Mountain Sickness





I didnt intend to be the model, i am the victim of my own desires to do some photography concept, i built images in my head,but it was a really a spontaneous idea, decided just a day before the hike, i suppose to take the pictures, not to be in them, but well…. The original idea was ballerina outfit with black umbrella, red lampion, Geisha face make up, etc etc. Ended up renting the dress, i want to start to make it happen. Hiked the mountain with some good friends, put the dress at the peak despite the fact that i am shy i managed to fight it, and its cooold. Of course people asked “why the heck you wear that dress here?” . Not easy to really make faces and expression for me, that actually the hardest part (i dont smile well, i dont want to look cheesy n or sweet). I know the angle, i can predict how it will look (mental photographic) but to make the expression that i wanted out of my self??? Anyway, there it goes…..

Photographer : Boby Putra Bahär ; Concept & digital editing : Sita


how am i?

everytime some long lost contact friends suddenly pop up and ask me : how are you? ; I got this feeling that somehow they expect to hear that i am crawling in between the ruins of my broken worlds. “Tell me your stories!”,” your life is like a novel!”, ” hows work? hows your love life?”. I usually replied : Oh! i am good!; I am great! BUT surely they wont stop there, they would say : yeah? sometimes i cant tell whether you are good..good, or you are really good. And i never good at make up stories, so i satisfy them with my real stories : yeahhh i lost the job; things didnt work out; mum messed up; had encounters with few guys; bla bla bla then i would get the basic responses : oh my god! oh no! wtf! i am sorry dear! dada dada dada. I cant help wondering how i can see thru them well how superficial their attentions are, no matter how hard they ll try not to show it, they need to believe that eyes are indeed the window to the souls. Then they would go on with hoping i am alright as if expecting to hear instead that i am on my knee, crying my head off. And for that one, i keep disappointing them, cuz i am still standing tall; bruised, damaged, got to drag my cripple soul sometimes, but i am still standing tall. 

And indeed, just like a novel, i am just another show, another read. They probably cant really handle being the character in the story. 

The Feral Twins Of Pakisan, Bali


Beyond the city, island life crouches and sweats in the shade of ferns and palm fronds. Within the reclaiming forest and scribbled roadmap of Bali, there is all the enigma of a small nation. In the north western woods of Kintamani, the unlisted village of Pakisan is lost in folds of Bedugul’s many hills and ridges. At the end of one driveway, a sign reads Taman Kanak-Kanak, the little orphanage cautiously dubbed a children’s park. Yogic Nun Ibu Didi and 18-odd orphans hold a steadfast routine here, of yoga, meditation, chanting, singing, and delegating chores. Like runoff, the group came together at this spot in the valley, rescued or escaped from shacks in the surrounding area. Amongst these old souls are twin boys whom Ibu Didi calls yayang, her dearest or beloveds. Even the youngest of their peers would forgive Ibu Didi what seems like favoritism.  Having twins…

View original post 224 more words