Kamis, 30 Desember 2010

snow white

Snow White

Good morning ladies and gentleman. How are you today?
I hope you are fine.
First of all I would like to introduce my self. My name is …………. I am the representative of ****. In this beautiful morning, I would like to retell a story entitle Snow White 

Ladies and Gentleman           
Once upon time, in the middle of winter, a queen sat at window sewing. While she was sewing, she pricked her finger. The blood fell on the snow. She thought, if she had a child, would that a child as white as snow, as red as blood and as black as the wood of the window frame.
            After that, she had a little daughter, who was as white as snow. as red as blood and her hair as black as ebony. She called snow white. When the child was born the queen died.
            After year passed the king took another wife. She was a beautiful woman, but proud and arrogant. She had a wonderful looking glass.
                        “Looking glass, Looking glass. Who, in this land, is the fairest?”
                        The looking glass answered “The queen”. Then she was satisfied.
            Snow white was growing up . She grew more and more beautiful than the queen.
                        “Looking glass-looking glass. Who, in this land is fairest”. The looking glass answered “queen but snow white is more beautiful”
Hearing the answer, the queen was shocked. She hated snow white very much.
            The queen called huntsman and said “Take snow white into the forest. Kill her and bring me back her lung and liver!
The huntsman obeyed, He took snow white to the forest. When he wanted to kill ,snow white said,” Oh dear huntsman, leave me my life. I will run into the forest and never come home again.”
“Run away, you poor child.” the huntsman let snow white alive.
            Ladies and Gentleman
Snow white run as long as she could. Then she saw a little hut and went into it. Everything in the hut was small. She was so hungry and thirsty. She ate some vegetable and bread. Because of tired, she slept.
            When it was morning, snow white woke up. She was frightened when she saw seven dwarfs. But they were friendly. They let snow white lived with them. Snow white told them what had happened.
            Ladies and Gentleman
In the palace, the queen soon found that snow white was still alive. She went to snow white hut. She did many ways to kill her. At home, the queen stood in front of looking glass. She asked “Who, in this land, is the most beautiful?”. “Snow white” answered the glass looking. Hearing the looking glass answered, the queen was very angry.” Snow white shall die. Snow white shall die”. She cried
ladies and Gentleman
Another time, the queen persuaded snow white to eat an apple. Snow white never knew that the queen had put poison inside of the apple. She ate the apple. Then ……she fell down and unconscious. The queen thought that Snow White had died. Then the seven dwarfs take snow white and put her into glass coffin.
Ladies and Gentleman
One day a prince came to the forest. He went to the seven dwarfs hut. He saw a glass coffin and a beautiful young lady, snow white inside it. He asked the seven dwarfs to give the snow white. Then The prince carried her on his shoulder. And it happened that the prince stumbled snow white over tree. And with shock, the poisonous apple came out of throat. Snow white opened her eyes. “Oh heavens, where am I ?” she cried
The prince was very happy.“ You are with me”. Said the prince.
            Snow White was very happy because she saved right now. Then the prince and white snow married. As punishment, the King  asked the cruel queen to go away. Then They Lived happily
That’s a story about Snow White. Thank you very much for your attention .and Goodbye

Péter Zilahy - The Last Window Giraffe (excerpts)

Péter Zilahy - The Last Window Giraffe (excerpts)
The Window–Giraffe was a picture book from which we learned to read when we didn’t know how. I already knew how by then, but I had to learn it anyway, because what else was school for. The Window–Giraffe made the world intelligible to us in alphabetical order. Everything had its rhyme and reason, symbolic or mundane. Thus, we could learn from it that the sun rises in the east, that our hearts are on the left, that the Great October Revolution took place in November, and that light floods in through a window – even when it is closed. The Window–Giraffe was full of seven-headed dragons, fairies, devils and princes, but it told us that these things do not exist. I remember four kinds of dragons that do not exist, and also three princes. The Window–Giraffe taught us to read between the lines. It was taken as much for granted as the teddy-bear on the children’s bedtime TV programme. It didn’t occur to anyone to question it. The window–giraffe was a window–giraffe. The Window–Giraffe is my childhood, the changing room, the PE class, the continual growing taller, the age before a better age, goulash communism, my homework, my innocence, my generation. The Window–Giraffe is a book one of whose characters was myself. It was only on being asked twenty years later that I realized the words of its title stood for the Hungarian alpha and omega. Yes, the ablak – window – is the beginning, the opening through which the light comes, whereas zsiráf – giraffe – is a bounded infinite – surrealism, flaming giraffes, we’ll never die! A dictionary which contains what’s been left out.
There’s a window–giraffe in Paris as well – I saw it on a postcard. It’s called the Eye-fell Tower. It was sent by Sophie Brünner, who had defected to France with her parents and was now studying from a French reading primer. The Eye-fell Tower has a long neck, four legs, and an awful lot of windows: window and giraffe in one, even its name sounds good too, spur and promise in one, surpassing the I’m-just-a-tot-I’ll-grow-up-one-day attitude of the nursery, a sudden leap, holding out the hope of a definitive break from the worm’s eye view, which the express elevator down the middle reduces to a matter of technology. Sophie looked a bit like a giraffe herself, except she didn’t have a window or an express lift down her middle. The express lift was in my throat when she tiptoed over to my desk on her matchstick legs and let me smell her fragrant eraser. That night I was in syllabifying ecstasies, with letters zooming into view like cat’s eyes on a dark road. The next day, she defected. Our class teacher told us that her family had gone away unexpectedly. She might well have said ‘was cut down in its prime’, the way Party leaders go. The fragrant eraser left
an indelible mark on my heart. Only later did we discover they hadn’t gone off on a holiday at all, when as a proxy for herself she sent the Eye-fell Tower, which was just like a window–giraffe, except at least it made some sense to anyone who could read between the lines.
I was a virgin, but that didn’t bother me. I didn’t have a clue. The world was black-and-white, you could see it on TV. I can still see, as if before my eyes, the extra time played by Argentina and Holland in the ’78 World Cup, the Baader-Meinhof and Salyut-Apollo link-up, the death of the King (I didn’t know who Elvis was, but Dad was choked), the ash cloud over Mount St. Helens, ‘Bertie’ Farkas the first Hungarian in space, and the Rubik Cube World Championship in Budapest. Sports were exciting in black-and white. In a boxing match you had to tell the boxers apart by counting the stripes on their socks. I even remember how many stripes my first date had. I’m not sure about the colour of the eyes, even now I see her in black-and-white. After the first kiss my parents bought a colour TV, and it turned out that the Dutch are orange, whereas the Italians are blue, and there are even red devils. Only the Germans remained black-and-white, as if they were being punished. Their country was split in two as well. I almost felt sorry for them.
My first childhood memory is of crawling on all fours during the rest period at nursery school. The curtains are drawn, and there’s a moon shining on the white blankets. It can’t be the Moon itself, of course; we were never there at night. Anyway, I’m crawling on all fours under the beds, afraid that if the others wake up, then I shall wake up as well. I am alone, a near-fictitious child, balancing on the creaking parquet floor, breadcrumbs drilling into my kneecaps. I’m small and nobody notices me. I’m worming my way along the enormous room as if I had been doing it for hours. I’m dodging hands and feet that are dangling out from under the white sheets. Dead tired little angels. Formations of fleecy clouds float past, podgy fingers, dimples, curly locks. Uh-oh! Somebody’s coming the other way under the bed. Our heads bump, but because of the sheet I don’t see the face. She’s panting on my neck, hot breath. The nursery assistants are coming in their white overalls, white socks and white slippers. We crouch under the bed, her little hand grasping my little hand. Her palm is sweaty.
The historic building on top of Eagle Hill where I went to school had been a convent before it was upgraded into an institution of learning. When German troops occupied Hungary, in March 1944,
they set up their HQ in the main hall. This is where Budapest’s military commander was detained. The hall later served as our gym, and we ran round and round in circles between its historic walls, a domestic history in a tucked handstand. The Magyars entered Hungary along the highway of nations, said our walrus-moustached PE instructor, which sounded good. I could just imagine them trying to hitch a lift on the steppes, holding up a marrowbone with ‘Hungary’ scratched on it in runic script, but nobody could read it. Leapfrog over the box and a cartwheel on landing. According to sir, a huge expanse of wasteland stretches from the Pacific to the Great Hungarian Plain, roughly from the Amur to the Danube, with the Magyars at one end and the Gulag at the other, so we’d better behave. He dished out two-handed slaps so we would not lose our balance – his idea of the golden mean. I would rather have climbed a pole or done two circuits. No more helping hands, he said, and bore down on me with all the gravitas he could muster. He just wanted to mould me into an upright Hungarian. Something didn’t add up, because although our language was supposed to be our greatest remaining treasure, they were trying to get me to hold my tongue. Domestic history merged into anatomy, patriotism into grammar, solidarity into moulding. To cut a long story short, the Magyars came to Hungary a thousand years ago, and they’ve kept on coming ever since. No-one knows where from or where to, and anyone who says differently is wrong, or not Magyar, or not honest. The Magyars are shrouded in mystery, or lost. The Magyars do not stand out: they look just like anybody else and assimilate with ease wherever they may be, except in Hungary, where they are divided by a common tongue. The Magyar has a little bit of the Serbo-Croat in him, a little bit homeless. He marches down the highway of nations, driving huge herds of cattle before him, and is constantly at war. Gusts of wind sneak up behind him to deliver gigantic slaps in the face. No messing about here! My own image of the Magyars combined the progressive traditions of the Wild West and the Wild East, growing out of a close study of Karl May’s stories and Árpád Feszty’s panorama of the Magyars Entering Hungary, now on view in the Ópusztaszer National Memorial Park. The Magyars lived like cowboys, and fought like Red Indians. They collected antiquities long before the great explorers. Cortés and Pizarro are descendants of the Magyar leaders Lehel and Bulcsú. The Magyar Indians raided the Middle Ages, holding them up halfway like some stage coach, circling them, whooping and shooting arrows at anyone who stuck their head out. They even attacked the Vikings and the Moors, plundered monasteries and generally kicked the shit out of Europe, though it’s not the done thing to be proud of that, and it’s not my reason for mentioning it. Then they reached the Atlantic and realized that the prairie had run out. It was not possible to ride
right round the globe, whooping it up, because there was an ocean to be crossed. There was nothing for it but to clamber up onto the stage coach – over the wheels, unfortunately. The Carpathian Basin was once a sea itself. Had we only arrived in time, we would have become a seafaring people, with our very own sea, not a historical one, not one so soaked in blood, not a rented weekend cottage.
A Pioneer, that’s me! Brave and intrepid. What’s there to be scared of? My fifty-five pounds are utopia made flesh. I ceaselessly deepen my knowledge, willingly and cheerily, along with friendship between nations. A Pioneer, that’s me. Dib, dib, dib – dob, dob, dob. I lend a hand wherever I can – to you, and you, and you too! You didn’t get into trouble for nothing. I’m steadfast as the trust endowed upon me, as upon all of you too. One tug on my neckerchief and the reactionaries scatter, sobbing all the way home.
The Pioneers’ Twelve Rules, unlike the prescriptive Ten Commandments, reflected a descriptive world view. They dangled an already consummated future before our eyes. A Pioneer is a fully fledged, perfect being and acts like one by, for instance, always telling the truth – Rule Six. I’d rather have the New Testament any day. If a stone is thrown at you, throw bread in return. Just great! When a Creator runs out of ideas bun-fights are always an option, then it descends into farce. But what if a Pioneer says all Pioneers are liars? Because everyone knows Sohár tells fibs, even if he does have a red tie and a whistle. It’s a nice whistle but Sohár doesn’t deserve it. One has to admit the Pioneer is only human. That could be Rule Thirteen. Then again, it’s so obvious it doesn’t need a separate point. Rule Thirteen remains unspoken. We all have our weak points. I, for one, stole a logic game and hid it in my sock. I was only a Little Drummer at the time, and my parents made me return it, but you could tell they were really proud because in those bright red circles and triangles they saw their son’s unquenchable thirst for knowledge. As for stealing, there was no rule about that, it was built into the system.
My bath time was during the early evening news. Mum would look in, every now and then, to check that I was all right, while Dad watched the TV in the living room. In order to be able to protect me from the lies they had to be aware of the details. In the bathroom all that could be heard were Mum’s sighs – what a mess I was making, flooding the apartment. I would submerge myself, and
under the water a voice would speak to me, telling me what had happened in the world that day: a landslide had buried a hundred and fifty people in Bangladesh, revolution had broken out somewhere in West Africa, a new nursery school and an Olympic swimming pool had been opened, and MTK had beaten Ferencváros 2:1. I had no idea who was sending the messages, or why, but clearly they had plans for me because they also told me what the weather would be. The next day I was able to distinguish several voices in the tub, which suggested I was dealing with an organization. This manner of communication seemed logical. I couldn’t send them messages, because you can’t talk under water, and they could only get in touch with me without my parents and teachers knowing during my bath time. I found it hard to grasp why it was so important for the organization that I should have detailed low-down on the latest war games in Poland, or which Transdanubian communities were being granted municipal status, but I knew that if I paid attention, sooner or later they would give a sign. My life gained a deeper meaning under water. One Sunday, when Mum was washing my hair and, unwittingly, dipped my head into the water, a pleasant female voice whispered in my ear that the harvest had been flattened by hail. I knew what was expected of me, and to be honest, I had no objections: to make a big mess. Even before then, I had been in the habit of battling with submarines and fighter planes in the dark, after going to bed, and sometimes I would end up on the floor, so it was only thanks to my doggedness that victory was mine in the end. From that day on, I was busy as a bee sabotaging the development of our people’s democracy. Earthquakes, power failures and gas explosions marked my path. I would figure out military objectives on the basis of intelligence I received in the bathtub. When a factory or a power plant was inaugurated, I would be there, doing what I had to do. Comecon fiddled at repairs behind the Iron Curtain, little suspecting that a stone was being thrown inside the glass house.
In 1956, the quincentenary of Hunyadi’s triumphant defence of Belgrade, Budapest was blown to bits. Pressing new venues into service, the Soviet army revived the traditions of the siege of ’44. The city is riddled with holes: holes on house walls, holes between houses, new holes mixed up with old. Whether a house looks the way it does due to the siege or the revolution, because of ’44 or ’56, used to be a constant subject of debate: It can’t be ’44, it’s a new building! The hell it is – typical Bauhaus! Can’t you see the curved terrace? Then the snow would fall and cover up all the holes. Then more snow would fall, and the new snow got mixed up with the old, so one could no longer tell which snow was covering up all those holes, and people waited for the snow to melt, because the
country was in the grip of eternal snow. Forty thousand big and several million smaller holes. Budapest is the city of holes. I was born in this city of holes, with bullet holes on its hospital walls, holey gravestones. A seven-foot grass snake slithered into the crypt of Baron Manó Schwanbergi Kruchina (and his wife Marianne) before my very eyes. The baron died in ’56, his wife in ’44. A victim of the class struggle, or a drunken monumental mason? The gravestone later disappeared, leaving a hole in its place. Then a new grave came to replace the hole – a hole cycle could be traced in that way. The house in which we lived had been built on the hole left by my grandfather’s house. As a child my father used to play in bomb craters in the garden. The bigger holes had houses built on them, smaller ones were used as rubbish dumps. Discarded TV sets and radio valves lay in heaps at the back of the garden, an electronic junk yard on Liberty Hill. In one hole we found a winged bomb, and even that had a hole in it, someone had screwed off the detonator head. We climbed walls, stuck our fingers into the holes and with our eyes shut tried to imagine the bullets. A Braille modern history of Budapest – a city that cannot be seen by the eye, only felt with fingers, read between the lines: house-wall-sized hieroglyphs, epic and lyric variations, wartime graffiti, crude erotic messages, an inside-out archive.
My bumpy road to sexual maturity was paved with the deaths of Communist dictators. My first sexual experience coincided with the death of Mao Zedong: I was bitten by a girl called Diana in nursery school. My voice broke when Tito died, and I had my first ejaculation when Brezhnev went. For three days all they played on the radio was classical music, which I thought was rather overdoing it; some schools were even closed. Then for a long time there was nothing. As an experiment, I took a girl to the movies, but the film was too good, and I got a cramp in my hand. Events accelerated at high school. There were only a couple of months between the first kiss and the first frantic fumblings. After Andropov Chernenko quickly checked out. A few more weeks and it was Enver Hoxha’s turn, but I’d rather not go into that. I first found out about the G-spot when Ceauescu was executed. Kim Il Sung cast new light on my broadening horizons. Luckily, the charges were dropped. Now as for Fidel . . .
The letter O is a perfect circle found in the middle of the Hungarian alphabet, every point of it being equidistant from its centre. Accordingly, the centre of the letter O may be regarded as the centre of the Hungarian language.
My Russian teacher says I will never understand Slavic culture until I have read War and Peace in the original. She read it while riding the Trans-Siberian Express, there and back. I’d rather read Crime and Punishment, as that would let me off at Moscow. Maybe it would be enough just to work through the crime part, then for the return leg I could fly Aeroflot (such a splendid word that – like cologne made from recycled poison gas). Language was part of the pretence. We pretended we knew Russian. Noo! Forty-five minutes every day I listened in Russian, nodded in Russian, sighed in Russian, even set out War and Peace next to me on the bench.
It never entered my head that knowing another language could be useful. Knowledge was a prerequisite for growth, something to be acquired for its own sake. If you wanted to grow, you had to do your homework. Russian was something we learned because it’s a splendid language as well, of course – not that Hungarian isn’t fantabulous, mind you. Back then, only Russian teachers spoke Russian, and they were all women of about fifty with dyed hair, a militant ethnic minority with their own tribal rites. They had a particular obsession for roll calls. Taking a head count before every mission was a matter of life and death. The only Russian soldiers I saw were in war films, and even they were dubbed into Hungarian. The first time I saw them in the flesh was when they withdrew from Hungary. The Cold War had come to an end, and so did peace. Since there was no longer any sense dying for it, the Russians were selling off their equipment for token sums. My pal wanted to buy a parachute and I acted as his interpreter.
Parashoot yest’ye? – Is there a parachute? I asked, but I began laughing and dropped the ye at the end. Good lord! The Russian for ‘is’ and Yankee ‘yes’ sound the same! Maybe it had been worth studying after all. ‘Yankee go home’ or ‘pashli damoi’ it comes to the same thing. The occupation is just a line on the map, an accent, a conjunction. Not the tanks, not the eight grades, not Misha the bear, but a signature on my report card. The lance-jack answered in Hungarian: two bottles of vodka, he said, raising two fingers, because there were two of them. He asked how I was doing in school. I resented his familiarity and grumbled noo-noo, just like I had seen in And Quiet Flows the Don. He said he had a son, too, Sergei, and he knew it was not easy for us either. What would we say to a Kalashnikov? Or how about this pistol? It’s like letting Cookie Monster loose in a sweet shop. A good job I’m not sweet-toothed. He’d throw in a cartridge clip as a gift, let’s have a drink to the good old days. The good old days when I wasn’t yet alive and our fathers were merrily killing each other off – I should drink to that with an enemy soldier who is speaking to me in my own
language! Ege segedre, said the NCO, his nazdarovye sticking out a mile. Egészségedre ‘to your health’ or ege segedre ‘to your ass’ – close enough. Sergei was also called Sergei, like his son, but we could call him Seryozha. He handed me the bottle and quoted Petőfi impeccably. Hungary is poetry, he says. I tell him that a group of Hungarian scientists had identified what they claimed were the remains of Sándor Petőfi in a grave in Barguzin but it turned out to be a woman’s skeleton. He wasn’t surprised, he said, Russia’s a big country. He wasn’t in the least pushy – helpful rather. He didn’t particularly want to go home, he said. He’d got used to being in Hungary and liked Hungarians, especially the women, winking at me as though he expected me to know what he was talking about. I gave him a Pavlovian wink back, because I knew that’s what you do when you talk about women. We didn’t want to bother him any longer, but he begged us to stay, still speaking Hungarian, of course. I’d better watch out! Could it be he didn’t even speak Russian – an Ob-Ugrian double agent, perhaps? We back away, waving. When we reach the door, he calls after us: How about a few hand grenades into the bargain?



“Hai teman-teman! Tau nggak sich tadi malam aku tu sms-an ma Dido,”celoteh Rimbi pada sahabat-sahabatnya yang tergabung dalam MARS.
“Trus-trus kalian ngomongin apa hayo,” sahut Siva.
“Iya-iya kalian itu mau tahu aja.”
“Ya, iyalah kita kan MARS yang selalu terbuka tak ada rahasia,” jawab mereka kompak.
“Ni, liat aja sendiri smsnya,” suruh Rimbi ke temen-temennya sambil memberikan hapenya.
“Ih, kalian ya smsannya pake panggilan sayang segala.” Tiba-tiba muka Rimbi merah padam.
Lagi asyiknya mengisengi Rimbi, Meila teman mereka yang sudah ditunggu lama akhirnya dating juga.
“Sory, ya fren, gue telat soalnya tu bik Surti pembokat gue bangun kesiangan. Melia di MARS termasuk yang paling tajir diantara mereka soalnya bonyok (bokap nyokap) dia kerja di instansi pemerintah pegang posisi yang nggak tanggung-tanggung.
“Hu’um nggak papa koq,” giliran Ayi yang menanggapi.
“ Ya, udah ayo ke kantin. Mumpung bel belum berbunyi, gue traktir deh,”ajak Melia.
“Ok,” sahut mereka kompak. Di kantin mereka udah punya tempat favorit yaitu di pojok kanan.
Saat keempat sahabat itu asyik mengunyah makanan masing-masing, Reva Sang Ketua OSIS lewat dengan segenap aura kesempurnaan. Ayi cewek tomboy di MARS tak henti-hentinya memperhatikan sampai melonggo, sampai dia tidak menyadari bahwa Reva sudah berada di sampingnya. Reva kemudian menepuk pundak Ayi.
“Eh, copot,copot,” latah Ayi.
“Heh, pagi-pagi kok sudah ngelamun,” tukas Reva.  Ayi nanti siang pengurus OSIS akan mengadakan rapat, jangan lupa, ya.”
Tet-tet-tet bel masuk pun berbunyi. Buru-buru mereka masuk kelas. Masalahnya kelas mereka berada di lantai atas yang lumayan jauh dari kantin. Nanti kalau telat bisa kena hukuman, payah khan.Apalagi pelajaran pertama adalah fisika dengan Pak Ridho yang terkenal killernya.
“Hups, untung nggak telat ya kita.”
Nafas mereka tersenggal-senggal. Mereka melewati pelajaran jam pertama seperti murid-murid lainnya.
Ada peristiwa penting saat pelajaran Matematika. Siva cewek yang hobi molor memuaskan hobinya pada jam pelajaran Bu Dina. Teman-temannya kawatir, jika Bu Dina mengetahui habislah riwayatnya. Pasti marah Bu Dina. Hal yang tak diharapkan terjadi juga. Bu Dina menghampiri Siva yang sedang melayang melalui mimpi.
“Siva bangun, ada kebakaran,” teriak Bu Dina yang masih tampak cantik di usianya yang sudah tua.
“Ha, mana kebakarannya, lari,” respon Siva kaget sambil berusaha menyelamatkan diri. Kontan saja seisi kelas tertawa.
“Siva, basuh tu mukamu dengan air liur yang masih nempel di pipimu,”perintah Bu Dina. Merahlah muka Siva saat itu.
Pukul 13.00, siswa SMP Bangsa Budi pulang sekolah. Mulai terlihat mobil jembutan orang tua murid.
“Teman – teman  ngenet, yo,”ajak Melia.
“Ayo, “sahut kedua temannya menyetujui. Namun, Rimbi tak menyetujuinya.
“Ah, kalian itu ngapain ngenet di rumah kan bisa,” usul Rimbi. Rimbi mukanya merah dan membalikkan badannya membelakangi teman-temannya lalu pergi menjauhi mereka.
Sejak kejadiaan itu hubungan Rimbi dengan MARS semakin merenggang. Mereka jarang ngumpul bareng dengan Rimbi.
Pagi di hari Minggu, Melia membuka laptopnya  lalu membuka akunya di frendster. Ternyata ada koment baru. Oh, dari Ilham yang mempunyai nama iih - m. Dia menyapa Melia.
“Pagi yang cerah ya Mei. Gimana tugasnya udah kelar belum.”
Sebenarnya Meila naksir cowok tersebut tetapi dia memendam perasaan tersebut karena ada teman sekelasnya yang bernama Luri juga suka sama Ilham. Karena Mei tidak mau menyakiti Luri, Mei pun akhirnya mengalah.
Mei menyetel lagu Tuhan Tolong yang dinyanyikan Derby Romero dari MP3 di handphonenya. Oh, Tuhan tolonglah aku janganlah kau biarkan diriku jatuh cinta padanya sebab andai itu terjadi akan hati yang terluka, Tuhan tolang diriku. Mei asyik menyanyi lirik tersebut. Lalu Mie membalas koment Ilham.
“Iya, Ham. Pagi juga tugasku belum kelar nich, mau bantu pa?” Tak berapa lama balasan dari Ilham datang juga.
“Ya, tentu mau dong, nanti pukul 10.15 kamu datang ke rumahku aja, Ok.”
Tentu hati Meila girang bukan kepalang. Namun, ia ragu nanti kalau Luri tahu dia pasti marah. Ya, memang sulit suka terhadap seseorang ternyata teman kita juga suka pada orang itu.

Mei memberi koment pada akunnya sendiri dengan reff lagu Tuhan tolong dengan simbol broken heart. Dan mengisi shoutnya dengan kalimat someone is nothing and will be something in my heart.
“Mei kamu masih ingat nggak agkO,” satu koment masuk ke FSnya. Dia buka profil orang tersebut, dan ternyata foto primarinya, foto dirinya masa kecil dengan seseorang yang belum diingatnya. Siapa si cowok ini sebenarnya, tanya Mei dalam hati.
Owh, iya dia khan si Qibal, temanku semasa aku masih TK di Kendal. Kenapa aku lupa, ya. Nich, anak koq berubah banyak ya. Ingatannya melayang di masa lalu, waktu masih di TK.
Dia reply koment itu………….
“Aku masih ingat koq, kamu Qibal khan? Cowok yang dulu takut ama ketinggian dan sangat dekat dengan mamanya khan? Kamu di mana sekarang Qib. Aku sekarang sekolah di SMP Bangsa Budi Semarang. Lha you?”
Lama Mei menunggu. Mei jadi tertidur. Padahal akun friendsternya belum keluar. Dua jam berlalu sudah.
Di rumah Qibal masih binggung ternyata Mei masih ingat kepadanya. Dia telah kehilangan kontak selama sembilan tahun sejak kepindahan Mei ke Semarang mengikuti ortunya tugas. Dan sekarang sudah kelas IX SMP.
“Ih, Mei kamu masih ingat ma aku. Aku sekarang masih di Kendal koq. Aku sekolah di SMP Abadi Jaya. Hampir lulus kita khan?” Pesan itu sampai ke laptop Meila. Meila tersenyum-senyum sendiri.
“Mei, sudah siang koq belum makan,” tiba-tiba mama datang menanyakan hal tersebut. Senyum Mei buyar.
“Iya, ma bentar belum laper,” sahutnya. Mei akhirnya turun ke lantai bawah menuju ruang makan.
Sedangkan di rumah Rimbi, dia merasa menyesal atas sikapnya terhadap teman-temannya. Dia bingung. Harus bagaimana aku ya Dear, tulis Rimbi di diarynya yang diberi nama Deara. Bingung banget nich gue, kasihan sahabat gue. Emang gue egois sich. Kenapa mentingin ego gue. Emang dari awal gue terkenal egois di mata sahabat gue. Tapi jujur Dear di dalam hati gue pengen berubah. Gimana nich???
Ayi sekarang sedang ngegym bareng Reva, cowok yang baru saja dipacarinya seminggu lalu. Mereka terlihat kompak dan ,mesra banget. “Ciut-cuit, pasangan baru nich, kompak banget,” canda orang-orang yang ada di gym tersebut.
Malam pun datang, mentari pun hilang sinarnya. Anggota MARS telah pulas tidurnya setelah seharian penuh sibuk dengan aktivitas mereka masing-masing.
Pagi hari di skul, mereka ngumpul bareng. “Eh, kawan aku pengin kasih info penting,” teriak mereka secara tak sengaja bareng.
“Ya, sudah Rimbi dulu deh.”
“Thanks, emang gue egois, tapi gue pengen berubah, maafin gue pren.”
Sekarang giliran Meila. “Pren, gue jadian ma temen TK gue dulu namanya Qibal, walaupun selama ini aku sering curhat ke kalian bahwa aku suka Ilham, tapi kemarin seharian gue chating sama Qibal dan dia nembak gue. Aku tetep sayang ama Ilham tapi cinta khan tidak harus memiliki. Mungkin Ilham cocoknya ama Luri.”
“Iya, deh sekarang gue juga mau kasih berita baik ke kalian gue jadian ama Reva,”tandas Ayi dengan semangat menggebu.
“Woih, makan-makan kita dua kali dong. Ayi dan Meila jadian. Eh, enggak ding tiga kali malahan karena gue juga akan nraktir kalian coz kalau kalian mau maafin gue,” jelas Rimbi.
MARS selalu terbuka, tak ada rahasia, mereka meneriakan yel-yel MARS sambil trus tertawa riang lalu berpelukan.

Panitia Lomba Nulis Cerpen
Gokil Kantin Banget Edisi Minggu Suara Merdeka
Jalan Raya Kaligawe Km 5
Semarang 50118

Shela Kusumaningtyas
Kelas 9B SMPN 2 Kendal
Jalan Soekarno- Hatta Kendal No 187 Kendal


Senin, 20 Desember 2010


Gak tahu ya kenapa gw bisa seneng banget waktu buka blog kakak gw si Meila.
Ini si bukan kakak kandung gw tapi kakak kelas yang sudah baek banget ma gw.
Love you mb.Meil :*
Cerpen gw dy posting ke blognya.YUhuuuu..
Seneeeeeeeeng banget gue.
Alai deh padahal dia juga uda mosting cerpen gw ini ke facebooknya.
Gw sendiri jg udah posting ke blog gw.
Udah coba gw kirim ke majalah Olga.
Mungkin bukan rezeki gw kali ya.Ni cerpen kagak nongol* di halaman cerpen majalah ini.
Huh :(
Gapaapa deh namanya juga usaha.
klik* aja yya :)
Norak banget gw ini.
-________________________________- Selengkapnya...

English task

            Television, or TV, is one of humanity’s most important means of communication. It brings pictures and sounds from around the world into millions of home.
            People with a television set can sit in their house and watch the president makes a speech or visits s foreign country. They can see a war being fought, and they can watch government leaders try to bring about peace. Through television, viewers at home can see and learn about people, places, and things in far away lands. Television even takes viewers out of this world as the astronauts explore outer space.
            In addition to all these things, television brings it viewers a steady stream of programs that are designed to entertain. In fact, TV provides many more entertainment programs than any other kind of information media. The programs include action-packed dramas, light comedies, soap operas, sport events, cartoons, quizzes, variety shows, and motion pictures.
            More than 83 millions home in the United States-or 98% of all the country's homes-have at least one television set. On the average, a television set is in use in each home for about 6 ¾ hours each day.
            As a result, television has an important influence on hoe people spend their time, as well as on what they see and learn. After they arrive from work, they usually watch TV. Then, the importance of television is proven

The text above is a report text. It has generic structure. It consists general classification, description, and conclusion .
1.General classification tells what the phenomenon under discussion is.
2.Description tells what the phenomenon under discussion is like in terms of :
            _parts (and their functions)
            _habits or behavior
3.Conclusion (optional)
This function of this text is to describe the way things are, with reference to a range of natural, man-made, and social phenomena in our environment. It focuses on generic participant.

Topic   : Television
Technical Term : communication ,viewer, programs, entertainment, motion pictures, etc
Means  :
Communication is feed back connection that need two people or more usually using spoken or written language.
Viewer is people who see the television programs.
Program is spectacle that are provided by television provider.
Entertainment is amusement.
Motion picture the picture were taken to show in television . It can see by viewer.

Television = title
            Television, or TV, is one of humanity’s most important means of communication. It brings pictures and sounds from around the world into millions of home. = general classification
            People with a television set can sit in their house and watch the president makes a speech or visits s foreign country. They can see a war being fought, and they can watch government leaders try to bring about peace. Through television, viewers at home can see and learn about people, places, and things in far away lands. Television even takes viewers out of this world as the astronauts explore outer space. = description
            In addition to all these things, television brings it viewers a steady stream of programs that are designed to entertain. In fact, TV provides many more entertainment programs than any other kind of information media. The programs include action-packed dramas, light comedies, soap operas, sport events, cartoons, quizzes, variety shows, and motion pictures.
            More than 83 millions home in the United States-or 98% of all the country's homes-have at least one television set. On the average, a television set is in use in each home for about 6 ¾ hours each day.
            As a result, television has an important influence on hoe people spend their time, as well as on what they see and learn. After they arrive from work, they usually watch TV. Then, the importance of television is proven. = conclusion

Seikat bayam awal cinta bersemayam

Sayur Bayam Awal Cinta Bersemayam
“Kaliwungu Semarang Semarang ,” kenek minibus itu berteriak menawarkan jurusan pada aku . Aku tetap bergeming tak mengindahkan teriakan itu . “Huh sudah satu jam aku menunggu di sini . Panas , asap knalpot kendaraan harus kuhirup , nyaringnya sahut-sahutan klakson memekakan telinga ,” keluhku dalam hati .
“Cera Cer .
“Sepertinya ada yang memanggilku ,” pikirku dalam hati .
Ada cowok memakai motor matiknya menghampiriku . Motor ia parkirkan di parkiran toko belakangku .
“Lagi nunggu siapa Cer ?,” tanya cowok itu .
“Bodoh banget ya kamu berlagak gak tahu . Aku nungguin kamu dari jam sebelas tadi . Kamunya gak ngerasa ,” Cera menggerutu .”
“Oh iya maaf bidadariku . Aku tadi ketiduran ,” jawab Biya enteng tanpa dosa .
“Kamu itu udah telat masih aja cengar-cengir . Uda sekarang anterin aku pulang .”
“Baiklah tuan putri .”
Biya dan Cera sudah bersahabat sejak mereka SD . Rumah mereka hanya berjarak dua rumah tetangga . Walaupun lawan jenis tak ada rasa ingin menjadi sepasang kekasih . Mereka menganggap mereka adalah saudara . Hanya rasa sayang dan tak ingin kehilangan sebagai sahabat .
Cera membonceng Biya menggunakan motor matik berwarna silver terdapat aksen hitam . Helm yang mereka kenakan warnanya sama yakni biru dan di helm mereka tertempel stiker yang apabila digabungkan berbunyi ‘we are friendship not relationship .’
Orang-orang yang melihat di jalan mengira mereka adalah pasangan kekasih . Banyak teman sekelas mereka juga mengira begitu saking mesranya mereka . Cera memanggil Biya dengan sebutan ‘Pangeran Kucluk’ sebaliknya Biya memanggil Cera ‘Bidadari Kupluk’ . Lucu ya . Hehehehehehehehehe =D .
Kupluk dan Kucluk merupakan panggilan mereka sejak kanak-kanak .
Brum brum . Keduanya sudah sampai di depan rumah Cera .
“Makasih Biya . Masuk dulu yuk !! Aku tunjukkann edisi terbaru serial komik Miiko .”
“Beneran kamu punya ?? Itu kan langka banget .”
“Iyalah beneran ,” kata Cera sambil menggandeng Biya masuk rumahnya .
Biya menganggap mama papa Cera seperti orang tuanya .
“Halo Tante Om . Apa Kabar ?”
“Oh Nak Biya . Baik-baik saja kabar kami . Apakah Kupluk sering merepotkanmu ?”
“ Aw .” Biya menjerit saat kakinya sengaja diinjak Cera sebagai tanda agar Biya menjawab tidak .
“Enggak kok Om Tante .”
Sahabat karib itu masuk kamar Cera . Mereka sudah biasa berada di kamar berdua karena mereka paling hanya tertawa cekikikan dan saling meminjam komik.
“Ini serial komik Miiko yang terbaru ,” kata Cera sambil menunjukkannya ke Biya .
“Oh iya makasih Cer .”
“Halah sama-sama .”
Keduanya asyik melahap komik terbaru yang dibelikan mama Cera ataupun yang mereka beli patungan ketika hunting di luar kota .
Cera dan Biya mempunyai serial komik favorit yakni serial komik Miiko . Sedangkan novel kesayangan mereka adalah “Matemacinta” .
“Cer Biy cepetan keluar , tante sudah menyiapkan makan siang untuk kalian ,” teriak tante Deraci dari luar .
“Iya Ma .”
“Baik tante sebentar .”
Keduanya menyeretkan kaki mereka keluar sambil tetap menenteng serial komik Miiko .
“Kalian ini mau makan tetap saja membawa komik ,” heran tante Deraci .
“Hehehehehhe ,” tawa mereka serempak .
Mereka makan bersama-sama di meja makan . Bik Munah menyiapkan makan siang mereka dengan lauk sayur bayam , tahu , dan rendang dilengkapi buah anggur sebagai penutup ditemani susu segar dan air putih .
Tak dinyana Cera dan Biya mengambil sayur bayam secara bersama .
“Hah ,” mereka sama-sama gugup dan salah tingkah .
“Kamu dulu Cer yang mengambil sayur bayam ,” usul Biya .
“Hem baiklah . Kamu juga sayur bayam to ?” jawab Cera berbarengan dengan menyendok sayur bayam .
“Iya aku suka sayur bayam sejak kecil . Masak kamu gak tahu ?? Gak perhatian banget kamu .”
“Hih ngapain perhatian sama kamu ?? Emang aku ini siapamu ?? Ntar dimarahi sama Hiriffu cewek yang kamu taksir .”
“Enggak to ya . Kamu kan sahabatku sejak kecil . Masak dia harus marah ketika calon pacarnya dekat dengan sahabatnya sendiri ,” jawab Biya disertai alasan .
“Halah lagian Hiriffu mana tahu perasaanmu ?? Dari dulu kamu hanya memendam perasaanmu . Tak pernah berani tuk mengungkapkannya .”
“Cer kamu kan tahu aku suka sama Hiriffu tapi please jangan sampaikan ini ke dia . Aku belum siap untuk kecewa karena mungkin ia tak suka aku ,” pinta Biya kepada sahabatnya itu .
“Oke sip . Tapi mana uang tutup mulutnua ,” ejek Cera .
Mereka merampungkan makan siang mereka . Mama Cera terheran-heran menyaksikan tingkah dua anak muda di depannya yang saling berebut mengambil sebanyak-banyaknya sayur bayam .
“Bik itu sayur buatan kamu laris-manis buktinya mereka berebut ,”
“Makasih Nyonya . Non Cera dan Mas Biya memang selalu berebut sayur bayam yang Bibik buat .”
“Iya mereka malah gak tahu ternyata kesukaan mereka sama ,” jawab Tante Deraci .
“Ma aku sama Biya mau ke rumah Hiriffu dulu ,” tiba-tiba suara Cera mengagetkan mama .
“Tante kami berangkat dulu .”
“Iya hati-hati pulangnya jangan kemaleman lagi kayak dulu .”
“Baiklah tante saya akan menjaga Cera .”
Mereka berdua berangkat menyambangi rumah Hiraffu .
“Cer aku deg-degan ni . Gimana kalau aku mengatakan aku suka kepada Hiraffu ?” ungkap Biya di atas motor .
“Halah kamu ini . Gitu aja grogi . Dia juga belum pernah pacaran . Apalagi kamu ? Hehehe . Jadi anggap aja first experience .”
“Tapi Cer aku tak siap bila nanti aku ditolak lalu akhirnya aku dengan dia tidak berteman lagi karena kita merasa canggung .”
Tak terasa sepeda motor hampir mendekati tujuan yakni rumah Hiraffu . Biya semakin melambatkan motornya karena ia masih berpikir bagaimana dia akan mengatakan suka kepada Hiraffu .
“Ffu selama ini aku mengenal kamu . Aku suka sama kamu ,” ucap Biya untuk melatih suaranya .
“Hahahahah Biya Biya kamu ini kayak anak kecil saja latihan suara .”
“Awas kamu Cer . Nanti kalau ada cowok yang suka kamu dan mengatakan padamu aku akan mengejek anak itu apabila caranya aneh .”
“Hahah santai saja my bestie . Orang yang akan suka aku akan mengatakannya dengan cara yang ilmiah atau bahkan sukar diterima logika . Have fun aja ,” elak Cera .
“Iya aku percaya kamu memang sahabat baikku Cer .”
Keduanya sudah sampai di rumah Hiraffu . Mama Hiraffu menyambut mereka ramah .
“Silahkan masuk Nak . Riffunya sedang menyiram bunga di taman belakang . Sebentar Tante panggilkan dia .” 
“Baik Tante . Makasih .”
Mama Hiraffu masuk ke dalam rumah seraya memanggil anak semata wayangnya itu .
Hiraffu keluar sambil masih memegang alat penyiram . Ia mengenakan daster bermotif bunga sepatu berwarna merah muda .
Melihat ini tentu saja membuat jantung Biya berdetak semakin kencang . Segera saja Cera menenangkan sahabatnya tersebut .
“Tenang saja Biy .”
“Kamu gampang hanya ngomong . Aku yang merasakannya tak karuan .”
“Iya-iya maaf . Jangan marah gitu dong .”
“Ada apa kalian tiba-tiba main ke rumahku ?” suara Hiraffu mengagetkan Cera dan Biya .
“Eh ehmm hahh ,” jawab Biya gugup .
Cera langsung saja melanjutkan jawaban Biya , “ Begini Ffu maksud kedatangan kita kali ini mau menanyakan apakah kamu menyukai Biya ?”
Kontan saja Biya kaget dan marah melihat Cera mengatakan kepada Riffu blak-blakan tanpa tedeng aling-aling .
“Cer gue malu tau . Kamu lancang banget ,” bisik Biya ke Cera .
“Ehhm anu Cer maaf untuk saat ini saya belum bisa suka kepada Biya . Aku kira malah kalian sudah pacaran .”
“Tak apa Ffu aku terima jawabanmu ,” ucap Biya .
  Keduanya lekas pamit pulang karena bingung dan malu harus bagaimana .
Di perjalanan pulang Cera dan Biya saling terdiam membisu . Mereka sepertinya sedang memikirkan hal yang sama yakni orang-orang yang mengira mereka berpacaran .
“Cer aku jadi sadar jodohku bukan Hiraffu .”
“Apa maksudmu Biy ? Kayak gitu aja langsung nyerah . Masih banyak kesempatan Biy .”
“Iya aku tahu Cer . Aku sedang memastikan apakah orang selain Hiraffu adalah pasanganku ?”
“Lalu siapa orang tersebut Biy . Masak sama sahabat sendiri kamu gak cerita si ?”
“Iya-iya Cer aku akan cerita segalanya ke kamu . Orang yang menurutku pantas jadi pasangan aku sekarang sedang duduk di belakangku .”
“Apa maksudmu Biy ? Orang yang kamu maksud itu aku ????”
“Iya Cer emang kenapa ?? Aku baru sadar kita memang seharusnya saling memiliki bukan hanya sekedar sahabat . Apa kamu tak lihat kita punya menu favorit yang sama yaitu sayur bayam ?????”
“Kamu ngaco ya Biy !!!”
“Aku gak ngaco.”
“Okelah kalo itu maumu . Aku sebenarnya juga menyimpan sedikit rasa yang berbeda padamu .”
“Makasih uda mau menerimaku .”
“Tapi kata-kata ini tak berlaku pada kita ya Biy .”
“Emang kata-kata apa ?”
“Persahabatan sering berakhir dengan cinta tetapi cinta tidak akan pernah berakhir ke persahabatan .”
“Hmm baiklah Cer aku akan menjaga dan terus mengobarkan rasa kita ini .”
“Halaaah kata-katamu itu lo terlalu berat .”
“Hahahhahhah ,” mereka berdua tertawa kompak .
Mereka akan selalu ingat dengan sayur bayam karena sayur bayam awal cinta mereka bersemayam .



Diriku Sendiri

Diri Sendiri
Ini adalah hari pertama Cera masuk kelas dan resmi menyandang nama sebagai murid kelas sebelas IPA , oleh sebab itu ia sangat bahagia . Wajahnya dipenuhi aura ceria untuk berangkat sekolah . Namun ternyata topi yang sudah ia persiapkan tadi malam untuk upacara tiba-tiba lenyap entah ke mana . Hal ini tentu membuat Cera kelimpungan dan gusar . Semua orang di rumahnya menjadi sasaran amuk bagi Cera . Tentu saja Mama Cera hanya geleng-geleng melihat kelakuan anak perempuan pertamanya .
“Cer kamu ini selalu saja marah-marah tiap kali berangkat sekolah ?”
“Akh mama ini . Aku tu pusing dan sebal !! Masak mesti barang-barangku yang hilang !!”
“Iya nak mama tahu . Tapi kamu mesti teliti dan inget-inget lagi di mana naruh topi kamu itu ?”
“Uh mama aku tu udah cari ke mana-mana .”
“Yasudah kamu sms teman kamu yang berjilbab bilang kalau kamu mau pinjam topi dia .”
“Baiklah ma .”
Akhirnya masalah topi terselesaikan . Cera pinjam topi kepada Aida .
Tepat setengah tujuh pagi Cera berangkat dari rumah . Tak sampai lima belas menit perjalanan dia sudah sampai di sekolah menggunakan bis .
“Cer kamu sekelas sama aku .”
Sms dari Lida masuk ke hp Cera .
“Akh aku duduk sama Lida saja .” pikir Cera .
Suasana kelas sebelas IA empat sudah ramai dengan anak-anak yang terdiri dari berbagai kelas sepuluh dulu .
Ada yang sudah saling mengenal ada yang sedang pengenalan .
Bel masuk berbunyi . Berhubung hari Senin maka diadakan upacara bendera sekaligus upacara pembukaan penerimaan siswa baru . Sudah dengan susunan kelas baru untuk barisan .
“Aku mau di barisan depan ya teman-teman ,” kata Cera pada teman-teman di sebelas IA empat .
“Iya Cer gak papa . Kita tahu kok alasanmu ,” timpal Ila .
“Hehe pasti karena aku pendek kan ?”
“Iya tapi pasti ada alasan lain . Kamu mau lihat si Masnya jadi petugas kan ?”
“Hussshh ! Jangan keras-keras ! Aku jadi malu .”
Tiga puluh menit sudah berakhir untuk upacara pembukaan MOS . Keringat menetes dari peserta upacara tak terkecuali Cera . Cera mengusap keringat di kening dengan sapu tangan jahitannya sendiri .
Upacara usai semua masuk kelas . Cera ternyata mudah sekali untuk mengakrabkan diri dengan teman barunya di kelas yang baru . Usut punya usut Cera sudah sangat dikenal , sebab selain ia tergolong murid pintar ia juga aktif mengikuti ekstrakurikuler dan organisasi .
Bu Sum guru BK masuk , dengan otomatisnya siswa di kelas Cera membubarkan diri dari acara perkenalan dan duduk di bangku mereka masing-masing .
Bu Sum memberikan pengantar terlebih dahulu bahwa tidak selamanya orang sukses itu berasal dari jurusan IPA . Asalkan ada kemauan semua pasti bisa . Kita harus bisa mengenali sejauh mana kita dapat menggali potensi diri kita .
“Siapa yang mau bercerita tentang apa yang kalian ketahui tentang potensi diri ? Silahkan Ibu persilahkan ,” ucap Bu Sum .
Dengan agak malu-malu Cera memberanikan diri mengacungkan jari .
“Saya Bu .”
“Baiklah . Silahkan Cera .”
“Terimakasih Bu . Saya ini selalu saja dibanding-bandingkan dengan anak lain oleh orang tua atau teman saya . Terkadang saya merasa tertekan . Lantas saya berpikir , kenapa saya mesti mengidolakan mereka dan mengikuti apa yang mereka lakukan . Toh belum tentu saya nyaman dengan apa yang ia lakukan .”
“Begini Cera Ibu mau menyela sebentar cerita kamu .”
“Bagaimana Bu ?”
“Mereka membandingkan kamu tentunya dengan tujuan baik dan ingin memotivasimu agar menjadi lebih baik .”
“Iya Bu saya mengerti tujuan baik mereka . Mereka sering bilang : “Cer hla mbok kamu agak rapi tulisannya kayak si Martya , mbok kamu agak berdandan kayak si Iola , mbok kamu jangan pecicilan , kalem kayak Teri , dan bla-bla sampai telinga saya ini panas .”
“Mereka ingin sikap kamu agar lebih baik ,” jawab Bu Sum .
“Saya mau dan siap dikritik Bu namun saya ya saya tetap Cera yang seutuhnya dengan semua yang apaadanya tak usah berpura-pura jadi orang lain . Saya tetap mengidolakan diri saya sendiri . Bukan tanda saya sombong namun saya kagum dengan diri saya , menerima segala kekurangan dan kelebihan saya . Mengubah kekurangan tersebut menjadi kelebihan yang baik . Berusaha menjadi yang lebih baik lagi dengan peka terhadap sekeliling saya .”
Tepuk tangan mengiringi selesainya cerita Cera yang berbarengan dengan bel istirahat .
“Cer ,” sapa Anto seraya menepuk pundak Cera .
“Napa Ton ?”
“Ilustrasi kamu tadi menggugah hati kami . Thanks Cer ,” ucap Anton sambil buru-buru meninggalkan Cera .
Cera hanya bisa diam mematung tanpa reaksi .


Minggu, 10 Oktober 2010

tristan and isolde

Tristan and Isolde

The heart-rending tale of Tristan and Isolde has gone through its iota of story-telling sessions. The story takes place during medieval times during the reign of King Arthur. The immortality of this tale is quite evident from the way it has been told and retold through numerous stories and manuscripts. Isolde was name of the pretty daughter of the King of Ireland. Her father had chosen King Mark of Cornwall for Isolde and both got engaged. Tristan was nephew of King Mark who sent him to Ireland to escort Isolde back to Cornwall and that’s where the story took a different turn. Love knows no boundaries and never cares for any barriers. 

Isolde and Tristan both sensed a strong sense of attachment and fulfilment in each other. The seeds of love were sown but destiny had something else in store. Isolde had to marry Mark of Cornwall but then heart was longing for Tristan. As a result of that, the love affairbetween the two continued even after her marriage. 

They say, you cannot hide love and King Mark finally came to know about their affair. Tristan was banned from Cornwall but King forgave Isolde. Tristan was forced to move to Brittany where he encountered Iseult and the similarity of her name with Isolde made Tristan felt attracted towards her. He kept looking for signs of Isolde in Iseult and finally decided to marry her. But Tristan’s undying love for Isolde did not let him consummate his marriage with Iseult. His hopes started to fade away and soon grief-stricken Tristan fell severely ill. 

In the deep recess of his heart, Tristan knew Isolde would be able to cure him. He sent for Isolde and if Isolde agreed to come, the sails of returning ship would be white. However, in case the sails are black, that would indicate Isolde has not decided to come. The call of love soon became evident as the sails were white but scorned love is extremely dangerous. Iseult could not accept the return of Isolde and subsequently lied to Tristan and told him that the sails were black. Tristan could not take it and died of grief even before Isolde could reach for her lover. The pain of Tristan’s death did not spare and Isolde either and she died soon after of a broken heart. Though, both of them died yet gave the world something to remember for eternity.