the bus while the other step off. Their destination vary, could be headed the same direction. Home elsewhere.

From inside the window glass, I saw some group of beggars and scarvengers somewhere around the traffic light. Some of them pass us by, while a single or group of street musicians played false songs with a rebel theme of breaking social stability. Who cares? They were all just a glimpse under city light and soon would be gone before midnight. Vanishing behind the dark shadow of the night.

One, maybe two, children were playing things right at the corner. They passed us too, like the others, I guessed. But I was wrong, their number was many. Their age was vary. From babies to teenagers. A mother held months of age baby, asking for pennies, way to survive her hard living. Their clothes were dirty, their face were dusty and smelled like haven’t took a bath all day long. People ignored them and bugging by their presence. They were acting beggars, street musician, scarvengers or anything they could. Just to struggle, keeping faith of hope to live one day through another. Held a giant burden on their shoulder, feed the rest of their family at that little age. They were our children, our next generation.

In my opinion, those children didn’t exactly understood of what happened in their surroundings. The traffic light and the streets certainly wasn’t a right place to play. They risk their life and safety. They might just hit by vehicles then caused accident that lead them of losing parts of their body. In their youth they could losing things in the future worth priceless. Ironically, they didn’t notice any of it. In their mind there’s only sincerity and honesty. It was their parents who told them what to do and not to do. They were just following orders. They did all of it for the sake of fun. They were playing. It clearly seen from their eyes, their smiles revealed everything hidden inside their mind. They didn’t seem to care about the hardlines. In their eyes everything’s simple. Yet beautiful.

The bus move on and left the traffic liaht. I feel awkward, though. Still sat in my place. Wondering and imagining if I was one of them. I wasn’t quite sure about it. I looked back, the children were gone. They stood still where they were. Inside my head, bearing the sound of the laughing, crying and hustling from them. We felt hard to get through each and everyday. We fight and struggle to get our feet in the shoe. While they were playing, running around, poking at each other. There no end of it. They saw and live thier life in a beautiful way.

…

The streets, the traffic light and the corner of this city is home for them. Where they were raised. Place to go through. Their loving playground what most kids want and enjoying spend long time. We see the world in a different window with them. We share the same space and time with them. It was their mistakes of doing so. It was just the way they enjoyed living, like the way we did. At the end of the day we realize that our world is small. Our life is short. It’s beautiful.

…

Another good thing happened in Ramadhan. On September 29th, our daughter – Aleisha, celebrated her first birthday. She was born last year, in the year of 2007. Yet, in the same Ramadhan at that time.

So, we prepared things for the occasion. My wife said this would be historical as it was her first. I agreed. Then we made plan for giving things – as it wasn’t actually common for birthday person – usually they receiving. This time Aleisha would giving gifts for people. It was another way of thankful for all she had received during her first year from others. Giving things to make people happy in her happy day. Share happiness all around.

Part of the plan was goodie bags. The bags itself contain some stationeries, notes, and some candies. In addition of those, a pack of small cookies which best snacked with a box of milk. So we ran against time, collected stuffs, surveying some places in order to get cheaper price. We didn’t want to spend many, as we thought saving would be in our priority list. The job was fulfilled at Asemka, Mangga Dua. It best known for plenty of small things such stationeries and souvenirs.

At home, when I was just landing hours ago from Balikpapan, people were busy and hurrying cooking for dinner. It supposed to be a dinner celebrating birthday, but later changed to sahur. This due to our babysitter plan to went home to her village in the afternoon, so she could attend the celebration. After all, she has given lots of credits for taking care of Aleisha since early months. Another reason was in calendaring time, after 12 pm consider another day. It means we left the day, which later we called yesterday, entering new day. So, in sahur time around 3 am means in the time and date of September 29th. To understand this, we must see a calendar.

We sang Happy Birthday later in sahur. At the time, Nasi Kuning (yellow rice) was served and ready. Thanks to our baby sitter, it was all made and real cause of her. Aleisha has just woken up. There she was wearing white pijamas, looked so lazy, creapy eyes, but managed to smiled to all of us. She got hyped after that, as always. We pray for her life, present and future. May 4JJI bless her always. That was the best thing we can hope as parents. And our parents, as her grand parents so.

The song was over, the celebration was done. Then left to the goodie bags, the souvenirs. For neighbors, friends and families the goodie was a souvenir. For us, Aleisha and all things happened during one year was the souvenirs.

In Clarke Quay, Singapore, there’s one interesting venue of bungee jumping, called Maxx Six Gravity. It’s one to prove your nerve and boils out your guts. Luckily, we were one to witness the crazy things out of geeg couples, who dare to challenge their adrenaline.

The thing hold on two steel constructed towers with hight of 50 m, strap cable, and a bong (place for eat your meat during the fall). The bong model of steel frame ball. They press and hold for long time so they get lot of power to throw the bong to the air. Free. Restless. Scary.

The elapse time would be no more than 5 minutes. The throw would be in 5 seconds, the climax on the top, and top speed in 3 seconds. That is the time where we’d hold our breath and scream a loudy. You would be hanging up side down for at least 3 minutes. That 3 minutes would be enough to le out all the food you have eaten inside your guts. What a horrible experience.

So, there was this horny couples, boy and girl. If they’re not horny, then this Maxx would make them so. They were the rabbit in laboratorium of maxx adrenaline. Many people watching them, as they made their steps to the bong. The gas came out from the bottom of the floor, where the bong hold for some time. Like some oldie shows back in the 80’s. I was thinking of Rhoma Irama appereances to the audiences of Aneka Ria Safari with his stupid guitar followed by smoking gas that made the rest of the band choking. Before taking off, here was some whispering words of those un-lucky couple…

He  : I hope she doesn’t puke all over her boobs.

She : I hope he doesn’t shit all over his pants.

Hell, yeah!

On one of the hot day during fasting ramadhan…

I was driving to Pulo Gadung bus station. It wasn’t really at the station, but some place nearby. I went there on occasion of drove our baby sitter on her way home for Idul Fitri. There were my wife, my daughter, our baby sitter and me.

Inside the bulu – our Toyota Soluna nickname – the air wasn’t really flew as fresh as it used to. The air conditioned was on, but somehow didn’t catch to the hot weather outside. Maybe it dued to the fasting time. In every fasting day is almost hot day. In all month long. No matter rain fell hard in the night, even all day long, still the wave of fasting was thirsty and hotty. Throat was leaking and dried. Tounge was numb and bitter of all taste until breakfast come.

Through the window, the traffic was so-so. Some people have left the city. The cars was not as full as workdays. It was fun, though. But, fun have another meaning in this case.

For driver, like what I was doing, it was hard to cope up full fasting months. Without breaking one single day, fasting would be complete and perfect. It was one God promised through Prophet Muhammad that they who fast Ramadhan all month long with hope and sincere to God, then God will forgive all sins in the past. It was noble goal, it was priceless. Muslims across the globe would want to be forgiven and reborn clear and clean from sins, like new born baby.

Though it was hard, then it was hot. Any driver needs more water supply than any other worker. They sit behind the wheels most of time. In the day time, they felt more thirsty then in the night. They need to drink at least 8 litters of water so their body could absorb and change body liquid from the dehydration. Thus, if they didn’t pay attention to such thing, illness such kidneys problem will haunted in the future. An expensive price to pay.

Expensive was nothing for what God had promised to us. They tend to keep their fasting, hold their thirtsy throat and dusty tounge. They belived if they could meet the fasting in one full month Ramadhan, they would reach higher place. Heaven. If they have to lose anything that day, or that month, that wouldn’t be fasting. Fasting was the highest priority of the time. Little did they know about lots of Ramadhan prays, but still it was the least thing they keep in faith.

Taxi drivers, bus drivers, truck drivers, and many more, were they who in the subject. They who fasting Ramadhan. They who believed in God’s promised and kept their faith till the last second. They were driving to somewhere. Behind the wheels, put on a gas pedal. Destination address of any passengers available. Further, heaven.