Hello second week of English Friday Blogging challenge!
This week’s theme is wildest dream, and here goes mine.
Growing up, me and father used to write list on things we wanted. It varies from the kind of dream house, places we want to visit, future plans, animals we can adopt and all those random stuff.
I remember we made a list of what we’ll do if we have a farm and we filled the list with things like buy horses, have big farm house, build a pond, make a greenhouse, buy more horses and ponies, plant apple tree and make our own apple pie.
The older I grow, the lesser the list I made. At some point I guess I realized they are crazy childish dream and it felt very silly making it. Eventually I stop making the list and faced the things I can actually achieve, like ensuring I finish school on time and other more realistic goals.
But among the list I and crazy stuff I wrote, I still remember one that stood tall until now.
As you all know from my previous posts, these past few months I’ve been really into postcards. So far I have received 13 postcards from many places, including Tasmania, Ukraine, Germany, USA and Palembang 😀
To be honest, I was most ecstatic when I received a postcard from fellow Indonesian, there’s this ‘Holly Molly!! An Indonesian postcard!!’ there’s this proud feeling I had when I received it. Twas’ a nice feeling..
So yeah, now I have a nice *albeit small* pile of postcard from around the world, and it made me wonder how to showcase these beautiful postcards in my room. So I made this:
I’m a fan of DIY works :]
Granted I’ve never post any DIY works I made in my blog, so prolly not many of you know of this closet hobby of mine *guilty as charged*.
Point is, I like getting down and complicated with sticky glue, sewing machine and busting my camera’s memory card.
About this wall art, it’s a simple job that cost you around 30k. I bought the fabric at jalan Solo Yogyakarta, there’s a bunch of fabric shops in that area which sells various fabrics.
This crepe fabric with tribal pattern cost me 20k for a 1×1.5meter wide.
I use two ribbons, light brown and maroon red. 5 meter each, cost around 4.5k
The pipes *there’s another one on the bottom to make sure the fabric stay rigid and won’t sway with the wind* came from private inventory
The pretty wood peg are from a store in PVJ Bandung, if I’m not mistaken it’s called Blowfish shop. I forgot how much it cost.. But you could always use IKEA standard peg and it will be fine *tho people will question the aesthetic of it*
Making this piece is an easy job. All you need to do is to sew a loop in both ends of the fabric for the pipes and Voila! What makes this particular deco tricky is the fact that crepe fabric is very light and thin. It’s a bit hard to align the fabric with the sewing machine’s needle and making sure that you’re sewing the ribbon to the fabric in a straight line.
But I enjoy the whole process and I’m happy with the result.
As you can see, it’s not finished. I planned to sew the remaining 10 meter ribbon to the fabric, but yesterday I was feeling a bit off and decided to postpone the sewing until next time.
So yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing this past couple of days 🙂
YES, please. This post definitely lighten something that has been weighing me after my previous reblog. Yes please, thank you Matt Walsh to point out that Robin Thicke should not be excepted.
An argument may stand that the need for certain female population to strut, twerk, skimp is to grab attention as the result of male gaze and how they dominate the way women feels about their own body. Domination by men of how certain anatomic parts of women’s body is an object of an extravagant sexual journey which only existed for the pleasure of male.
Please read and consider this post, those whom we condemned and mocked upon are the result of upbringing by a culture, in this case, a culture of oppression and apathetic. Like the previous reblog, this post ends with an amazing letter to his son which I highly recommended.
***Update, August 1: In response to the thousands of people who, after reading this entire post, decided to harp on one single phrase (“I’m no feminist”), I wrote this. If you want to know how I can say all the things I say here, yet still reject “feminism,” click the link and I’ll explain. Otherwise, carry on. Thanks for stopping by.
Our country dangles on the precipice of starting a third World War. We are on the verge of a completely unnecessary conflict where the United States will fight along side Al Qaeda and the Muslim Brotherhood. This, in another day and age, might earn the crown as the Most Controversial Story of the Week. But we’re in the year 2013, and this is America, so a young pop star’s dance moves on an MTV awards show have predictably overshadowed the prospect of global chaos and bloodshed. I wrote…
It is rather shameful and saddening to realize that some girls feels the need to objectifying their own body to garner such attention.
But it’s another thing entirely to do it consciously in an INTERNATIONAL broadcast. Let this be a study to enhanced our self awareness towards our self and others…
The following letters which ends this post is something i would like to read after watching/reading/laying my eyes after events which modified girls and women’s body as a temple of sexual desire. It’s something that motivates me, as a (maybe) feminist to think and ponder and feels the need to do something..
Dear daughter, let Miley Cyrus be a lesson to you.
Yes, this is what happens when you constantly hear everything you do is awesome. This is what happens when people fawn over your every Tweet and Instagram photo. This is what happens when no responsible adult has ever said the word “no,” made you change your clothes before leaving the house, or never spanked your butt for deliberate defiance.
If you ever even consider doing something like that, I promise you that I will run up and twerk so you will see how ridiculous twerking looks. I will duct tape your mouth shut so your tongue doesn’t hang out like an overheated hound dog. I will smack any male whom you decide to smash against his pelvis – after I first knock you on your butt for forgetting how a lady acts in public.