ditz

Male : excuse me..is it 5D?

Female : yes

Male : u’re from Bali?

Female : yes, back from work. u?

Male : goin to Jakarta from Tokyo. Transit in Denpasar..what a long flight!

Female : haha..i thought u were a Japanese..since you seemed to look like them.

Male : that’s what the airport crew thought too..they’d be surprise to know i could speak Javanese also..hahaha

Female : i bet they would. hey..they give a nice meals..

Male : yup, not every airplane treats us like this right? the cheaper the minimum we got.

Female : indeed. u were on holiday in Tokyo?

Male : yup, got a brother in law there, don’t have to worry bout the accomodation..haha

Female : lucky u..i plan to go visiting Japan sometimes..

Male : yeah, u should go there. wonderful places to go. Women especially love Shibuya for shopping..and it’s beautiful there seeing trees in the middle of the building in town.

Female : wow..nice view i guess? hey look, we were inside the cloud!

Male : yup, kind of weird seeing those white cotton cloud from the window. u prefer flying at night or at noon?

Female : prefer night, even though u can’t see anything..

Male : yeah..hey, the pilot has announced the preparation for landing. Hang on..

Female : yup, thanks God we’ve arrived..

Male : somebody pick u up?

Female : yup, another long way to home.

Male : lukcy me, my home is near the airport. So, nice chatting with u..

Female : ok, thanks for helping with my bag. Bye there..

Male : Bye..

To be or not to be, that is the question—
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep—
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to — ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep—
To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.