Love which never fails - from Our Daily Bread November 2012

Nowhere To Hide 
--------------------
I smelled something burning, so I hurried to the kitchen. Nothing was on the stove or in the oven. I followed my nose through the house. From room to room I went, eventually ending up downstairs. My nose led me to my office and then to my desk. I peeked beneath it and there, peering back at me with big eyes pleading for help, was Maggie, our dog, our very “fragrant” dog. What smelled like something burning when I was upstairs, now had the distinct odor of skunk. Maggie had gone to the farthest corner of our house to escape the foul smell, but she couldn’t get away from herself.

Maggie’s dilemma brought to mind the many times I have tried to run away from unpleasant circumstances only to discover that the problem was not the situation I was in but me. Since Adam and Eve hid after sinning (Gen. 3:8), we’ve all followed their example. We run away from situations thinking we can escape the unpleasantness—only to discover that the unpleasantness is us.

The only way to escape ourselves is to stop hiding, acknowledge our waywardness, and let Jesus wash us clean (Rev. 1:5). I am grateful that when we do sin, Jesus is willing to give us a brand-new start.

From the wondrous cross on Calvary
Flows the stream that still avails,
Cleansing hearts and bringing victory
Through that love which never fails. —Elliott

Sin’s contamination requires the Savior’s cleansing.

http://www.odb.org/

Life as We Know it

Life, I believe, is a series of bizarre, puzzled events. I remember three years ago taking picture of me and three other friends back in Melbourne. We gathered to cook together in one fine lazy summer day in our bright and sunny kitchen. The day was beautiful and we thought of having some traditional chicken meal, full of herbs and spices. So there we were, ready to cook. While cooking, I took their pictures with some funny, bizarre poses, like the act of one of them holding a knife and ready to stab the other, scolding each other like a landlord to their slave [in a funny way of course], etc. I put the pictures on Facebook and everyone was laughing and thought the pictures were really funny.

Now, three years later.  I work in this city, the other was just got wed yesterday, very happy with life, the other is taking doctoral study in Melbourne again, and the other, unfortunately have just passed away three weeks ago. I remember when a friend of mine, who is a mutual friend of us, called me one Sunday afternoon, that A just had his last breath an hour before. It came as a shock to me. I called T and other friends to tell the bad news. He wast just at his early thirties, 31 perhaps. God, he's just too young. Too cheerful, too lively, to die. He was such a vibrant, bubbly, helpful person. He helped everyone with smile and sincere motivation.  Just to imagine that A died, quiet, sick, struggling to breath, and finally silent forever, is too hard to do. He had none of those qualities, because he's always full with life. Anyway, he died. All of us were crying til the next morning. We did not really speak each other, but all were in grief. We felt the pain of imagining that a life was taken from someone so cheerful, at a very young age. Tears were running down from our eyes, we could not control.  

Three weeks after that,  it's time to feast.  The wedding day of our friend. Our close friend, a friend of A too. Friends, family, everyone, gathered in festivities. Happy, smiley faces around. Food and beverages were all around. The joy of the two families celebrating their newly bonded children. Sharing stories, sharing dreams, sharing life, sharing future. Life is good. Everyone danced till the party's over with nice songs on the background. So freely, so warm, so full of life, the happy crowd was. Such a nice wedding party. Sorrow was swept away under the carpet. It's time for celebration!

And then, party's over. I came back to my life as I know it. Thinking of unfinished reports, papers, articles, tickets, Christmas, New Year and so on. Feels like things are getting their way to their normal places again in my brain, occupying my mind, right at where they were when I started putting make ups and left for the party. 

And life...it gets back to its normal mode once more for me. With the anxiety of the future, with the curiosity of what it might bring me.

And it's November, almost the end of the year. Time for reflection, time for looking back what we have done this year, to see what we'll be doing next year.

It's just life as we know it. With its sorrows. With its pain. With its happiness.

Life indeed, as I know it,  is a series of bizarre, puzzled events.

     

Crashed plane

Here's another horror story of my nightmare. This time again about airplane crash. It's getting much, getting more frequent. This was really a nightmare about airplane crash, as the previous one that I wrote before in this blog, it's just that that one occurred because of Sukhoi crash (too overwhelmed with the incident's news), while this one was a mix of: 1) too many flight searching during the day time (saw too many airlines' name)
2) watching Sriwijaya Air plane stranded in an alien airport because of poor navigation system (?).  
3) hearing too many jet fighters flew upon the sky in this area.

As a result, I dreamt of me and some friends standing in a place looked like an airport runway, watching for many different planes to land on it. They looked awesome, I could not recall other airlines, only Garuda's blue mascot that I could recall. They landed smoothly. Until one Batavia Air plane came to touch down. But it looked strange. It was just too big, and too fast. And the sound was just too thunder-like. I looked at it with horror. I said to a friend 'No, it would not crash, would it? It's just too fast isn't it?' My friends have not replied yet when we heard that thunder sound, and smokes from where the airplane touched the runway. We said each other, 'It's really a crash!' With pale horrific faces, we ran into near the Batavia Air plane. Grey smokes all around, and we heard sound of siren here and there. People were screaming. I was frozen. 'This is nightmare', I told myself, 'This can't be true'.

And I woke up, perspired. My back was wet wit sweats. Thanks God, it was just a dream. A nightmare.   

I want to know what makes you happy

It's been quite sometimes since I wrote something here. I wrote many other pieces of writing: reports, emails, minutes of meetings, diagrams, charts, structures, blah blah blah, here and there at work. I've almost suffocated I feel like I almost lose my clarity on the most important topic: life itself. 

This morning, a friend posted a question on her Facebook status: "I want to know what makes you happy".   An intriguing question indeed. Some of her friends have put many different interesting ideas like 'to be loved by someone', 'to have everything', 'still breathing', etc.  

I popped in and answered: 'the fact that I'm alive now, and knowing where I'll be heading off afterlife'. Oh well, I know this is not an interesting sentence at all to some people. Too serious I know. But no, I was not joking around. I'm trying to tell the truth. I love to tell the truths because it's true. Call me not creative, but that's exactly the answer I've been thinking about. I cannot think of something else that "I am happy now, while I'm alive, and happy knowing where I'll be heading off afterlife...." 

The seeming unfairness of life

The seeming unfairness of life demands that we keep our eyes on Him and His Word—not on others.

Lord, I admit that my focus at times gets drawn
to others and what they have. Forgive me and
help me to stop grumbling. You are good to me
and provide what I need. Thank You. Amen.

All you need to know to be content is this: God is good.

Our Daily Bread, 18 October 2012

Let this remains a reminder for me, today, that I should not envy what others have. God has HIS own way to show HIS grace and justice.

When I finally encountered Aida

I watched Aida, the popular opera show in Melbourne, back in 2010 or 2009 in the Arts Centre. It's beautiful, though I sometimes missed the points, as it was played in Italian, not English (was there subtexting? I can't recall).

Why in the world a person from Kupang, West Timor, Indonesia, -not so artistic one, would eager to watch Aida in her lifetime? I mean, spending dozens of dollar to purchase the ticket was something considered a waste for a poor student like me at that time. But, why I was so keen to do so, spending some of the money I collected with sweat (well, working as a cleaning service could cause someone to perspire), to watch an opera that I bet, not so many people would have the interest to watch? 

Easy, I tell you why. I used to fill too many crosswords in Kompas Sundays long long time ago back home. Many times I found (by learning week by week), that "the name of the opera written by Verdi", is AIDA. Who's Verdi? Who's Aida? What is opera? I totally had no idea back then. I was just happy that finally I would not have to leave the space for the four letter boxes empty anymore. I knew the word: AIDA.  

I wasn't that obsessed with Aida, but indeed I was very hungry about any kind of information: I didn't have many books, I read my father's books; I read newspapers; I read magazines, anything I could get in my sight. So when the internet era came, I was soooo.... relieved, imagine, the world of information, all unfolded in front of me, on the screen of a computer! That's where I started to learn about Aida further. That it's about the story of people in Egypt. Below is the short synopsis from Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aida):

"Overview: Aida, an Ethiopian princess, is captured and brought into slavery in Egypt. A military commander, Radamès, struggles to choose between his love for her and his loyalty to the Pharaoh. To complicate the story further, Radamès is loved by the Pharaoh's daughter Amneris, although he does not return her feelings".

Well, to short the story, I watched Aida that cold winter night in Melbourne Arts Centre. I loved it. It's like, one of my childhood dreams came true. The dream was revealed to me that cold winter night.

The first and second sins on Earth and why they're still relevant to our modern day world

From the Bible, clearly that human being committed sin for the first time because of:

Eve and Adam:
-wanted to live forever like God

Cain:
-envy

Let's look at the advertisement of these modern day world:
-anti aging products
-supplement food this and that [for a longer life]
-the beautiful faces, hair, skin, eyes, limbs, etc, of the advertising models that are put on the magazines, newspapers, banner on the streets, our TV screens, etc. these are faces that make us feel bad, ugly and need more of the products that are sold to improve our self-image and self-esteem.

These are exactly what the industries out there tell us to do: you can increase your age and look young every time; or; something wrong is going on with you, it's curable, -through consuming and applying our products!

Is this mean....the industrialists are selling sins and capitalizing on the desires of a human being?

Am I right? Or am I exaggerating things here?

The best dreams happen when you're awake

Many days I did stupid things. But not so may days I laughed at myself, in a satirical way. You know, when you feel so low you feel anything you do or your existence, does not matter at all to the Earth that spins normally as it always had been, with or without you or your life stories (no matter it's so bad it equals to Greek tragedy). No matter how tragic it is/was,/has been, no matter how much attention and you deserve for all the pains you bear alone. For the wounds you carry that no one really knows how bad it is.  

There is a point in life you just imagining things, have daydreams, just to realize that when you wake up, you find yourself make fun of yourself of having such stupid imagination, that you can't even stop giggle at just recalling it.
Then I remember a quote I read a few days ago:
"The best dreams happen when you're awake".
So true....
So when I awoke, I saw myself, and I laughed, because I found things different as East to the West.
Those, whatever I dreamt of, surely happened when I was asleep, they, for sure are not the best dreams.. , at least according to the quote.
And I'd say ..Amen!

*Let's just say this is my picture when I realized that I just woke up, I found that I needed to laugh, at myself @-@*

Jane Eyre and the reality

..is a stark contrast.
I read Jane Eyre just last night. In about 6 to 8 hours, I finished the 600-something pages novel right away (the Indo translation). I remember the last time I read something that fast was for Pramoedya's tetralogy (which one I quite forget), Da Vinci Code, and a book about Mossad's operation in Middle East somewhere (it's fast paced plot so I was intrigued to complete it). Anyhow, what struck me about Jane Eyre is that this character is so similar to mine, and perhaps, many of my female friends' I reckoned.  We dreamt of being heroine like her, strong in character, independent, free, has dignity. In our time of emancipation, I knew person like her, many, I'd say that include my own, 'though of course, less novel and dignified than her and her character. But a male character like Edward Rochester, or St. John Rivers is not so many in stock today in real life. That's why many women love to read romance stories like this, like any other Austen's stories and ample of those from Victorian's era., because it's like something they can find only in books, in novels, not in reality. That helps them to escape the real life, entering the vague state of dreaming, of personification of characters like this Rochester guy, or Mr. John Thornton in Gaskell's North and South or, eh, of course, Mr. Darcy in Austen's legendary Pride and Prejudice.

pic from: http://newspaper.li/static/8d96f0c744f4d4b7ec1cf99e42ded44f.jpg

So my opinion is, if we want to look for characters for model of our novels such as those aforementioned, don't look the models from real life. One will face a shortage of male models I suppose. I reckoned that reality bites, and it hurts sometimes, to me, to my friends. It's just my guess. Raw and unsubstantiated, but of course, I have the rights to tell stupid things, or any non sense in here. I can, can't I? [I'll find the DVD this weekend by the way, to see if it fits the book, because I found North and South's novel is much mesmerizing than the miniseries, too much spices and to much skips of events].

When you supposed to be happy for someone else...

...but you felt hard to.
It's kind of difficult to describe the feeling, it's not envy, but it's not really empathy either..
Since I know that other's happiness should be celebrated, especially if that person's your close friend, I found myself not sincere, and that brings a sort of guilty feeling of not being solider with one's friend.
But why does it's really, actually hard to do it? Especially, when this person's fate, is much different than that of your own.  180 degrees difference.
Is it just me being human?
I mean, let's compare. Errr, not now.
But to be honest, yes, destiny is the biggest separator between us.
Destiny brought in a plate for the other person a large slice of a tasty tiramisu, and brought me what, a small, oily and unshaped corn fritter? They both edible, but in a difference way.
When the other person told about his/her planning [let's say I'd feel safer to avoid gender classification, I'd just use 'they'], I felt like a dagger was just stabbed at my very heart.
It's a sweet story, but it caused me bleeding inside.

From Watatita, the Jakarta Globe.

It's like, they told me something I lack of, or not capable of. Blatantly put the facts (about them, not about me) right in front of my face.
They never thought that it somehow could have hurt me, but the ironic sense of  mine about 'Here I am telling you the story you do not have' of some sort, was just obvious. It's just hurtful.
But it's not their fault at all, it's my own, I must admit.
It's my own fault that I felt that way.
Should I just be happy for him/her? Can I not? And why?

I think, it's me just being a human with faults and mistakes.
It's me, who needs to take some time when hiking a hilly slope before I am able to get used with the altitude and the hilly path.
It's me, just want to take a deep breath and not being suffocated, to clean my lung with fresh air, inhale the pure oxygen of sincerity and spit out the carbon dioxide of envy and jealousy and covert.
I should and I could be happy for someone else, with deep sincerity as I mostly do the rest of my life to others .
Even if it feels like suffocated, I must, cause life must go on.
And if I say I believe in God, then I must act godly, not devilish like this.

People come, people go

Errrrr...you know when you have a crush for someone, right away. But at the same time, you know it's practically impossible to develop anything. Why? Many reasons you can think of. Distance, time difference, age, status, religion, lifestyle, work, race, anything. And oh, timing of course.

If it's just a crush, then it's just a crush. When the event is over, it's over. When you shake their hands, bid a farewell or goodbye, au revoir, you know right away, suddenly, that they're gone. Disappear from your life, back into their life, their normal life. And you into yours. Your own hassles and baffles. Hectic days.  That your object of admiration, or crush, or whatever you call it, had gone from your sight, and most likely, from your life too, for good. The curtain's dropped. The stage's equipment are packed. The actors change their customs into their daily normal outfits. The story, sadly, must be ended, here and now. The narrator of the play said so, and so it was.

Yes, people come and people go. There's no chance that some people will stay because they don't meant to stay. For you, for anything. Their home is not here. It's in some alien continent faraway. They just paid a visit, business visit, official visit, other than personal visit. They were gone. And you turned your sad face away from others' sight because you know that it had come to an end. The end of your little admiration secret story that you've had for only a couple of days. The story that was so insignificant but making you feel like you are just part of the human race, -and not phantom nor robot, who have feelings and pains, and can hurt and feel the sorrow too.

Comparing two single women's life..and end thereof

From www.anna morten.com

How one's life is meaningful, or useless, depends on how he/she lives their life. It's a choice, a free will, I reckon (with an exception of those who can't control their depression level due to biological reason beyond their control). I just read in Detiknews about a tragic story few days ago, when a woman, 49 years old, committing suicide by jumping off from Semanggi Flyover during busy working hour in the afternoon. She fell down, bumped into a Trans J bus' roof, hitting another car's roof, before finally kissing the street below the flyover. I couldn't stand to think of the pain she felt before she died.


Just today, there was an information revealed from a family member: a younger sister of her, who told the press that her sister killed herself because she has not been married at that age (49). Oh wow, I know that many people feel stressful about their single life. How frustrated a friend felt when she found herself almost run out of the biological clock; or how frustrated a friend to see her other friends put their children's pictures on the social media, either to show up, or simply just sharing the happy moments with their family and friends. I mean, perhaps it's normal to feel the pressure from our society to get married. But, whoa, could that be a reason for someone to commit suicide? This woman has proved so [unless her sister did not tell the truth to the police]. 


Let's move to a different scenario. This is a story of another single woman. About the same age, forty something. Single, never married. Working as a researcher or something. A friend's friend. She passed away too at similar age, between 45 or 50. Her whole life was spent to help people around her. She lived in a kampung, her neighbors were poor people, because that's all she could afford with her salary. If I'm not mistaken, she lived a very honest and humble life. When provided with opportunity to receive bribe or corrupt, she declined, and she rather lived at the level of her salary, not over. She helped the poor neighbor's child to go to school, she visited her friends during the difficult times, visiting the needy people, gave comfort to those she knew who were in sorrow. Just like she radiated love through her life, the love that she has abundantly. A life, worth to remember. Even long after she died because of cancer, her friends still talk about her humble and valuable life.


What's so different about these two's life? It is on the "Giving life a meaning" part, to their life. The difference is that the other woman has failed to give meaning to her life, while the other one has worked on it very well, and died in dignity. 

"The Insider" the movie, and the memories left behind

Before my attempt to have a nap this afternoon, I felt like I was having loads of ideas to write on this blog. But then I involved in quite a long thread of WhatsApp conversation with family and friends. After that, my eyes were still sore, but they refused to shut and I could not sleep at all, don't know why. I was too lazy to connect to internet and all the hassles of even turn on the computer. Nor television. 

After watching an almost 2 hours duration of The Insider, I was a bit affected and tired of watching anything audio visual. The story is about a whistle blower in a prominent and powerful tobacco company , namely Brown and Williamson in the US. Somehow, even in a very minuscule scale, I felt a sort of bond with the story. I myself have been in a sort of similar situation. I remember the accusation in the movie against Dr. Wigand: "poor communication skills".  I received the same accusation too when I was in Ox***. I was sent a Power Point presentation file from the Regional Director that explains how to communicate in a more 'polite', diplomatic way, not hurting or offense other people. So my problem was "poor communication skills" too. Helloooo...those who were offended by my 'communication' were those who were guilty of oppressing their subordinates, and when I 'communicated' it (without mentioning any names, without pointing out fingers to certain people), they felt offended. The plot is classic. Looking for the whistle blower's past mistakes, threaten the whistle blower, and the broken promise of protecting his/her identity.  An agreement of confidentiality, that's also what I've signed before I departed, -through my lawyers from a local Legal Aid Foundation.

Darn, I was just telling my story to a friend last night, and today I watched the movie that resembles my case. I thought I buried my story for quite long already. And suddenly it came out like resurrecting from the grave. Making me recall those days when I went round and round to the legal aid office for series of consultation, alone. When I stayed up late to type my case's chronology alone with the radio and television only accompanying me. When I was angry being told to stay off the office and they took my SIM card away and asked me to return all office's properties, and guarded me away from the office like a criminal. When I must face all the unjust trials that all ended up with only one kind of decision: that I was guilty. All the bitter memories I swept under my conscience. 

But no, I chose not to lost the battle of guts. Not to be defeated by the evil I fought. Not to be a bitter person that they expected me to be. I stopped, took breath, and by divine intervention, I got the scholarship that I'd been attempted to pursue for so many years. I believe, the divine power knew what time's best for me. HE did not give me the award in the previous, or the previous, or previous year, because those were not the years I most needed it. The year I most needed the scholarship was the year I'd just been tortured. The scholarship was meant to heal my wounds. I believe HE knew, HE just knew which one's best. It's not a coincident. So I must learn more and more, to trust everything in HIM. Every single thing.

A glimpse from the past: the power of a dream (part 2)

This is a different story with Part 1, but it shares similarity with Part 1: the place of origin. It's from Rote Island once again. But this time it's my Mom's story (and oh, incidentally, today's her 69th birthday!).

She went to school in Baa, the capital of the island because the family lived there. Her mother was a widow with 6 kids to raise and pieces of lands here and there. Her mother's father was a sort of elder of a small kingdom back then (Rote's already a small island, but there were ample of small small kingdoms there), and they actually had pieces of land, gold and jewelries, but because of the strong patriarchal culture of the Rotinese, most inheritances went under the management of the father's male family members (be it uncle, cousins, etc). And one cannot always expect those who have blood ties to be kind to the deceased's widow and children, so they got only small parts of the inheritance, and my mom's mother did not protest it, and always tried to make it enough with what she had to feed her children.

Almost similar to my dad's story, my mom also lost a parent in the very early year of her life. Her father passed away when she was around two years old, 1945, the same year the younger brother was born. Her late father was a local reverend, whose salary was paid by the Dutch government, so a kind of civil servant actually. The difference with my dad was that my mom's mother had never remarried after her husband passed away, unlike my dad's father who remarried and had seven (!) more children from the second marriage.

Massive poverty blanketed the population of Rote Island those days. Mom said that she and her friends those days have not so many choices for their daily diet, so they sometimes must looked for and ate those kind of edible maggots, which habitat is on the inside of tree trunk, as alternative protein source. The taste is, "..a bit sweet if you grill them well", she recalled. Ooouuch...... Those were not so good days, after WW II, the country was not yet consolidated into a 'real' country, political turmoil in Jakarta I suppose (1950s) and they lived in an island, a tiny little island thousands kilometer away from Jakarta, and politically not influenced, so it must have not on the priority list of the young nation of Indonesia. My mom also remember the first time she looked and tasted crystal sugar (I mean, sugar as we know now, to differentiate it with palm sugar or brown sugar which was the only sweetener she knew those days) with awe, admiring the crystal-like granules like it's something luxurious, because it's expensive and not everyone can have it at their house. Also when she touched ice at the first time (somebody must have just brought refrigerator to the island). She was like..wow ..so coooold... and also about the the plain rice porridge that they had to eat everyday, to save rice stock (I understood then why until now plain rice porridge is still her favorite!). And about many other "newly invented" things that we take for granted these days that were luxurious those days.

Anyhow, the schooling went quite well, despite the severe poverty her family sunk into, as the majority of the population was too. But there was no senior high school in the island that time. So after completing her junior high school (Grade 9), she had a pause. Her mother had a plot for her. Since she's the youngest daughter, her mother planned her to stay in Rote, get married and take care of her mother. My mom used to follow her older siblings to the paddy field and observed carefully how they worked. From planting season to harvest season. All traditional of course, no rice machinery to mill paddy, so all must be done manually. No tractor to work the soil either. She said that one day when she's working in the field, she said to herself, "I'm not gonna spend the rest of my life doing this. I don't like it and I don't think I'm strong enough to keep doing it", and wondering what she could do to be free from the work. Oh well, she cheated too sometimes, of course. Kids. Sometimes she ran away from the crowd who were going to work, and were playing somewhere else instead, and ignited some complains from her older sisters who worked hard in the end of the day.

Her 'saved by the bell' moment finally came to pass. Her older sister who worked as a teacher in the primary school nearby, got married with a Rotinese guy from Kupang (the town in other island, the province's capital). Since her sister's husband lived and worked in Kupang as a teacher, her sister moved to Kupang as well. She captured it as an opportunity. She was a bit panicked because her mother had an even clearer plan for her: matchmaking her with an officer who worked at the local synod's office so that she could get married soon, and to find her a job in that office too. She was horrified with the plan. What?? A Grade 9 graduate get married, at her age? Definitely not. She decided that she's going to escape the mother's plan. The academic year had commenced at that time, and she had not made it into senior high school yet since she stayed in Rote. So she got an idea. She told her mother that she missed her sister and was going to visit her in Kupang. Her mother allowed, knowing that it's just gonna be a visit. Without her mother's knowledge, she packed her clothes in jars that supposed to be filled with rice, palm sugar and other stuff for her sister. She runaway from home, from her mother's plan, in practice. It was around October or so, end 1950s (1958 perhaps). She persuaded her sister to look for school. And she could only get into SGKP, Sekolah Guru Kepandaian Putri, a pariah school, she said, that's why she was allowed to enroll: not all seats were filled in October. She did not like it, she liked maths and exact subjects, and she would prefer to go to general senior high school, but no regular school opened for enrollment anymore that time. At least going to school and not staying in Rote or get married young, she thought. So there she was.

Completing the school, she went to continue at the local university, where it was more costly. So she had to stay in at the house of one of the rich aunt from her mother side. A prominent family they were in Kupang at that time. They had a big house at the conjuction of Straat A in Kupang. Many young relatives who were studying in Kupang stayed there (pretty common those days, to stay in a relative's house if one's parents' live in kampung), and the husband and wife were so disciplined it seemed like the students (despite the family ties) went into slavery. They must wash the clothes and other garments (curtains, bed cover etc) with hands, hundred meters away from the house, walking (going with dry laundry was OK, mom said, but return with soaked laundry, was a nightmare!). Washing them with tapioca powder. And there could not be any dot of stain or dirt stayed in the garment, or the aunt would take it off from the clothes line and drop it off so they got dirty again, and they had to do the same thing once more. Frustrating. In addition, they must teach the children of the uncle and aunt at night, and the kids were not the smart ones, even more frustrating. They also had to flush the toilet after the family members (parents and kids) used it (yukks, disgusting!). Mom said she could get through all the troubles just because of her dream to be better educated, so she could have more choices, rather than simply one choice that her mother had chosen for her. That's the education at its heart, I conclude: to provide one with more than one choices. Cannot agree more.







 

Don't Analyze, Save Your Brain Cells

I love this city actually. But I don't really like to get into it too much. This is just one stop over another. Because if I have to use my brain too much thinking about how unregulated the city is, I will be in total disappointment. Everywhere you walk, you see things that can make you sick. And it's just what I am able to see, in my perspective, in my limited view. What more that I am not able to say, that is out of my view? Worse for sure, just read the newspaper and no need a genius to conclude.

Today, I got on to the public transport, sort of minivan (mikrolet), and found a long line of traffic jam in a conjunction near to the mosque in J-pdg. It was an unnecessary long line apparently, because that's happened simply because there were 3 pak ogah trying to "regulate" the motorists at the conjunction. There's traffic lights there for sure, but they took the initiative like there's no law at all. And people let them, because I was sure they were too tired to fight or protest. At about the same time there was a junkie jumped into the minivan and started his semi-threaten sentence that's typical to this kind: "I used to be a criminal, but I want to be a good person, so you'd better help by by giving me some money".. Oh gosh, I've seen this a lot in the bus. I have a personal policy on that: get off the vehicle the minute that kind of guy get in. So I jumped off. And then I found that out of sense congested road.

On my way back, I thought of the resemblance of this city (the capital of this nation state, which reflect the state herself) and an unlawful country, wild wild West, like in the cowboy movies. A jungle. Where there's no rule, where the most dare person wins. Where the most risk taker wins. Where the strongest wins. Where the weak, those who don't have much bargaining power lose. The winner takes it all, as ABBA says. Fragile state I must say, though the scholars may not agree because the phrase refers to something else. But I'd insist to use it. Or should I say weak state? Stateless?

My brain cells protested. I should not use them to think about these things. Period.


Pic from: swaberita.com

A glimpse from the past: the power of a dream (Part 1)

Just got back from my uncle's house in the southern outskirt of the Jak-city. He now lives with his wife alone, both of them in that pretty big house. All kids have left home and live on their own. Next month, on the 25th, my uncle will meet his 80th birthday. He doesn't look that old 'though. All his siblings have passed away, younger or older, includes my dad, who were 9 years younger than him who passed away 5 years ago, or even my other (step) aunt, who were 19 years younger than him, who passed away last month. He's been through a lot in his life. Most of his friends have also passed away.

I always like to talk with him. His voice resembles my late father's voice, very much. His face is also resembled my dad too. I remember when he was sitting in my dad's funeral that night, and some people were surprised, shock actually to look at him because of their resemblance. Anyway, I and my uncle talked about things like politics, health, education, quality of teachers, etc that night (most of my family and relatives were or are teachers, so criticizing the current educational system is like, well, our 'snacks' for chit chat :). Then he told me the story of how he went to school during those difficult days:

Note: one of the typical paddy field in Rote Island., I took the pic in 2010

He was born in 1932, and he went to school in Busalangga, a small village in Roti Island in 1938. The big family lived there by then. I recall my dad told me the story that his father's father 'migrated' to Busalangga from other 'county' (Termanu) and settled there. It's not clear what the great grandfather did, but the old Matheos (aka my grand father) worked as a teacher and a sort of preacher (Gospel teacher) there. Those days, primary school in that village had only up to 4th Grade. So in year 4 (1942), my uncle dropped out because of Japan invasion. He then became a sheep herder, guarding goats and sheep around the area for about a year off from school. It was probably unstable and hectic days until 1943 with all the transition and changes (including her mother's death in 1943 after giving birth to a baby girl who was also died after that, -my dad's younger sister, who also died soon after the mother passed away. Note: I got this story from my late dad, who was only 2 years old when these things happened).

One day, he walked too far with the herds, to the small town of Baa, the center of government and trading  activities (albeit the tiny scale). He saw and met some of his friends from Class 4, who were in Class 6 by then. He asked them how to go back to school, and even came to the teacher and asked about the possibility of joining the school again with his friends. The teacher said "We love to have you back to school, but sorry, you have to start at Grade 5, and not 6". He argued, "But my friends are in Grade 6?". "No, sorry but that's how the regulation is, take it or leave it". So he took it, started again at Grade 5 in 1944, I suppose.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), the school had limited number of teachers, students and classrooms. So what happened was, Grade 5 and 6 were taught in the same room, with 2 blackboards but sharing teacher and room. So the teacher would have written questions for Grade 6 and Grade 5 in different boards, but students could look into each other's questions. So my uncle often did the work of Grade 6 students. The teacher finally let him counted as Grade 6, together with his other friends.

After "graduated" from primary school, he again took some time off, until he found that there was a kind of course in Baa, a course to be a teacher, two years in duration and again, he persuaded the teacher to join, but rejected in the beginning. But because they lacked students, he was allowed to join after all. He didn't really know what actually to do after that, and hope was diminished because he had no idea of what he had to do after completing that school, but becoming a village teacher.

Then came the enlightenment, a man who offered him a dream, an idea. That continuing education was possible for a villager kid like him. It's the old Rev. Octavianus (still young at that time, of course:). He said, "David, you know what, you can go to High School in Kupang (the province's capital) for free, if you become the best of your classmates". The idea was injected to his mind: "that if you're smart enough, you'll get the ticket out of here, out of this island". The spirit intoxicated him, he learned like crazy.

And well, out of  his friends' prediction, he got the best marks! He recalled that night, "My principal invited me to his house, to have a dinner with his family that night. We ate good food with his wife and children. Then he congratulated me and said, 'You'd better get prepared because you'll go to Kupang very soon'. And that meant only one thing: that I made it!". The principal handed him a certificate (? not sure I remember this part) and beautiful, seemed expensive pen, with a card (?can't remember this part either) that has the picture and autograph of Eastern Indonesia Republic back then (I suppose it was Mr. Sukawati, 1947, I just Googled it :). Then he was having an euphoria attack. Utterly excited with the winning sensation, he thanked the principal and kept running and running through the total darkness to his house, to inform his father that he gets it. I cannot imagine how he could do it (he could not imagine either :). I know the road from Baa to Busalangga, I've been there. It is dark as hell, It's total dark bring the stars and sky above so very close, like they're hanging and going to fall into the Earth. And I'm talking about year 2010 AD, meaning, not so long ago.  But back in the 1940's? I don't dare imagine the darkness, and with all the horror stories about the former battlefield along the road (among the ethnic sub-groups), which was common back then), I was almost convinced that he had a trance that night :).  He rushed, bumped into his father, hugged him tight, and reported what he'd just been told to his father.

Then the story ends.

Time was up, almost 9 pm and I must go back because I'd take a pretty long trip back to my kost from their house. I bade them goodbye and he walked me to the fence gate.

PS:
I know that later he continued to Kupang, and then Mataram and then to Bandung. That's why he ended up in Jakarta, becoming a public official at the capital's Education Office back then until he retired. I always wonder why he, a smart person like him, did not continue his study to at least bachelor degree (he just got his diploma for 3 or 4 years degree or Sarjana Muda). Apparently, I heard that it was because of his involvement in PNI that was a close ally to PKI, the communist party, at that time. After New Order, Suharto's era, he was banned from taking any opportunities I assume, which was common during the Suharto's regime.  People who have family ties with PKI were even totally banned from being public servants or anything close to public professions. That's the bad scar the autocrat made in our country's history.
  

One fine Saturday morning, just news excerpts

Really, I have not much things to write down now, so let's see, I probably would only summarize what I read recently. Only those 10 first news I can recall right now.
1: Ravi hatred case in New Jersey (from NYT)
2: Afghanistan mass killing by US soldier
3: Afghanistan killing due to Koran burning
4: Israel vs Iran vs US nuclear dispute
5: The Sun Storm
6: Gubernur election DKI
7: Demo BBM
8: Infotainment
9: PSSI dispute
10: Anti pornography task force established by SBY, another stupidity

Sooo..since the world is still running out there with its hush and rush, -oh, beside the two serious threats to our life in this planet: nuclear and the sun explosion.
Really, other than that, let's just do what we have to do. Have a nice weekend!

New hairdo

OK here's the story.
Last month I went to a beauty salon, impulsively. Just got in without a plan, feeling that my hair was too long.
I asked them to cut it short.
But, ooh, it was a bit too short.
Then I left it thinking I was gonna be all right.
Wrong.
Every morning and every time I was in a windy environment, my hair was so worryingly 'unregulated'
Messy.
Then one day I thought, 'That's too much, I gotta solve this crazy hair problem'.
So I once again visited the salon, and asked them to smoothing it.
I know that smoothing would not make my hair too straight like straw, or like Korean celebrities.
But alas, after the long, tiring process, I looked at it, and voila!
My hair now looked like...bunch of straw! And like Korean artists wannabe!
So I gotta fixed it every morning, still.
Again facing a problem, just a different one: now I gotta roll them every morning, or they will look so straight that it looks like my head was just being ironed.
Risky step risky outcome.
But though, I tend to look for a bright side of every single event in life.
This one is not an exception.
Soo, what did I do?
Experiment with the straightened hair style.
Ha ha ha

*The pic here was taken almost a week after the 'smoothing' :)

Back to 80's

Sesaat saya pikir saya berada di mesin waktu. Tadi siang sepulang dari salon untuk mengurusi rambut saya yang berantakan, hujan gerimis di luar.  Dari lokasi salon itu, saya harus berjalan kaki sekitar 200 meter untuk sampai ke tempat di mana saya bisa mendapatkan angkot yang menuju ke rumah saya. Saat berjalan ke luar diiringi dengan ucapan selamat jalan dari mbak-mbak salon itu, saya baru sadar bahwa ini sudah hampir pukul setengah dua siang dan saya belum makan siang.

Saya terus mengayunkan kaki sambil berpikir, jika da warung yang nampak menjanjikan di pinggir jalan ini, saya akan berhenti untuk makan di situ. Saya sempat berhenti dan masuk ke dalam sebuah warung mi ayam dan bakso, di mana ada satu keluarga, bapak, ibu dan anak balita yang sedang makan di meja yang berbeda. Tempatnya agak kotor tapi masih bisa ditolerir. Tapi saat saya mencari-cari pemiliknya di mana, saya jadi ragu, karena melihat keluarga itu menaruh sepatu anaknya di atas meja makan. Selera makan saya mendadak hilang. Saya pun lanjut berjalan.

Sudah 50 meter dari tempat saya seharusnya menyetop angkot, namun belum ada warung juga yang seperti saya bayangkan. Akhirnya, sekitar 5 meter dari tepi jalan raya, ada sebuah warung kecil mi ayam dan bakso (juga), dengan sebuah gerobak mi ayam mengepul-ngepul di depannya. Saya pun berbelok masuk dan memesan semangkuk mi ayam dan segelas jeruk panas.

Duduk di bangku panjang di bawah atap menjulur dari warung kecil itu, saya mengamati pembeli lainnya: seorang ibu muda di dalam kios warung itu dan sepasang suami istri sekitar 30-an akhir di samping depan saya. Sang istri berjilbab gelap dan sang suami agak botak. Tukang mi ayam membawakan pesanan saya, dan sambil menunggu pembeli lainnya, ia duduk dan mendengarkan radio.

Karena Facebook dari HP sangat membosankan (saya membaca sedikit update dan kemudian merasa bosan), sayapun melihat-lihat sekeliling. Warung ini bersambungan dengan sebuah salon kecantikan juga, namun tampak tidak terlalu jelas papannya, hanya selembar spanduk yang hurufnya pun kecil-kecil, tergantung dari tirisan atap sampai hampir menutupi bagian atas daun pintu masuknya. Harganya standar: cuci blow xxx rupiah, masker dan creambath: xxxx rupiah, rebonding: mulai 200 ribu rupiah, dan seterusnya.

Setelah itu saya sadar bahwa lagu-lagu yang dari tadi terdengar, kedengaran seperti lagu lama. Suaranya seperti suara Tomi J. Pisa, penyanyi tahun 80'an yang terkenal dengan kecengengannya. Kami di rumah menjulukinya penyanyi kesayangan Menteri Transportasi karena semua lagunya selalu berkaitan dengan moda transportasi: entah itu berpisah di terminal bis, atau stasiun kereta, atau di bandar udara. Saat ini sekitar pukul 2 siang dan hari minggu sehingga lalu lintas pun agak lengang. Tak terdengar banyak bunyi-bunyian kendaraan dari jalan raya, sehingga suara radio penjual mi pun semakin jelas. Benarlah, itu Tommy J. Pisa! Lagunya: tentang berpisah di batas kota, mendayu-dayu dan menyedihkan itu. Diiringi dengan obrolan tidak jelas dari pasangan setengah baya, dan penjual mi ayam yang terkantuk-kantuk menunggu pembeli, serta si ibu muda yang membaca Pos Kota, saya tiba-tiba merasa seperti berada di dunia lain. Seperti mengalami teleportasi ke tahun 80-an. Sore-sore dimana hanya ada suara radio, karena televisi baru disiarkan hampir menjelang malam dan berada di tengah-tengah kehidupan orang-orang bersahaja, yang masih bisa mengobrol dan tertawa lepas, di warung pinggir jalan seperti ini, di mana aroma MSG cukup terasa gurihnya di penciuman (mungkin itu yang membuat saya selalu berpikir bahwa mi ayam paling enak adalah mi ayam gerobak pinggir jalan: no other restaurant's type of mi ayam can beat them!). Ditambah dengan mendung dan rintik hujan di luar, lirik lagu Tommy J. Pisa kedengaran makin memilukan. Teringatlah saya akan acara Kamera Ria, Aneka Ria Safari, dan Album Minggu Ini milik TVRI dimana penyanyi seperti Tommy ini pernah berjaya..Dan sayapun seperti sedang teleportasi......

Roxette Concert 03 March 2012

Too stuffy, the concert last night was for me. Too stuffy with old memories. I knew Roxette since Kupang time, SMP time, when I was a teenager, long long time ago, in that far far away island. When bemos were still way too loud. The speaker could deafen one's ears. But we loved it that way. The louder the better. Then when I moved to Java. The songs accompanied me in my days and nights when I lost inspiration to draw the architectural assignments. When I found ideas. When I did my activities with the accompaniment of my old Sony radio-tape recorder (my most valuable electronic equipment those university days). When I fell in love. When I was brokenhearted. The lyrics could cut my heart, bloody painful. When I was stressed and needed to scream in my work life back in Sby. Almost every moment in my life, they covered it (or at least, one of their song could be the background sound track :). I told my friends: I did not just buy the ticket. I bought my memories too, that I owed, or shared with Marie and Per (without them knowing, of course). The ticket was worth the old, bittersweet, memories.

It must have been love. This is the soundtrack of the movie 'Pretty Woman'. I watched it in KT - Kupang Theatre, in 1990-something. Over 20 years ago. I don't think I was already 17 those days, but I was allowed to enter because I was in group (either with my sisters or my school friends).

Listen to your heart. It's one of the first English song lyrics that I remembered by heart. I recall the very old days, I and my sister would sit closer to the radio, listened carefully to the local radio, Rhamagong FM, to broadcast its 'Lirik Lagu - Song Lyrics' program, a weekly program where the broadcaster read, pronounced the lyrics of the popular songs of the weeks. There were a lot of 'cover version' cassettes, and I learned about the word "notion" the first time was when I jotted down the lyrics, to distinguish the spelling with the cover version's cassettes' text: I've got an ocean - the right one is: I get a notion. I remember the broadcaster emphasized this phrase, and I seriously put attention on the diffrence.  

Crash boom bang. "Every time I seemed to fall in love, crash boom bang. That's my real little name". Etc. Could not have been agreed more with the lyrics. So familiar with my own life. In addition, I clearly remember the video clip : white stairs with someone dressed like a little angel in a colorful background. MTV aired this clip quite often those days.

Fading like a flower. This song was used as our 'theme song' during our days in Architecture, when we were attempting to escape from the killer lecturer (who gave almost the entire class the mark 'D'). I and my gang, especially with Dina, made a very funny joke or 'plesetan' on this song, "Every time I see you oh I try to hide away, but when we meet it seems I can't let go...", interpreted as: every time we saw the lecturer, we tried to hide, but when we were with him (during the consultation), we could not really let go (alias: we were trapped:). Ooh..those silly old days...

Spending  my time. When I asked myself too, as Marie sang...'what's the time? seemed it's already morning (and I have yet to find ideas and inspiration for my drawing assignments that should be submitted that very morning too... :s).

Anyone. Nothing can describe the feeling I felt those days but this song. And the video clip as well. Gloomy, depressive. "Any one who have a love close to this, knows what I'm saying. ..but everything more or less appears so meaningless, blue and cold..walking alone in the afternoon traffic, I miss you so.."

So far away. You're so far away...you never said goodbye..etc. Those sad, gloomy days again I could imagine, crystal clear in my mind. (refer to the previous blog post).

I wish I could fly. Subsequent to you're so far away, I wish I could fly out of the blue, over this town, following you..those days again. Over the roof tops great boulevard, to try to find out, who you really are..who you really are....

And many, many more of their lyrics that I could connect to the memories of my life. Since their golden days were 20 something years ago, I could only conclude one thing: that I'm getting older too. That my life, could have been written in a mellow style as their songs expressed, the Scandinavian style of coping with sadness, lost and broken heart: writing it..singing it...and let it gone by time.

  

The absurdity of a conversation

Ini adalah contoh sebuah percakapan dimana:

1. Penanya merasa telah menanyakan pertanyaan yang benar.
2. Penjawab merasa telah menjawab pertanyaan itu dengan benar.
3. Penanya merasa penjawab telah menerima jawaban yang benar
4. Penjawab merasa kedua belah pihak telah saling mengerti

Kenyataan:
1. Penanya menanyakan dengan asumsi A
2. Penjawab menjawab dengan asumsi B.
3. Baik penanya maupun penjawab puas dengan pertanyaan dan jawaban masing-masing
4. Kedua belah pihak tidak sadar bahwa yang ditanyakan dan yang dijawab , they did not mean what their answers were.

Ini dia pecakapan itu. Setting: bea cukai Bandara Ngurah Rai Bali, setelah paspor dicap dan penumpang akan keluar ke terminal kedatangan internasional.

Saya baru pulang dari Dili, Timor Leste. Saya memakai tas tenunan ikat Rote (mirip dengan Timor). Wajah saya tentunya wajah Indonesia Timur. Setelah menyerahkan receipt 'Not to declare', saya melewati seorang petugas perempuan di meja terakhir sebelum menuju lorong keluar.
Petugas itu dengan ramah bertanya, "Dari Timor Leste ya?".
Saya menjawab "Iya".
Tanyanya lagi , "Mau ke mana?"
Jawab saya "Ke Jakarta".
"Tugas di Jakarta?"
"Iya", kata saya.
"Ok, silahkan", katanya dengan ramah.
"Makasih", sambil saya tersenyum dan menuju pintu keluar.

Selama dalam perjalanan keluar itu barulah saya berpikir, sepertinya ada sesuatu yang kurang 'klik' dari percakapan itu. Barulah beberapa setelah itu saya hampir tertawa sendiri. Rupanya petugas itu mengira jawaban saya sudah sesuai dengan yang ia asumsikan, dan saya mengira dia akan menerima jawaban saya seperti yang saya pikirkan. Padahal jika saya coba me-rekonstruksikan percakapan itu, beginilah kira-kira yang sebenarnya terjadi.


A: "Dari Timor Leste ya?" (maksudnya: apakah anda berasal dari Timor Leste?)
B:  "Iya" (maksudnya: iya, saya baru tiba dari Timor Leste)
A: "Mau ke mana?" (maksudnya: di Indonesia mau ke mana tujuannya?)
B: "Ke Jakarta" (maksudnya: dari Timor Leste mau pulang ke Jakarta)
A: "Tugas di Jakarta?" (maksudnya: dikirim kantor untuk bertugas di Jakarta?)
B: "Iya" (maksudnya: iya, kantor saya memang di Jakarta sehingga tugas saya sehari-hari memang di Jakarta).
A: "Ok, silahkan"
B: "Makasih"
Percakapan ditutup dan kedua belah pihak merasa telah melakukan tugasnya (bertanya dan menjawab) dengan baik. Tidak ada, paling tidak sampai saya menyadarinya beberapa waktu kemudian, yang menduga bahwa semuanya telah salah interpretasi baik dalam bertanya maupun menjawab...

Self control is the key

Nancy Reagen wore veil during audience with the Pope

This post is about my curiosity about how women must present themselves in public, whether or not women should cover themselves in public, and the reasons. And about why men, as the 'predator' should not look lustfully at women. I came into the verses Job 31:1-4, as part of the suggested reading by Our Daily Bread today. I did a quick search about the issue of women as the objects of men's lust. I found some comparisons from the perspective of three different historical public/religions' profiles, and put their words in chronological order. I remember this issue was really a hot topic during the debates about "Pornography Bill" a few years ago.




Job:
“I made a covenant with my eyes, not to look lustfully at a young woman... Does He not see my ways, and count my every step? (Job 31:1 & 4).


(Reason for men to control their gaze at women's bodies: because God sees everything, include one's eyes)


Jesus Christ:
“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. ³⁰ And if your right hand causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell. (Matthew 5:27-29)


(Reason for men to control their gaze at women's bodies: because God counts it equal with committing adultery, and as other sins, they could go to hell because of that.)

Muhammad:
"Say to the believing men that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty......And say to the believing women that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty; that they should not display their beauty and ornaments except what ordinarily appear thereof; that they should draw their veils over their bosoms...." (Quran 24:30,31).


"O Prophet, tell your wives and daughters and the believing women that they should cast their outer garments over their bodies (when abroad) so that they should be known and not molested" (Quran 33:59).


(Reason for women to cover their bodies: so that they should be known and not molested. Their beauty could cause them trouble, by the men).


I conclude this post without conclusion, because that would sound offensive. But as for my personal, private preference (which I don't impose anyone to follow), I choose the notion of self-control of the (likely) perpetrators rather than adding the burden of the (likely) victims. I don't like the idea that men cannot control their mind. They could if they want (refer to what Job said in the aforementioned verses). I disagree with the idea that people who cannot control themselves are still allowed to roam free in the streets and do whatever they want, including molesting others who they deem subordinates (adults vs children, males vs females, rich vs poor, strong people vs weak people, etc). Though, if people choose to wear veil for their own personal reason, I do not mind at all, as long as they do it not by others' pressure but by their own choice (I have a lot of Muslim close friends who wear veil and I respect them whatever they chose to wear or not to wear). My point is that no one should force anyone else to follow or to bring the issue to public domain. This is, to me, is purely a matter of personal choice. So that's why I hate those who forced the Pornography Bill into legislation.   





Note: 


I did not put St. Paul's perspective in here, because:


* it is often quoted that Paul's instruction for women to cover their heads during their worship time in Synagogue is the evidence that women were seen as the lower creatures than their male counterparts, and symbol of their submission. However, that was a different context from what this post is talking about, because in those verses, Paul talked about the women "in the Synagogue building", not in public place. Not because women must protect themselves from men, but because it is "similar to women having bald head", which was not polite and modest during the era's standard of modesty. -- in modern Judaism context, that's why Jewish women often wearing wigs to Synagogue to these days (this is still obeserved by some Catholics sects and also Christian denominations like Amish, Quaker, etc. --see the picture above).


* it is also often quoted about Paul's advice for women not to wear excessive jewelry and apply attractive hair styles to Synagogue. This is also a different context from what this post is talking about, because the reason of those verses is the motivation behind the action: the moral message is: "Hey, women, you're going to synagogue to praise and worship the Lord, so do not make something that intends to put yourself at the center of the universe. God is the center, not you." Synagogue and church are not places to exhibit oneself, they are the place to worship, and all attention must be sent to the Lord God only.      

Piano

 

Prologue 

I love the sound of piano, very much.

I wish I could play piano properly, very much.

If someone plays piano very good, I multiply my like factor with 10 and reduce my dislike to 1/10.

I admire those who play piano well, very much. 

I have a dream, to play classic piano, will it come true in my life time?

If not, maybe in heaven, one day.

(1)

I suddenly remember someone who plays piano very well.

Who composed his own compositions, and sent some for me in a CD to enjoy.

He plays jazz, he plays classic.

He experiments and exercises his skills.

He's very good in photography too.

So he combined scenic pictures and piano composition.

That struck me in a chord. 

He's too good to be true.

He's half unreal.

Over time, he's hundred percent unreal.

(2)

I remember a neighbor, a friend who was sent for a piano class when we were kids.

I envied her, I just could see her, willingly but not brave enough to ask my parents to enroll me too, afraid that they could not afford it.

I bit my fingers, I desired it so much. 

All I could do the years after, was to attend choir, for choir is to me, a bit closer with musical instruments, to organ, to keyboard, to piano, at last.

(3)

Almost thirty something years later.

I went abroad, I met a friend who happened to be a pianist.

She was going to sell her old digital upright piano.

Very cheap, 200 bucks only. I even forgot the brand.

With a promise that she would teach me in addition to me learning from book autodidact.

So there I was, having my own piano (though digital and pretty cheap)

Still it is a piano!

Half of my dream came true that day.

Epilogue:

To date, I am able to play some simple compositions, and at least to read the notes.

I have been at Lesson 12: chord inversion, but then I moved and left my piano home.

When I was at home last Christmas, I played till my fingers sore, till midnight fell. 

Felt nothing but full of eagerness, full with longing to touch the keys and to listen to the crisp sound.

My temporary aim is to play Canon in D's Pachelbel

To date, I am able to play it (a not so good guessing around), but in C yet.

I played one third part of it actually, learning from Youtube.

One day, with a home on my own, with a piano of my own, I'll play it.

After that, I'll learn how to play Bach's Jesus, Joy of Man's Desire

And you will know that I play it too..the song you introduced me to several years ago.

One day you'll know

That I play but for another reason.

Which does not include you in it.

*Pic taken from Max Leger website (see the printed caption)

May my dream does not come true

In Bahasa only:

Ringkasan nightmare tadi malam, beserta remarksnya (in italic, yang menjelaskan kira-kira adegan itu berasal dari mana):

1. Ada pesawat jatuh di kota di mana saya berada (tidak jelas di mana, tapi banyak orang yang saya kenal di kota itu sekarang bertempat tinggal di Kupang). -- Kemungkinan karena saya banyak kontak dengan orang dari Kupang hari itu.

2. Pesawatnya besar sekali, kalau tidak salah Boeing A380, penumpangnya ratusan.-- Saya membaca iklan SQ siangnya di web.

3. Banyak penumpang yang mati, tapi banyak juga yang selamat. Kota hiruk pikuk dengan bunyi sirene dan ambulans. Chaos. --salah satu potongan film yang saya lihat sekilas di TV kemarin.

4. Entah kenapa, ada masalah dengan kejatuhan pesawat yang tidak normal. Suasana mencekam, saya termasuk dalam tim yang ditunjuk untuk menginvestigasi masalah kejatuhan pesawat tersebut. (Tidak jelas saya bekerja di mana dan kenapa masuk dalam tim itu). -- Saya masuk tim trainer di kantor :p.

5. Kami memulai penyelidikan tentang kejatuhan pesawat tersebut, dengan mendatangi lokasi kecelakaan, dan mendapati sisa-sisa kecelakaan, badan manusia dan pakainnya yang sudah sobek-sobek dan terbakar, dan sebagainya. --- Gara-gara liat trailer/poster film melancholia.

6.  Ada suatu temuan penting yang saya lupa tepatnya apa, tapi berhubungan dengan kepentingan beberapa orang penting di politik dan kekuasaan. Tim kami mulai merasa waspada. -- Ini juga gara-gara film.

7. Oleh karena itu kami selalu merasa diikuti oleh agen rahasia pemerintah. Teman saya bilang, "Jangan takut, biasa saja, memangnya kamu tidak pernah diikuti oleh FBI ya? Mereka ini FBI, business as usual lah..". --- Tidak punya ide, tapi mungkin dari film enemy of the state.

8. Entah apa kejadian di antaranya, teman satu tim saya lalu mengajak saya naik ke atas gunung, semacam hiking, udara di atas sana dingin, dan berkabut, dalam rangka investigasi. Tanah basah, merah hitam, berlumpur. Hujan gerimis, udara dingin berangin, napas beruap. Kami semua memakai boot karena keadaan tanah yang basah dan berlumpur. Tibalah kami di semacam kuburan massal di balik bukit. Ada lubang-lubang semacam kuburan di tanah, terhampar di bidang tanah yang cukup luas dan bertanah gembur. Teman saya menyuruh saya melihat ke dalam lubang-lubang itu. Kata saya, "Apakah kamu yakin?". Kata teman saya, "Kalau kamu tidak percaya, lihat saja sendiri!". Saya memberanikan diri melongok ke dalam lubang-lubang tersebut, dan masyaallah, di dalamnya benar-benar terbaring orang-orang yang sudah mati! Mereka kembanyakan terbungkus pakaian panjang semacam overcoat, banyak yang bermotif kotak-kotak. Dan tubuh mereka sudah banyak yang tercampur lumpur. Saya berteriak padanya "Wah, mereka nampaknya sudah benar-benar mati". Kata teman saya, "Kalau begitu mari kita pulang dan laporkan!". Kami sepertinya diikuti, dan teman saya berbisik "Jangan takut, mereka hanya FBI". --- Saya baru ingat, ini settingnya mirip sekali dengan foto teman saya di FB kemarin tentang air strip di Wamena, pegunungan, basah.

9. Sampailah kami di kantor, namun saya masih terbayang-bayang wajah-wajah orang mati dalam kuburan massal itu. Mengapa mereka di sana? Siapakah mereka? Apakah mereka penumpang yang tidak mati namun dibunuh setelah pesawat jatuh? Ribuan pertanyaan timbul di benak saya. --- Hmmh..orang mati, ini pasti pengaruh saya ngobrol dengan ibu saya tentang tante saya yang meninggal minggu lalu.

10. Sambil bertanya-tanya, saya terbangun dari tidur, melihat jam, dan mendapati bahwa sudah hampir jam 6 pagi. Thanks God it was just a dream! May my dream does not come true!

Jelas-jelas sekali, faktor lain yang membuat mimpi saya seburuk ini adalah karena tadi malam udaranya dingin dan saya tidak menutup jendela sama sekali, dan badan serta pikiran saya penuh dengan tugas2 yang belum selesai.. Kombinasi dingin dan capek, resultannya selalu adalah mimpi buruk, selalu begini. Ditambah dengan bumbu-bumbu dari kejadian seharian itu tentunya....

*Pic from: Nightmare on an elm street