Jadi ketika sedang membaca resensi perbandingan grup fansub anime ‘K’ (fansub rupanya masalah yang super serius sekali, kawan!), si penulis, yang secara mengerikan jauh lebih sensi dan punya standar jauh lebih tinggi dari saya (saya kira saya sudah cukup kelewatan sadis sensi, tapi rupanya di atas langit masih ada langit *terharu*) melontarkan satu kata untuk sebuah anime:
Title: Pyrrhic Victory Characters: Akashi Seijuurou, Kuroko Tetsuya Pairing: AkaKuro Challenge: 59 Summary: The Teikou Empire met a mysterious demise. It is unclear to this day as to what caused its downfall. Warnings: character death Submitted by: redpoem
'Is there nothing more important than victory?'
In the centuries-old and glorious history of the long-perished Teikou Empire, there is one chapter that stood out from the rest. It is that of the 111th emperor, Akashi Seijuurou. The last emperor.
Out of all six jumps, the only jump to take off from the ice in the forward direction is the axel jump—the rest take off from the ice backwards. This foward-facing take-off is what makes the axel the most difficult because there is an extra half-revolution involved.
For example, the difference between a triple axel (3A) and a triple toe-loop (3T) is that a 3A requires a full 3.5 revolutions in the air whereas the 3T only requires 3 revolutions. Therefore, a triple axel is worth much more in points than the triple toe.
The loop (Lo) and toe-loop (T) jumps are the two most commonly-used jumps as connecting jumps in a “jump combination” due to how they are entered. By tacking on one of these two jumps—or both—a skater can potentially increase their scores.
For womyn, the current set of rules dictate that the short program requires has seven “technical elements” — three jumping passes (two solo jumps and one two-jump combination), three different spins, and a footwork (step) sequence.
The free skate requires twelve “technical elements” — seven jumping passes (four solo jumps, two two-jump combinations, and one three-jump combination), three spins, one footwork (step) sequence, and one choreographic sequence.
For this post, there will be two examples with two different skaters. Mao Asada of Japan (2010 OSM) will be the Short Program example and Yuna Kim of South Korea (2010 OGM) will be the Free Skating example.
What is interesting, though, is that they have been skating against each other since their junior-level days. It is incredibly unusual for two skaters to have competed against each other at their levels for so long.
(Obviously, there is—for the hundred-millionth time—a fan war brewing up. While I love them both, I’m trying to be as objective as I can in this post, so if you’ve got something negative to say about either one of them, do it in the tags and not on my post).
Note: Mao Asada is, once again, the only ladies’ singles skater who is doing—let alone attempting—a triple axel at the Olympic Games. She is only one of a handful of ladies who have been credited with doing that jump.
WHAT DOES IT MEAN WHEN THE SKATERS, BROADCASTERS, OR COMMENTATORS SAY:
"We need to check the protocols.”
The “protocols" are basically the score sheets that the judges use to put down point totals for any given element that is performed. (Examples that correspond with the videos: Mao Asada SP, Yuna Kim LP) There are two sections, (1) Total Technical Element Score and (2) Total Program Component Score.
The Technical Element Score (TES) the one given by judging individual elements (e.g. jumps, spins, footwork sequences, etc).
The Program Component Score (PCS), to oversimplify, is used to judge presentation and used to evaluate the skills—the “little things”—that the skaters perform and how well a performance has been executed. Five factors are looked at and given a score out of 10.00:  Skating skills  Transitions / Linking Footwork  Performance / Execution  Choreography / Composition  Interpretation
In the end, the TES and PCS are added together to give skaters their total (segment) score for the program performed.
"They did not get that level,” or “They hit all their levels.”
Levels are awarded based on difficulty, variation, speed, etc. or any combination of the numerous factors.
If you look above again (or at the protocol example), you will see that certain elements have numbers after them (e.g. the “layback spin, level 4" — LSp4).
There are four levels (4 being the highest, therefore they would have increased base value) attainable in all elementsexcept for jumps.Those do not get awarded levels.
The “choreographic sequences” (ChSq) can only get a level 1.
“Oh, and we’ve passed the second half of the program, so they’ll get bonus points for any jump done in this second half.”
What they mean is exactly what they say. In ladies’, the second half mark is somewhere right in between the either 2 min, 50 sec (short program), or 4 minutes (free skate) of required time for the program. What happens after that point is reached is that any jump or jumping pass that a skater does is multiplied by a factor of 1.1.
For example, a triple lutz (3Lz), is normally worth a base value of 6.00 points. If done within the second half of the program, however, that 6.00 base value is multiplied by 1.1—that means that the base value of the jump will have increased to 6.6 (6.00 x 1.1 = 6.6). So it’s basically like mandatory extra credit.
On the protocols, jumps that have been given this extra bonus are marked with an “x" right next to them.
"They should get positive/negative Grade of Execution (GOE) for that element.”
Grades of Execution, or G.O.E., are basically like extra credit or partial credit that the judges award to the base value of each element depending on how well it was done. For jumps, this takes into account the entrance and exit of a jump (if a skater purposely added more “difficulty” into it) as well as positions in the air.
GOE points range from -3 to +3, and are awarded depending on whether the element being graded meets the set of criteria in the rule book that would award or subtract.
Any time you see or hear about “negative GOE” that means little mistakes are being punished for (e.g. if a skater lands on two feet rather than one on a jump). If a skater receives enough -GOE from the panel of judges for a bad element, then that would have been subtracted from his/her base value rather than being added on.
For example, the free skate example above, Yuna Kim received nearly a fully string of +3s for her first element, a triple-triple jump combination (3Lz-3T). That means that the judges felt that this particular element met the criteria that would indicate that this was done very well. This set of values from the judges were then averaged and manipulated mathematically—according to the rules— and determined to be +1.90 GOE, which was then added to the base value of 10.10 for a total of 12.00 points.
"That jump might have been cheated" or "That jump was underrotated.”
I hope we have all learned in math class that one revolution is 360 degrees, yes? So to make it simple, let’s say that the skater is doing a one-revolution jump.
The rules actually give a little bit of a leeway for getting full credit of a jump. Instead of doing a 360-degree revolution, the most that a skater can “cheat” is 1/4 of a revolution, meaning that they may only complete 270 degrees and still get full credit.
However, if the jump is 269 degrees (or less) around, then the judges call that an under-rotation (UR).
In the protocols, under-rotations are marked by a < or « sign. Under-rotations marked with < are more than a 1/4 revolution cheated, but less than 1/2 a revolution cheated. Ones marked with « are more than a 1/2 revolution cheated. Here are examples of base value comparisons for under-rotations:  Ratified Triple axel (3A): 8.50  1/4 UR Triple axel (3A<): 6.00  1/2 UR Triple axel (3A«): 3.30  Ratified Double axel (2A): 3.30
So as you can see, the base value for jumps that have been called « are downgraded to the next level.
Sometimes URs are very hard to call with the naked eye, so judges may rely on slow-motion cameras to help them out.
NOTE: I would like to point out that this is an oversimplified explanation. If you want or need more information, you’re going to have to (1) join a figure skating forum, (2) stick around the figure skating fandom to learn more gradually [this one’s me], (3) google it [also me], or (4) study and take tests to become a judge.
For more of these posts, please click here. I will try to have all of these posts out by February 14.
OKAY. DONE. THEY’RE ALL OUT. HAVE A NICE REST OF THE OLYMPICS + WORLDS (March).
(Also, please feel free to point out any mistakes if you see them.)
EXTRA — (“DO-IT-YOURSELF”):
For all you newer fans (hopefully), you can try to apply what you’ve just “learned” to one of two performances:
I know a lot of you newer fans have reblogged lots of Julia’s stuff because you think she’s cool, so why not try to understand why she’s good at what she does?
Also, Akiko is a very beautiful skater. I think she reminds me the most of Michelle Kwan out of the current competitive skaters—and coming from me, it means a lot when I say that something reminds of me Michelle Kwan.
Trust me, once you kind of understand the basics, you’ll find that there is a basis for their talents—and that quite a few other figure skaters can offer the same.
Hello there Tumblr! I have recieved an ask in my inbox that asked:
So I thought I would go over some of the basics that I have learned by experimenting with drawr! I have a limited knowledge of Japanese, so most of the things were figured out experimentally over a LONG period of time. Using drawr has a REALLY STEEP learning curve. I can barely come up with something I am satisfied with, and I started drawing on it around 2008~2009 ish…! U-unless you are very good with tegaki…you will learn fast if that’s the case! ANYHOW,
Hello, Dear Anon! Thank you for giving me a chance to explain the Drawr! <3
I hope I can cover most of the basic interface of Drawr for you here.
First of all, for those who don’t know what Drawr is, it’s just like Tegaki, but it has several minor differences. You can access it here: http://drawr.net You will need a PIXIV account in order to create an account there, I believe! Now, onto the actual interface,
This is the basic interface of Drawr. I numbered off differently in order to have a smoother transition between explanations.
1. This is the Size tab, (Katakana reads Saizu = size) and basically, it controls the size of the brush you can draw with. All you have to do is click on the different size dots. You can also use the keys [ and ] to change the size of the brush without having to click everytime you want to change the brush size.
a. Another thing to note, there are TWO DIFFERENT types of brushes. There are the:
Circle brushes and the square brushes. You can access either of them by clicking the Katakana (Saizu)
2. This is one of the most important part of drawr! Basically, these are different commands you can use to help create your picture. I will explain further with each letter;
a. This is the very useful UNDO button. The shortcut for this key is ctrl+z
b. This is the FORWARD button. (the opposite of UNDO) the shortcut key is ctrl+y
c. This is the BRUSH button. (Katakana reads, Burashu = brush)
d. This is THE MOST USEFUL tool that drawr has, and tegaki doesn’t. It’s the (lovely) EYEDROPPER TOOL. It’s really useful in creating different colours you want to create, since drawr has a very limited amount of colours to choose from.
e. This is the HAND tool. It doesn’t work when the view of the canvas (6) is at 100%, but when you are zoomed in at 200%, 300%, etc. It’s really helpful to move the canvas around. Just like the “space bar” on photohop. The shortcut key is N.
f. This is the ZOOM-IN tool. Self explanatory, shortcut key is J.
g. This is the ZOOM-OUT tool. Shortcut key is K.
3. This is another VERY important feature of drawr. Katakana reads Karaa = which means Colour! By clicking this button once, all your brushes will paint at 50% opacity. This is REALLY the KEY to creating new colours on the canvas! The colours listed beside the Colour button are the basic colours you are given to work with on drawr. If you think about using paint in real life, you only get a certain shades of paint, and you need to mix them together in order to create different colours. This is basically the same concept.
4. Is just a minor option you can add onto the canvas/workspace. The Katakana beside the circle reads “taima”, which translates to Timer! It will basically time how long it takes you to draw/doodle, etc. Beside the Timer are the Canvas size editing tools. The first square will make the canvas smaller, and the second will make it larger. The third button will make the canvas as big as it can go.
5. You can also say these are some minor details you need to know about. The white square with blue lines sticking out of it basically means “Clear the canvas”. Nothing will be left on the canvas after this! Be careful~ The one next to it is a floppy disc icon, and as you guess, it’s the SAVE function on drawr. **NOTE: You can only save up to 5 times! After that, I am not sure if it saves it or not..you may just have to post it, and then colour over it at a different time!**. The big blue button means “SUBMIT”. The last two buttons are ones I’m not too sure around since my knowledge of kanji is very limited, but the left option is “submit to public” and the right option is “submit to private/friends only” I think?
6. This is the canvas you draw on! Magic happens here.
Wow, this ended up being longer than I expected. I wrote a lot for the lack of information to share. Hope it helped you understand the interface a bit, Anon! Enjoy your time on drawr, and feel free to ask more questions as they come up! ♥♥
mimpi kali ini agak berbelit dan ngejelasin soal dunia paralel, dalam kondisi setengah bangun saya nganggap konsepnya masuk akal sekali. tapi entah ya kalau saya sudah sepenuhnya bangun. apa saya masih nganggap gitu apa ngga.
jadi, anak kecil biasanya bisa liat hal-hal yang ga bisa diliat orang dewasa, kan?
katanya itu wajar.
karena yang dilihat anak-anak itu adalah makhluk-makhluk betulan di tubuh asli mereka, dan dunia ini sebetulnya adalah mimpi mereka.
makhluk-makhluk itu kadang tidak berbahaya, tapi banyak juga yang mengancam nyawa, soalnya memang aslinya mereka penghuni dunia sana yang juga predator alami anak-anak kecil ini.
orang-orang dewasa sebetulnya hanya simulasi/program yang dirancang untuk menemani mimpi anak-anak kecil. Tentu saja karena itu orang-orang dewasa tidak bisa melihat makhluk-makhluk yang dilihat anak-anak kecil.
Dunia dimana tidak ada seorangpun yang bisa melihat ‘makhluk-makhluk dunia sana’, berarti populasi tubuh asli anak-anak kecilnya sudah 0.
Agustinus Wibowo once said, “If you wanna kill a nation, kill its language first.”
JAKARTA, Indonesia — Paulina Sugiarto’s three children played together at a mall here the other day, chattering not in Indonesia’s national language, but English. Their fluency often draws admiring questions from other Indonesian parents Ms. Sugiarto encounters in this city’s upscale malls.
But the children’s ability in English obscured the fact that, though born and raised in Indonesia, they were struggling with the Indonesian language, known as Bahasa Indonesia. Their parents, who grew up speaking the Indonesian language but went to college in the United States and Australia, talk to their children in English. And the children attend a private school where English is the main language of instruction.
“They know they’re Indonesian,” Ms. Sugiarto, 34, said. “They love Indonesia. They just can’t speak Bahasa Indonesia. It’s tragic.”
Indonesia’s linguistic legacy is increasingly under threat as growing numbers of wealthy and upper-middle-class families shun public schools where Indonesian remains the main language but English is often taught poorly. They are turning, instead, to private schools that focus on English and devote little time, if any, to Indonesian.
For some Indonesians, as mastery of English has become increasingly tied to social standing, Indonesian has been relegated to second-class status. In extreme cases, people take pride in speaking Indonesian poorly.
The global spread of English, with its sometimes corrosive effects on local languages, has caused much hand-wringing in many non-English-speaking corners of the world. But the implications may be more far-reaching in Indonesia, where generations of political leaders promoted Indonesian to unite the nation and forge a national identity out of countless ethnic groups, ancient cultures and disparate dialects.
The government recently announced that it would require all private schools to teach the nation’s official language to its Indonesian students by 2013. Details remain sketchy, though.
“These schools operate here, but don’t offer Bahasa to our citizens,” said Suyanto, who oversees primary and secondary education at the Education Ministry.
“If we don’t regulate them, in the long run this could be dangerous for the continuity of our language,” said Mr. Suyanto, who like many Indonesians uses one name. “If this big country doesn’t have a strong language to unite it, it could be dangerous.”
The seemingly reflexive preference for English has begun to attract criticism in the popular culture. Last year, a woman, whose father is Indonesian and her mother American, was crowned Miss Indonesia despite her poor command of Indonesian. The judges were later denounced in the news media and in the blogosphere for being impressed by her English fluency and for disregarding the fact that, despite growing up here, she needed interpreters to translate the judges’ questions.
In 1928, nationalists seeking independence from Dutch rule chose Indonesian, a form of Malay, as the language of civic unity. While a small percentage of educated Indonesians spoke Dutch, Indonesian became the preferred language of intellectuals.
Each language had a social rank, said Arief Rachman, an education expert. “If you spoke Javanese, you were below,” he said, referring to the main language on the island of Java. “If you spoke Indonesian, you were a bit above. If you spoke Dutch, you were at the top.”
Leaders, especially Suharto, the general who ruled Indonesia until 1998, enforced teaching of Indonesian and curbed use of English.
“During the Suharto era, Bahasa Indonesia was the only language that we could see or read. English was at the bottom of the rung,” said Aimee Dawis, who teaches communications at Universitas Indonesia. “It was used to create a national identity, and it worked, because all of us spoke Bahasa Indonesia. Now the dilution of Bahasa Indonesia is not the result of a deliberate government policy. It’s just occurring naturally.”
With Indonesia’s democratization in the past decade, experts say, English became the new Dutch. Regulations were loosened, allowing Indonesian children to attend private schools that did not follow the national curriculum, but offered English. The more expensive ones, with tuition costing several thousand dollars a year, usually employ native speakers of English, said Elena Racho, vice chairwoman of the Association of National Plus Schools, an umbrella organization for private schools.
But with the popularity of private schools booming, hundreds have opened in recent years, Ms. Racho said. The less expensive ones, unable to hire foreigners, are often staffed with Indonesians teaching all subjects in English, if often imperfect English, she added.
Many children attending those schools end up speaking Indonesian poorly, experts said. Uchu Riza — who owns a private school that teaches both languages and also owns the local franchise of Kidzania, an amusement park where children can try out different professions — said some Indonesians were willing to sacrifice Indonesian for a language with perceived higher status.
“Sometimes they look down on people who don’t speak English,” she said.
She added: “In some families, the grandchildren cannot speak with the grandmother because they don’t speak Bahasa Indonesia. That’s sad.”
Anna Surti Ariani, a psychologist who provides counseling at private schools and in her own practice, said some parents even displayed “a negative pride” that their children spoke poor Indonesian. Schools typically advise the parents to speak to their children in English at home even though the parents may be far from fluent in the language.
“Sometimes the parents even ask the baby sitters not to speak in Indonesian but in English,” Ms. Ariani said.
It is a sight often seen in this city’s malls on weekends: Indonesian parents addressing their children in sometimes halting English, followed by nannies using what English words they know.
But Della Raymena Jovanka, 30, a mother of two preschoolers, has developed misgivings. Her son Fathiy, 4, attended an English play group and was enrolled in a kindergarten focusing on English; Ms. Jovanka allowed him to watch only English TV programs.
The result was that her son responded to his parents only in English and had difficulties with Indonesian. Ms. Jovanka was considering sending her son to a regular public school next year. But friends and relatives were pressing her to choose a private school so that her son could become fluent in English.
Asked whether she would rather have her son become fluent in English or Indonesian, Ms. Jovanka said, “To be honest, English. But this can become a big problem in his socialization. He’s Indonesian. He lives in Indonesia. If he can’t communicate with people, it’ll be a big problem.”
saya tidur panjang sekali belakangan ini, padahal saya ngga jalan jauh/gawe fisik. fyi saya tidur kira-kira 8-9 jam.
saya mimpi banjir. Banjirnya ngga dalem-dalem banget, setinggi mata kaki - lutut. Ngegenang dari tempat saya tinggal (kayaknya saya di mimpi ga tinggal di rumah yang sekarang) sampe ke areal kampus saya. Saya ngerasa kayak saya tinggal di areal dalem kampus, dan kampus itu kayak candi yang berundak-undak, setiap pengunjung dan penghuni yang masuk ke areal kampus harus ngelewatin semacam lorong berliku-liku kayak labirin. Dan saya nyaris tersesat pas mau keluar dari sana. Saya inget saya masuk ke ruang musik dan heran kenapa peralatan musiknya dibiarin aja ngga diungsikan ke bagian kampus yang lebih kering. Trus, kalo gak salah, di mimpi saya nyari-nyari tempat print yang buka 24 jam. Saya minta tolong dianter keluar pake motor tapi ternyata ngga ada, trus tetangga belakang rumah nawarin saya kuda (saya disuruh nunggang kuda). Tapi ternyata kudanya terlalu muda, ga bisa ditunggangi lama-lama jadi saya keluar dengan jalan kaki sambil jinjing sepatu.
Saya curiga saya mimpi gini gara-gara apdetan Aphin yang masif soal banjir di daerah tempat tinggal dia. Trus soal cari tempat print itu, kayaknya gara-gara plurknya Dita beberapa hari lalu. Kalau kuda… saya ga ngerti kenapa ada kuda. Karena tahun ini tahun kuda?
It’s April Fool’s Day today. My friends and I didn’t really have anything to do, so we ended up doing the same thing we always do—we came back to my apartment and started drinking. To get in the spirit of the day, we decided to play two truths and a lie, you know, where you make a few statements that are mostly true but one is false or wrong in some way. It was a pretty stupid game, but something about how simple it was made it that much better.
I was the first to go. “Well, you know, I hooked up with some chick this summer, right? Anyway, I actually got her pregnant. I’m… I’m a father!”
I’d heard before that if you’re put on the spot and told to lie, you’ll freeze and only come up with a half lie. This was the first time I had ever experienced that sort of pressure. No, I didn’t hook up with anyone new, but I had been with a girl for a while. She got pregnant and miscarried, and it still hurts to think about.
Anyway, people were taking their turns, and the longer people talked the harder it got to tell the lies from the truths. It was pretty fun until the last guy started talking. He took a sip of beer and looked at us apologetically.
“I’m not as good of a liar as everyone else here is, so I’ll tell you a story instead.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” somebody jeered. “That completely misses the whole point of the game!”
“Just listen, alright? It’ll be worth your time.” He sat up straight and began whispering his story.
* * *
When I woke up this morning, I was in a white room. There was nothing in it. I didn’t have any idea why I was there, and I had no memory of how I got to the room. I went to bed like I always did, but when I woke up I was somewhere else. I looked around, completely at a loss, when suddenly a loud voice came booming from a speaker on the ceiling. It must have been an old speaker system; the voice sounded odd and there was an obvious background noise of some sort that made a distinct crackling sound.
“The path you are about to embark on is one of life and retrospection upon what it is to be human,” the voice was eerily calm to such an extent that I felt uncomfortable knowing it was speaking to me. “This path will be composed of several choices and decisions. Some of them will be painful for you. The path will splinter several times, but there is only one way out. May you find your way without any contradictions.”
The speakers cut out, and I was suddenly aware of the fact that I was leaning against a door. Next to the door, written in bold red lettering, were instructions preceded by the word “Continue” in even bolder red paint.
You have three choices. Number one: Destroy the television to your right. Number two: Kill the person to your left. Number three: You may choose to die.
If you choose number one, you will continue towards the exit. You and the person to your left will be freed, but others will die. If you choose number two, you will continue towards the exit. The person to your left will no longer continue on their journey. If you choose number three, the person to your left will be freed. Congratulations! Your journey ends here.
What kind of choices are those? Regardless of what I say, somebody is getting hurt. It all seemed so idiotic, but something about the voice made me believe that it wasn’t a joke. I began to shake in fear as I stared at the door, replaying the options in my head. Do I risk the lives of several people I don’t know? Do I kill somebody who is right next to me? Or do I avoid hurting anyone and sacrifice myself?
If I stayed in the room, I knew I would die; that’s what choice three was, after all. I couldn’t let that happen. If I was going to die, I needed to know more first.
So I really only had two choices: Do I get one person or many killed? But even that isn’t really a choice. Who is going to save one person instead of many?
A large hatchet was next to my sleeping bag, waiting for me to take hold of it. I picked it up and raised it above my head slowly. I turned towards the other sleeping bag. I couldn’t see the person inside it, and the bag looked more like a giant caterpillar than anything resembling a human. I swung down hard with the hatchet and heard a splat as it cut into whoever was in the sleeping bag. The feeling of breaking through flesh and bone transferred through the handle and into my arms.
The door didn’t open. I took another swing and cut through the person again. Another splat sounded out, and I felt guilt for killing somebody I had never even spoken to. Still, I couldn’t very well let myself get killed, so I swung the hatchet down one more time. The door made a clicking noise and then opened.
I turned to the television. A kid with colorless eyes stared back at me from the screen as if he were watching everything I did. I left the room and went into the next.
To my right was a model passenger boat. To my left was another sleeping bag and apparently another person inside it. There was a piece of paper on the floor. When I got closer, I saw that there were instructions written on it similar to those of the previous room.
You have three choices. Number one: Destroy the model boat to your right. Number two: Set the sleeping bag to your left on fire. Number three: You may choose to die.
If you choose number one, you will continue towards the exit. You and the person to your left will be freed, but the passengers of the boat will die. If you choose number two, you will continue towards the exit. The person to your left will no longer continue their journey. If you choose number three, the person to your left will be freed. Congratulations! Your journey ends here.
The boat was just a model, though. Logically speaking, if you break it, there’s no way anybody could be killed. But for reasons I can’t quite explain, I thought that the words on the paper were true. I walked over to the sleeping bag. There was a gas canister next to it, which I picked up and began pouring liberally over the fabric. I saw a pack of matches on the ground, picked it up, lit one, and dropped it on the sleeping bag. The fabric immediately caught fire.
I stepped over to where the model boat stood and waited for the door to open. I wasn’t completely aware of how much time it took, but it must have been a few minutes. I assume that because I think that’s about how long it would take for a person to die from the burns and smoke inhalation. Anyway, the door opened and I avoided looking at the sleeping bag. I didn’t want to see if they were still moving.
When I entered the room, I saw a globe to my right and yet another sleeping bag to my left. I found yet another piece of paper on the floor in the center of the room.
You have three choices. Number one: Destroy the globe to your right. Number two: Shoot the sleeping bag to your left. Number three: You may choose to die.
If you choose number one, you will continue towards the exit. You and the person to your left will be freed, but a nuclear weapon will be set off somewhere in the world. If you choose number two, you will continue towards the exit. The person to your left will no longer continue their journey. If you choose number three, the person to your left will be freed. Congratulations! Your journey ends here.
I felt myself go numb. I mechanically moved towards the gun lying on the ground next to the sleeping bag and took it into my hand. The metal felt cold to the touch. I put my finger on the trigger and pulled.
BANG! The sound was somehow more hollow than I expected. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The gun was a revolver and ran out of bullets after I shot the sleeping bag six times. It was the first time I had ever held a gun; I was surprised to find that it was lighter than the bags of stuff I brought home from the convenience store.
The door was already unlocked when I put my hand on the knob. I had no desire to know after what shot the person died.
“Huh?” Without thinking, I questioned my surroundings. The room was completely empty. I felt a vague sense of relief, thinking that the room may be the exit.
“Final question.” The voice again came from the ceiling, startling me back into a state of fear. “Three people. The entire population of the world except those three people. And yourself. Who do you kill?”
I didn’t have to think about it at all. I silently indicated the path that I had followed through the series of doors. The speaker above me crackled back to life.
“Congratulations! You completed your journey without any contradictions. Life is nothing but a series of choices. Behind the happiness of every person is also sadness. People die so that others may live. A single life is nothing in comparison to the importance of the rest of the world. You have proven that.
“This proof, however, does not negate the importance of life itself. We must still remember that each life has its own value.
“Congratulations. The door is now open.”
I felt relieved yet somehow dead inside when the voice confirmed that I was done. I had lost nearly all of my strength, and I felt heavy as I made my way to the door and turned the knob.
The room was dazzlingly bright. I could barely see as I walked forward. As I shuffled along, my foot bumped into something on the ground. I knelt down and saw that it was a funerary memorial photograph. I squinted my eyes to see past the light and saw two others a few feet away. I gathered them up, somehow knowing that these were the people I had killed. As painful as it was, I wanted to see their faces.
When I laid them out and looked at them, I felt my heart drop.
My mother, father, and little brother were looking back at me from the photographs.
* * *
When he finished his story, the rest of us were on the edges of our seats we were so tense. What sort of story is that? And why did it feel so heavy—why did he give off such an intense air as he spoke? I think that all of us felt something was very odd about the story we had just heard. I downed a beer as quickly as I could before I opened my mouth again to speak.
“What the fuck’re ya doin’ tellin’ a story like that? This was supposed to be a game when you make up fun lies! Come on! Make one up already! Two truths and a lie! Go on!”
He stared me in the eyes, and the corners of his mouth pulled up into an eerie smile. It wasn’t a natural smile. Something about it struck a primal fear deep within me that I couldn’t suppress. I felt a shiver run up my spine and goosebumps pop up all over my skin.
“I already did,” he said, not breaking eye contact or changing his expression.
Namaku Nan nan, aku suka menggambar komik. Jika cewek lain sibuk menge-tweet untuk mengekspresikan dari, aku lebih suka ngomik dengan tokoh utamanya “Toko” dan “Fugu”. Namun suatu ketika, tiba-tiba mereka hidup! dan…ah! tunggu saja ceritaku di Nan Nan’s Daily Life yang terbit 13 Juni nanti ya teman-teman ^^
baru dari KOLONI, SATALEX - Urban Detective - Berlian St. Charlotta (Terbit 30 Januari 2013) Pengarang : IIP/ICCHI Tanggal Terbit: 30 Januari 2013 Genre: Aksi Rating: R Harga : Rp 17.500,-
"Berlian St. Charlotta, berlian 728 karat peninggalan sejarah Belgia setelah perang dunia pertama, hilang! Berlian tersebut hilang sebulan setelah pemiliknya, Sir George Ellington meninggal dunia di Indonesia. Demi menghindari kehebohan media, cucu Sir George pun meminta bantuan Diffen, detektif swasta jenius namun dipandang sebelah mata oleh Polisi.
Akhirnya saat-saat yang ditunggu Diffen datang juga: memecahkan kasus misterius, sekaligus mendapat pemasukan untuk membayar tunggakan kos-kosan! Siapakah pencuri yang berhasil menembus penjagaan ketat mansion Sir George?”
Ulangtahun SD Merdeka tinggal menunggu hari. Setiap kelas didatangi panitia pelaksana perayaan ulangtahun yang terdiri dari Guru Olahraga dan Guru BK. Panjang lebar, kedua guru itu menjelaskan pentingnya sanitasi dan perlunya menghemat listrik, air, dan gas. Di akhir pendadaran, mereka mengumumkan bahwa akan ada lomba kebersihan antarkelas dan setiap murid diharapkan berpartisipasi.
Mia, sebagai seksi kebersihan kelas VI B, merasa terpanggil. Ibarat orang suci terpilih, Mia berpikir bahwa membawa kelasnya menjadi juara umum SD Merdeka adalah tugasnya. Sejak hari itu, Mia mendadak jadi jendral otoriter. Semua anak dipaksanya untuk buang sampah pada tempat sampah, tidak menyisakah remah-remah sehabis jajan, dan membersihkan kolong meja sepulang sekolah. Kalau ada yang tidak mau menurut, Mia bawel dan terus memaksa. Lama-lama banyak juga teman sekelasnya yang jadi gerah, dan berniat memberi Mia pelajaran.
Ulang tahun Mia sebetulnya dekat-dekat tanggal penilaian lomba kebersihan. Dengan sedikit muslihat, lewat bantuan Cici yang satu jemputan sekaligus tetangga Mia, anak-anak VI B meminta ibu dan ayahnya Mia untuk pura-pura tidak sadar tanggal berapa Mia ulang tahun. Tentu saja anak-anak VI B yang lain diajak kerjasama mendiamkan Mia. Semuanya setuju.
Demikianlah, tiba hari ulangtahun Mia. Semua anak diam, pura-pura bingung mengapa Mia gelisah hari itu. Meski Mia sudah menunjuk-nunjuk tanggal di kalender, anak-anak VI B hanya angkat bahu.
Mia kesal. Tapi berusaha sabar dengan menelpon orangtuanya. Meskipun teman-teman sekelasnya tampaknya lupa ada apa hari itu, tapi tidak mungkin Mamah dan Papah ikut-ikutan lupa, ‘kan?
Sayang sekali Mia harus kecewa. Orangtuanya masih ikut skenario anak-anak VI B.
Kali ini saat Mia nyaris menangis di toilet putri, ia berpapasan dengan Cici. Mia belum menyerah. Cici teman baiknya sejak playgroup dan mereka saling bertukar kado sejak balita. Tidak mungkin Cici ikut-ikutan lupa, kan?
Sayang sekali ternyata Cici juga balas menjawab, “Memangnya ada apa hari ini?”
Di kelas, Mia mematahkan sapu dan membalikkan meja. Tempat sampah terguling ditendang Mia. Teman-temannya melongo. Selesai memberantakkan kelas, Mia menangis keras-keras.
Ibu Guru Melati, wali kelas VI B datang tergopoh-gopoh, kaget dengan kondisi kelas dan Mia. Ia memeluk dan menenangkan Mia yang histeris. Cici dan anak-anak VI B akhirnya mengaku dan minta maaf pada Mia. Ibu Guru Melati memaksa semua anak berbaikan dengan bersama-sama membereskan kelas yang berantakan.
Tidak disangka, ternyata kelas VI B betulan jadi juara umum. Setelah piala bergilir diberikan kepala sekolah, Cici dan teman-teman kelas VI B menyerahkan kado yang selama ini mereka sembunyikan pada Mia. “Selamat ulang tahun Mia. Tahun ini jangan tambah galak, ya,”
Sorry followers, this will be the only post I have for this incident!
As if you needed another reason to avoid this site, despite their supposed copyright policy, DeviantArt may not protect your art from copyright infringement.
While most blatant reposts of your work will be taken down without worry,alterations, edits, traces, and references are becoming regarded as acceptable by DA.
I have been hearing an alarming amount of users complain about inconsiderate or lazy admins, as well as reports of infringing work not being properly dealt with. It’s starting to become the norm to see an artist’s work blatantly traced or altered without any consequence to the art thief. Apparently that copyright policy is just for show - and since the TOS says DA can’t be held responsible for damages (IE copyright infringement), you can’t force them legally to uphold their policy, even if you’re a paying customer.
The past year or so I’ve been hearing these stories, I’ve erred on the side of caution, figuring each case must have something irregular in the details. That an art site couldn’t possibly have a nearly airtight policy and not uphold it. And then it happened to me.
PLEASE DO NOT CONTACT THE USER RESPONSIBLE FOR TRACING IN THESE IMAGES. If you know who this is, do not flame or send hate; I purposely did not contact her myself because I figured it was DA’s job to do that. She ended up taking it down herself without any word from my end, upon asking if it was alright to trace or make bases from my work (to which I respectfully declined). She was extremely courteous.
I filed a DMCA takedown request form, as per the policy. Nine times out of ten in my personal experience, asking the artist to take something down myself results in absolutely nothing but rude retorts sent my way; so I went straight to the admins. I was met however, with an extremely unprofessional string of responses - even when I offered an image like the one directly above to show this wasn’t just referenced or a source of inspiration, it was line-for-line tracing.
Even after pointing out excerpts of the copyright policy myself, adminrealitysquared refused that what he saw was against DA’s copyright policy.
The key point here being that regardless of tracing, the characters depicted were not “the same”. That’s right kids, if someone traces your work or even alters existing work slightly to represent a “different” character, this is apparently acceptable at DA.
I’m posting this to warn other artists about this site. Yes, art thieves can yank any art piece they want to rip off just about anywhere on the ‘net - that’s a give-in, and not using DA won’t keep that from happening. But I urge artists who value their rights to not give this website any money or traffic.
Regardless of what truly happened with my case, whether or not their copyright policy was truly broken (I have yet to find anything in the policy that states what has transpired should be condoned) I know for a fact that noartist will want this to happen to them.
What DeviantArt proved with this treatment is that it has next to no regard for their users, as artists or as customers. I will only be sparsely using this site to uphold a few current client lists for a while, but hopefully soon I will no longer be there. If anyone currently has an account there, I urge you to consider what has happened to me, and ask yourself if (A) you want to support a site that has such blatant disregard for artists and their work, and (B) you want this or something similar to happen to you.
Minggu kemarin, di kampus, saya ketemu Kakak-Kelas-A. Kakak-Kelas-A ini orangnya super supel dan tampaknya storyteller sejati. Dia ngga pernah kehabisan bahan untuk diceritain. Ditambah jangkauan pergaulannya yang sangat luas: dari satpam, petugas TU, dosen, belum lagi mahasiswa berbagai angkatan…. mungkin ini alasannya kenapa orang-orang berkerumun di sekitar dia. Entah demi update gosip atau sekedar ingin dengar anekdot macam apa yang akan dia ceritakan.
Pada kesempatan kali itu, dia bercerita soal mahasiswa-mahasiswa program pertukaran di kampus kami.
Kakak-Kelas-A cerita bahwa ada anak luar negeri yang ngga bisa terima dengan longgarnya disiplin di kampus FSRD. Dia protes, tapi caranya terlalu frontal sehingga banyak yang balik memusuhi orang tersebut. Orang ini sangat ngga sante menghadapi budaya (jelek) khas orang Indonesia. Kakak-Kelas-A membandingkan orang tersebut dengan kawan-kawan pertukaran dari jepang (Prodi Desain Produk) yang meski asalnya dari negara super disiplin, mau ngga mau ketika orang-orangnya bertamu dan belajar ke negeri seajaib Indonesia, mereka mengalah dengan menurunkan standar disiplin mereka. Alasan orang-orang Jepang itu, “lain padang lain belalang. Lain lubuk lain ikannya”.
(denger ini saya antara miris dan ngakak sih)
Kakak-Kelas-A melanjutkan, bahwa anak-anak exchange jepang itu, tiap kali pertama ketemu Kakak-Kelas-A sering salah mengira bahwa Kakak-Kelas-A adalah warga senegara. Pasalnya si Kakak-Kelas-A ini fitur wajahnya japon sekali, ditambah style fesyennya yang trendi warna-warni layaknya anak muda Tokyo. Kakak-Kelas-A mengaku, dia orang Sunda asli, sama sekali tidak tahu bahasa Jepang sepatah katapun. Tapi anak-anak exchange itu seringkali tidak percaya.
Memang, katanya, kakeknya Kakak-Kelas-A di Subang pada zaman penjajahan, ada sedikit (?) sangkut pautnya dengan Jepang.
Kakak-Kelas-A cerita, bahwa di rumah almarhum kakeknya di Subang, persis di ruang tamu ada dua bingkai foto tua yang cukup mencurigakan. Satu bingkai berisi sosok sang kakek diantara tentara jepang era perang dunia II. Tentu saja sang kakek juga mengenakan seragam yang sama. Pada foto lain, tampak si kakek mengenakan pakaian adat Sunda dikelilingi keluarga dan sanak saudara hasil pernikahannya dengan sang nenek yang orang Subang asli.
Ketika ditanya pada neneknya Kakak-Kelas-A, sang Nenek hanya memberi jawaban samar, “Yah.. pas masa perang kemerdekaan, kakek kamu pernah diarak keliling kampung sama orang jepang pake kendaraan militer…”
Jawaban kriptik ini saja sudah bisa mengarahkan imajinasi pendengarnya. Jangan-jangan almarhum kakek Kakak-Kelas-A adalah desertir. Beliau membelot memihak kaum pribumi dan akhirnya ditinggal di Nusantara lantas beranak pinak disini. Kakak-Kelas-A sendiri angkat bahu jika ditanya apakah deduksi ini benar atau salah.
sumpah pake kata ganti “kakak-kelas-a”, “dia”, “orang itu” buat namain oknum-oknum tertentu ternyata ngga nyaman di bahasa tulisan.
dan kenapa tulisan saya amburadul gini strukturnya.
sinopsis: Suatu hari, berawal dari ingin mahir menggambar dengan pen tablet yang baru dibelinya, Haryadhi memaksakan dirinya untuk membuat komik strip dengan perangkat barunya itu. Walhasil dalam kurun beberapa waktu, ia pun mengunggah sejumlah komik strip atau ilustrasi ke akun facebook-nya. Desainer grafis-bin-Animator yang sesungguhnya memiliki gelar akademis di bidang jurnalisme ini kemudian menyadari bahwa media kartun/komik strip terbilang ampuh untuk menyuarakan uneg-uneg atas segala sesuatu yang dirasakannya. Maka lahirlah KOSTUM : Komedi Situasi Untuk Umum.
Kevin, Lia, Mia, Andy, dan Bernard adalah sahabat yang tiap tahun pasti melakukan road-trip bersama. Namun Andy merasa road trip mereka kali ini terasa… agak aneh. Mulai dari firasatnya yang penuh darah, tersesat di hutan yang asing, sampai kota kecil yang tak pernah dilewati Bernard. Mereka sama sekali tak menyadari, kekuatan gelap tengah menggiring mereka ke sebuah jebakan maut!
“Your name is Tasbeeh. Don’t let them call you by anything else.”
My mother speaks to me in Arabic; the command sounds more forceful in her mother tongue, a Libyan dialect that is all sharp edges and hard, guttural sounds. I am seven years old and it has never occurred to me to disobey my mother. Until twelve years old, I would believe God gave her the supernatural ability to tell when I’m lying.
“Don’t let them give you an English nickname,” my mother insists once again, “I didn’t raise amreekan.”
My mother spits out this last word with venom. Amreekan. Americans. It sounds like a curse coming out of her mouth. Eight years in this country and she’s still not convinced she lives here. She wears her headscarf tightly around her neck, wades across the school lawn in long, floor-skimming skirts. Eight years in this country and her tongue refuses to bend and soften for the English language. It embarrasses me, her heavy Arab tongue, wrapping itself so forcefully around the clumsy syllables of English, strangling them out of their meaning.
But she is fierce and fearless. I have never heard her apologize to anyone. She will hold up long grocery lines checking and double-checking the receipt in case they’re trying to cheat us. My humiliation is heavy enough for the both of us. My English is not. Sometimes I step away, so people don’t know we’re together but my dark hair and skin betray me as a member of her tribe.
On my first day of school, my mother presses a kiss to my cheek.
“Your name is Tasbeeh,” she says again, like I’ve forgotten. “Tasbeeh.”
Roll call is the worst part of my day. After a long list of Brittanys, Jonathans, Ashleys, and Yen-but-call-me-Jens, the teacher rests on my name in silence. She squints. She has never seen this combination of letters strung together in this order before. They are incomprehensible. What is this h doing at the end? Maybe it is a typo.
“Tasbeeh,” I mutter, with my hand half up in the air. “Tasbeeh.”
“Do you go by anything else?”
“No,” I say. “Just Tasbeeh. Tas-beeh.”
“Tazbee. All right. Alex?”
She moves on before I can correct her. She said it wrong. She said it so wrong. I have never heard my name said so ugly before, like it’s a burden. Her entire face contorts as she says it, like she is expelling a distasteful thing from her mouth. She avoids saying it for the rest of the day, but she has already baptized me with this new name. It is the name everyone knows me by, now, for the next six years I am in elementary school. “Tazbee,” a name with no grace, no meaning, no history; it belongs in no language.
“Tazbee,” says one of the students on the playground, later. “Like Tazmanian Devil?” Everyone laughs. I laugh too. It is funny, if you think about it.
I do not correct anyone for years. One day, in third grade, a plane flies above our school.
“Your dad up there, Bin Laden?” The voice comes from behind. It is dripping in derision.
“My name is Tazbee,” I say. I said it in this heavy English accent, so he may know who I am. I am American. But when I turn around they are gone.
I go to middle school far, far away. It is a 30-minute drive from our house. It’s a beautiful set of buildings located a few blocks off the beach. I have never in my life seen so many blond people, so many colored irises. This is a school full of Ashtons and Penelopes, Patricks and Sophias. Beautiful names that belong to beautiful faces. The kind of names that promise a lifetime of social triumph.
I am one of two headscarved girls at this new school. We are assigned the same gym class. We are the only ones in sweatpants and long-sleeved undershirts. We are both dreading roll call. When the gym teacher pauses at my name, I am already red with humiliation.
“How do I say your name?” she asks.
“Tazbee,” I say.
“Can I just call you Tess?”
I want to say yes. Call me Tess. But my mother will know, somehow. She will see it written in my eyes. God will whisper it in her ear. Her disappointment will overwhelm me.
“No,” I say, “Please call me Tazbee.”
I don’t hear her say it for the rest of the year.
My history teacher calls me Tashbah for the entire year. It does not matter how often I correct her, she reverts to that misshapen sneeze of a word. It is the ugliest conglomeration of sounds I have ever heard.
When my mother comes to parents’ night, she corrects her angrily, “Tasbeeh. Her name is Tasbeeh.” My history teacher grimaces. I want the world to swallow me up.
My college professors don’t even bother. I will only know them for a few months of the year. They smother my name in their mouths. It is a hindrance for their tongues. They hand me papers silently. One of them mumbles it unintelligibly whenever he calls on my hand. Another just calls me “T.”
My name is a burden. My name is a burden. My name is a burden. I am a burden.
On the radio I hear a story about a tribe in some remote, rural place that has no name for the color blue. They do not know what the color blue is. It has no name so it does not exist. It does not exist because it has no name.
At the start of a new semester, I walk into a math class. My teacher is blond and blue-eyed. I don’t remember his name. When he comes to mine on the roll call, he takes the requisite pause. I hold my breath.
“How do I pronounce your name?” he asks.
I say, “Just call me Tess.”
“Is that how it’s pronounced?”
I say, “No one’s ever been able to pronounce it.”
“That’s probably because they didn’t want to try,” he said. “What is your name?”
When I say my name, it feels like redemption. I have never said it this way before. Tasbeeh. He repeats it back to me several times until he’s got it. It is difficult for his American tongue. His has none of the strength, none of the force of my mother’s. But he gets it, eventually, and it sounds beautiful. I have never heard it sound so beautiful. I have never felt so deserving of a name. My name feels like a crown.
“Thank you for my name, mama.”
When the barista asks me my name, sharpie poised above the coffee cup, I tell him: “My name is Tasbeeh. It’s a tough t clinging to a soft a, which melts into a silky ssss, which loosely hugs the b, and the rest of my name is a hard whisper — eeh. Tasbeeh. My name is Tasbeeh. Hold it in your mouth until it becomes a prayer. My name is a valuable undertaking. My name requires your rapt attention. Say my name in one swift note – Tasbeeeeeeeh – sand let the h heat your throat like cinnamon. Tasbeeh. My name is an endeavor. My name is a song. Tasbeeh. It means giving glory to God. Tasbeeh. Wrap your tongue around my name, unravel it with the music of your voice, and give God what he is due.”—
"Give your daughters difficult names. Give your daughters names that command the full use of tongue. My name makes you want to tell me the truth. My name doesn’t allow me to trust anyone that cannot pronounce it right." -Warsan Shire
Apa jadinya bila penjual sate berkostum dan bapak kosan berkumis super dari komik Garudaboi penasaran dengan fenomena cowok cantik dan ajojing gaya naik kuda khas Korea Selatan?
Cerita berawal dari Garudamanly-man yang meski sudah susah payah melancarkan jurus “tahan-napas-sembunyikan-perut-buncit”, tetap saja gagal mendapatkan cinta cewek yang ditaksirnya. Sebagai bapak kos yang super update soal fenomena anak muda terkini (gara-gara Saipul, sang superhero 4L4Y yang tinggal di kosannya) Bajuri pun turun tangan membantu Garudamanly-man mencari tahu (tanpi isi) figur cowok ideal yang digilai perempuan saat ini. Rasa kagum, shock, sebel, dan penasaran yang muncul saat mereka makin dalam menyelami fenomena ini sama sekali tidak membuat keduanya nelangsa. Yang muncul malah seabreg keisengan, kegokilan, dan kekocakan yang menyentil khas Garudaboi!
Judul Asli : DUET MAWUT - Mendadak Boyband– Koloni/m&c/Indonesia
Bagi teman-teman sekelasnya, Mia hanyalah cewek “forever alone” yang kadang suka telmi (telat mikir). Tak ada yang tahu bahwa Mia menyimpan rahasia besar… rahasia sebagai seorang “Raksaka”! Seperti keluarganya yang lain, Mia adalah seorang pemburu Ratri, makhluk kegelapan yang ingin merasuki tubuh manusia.
Seperti dalam kehidupan malamnya sebagai seorang Raksaka muda, Mia pun bersemangat menolong sesama, termasuk menolong Ony. Ony adalah murid cowok pindahan di kelasnya yang jarang masuk, tidak punya teman, misterius dan ketus! Meski dilarang sahabatnya, Mia tetap bertekad membuat Ony jadi lebih terbuka pada orang lain.
Ada sesuatu pada diri Ony yang membuat Mia begitu tertarik. Mungkinkah Ony berhubungan dengan hidup Mia yang lain sebagai Raksaka?
Saat semua murid bersiap-siap mendukung jagoan kelasnya beradu kebolehan, hanya kelas XII IPA 2 yang terlihat tidak antusias. Seluruh sekolah SMA Percobaan tahu, kelas XII IPA 2 adalah kelas payah, yang tahun lalu dipermalukan karena dibantai habis pada semua cabang olahraga.
Sementara itu, Panji sang murid pindahan, ingin sekali memiliki kenangan class meeting terakhir dengan teman-temannya sebelum ia pindah. Ia memang jagoan main badminton, tapi sungguhkah sendirian ia bisa menggapai kemenangan untuk kelas XII IPA 2? Mampukah ia membangkitkan semangat anak kelasnya untuk pada olahraga?
Apa sesungguhnya yang dibutuhkan seorang atlet untuk menang?