When Okhti left, Yumma blamed the entire world.

She blamed Yubba – may the Lord rest his soul – for his inability to protect their daughter. She blamed Yubba's wives' jealous and evil eyes upon Okhti's serene grace. She blamed us, for not watching over her carefully enough. She blamed God for breaking her heart. She blamed the king and country, for inefficient police work and convoluted politics. She blamed the years and days, and the weather and the food, and days and the nights and all that irked her senses and cognition with dismay.

Yumma said that Okthi's lost because everyone's too selfish these days. Yumma said that Okhti left because we drove her away with absentmindedness. Because we didn't take her out enough, or showered her with enough gifts, or covered her in the finest silks and purest gold. Yumma said that Okhti wouldn't have left us if she was happy with us. Yumma insists that we have failed Okhti, consequently failing Yumma too.

When we felt like humoring her, we tell Yumma that we did all of that and more.

When we didn't feel like it, we shrug and move on with our daily routines.

In fact, we don't listen to Yumma anymore, not since she came back from her 3-years silence bout, not since Okhti is proven happily married and has given Yumma three grandsons, not since Yumma's been called to degenerate.

In fact, Yumma doesn’t care that nobody listens anymore. Yumma knows that the faeries are listening, and the djinns, and the angels and demons and the secret lovers underneath her bed, from where Yumma eats and sleeps and shits and fills her entire room with the ammonic sense of decay. Yumma, knows that Okhti left out of her childhood because she wanted to become a real person, and a step closer to what Yumma was becoming. Yumma, or whatever is left of her, blames herself for raising Okhti into the fine woman that she was, because Yumma knows – or she thinks she knows – what children become and think and do when they grow up.

Despite all odds, if the sands that surround her in her grave were the last ones to hear her, to each one of them Yumma would repeat and re-repeat how growing up could cost an entire life spent in wanting, to redeem.

This post parades tent on Creative Carnival for March, 2009.
Got this question from Anon:
Hning, does size really matter? be honest.



Does it matter to you?

I guess to you it does, otherwise you wouldn't be asking me this, would you?

I've never heard this question coming from a size-assured guy, so I'm guessing that your size would fit an average Indonesian's Koteka. Assuming that all Indonesians are small, ya?

Forget that line, I was just being mean. Let's start over…

I've only heard this kind of question come from men. So what is it with guys and sizes anyways? It comes in different forms, but basically it means: "Am I man enough for you?" I bet you wanted to ask this question to every woman who caught your fancy, whether or not you know her last name.

How about this, if you wanna make it all that matters, then it does become all that matters. Because sex, if it's not from the heart, then it's only dependant on the mind: what you think becomes what you are. If you think that you're not big enough and that no woman would last with you for longer than a one night stand, then be it. If sex is the basis of your relationship, then yes, size and longevity and prolonged orgasm and acrobatic performances in bed are all that matters. And you can expect a very steamy, unreliable and untrusting relationship with the very person who lays beside you as you sleep.

My question really, do you really want to know? Do you really want to know if your size is appropriate for a girl's appetite or not?

Or do you have something else to sell?

I'll point out some elephants in the room here. You can't satisfy a woman if your artillery only enlists "extra-size". You know all the cringe-worthy Hollywood crap they show on melodramatic movies about guy-meets-girl? Yeah, you need to be that guy and some MORE. You HAVE TO be sensitive to her needs, her demands, her whines and yelps. In AND out of bed. And it doesn't matter whether you have a mammoth's trunk or a cigarette's butt tuck between your legs; if you really care about your girl, and she cares for you too, and you see kids in your future together, then size is really the last thing you should worry about.

Besides, even Marlboro Man gave up smoking at some point in his life.
Here's an interesting thought:

If almost half the world population live on less than $2.50 a day.
Then why are we so unhappy with our meager $1'000/month income?

How much does happiness cost?
 
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