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That fuzzy feeling

How I love that feeling, inviting my friends to my house and cook for them. Not because I am such a good cook, despite of the taste; I like the idea of sharing and have a good conversation over foods.
I think me mom inherited it to me.

We have prepared this since two weeks ago. Enggar (@petitedevotchka) specially flew from Makassar. Aria (@tweetarwah) intentionally came over after his long-haul offline session with his 'beloved' clients. Heikal (@heikalsiregar), yes, he was all behind these things: his farewell. And of course least but not least my hubster Ariawan (thank you for the perfect juicy steak ya sayang). Not to forget Malicca as our cherry on top that night.

It happened so fast we did not have the chance to take pictures. Good conversation flooding as we pour more and more wine, mojitos, Sheridan and finally ... virgin Absolut Tropical.  Me the preggy woman just looked at them happily as they tossed more and more, spooning my Kiwi float over and over. Oh, it was the first time Malicca tasted white wine by the way.

Deep inside, there was fuzzy feeling.

I always love when friends and families come to our house. But tonight, it is because Heikal is leaving soon for his Phd in London. While Enggar is preparing her submission too - which I feel that she will make it next year to Queensland - I feel sad and a bit empty when they went home.

If only we had done this more often. And not only that. If only taking postgraduate is not the only possible way to live abroad. I would have done anything (unless leaving my family) to get the tickets. Now I can only count on my hubster to get us out of this country, and I feel pathetic because of it. I want to do something too. Something that fasten the process and make sure the tickets on hand. But no, not taking post graduate. My kids deserve the education more than me.

Ariawan seemed understood whats in my head. As we take our guests out, he said to me "Next year, okay? We are going next year."

Where? I did not ask. But I trust him. Even if I didn't, I just want to have the faith that we can.

Inshaa Allah.


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Three hours late.

2 AM and I stepped in to the house. Hubby was waiting for me. This was not the first time, and not the latest hour I had ever experienced with over time.

"See you soon Bunda. Or at 8, or at 9, or at 10, or at 11 like you said you would be late." Said my son.

I smiled as I entered the house. I smelled home. I saw my beautiful mess. As I picked up some toys on the floor, I imagined what games the kids had played today. There was a drawing, mini ceramics pots, not too chaotic for kids who were left with nini and aki without nannies.

I also saw their time tables, with some check marks on the list. Those that they weren't checked was the responsibility to wash their own dishes. I saw some dirty cups piling up. I saw the microwave's door left half-opened, a baking sheet and a knife. I wonder what they have cooked.
I also saw minecraft was in active window and some search on youtube and google.

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