Concealed Sanctuary

Die-hard AoftheH-fans are already familiar with the tragedy of Tiger Park. Once a tranquil oasis of serenity where your mother could walk with you at night and treat you to coconut ice cream, Tiger Park has now devolved into a chaotic and confusing hotbed of disorder. Gone are the days when you could revel in the presence of the grand tiger statue giving the park its name while your family members feel the need spontaneously burst out into song. Instead, you'll be met with the melodious roar of motorcycles, thanks to fearless village teenagers who have transformed the park into their personal racetrack. Amidst this ballet of teenage rebellion, you'll also encounter the poetic, yet incoherent ramblings of the local homeless population as you venture deeper into the park. Their stream of consciousness blends seamlessly with the ambient noise of Chinese dog-walkers engaged in heated verbal exchanges with their Muslim neighbors. And let's not overlook the main spectacle and culprits behind Tiger Park's decline - agitated college students battling both each other and the police. It's like witnessing a live performance of an "Ideological WrestleMania" in what was once a family-friendly oasis.

Floating Bridge of Dreams

The year was 2019, and we embarked on a road trip through 150 miles of bad roads in what some dare to call a car. Our mission? To get ourselves a dose of Rukia, a practice that's about as clear-cut as a Rubik's Cube. Is it Islamic healing or Islamic exorcism? Who cares! We were in it for the giggles. We roped in our nearest and dearest living in the capital city, forming a delightful family reunion of sorts. One after the other, we were exorcised by the ustad and his merry choir boys. After everything was said and done, lo and behold, Aunt J. Heidenreich decided it was high time to let her ancestors take the wheel. She froze for a moment and settled into new mannerisms and facial expressions for an unexpected family reunion! But don't worry, folks; it was all copacetic. Turns out, the Heidenreich ancestral spirits are fans of our shenanigans. Who knew ghosts had such good taste?

Hall of the Golden Hue

Welcome to the "Hall of the Golden Hue," where we cordially invite you to embark on a leisurely stroll through an Indonesian shopping mall on just another average Thursday. As you listen, bask in the glory of smooth jazz that flows like molasses, serenading mall rats who have strategically claimed every available bench like territorial pigeons. And what's this? Coffee for the princely sum of a single dollar, a humble offering to fuel your inevitable shopping fatigue. Relish the art of window shopping, an activity where dreams are as cheap as the air conditioning. Free samples abound, promising little bites of tantalizing mediocrity. As you aimlessly wander, your attention might inadvertently be drawn to the parade of dressed-to-impress women who grace the mall with their presence. Meanwhile, your better half, on a quest for the perfect shoe, will likely take longer than you'd wish and can handle. But fear not, weary traveler, for a passing yet filling all-you-can-eat dinner awaits, as a token trophy for the sore and grumbling legs.