The blog's under construction now.
Things might look really ugly, so ugly that you'll want to ball your eyes out.
So read at your own risk.
Announcement Box

Hey there, thanks for visiting. The construction work for the blog has just finished except for one thing and that's the lounge section, as always. (For some reason, it's always incomplete)
For old viewers, here are what I've did to my blog, in case you didn't notice:
- removed Archive page cause it's high maintenance
- changed the gallery to an Instagram feed
- installed FontAwesome
- created a Music Player for the lounge, no longer do you need to look at millions of play buttons, just click and play
- newly written About page
- header image can now be changed but only for Home and inside of posts, toggle it away with the up arrow if you need to
- added different header images for all other pages
Have fun reading about me whining. ;)

Japorized

Feb 15, 2011

His last breath

It was 5 in the morning while he was lying on his bed. He couldn't sit up or stand by himself. His muscles were atrophied. Only his hands were able to sway around the air and around his side. He could hardly flip his body to lie comfortably on his bed. What is worse? He had dementia, and he could hardly speak. He could only mumble in a very low voice, sometimes he couldn't even make a sound through his thorax. And suddenly, he felt very sleepy, his body even weaker than before. He knew that his time was up. And then, he closed his eyes, counting his time to eternal rest.

When it reaches around 6am, his drew his last breath...

I was standing outside my father's car, waiting as he was answering a phone call (6.30am). I did not overhear what he was saying to the phone. He just nodded a little and mumbled a few "yes". He closed his phone and walked out to send my sisters and I to school. Out of curiosity, I asked about the phone. And father announced my grandfather's sudden leave to the other world.

Grandfather wasn't someone who jokes a lot but he had a very interesting story in his childhood days. When he was 7, like most 7-year-old boy, he liked swords and knives. It was the Japanese rule that time. He was walking on the street when he saw... maybe a kempetai... and he walked up to him and unsheathed his katana. They said that when a katana was unsheathed, blood must be spilt. Fortunately, the kempetai was kind-hearted and he cut his own thigh or something and let my grandfather go. Or else, this blog wouldn't have been established.

One more thing is that when I was around 6 or 7, while he was still sane (no dementia), he used to carry boulders with his car. That's why we used to call him "Batu" grandpa. No one really knows why did he carry those boulders except for his children and grandchildren. It was because he wanted to make the road to one of his lands easier. He was making a road all by himself, just for his descendants.

Now that he had passed away, we, as the child or grandchild, which didn't take care of him well in his living years, should do all our best for him for his life in the afterlife (for my religion, that is). For instance, fulfilling his ideal funeral which he had thought for himself. My mom said that grandfather mentioned that he wanted his funeral in a specific manner a couple of years ago.