Wednesday, December 07, 2011

Interogator: Tujuh Tahun Kemudian

Dear Sophia,

Tujuh tahun telah berlalu semenjak kematian Pandu. Selama masa itu, belum pernah sekalipun kau datang kembali dan menyapaku dengan senyum sinismu. Terus terang, aku harus mengakui kerinduanku padamu. Walaupun semua kata-katamu tajam menusuk dan menghujam tepat membelah hatiku, tapi memang tamparanmu itu yang selalu menuntun langkahku.
Kematian Pandu bukanlah sebuah akhir dari kesulitan-kesulitan hidup kami. Lembaran-lembaran baru terus menerus menanti untuk dibuka, mengungkap pelbagai cerita lain. Perlahan, memori akan Pandu mulai menghilang dan membaur masuk ke latar belakang, diganti oleh memori-memori dan derita baru. Pikiran naïf kami di kala itu untuk tidak berpisah ternyata tidaklah cukup kuat menyatukan perbedaan-perbedaan yang ada.

Beth dan aku sudah tidak lagi bersama. Orang mungkin akan berpikir bahwa setelah insiden dengan Thomas, hubungan kami berdua akan sekuat karang. Betapa naïf dan lugunya asumsi-asumsi itu. Ada banyak perbedaan visi dan misi hidup di antara kami berdua yang telah menciptakan jurang pemisah. Beth tumbuh menjadi seorang wanita yang sangat kuat dan mandiri, sementara aku masih tidak bisa lepas dari idealisme kekanak-kanakan yang tidak berubah selama tujuh tahun ini. Untungnya, akhir dari hubungan asmara ini tidak mengakhiri persahabatan kami. Hanya saja, komunikasi kami berdua sudah tidak lagi selancar yang dulu. Kesibukan dan jam kerja lah yang semakin menjauhkan kami.

Mawan dan Bayu pun juga sudah tidak lagi terlibat hubungan asmara. Mereka berdua pergi menyebar ke ujung-ujung pulau. Yang satu pergi ke ujung barat dan yang lainnya pergi ke ujung timur. Kembali jam kerja dan kesibukan memecah komunikasi dan persahabatan kekanakan kami. Sesekali Bayu masih menyapa melalui jejaring social, walaupun sudah tidak lagi seintens dahulu kala. Sementara Mawan seolah hilang tak tahu rimbanya. Mengapa aku merasa bahwa menghilangnya Mawan ini terasa jauh lebih buruk ketimbang kematian Pandu di kala itu? Setidaknya Pandu masih hidup di dalam memori kami semua, tidak menguap begitu saja.

Dari mereka semerua, hanya Adi dan Joshua yang masih setia menyapa dan membina hubungan baik. Jo masih sering menyapa dan datang ke rumah setiap kali ia pulang kampung dari ibukota. Mungkin hubungan antara kami berdua sudah menjadi layaknya sepasang saudara kandung. Walaupun begitu, keintiman dan kedekatan hubungan kami berdua sudah berubah. Inikah efek samping dari tumbuh dewasa?

Adi, yang masih tinggal di kota yang sama, justru menjadi lebih dekat semenjak kematian Pandu. Kehilangan seorang sahabat yang cukup dekat telah menggoncang dan memperangkapnya dalam belenggu kesepian. Kehidupan asmara serta karirnya telah menciptakan sebuah ikatan kegalauan, menahan jiwanya dari birunya langit. Ah, kenapa bahasaku menjadi seperti ini?
Aku sendiri kembali merasakan kehampaan yang sangat besar di dalam diri. Kejadian dengan Jimmy dan Beth pada waktu itu telah menorehkan luka yang teramat dalam. Mungkin waktu dapat menyembuhkannya, tetapi bekasnya akan selalu ada di hati. Atau mungkin luka itulah yang menjadi penyebab renggangnya hubungan antara aku dan Beth? Aku tidak mengerti semua ini, Sophia. Ada banyak pertanyaan yang tidak bisa kujawab sendirian.

Kadang aku merasa iri dengan Pandu karenanya. Ia tetap hidup dalam memori kami sebagai seorang remaja yang ceria. Memang ia harus berjuang dengan penyakit yang menggerogotinya, tetapi sekarang kedamaian telah menantinya. Tidak perlu lagi ia merasakan perpecahan ini, tidak ada lagi kegelisahan yang perlu dijalaninya. Di saat kami berenam harus merasakan kepahitan ini, Pandu tidak pernah berubah. Ia abadi dalam keindahan memori kami.

Kembalilah pada kami, Sophia.......

Kota yang sunyi,

Ali Raya Buana

NB : Setelah menonton Arisan! 2, aku terinspirasi untuk menulis sesuatu tentang kelanjutan "Interogator". Ya, setelah tujuh tahun, pemikiran dan cara pandangku terhadap dunia ini juga berubah. Lalu timbul pertanyaan, seperti apakah perubahan cara pandang para karakter dalam "Interogator"?

Monday, December 05, 2011

Arisan! 2: The Review

Note : Due to reviewing an Indonesian film, I will use Indonesian in this post.

Setelah delapan tahun berselang, Nia Dinata dan Kalyanashira memutuskan untuk mengeluarkan sekuel dari film Arisan!. Arisan sendiri merupakan salah satu tanda bangkitnya dunia perfilman Indonesia pada awal dekade 2000an. Bahkan pada revitalisasi FFI di waktu itu, film ini dinominasikan untuk banyak kategori. Film pertamanya dengan sukses mengantar Tora Sudiro menjadi aktor terbaik pada saat itu.

Dengan pencapaian yang luar biasa, tentu saja kemunculan sekuel ini akan mengundang kecemasan tersendiri pada seorang pecinta film sepertiku. Maklum saja, sebelumnya Kalyanashira pernah mencoba membuat kelanjutan Arisan dengan sinetron yang berakhir dengan sangat ruwet. Cukuplah film pertama mencatat sejarah dalam dunia perfilman Indonesia tanpa perlu dirusak oleh jalan cerita yang "maksa" di film kedua. Ternyata Nia Dinata membuktikan kesalahan opiniku itu.

Film ini bersetting delapan tahun setelah film pertama. Semua karakter di film ini telah beranjak masuk ke dasawarsa keempat kehidupan mereka. Peristiwa-peristiwa yang terjadi di dalam sinetron Arisan dahulu ternyata dimasukkan ke dalam kanon cerita. Jangan khawatir bagi yang belum pernah menonton sinetronnya, karena film kedua ini tetap dapat dinikmati. Bagi yang sudah pernah menonton sinetronnya, mereka akan mendapatkan bonus kameo dari beberapa pemain. (Iwet Ramadhan, saudara-saudara?).

Secara sinematografis, Nia Dinata menunjukkan perkembangan dan kematangan yang lebih. Angle-angle shot kameranya terlihat indah dan cerdas. Jujur saja, dalam dunia perfilman Indonesia, yang paling kubenci adalah eksploitasi head shot yang terlalu banyak. Terlebih lagi dalam sinetron, head shot antar karakter sebenarnya menunjukkan parahnya tingkat profesionalitas para artis yang seringkali tidak bisa datang pada saat yang bersamaan. Akan tetapi, eksplorasi teh Nia terhadap teknik head shot di film ini bisa dikatakan cukup segar. Dengan zoom yang lebih besar, head shot dikembangkan menjadi eye shot, sehingga kemampuan para artis dalam berkomunikasi melalui mata sangatlah diuji. Ekspresi nakal Andien, kekikukan Tora Sudiro, serta kesedihan dan kerinduan Meymey terungkap dengan lebih gamblang dari sorot mata mereka. Terlebih lagi, eye shot itu tidak hanya terfokus pada si pembicara, sehingga penonton bisa menangkap reaksi karakter lain terhadap pembicaraan. Sungguh, cara yang sangat segar dalam meningkatkan partisipasi penonton.

Pemilihan setting film ini juga sangat indah. Adegan Meymey yang berjalan-jalan di Gili Trawangan terasa menyegarkan mata. Ada sedikit nostalgia terhadap gaya editing video klip di akhir tahun 90an yang bermain dengan warna-warna cerah. Dengan warna dan motif kostum yang pas dengan latar belakang, Nia seolah-olah melukis dengan kameranya. Berpadu dengan warna hijau dan biru langit di Gili, kostum Meymey selalu warna-warna lembut dengan semburat biru dan hijau. Ia seolah melebur menjadi satu dengan latar belakang. Adegan Waisak di Borobudur juga menjadi kanvas Nia dengan perpaduan warna tanah yang melambangkan kehangatan. Kombinasi warna-warna sepia hangat yang dikenakan oleh Meymey dan dokter Tom berpadu lembut dengan langit senja dan nyala syahdu lilin waisak. Adegan-adegan ini menyerupai sebuah photo shot yang hidup. Salut!

Pemilihan kostum di film ini memang pantas diacungi jempol. Masih meneruskan tradisi di film pertamanya yang menggambarkan pertumbuhan karakternya melalui perubahan kostum, penonton seperti menonton Sex and the City versi Indonesia. Perpaduan ambience warna yang dihasilkan menjadi sangat menakjubkan. Kesan warna dingin ruangan peragaan busana yang didominasi oleh cat tembok putih pucat dan baju-baju hitam yang dikenakan hadirin membawa sebuah cerita tersendiri tentang adegan tersebut. Ada sebuah kesombongan dan elitisme yang tergambar di situ. Sementara kombinasi merah hitam dalam kostum yang dikenakan ibu-ibu sosialita dan konsep dekorasi dalam pesta amal dokter Joy membawa sebuah kemeriahan. Kesan yang didapat hanya dari warna, sekalipun tidak digambarkan adanya banyak orang di dalam ruangan tersebut (jika dicermati lebih lanjut lagi).

Adegan favorit saya adalah perayaan Waisak di Borobudur. Dalam adegan ini, Nia seolah berusaha mentranslasikan sebagian ajaran Buddha melalui caranya sendiri. Akan tetapi, yang membuatku mengacungkan empat ibu jari adalah tata suaranya yang cukup mengejutkan, lantunan mantra "Om Mani Padme Hum" yang sangat lembut membawa suasana mistis romantis. Entah darimana Nia mendapatkan rekaman mantra versi itu, saya jadi ingin memilikinya. LOL.

Setelah sekian banyak pendapat positif, kasting pemain tidak dapat memuaskanku sepenuhnya. Perubahan yang paling mengecewakan ada pada Tora Sudiro. Tidak bisa disangkal, ia bermain sangat bagus pada film pertama yang mengantarkannya kepada penghargaan pemain utama pria terbaik. Akan tetapi, setelah delapan tahun dan banyak sekali film komedi, Tora bermain sangat slapstick dan berlebihan di sekuel ini. Terlihat jelas pengaruh film-film komedi yang pernah dilakoninya, sehingga tokoh Sakti di sini berubah menjadi parodi Sakti yang dulu, sangat stereotipikal. Mulai dari gerakan yang terlalu ngondek hingga tatanan rambut yang sangat "eeeeeuw". Sayang sekali Tora, sepertinya gelar pemain pria terbaik tahun 2012 tidak akan jatuh ke tanganmu.

Rio Dewanto, di sisi lain, cukup mencuri perhatian dengan gaya "brondong-ngondek-rempong-sok-eksis"-nya. Boleh dikata, ia sukses meyakinkanku bahwa dia seorang gay di kehidupan nyata. Sayang sekali, perannya disini tidak banyak dieksplorasi, terutama tentang hubungannya dengan karakter-karakter lainnya. Okto, peranan yang dilakoni Rio, menjadi seorang karakter dua dimensi yang tidak memiliki kedalaman. Ironisnya, ia seolah hanya menjadi badut dalam cerita. Akan tetapi, yang patut diacungi jempol adalah keberanian Nia untuk menggambarkan hubungan Okta (Rio Dewanto) - Nino (Surya Saputra) sebagai hubungan biasa layaknya lelaki dan perempuan. Tidak ada kecanggungan untuk menggambarkan gestur-gestur mesra mereka berdua. Bahkan bagi karakter lain di film tersebut, tidak ada yang aneh dalam hubungan Nino - Okta. Salut!!

Karakter pembantu yang sangat berkesan justru Molly, si bartender Reggae Bar. Aksen balinya terasa tidak berlebihan, jauh dari kesan stereotipikal. Tanpa banyak bicara dan penjelasan, penonton bisa menangkap kedalaman dan perasaan karakter ini. Twist yang ada di akhir cerita sendiri cukup menarik disimak. Permainan yang sangat bagus. Seandainya saja Molly lebih banyak disorot.

Pong Harjatmo yang bermain sebagai Gerry tidak terlalu menarik. Maaf om Pong, tapi anda terasa terlalu straight disini. Citra sebagai om-om nakal pun tidak terbangun dengan sukses dengan datarnya ekspresi dan air muka beliau. Sampai akhir film, aku masih berpendapat bahwa Pong Harjatmo adalah kesalahan kasting dalam film ini. Ayolah Nia, anda bisa memilih artis lain yang lebih piawai melakonkannya. Bukan berarti om Pong tidak piawai, hanya saja ia tidak pantas untuk peran ini.

Andien pada film pertama adalah satu-satunya karakter yang tidak kurasakan pengembangan karakternya. Sayang sekali, kesalahan yang sama terulang kembali di film kedua ini. Tidak ada perkembangan signifikan darinya. Justru karakter yang terasa dapat mewakili ibu-ibu sosialita adalah dokter Joy (Sarah Sechan) dan Ara (Atiqah Hasiholan).

Lita (Rachel Maryam) yang tampil cukup menarik di film pertama kini juga seolah kehilangan arah pengembangan karakternya. Cara bicaranya yang ceplas ceplos dan energinya di film pertama seolah hilang di sini. Dia berubah menjadi seorang karakter pelengkap saja. Konflik internal dalam dirinya mengenai karir advokasi dan anggota parlementerya yang sebenarnya potensial untuk digarap dibiarkan lenyap ke latar belakang. Sayang sekali, teh Nia. Padahal di awal film, ia memberi sentilan politik yang cukup cerdas.

Untungnya Meymey (Cut Mini) yang dikembangkan lebih lanjut di film ini berperan sebagai lem dari karakter lainnya. Seolah menebus kesalahannya di film pertama (dimana storyline-nya dicuri oleh storyline Sakti - Nino), kali ini Meymey mendapatkan perhatian penonton. Aktingnya terasa cukup natural. Ekspresi-ekspresinya dikuatkan oleh angle-angle tidak biasa yang digunakan Nia Dinata. Yang cukup disayangkan, ia berperan sebagai cue card di akhir film. Nia menggunakan Meymey sebagai "speaker"-nya akan pesan dari keseluruhan jalan cerita. Sekalipun terasa sedikit "preachy", tetapi bisa dimaafkan mengingat durasi waktu.

Secara keseluruhan, Arisan! 2 menjadi sebuah film yang cukup segar untuk dinikmati bagi orang-orang berpikiran dewasa dan terbuka. Twist-twist yang ada cukup segar dan mengejutkan, tetapi bukan berarti tidak ada dalam lingkungan kita.

Score : 8 / 10

Monday, November 21, 2011

On Graduation

I was never a true believer in graduation ceremony. You can ask my friends back in Indonesia and they will happily confirm that. Some people already threw their curses at me for skipping my undergraduate graduation ceremony. Formality was the key word for my reason of not attending that. The diploma and transcript are enough. No need for me to stand under the scorching sun with black toga. After all, what I would get are just the handshake and moving the small rope of my hat. Sigh, I don’t really care that I know not of its name.

But thing changed with my Master graduation. Just before my departure to England, I carried with myself the same thought, same plan of not attending the graduation. However, as time goes by, the graduation became important topic. One friend even told me not to skip that. Cambridge graduation is different from any other graduation ceremony, he said. Skipping that ceremony will mean missing something big in your life.

Driven by my curiosity, I registered myself for the ceremony. Yes, I had to fly back to England from Indonesia for that. Some people said that it was in vain, for graduation ceremony is not that important to sacrifice that much time and money. It was not worth investing in that. However, as I can be really stubborn sometimes, the air tickets were in my hand already.

When the time came, I was so nervous. Dressing up in my finest suit (which is actually my only suit), my Oxfam-bought wing-clap, and rented white band and bow tie, I walked along the main street in Cambridge to Eddies. Donning my gown in front of the college, a butterfly started fluttering within my stomach. This is the end of my Cambridge tenure, I thought. My being nervous was spiced up by the overpriced lunch and lack of port. Dang! If there was a glass of port, things would have been better, at least for my nerves.

Lunch, done! Rehearsal, done! The moment finally came for me and the other graduands to march down to Senate House in our full Cambridge grandeur, the gown. For the first time in my life, I became a tourist attraction. Yet, I could not be bothered to think about that. Reaching senate house, my mind was raced faster, thanks to the clothing checking. What if my clothes were inappropriate? What if I was asked to go out of the senate house? What if?

Fortunately, everything went well. I walked down the senate house with three other graduands from my college. The praelector introduced us to the Vice-Chancellor of the University in Latin. We had to grab his fingers, one graduand each. After that, we had to wait until our names were called. What was actually in minutes felt like centuries.

“Chrysogonus Malilang!”

I walked down and knelt down in front of the vice chancellor. What I thought would be my final moment as the member of the university turned to be very touching. Our eyes were met. I had to look up to him and the vice chancellor looked me in the eyes. With the meeting of our gazes, he held my hand and welcomed me as the member of the university for life in Latin. In the end, he blessed me with the sign of cross. Sigh, it was the moment when I tried so hard to fight my tears back. (Dang, even as I wrote this piece, my eyes got teary by remembering the moment!) During that second, the enlightenment came to me. Under the old ceremony (they said that the rites haven’t been changed since 1300’s), I was inaugurated as the lifetime member of it. It becomes my home. I know that I can come back there anytime and still feel welcomed. In my worst time, the thought of my home in Cambridge will always encourage me to keep walking the path.

And the investment of time and money are not in vain.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Kuburkan Aku

Kubur aku dengan sederhana
tanpa perlu taburan bunga.
Tancapkan saja sebatang mawar
tak perlu merah, tak perlu jingga
hanya mawar apa adanya.

Biarkan ibu bumi memelukku
dengan hangat tanah dan pasir yang menderu

Karena kehangatan datang dari bumi
dari tanah yang mendekap erat jasadku
dari tanah yang melahirkan manusia

Bukan dari rontokan bunga
sisa jasad dari tumbuhan
yang walau wangi, tetapi mati.

Tanamkan saja sebatang pohon
sebagai nisan dan pertanda atasku
dan angin akan bernyanyi atasku
melalui dedaunan yang berdesir ditimpa sinar mentari.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Cambridge: On Research

I almost gave up researching!

Shocking, eh? But it was true. My coming back to the old job had convinced me that my newly acquired knowledge was a complete piece of junk. There was really no place nor opportunity for me to develop what I got from Cambridge, the top university in the world. True, my degree left people in awe and brought them to conclusion that I would be successful in any professional path I am taking. But their conclusion is theoretical.

My decision to come back was based on the opportunity to develop the knowledge I got through the local context. Yet, some people just did not respect my field. They put me into something completely unrelated to my background knowledge. Ironically, the positionS for something I am fit in are still vacant. Instead of being given a space and time to improve, I was put into an experiment. Sigh!

The fact that I was only half a human I was added by the work stress has brought me down. I lost all my interests in ANYTHING! Furthermore, being trapped in the stinking job has left me feeling like a trash trapped in the middle of nowhere.
Fortunately, being back into a Cantabrigian embrace has helped me raising back my morale. The people I met there brought me back into confidence, that I worth more than what I thought I was. They gave me courage to find a breakthrough, convinced me that I deserve something better than what I have now.

Sophia, my former classmate, has really opened my eyes on the wide opportunity for the research. It was her who talked me back into research world, telling me that I can have the back up from the international scholars. She told me that my world does not revolve around my small entrapment now. My eyes were opened that there are more places in the world for me to explore. The enthusiasm of my professor when I came to visit her in the next morning also convinced me, that I will always have them to help.

On my visit to The Bird, I met another acquaintance. Surprisingly, he is willing to help me finding some international job. What a support, eh? I never thought that a help will come in a bar, a leisure place. Over a pint of beer, I really have to say, GOD BLESS STELLA!! The other friends there also supported me, asking me to break free from my own prison. One even offered to send me the new guide for CV and cover letter.

As I went to London, Phuong was even willing to help me with the proposal for my Ph.D application. It is quite ironic, eh? When people from your home base treated you without any respect or support, you found other people outside your home giving you their support. Yes, with the backing up from them, even the ones who keep hoping for me to come back, I will make my dream come true.

First step now, coming back to the research. To hell with all the stressful workload! I should revise my children’s literature. Revise, research, and publishing!!!!

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Cambridge: Homecoming

For some people, long flight becomes something scary and exhausting. Just a day before my departure to England, one of my bosses asked me about the flight. When she found out that I need to take 18-hours flight, she was really shocked. For her, her upcoming six-hour flight to Japan is already an energy consuming one. She couldn’t bear sitting in the plane for that amount of time, let alone spending almost a day on sky.

Surprisingly, I didn’t really see that duration as a torture to get through. Quoting the brilliant Sarah Brightman, “The journey home, is never too long. Your heart arrives before the train.” It was exactly what happened to me, I felt like coming home to the place where I belong. It was the moment when I recalled what I promised to myself a couple of months ago, “I am leaving half of myself in Europe, so I have a reason to come back!”

Apparently, that is really the case. Since I got back from Cambridge to Indonesia, I hadn’t been myself. Stupid mistakes had already been a part of my life. Not even any relaxation could bring me back to my perfect state, not teaching, not gaming, not even reading. To further complicate thing, something DID bother me in the workplace, hindering me to reach my usual perfection. Sigh! This graduation became a blessing in disguise, as it provided me a reason to take a break.

Right after the long (and supposedly exhausting) flight, my brother and I finally stepped into Heathrow Terminal 4. The second we boarded the London underground, my brain shifted to the British mode. I still remember all the stations we had to pass, all the underground lines. Dang, I even still have 3 quid in my oyster card! London King’s Cross marked my homecoming. It served as my gateway back home, my home. It turned out that I still remembered all the corners of that station. Blindfold me, and I could still find my way to platform 9. The only difference there was just the scaffoldings and the moving of platform 9 ¾ to different location. (Which is silly, since it deviates from the original story)

Whilst my brother busy taking pictures of the meadows along the way to Cambridge, I recited the name of the stations. Welwyn, Letchwort, Hitchin, and Royston were still in my head, serving as the precious memento of my stay. It was not until I saw Cambridge University Press (and the ‘Home of Anglia Ruskin University’) that I became so emotional. My chest became so tight that it almost exploded. It’s my home, I’m home already!! The place where I hit the restart button for my life was in front of my nose. ‘Twas the place that changed me in just a year time.

Nothing had drastically changed since my last stay there. I still remember all the ways, all the streets, all the cheap restaurant, the coffee shops, and all the shortcuts. I could go around the city with the eyes closed and still find my way. So, this is what homecoming feels like……..

Monday, September 19, 2011

Surat Seorang Pria

Kepada Bapak Pejabat yang terhormat,

Pertama-tama ijinkan saya memperkenalkan diri sebagai seorang lelaki. Cukuplah panggil saya dengan nama Pria.

Sebenarnya saya tidak suka mencampuri urusan seorang pejabat tinggi negara yang terhormat, apalagi pejabat sekelas bapak yang membawahi sebuah daerah penting. Dalam hati, pikiran positif saya senantiasa keluar dengan menganggap bahwa bapak mempunyai kapasitas yang memang dibutuhkan oleh daerah tersebut. Akan tetapi, pernyataan terakhir bapak membuat saya sedikit banyak merenung di dalam diri sendiri.
Menyandang nama Pria, yang memiliki esensi dari seorang lelaki, saya mencoba memposisikan diri saya sendiri sesuai pernyataan bapak. Apakah saya sebagai seorang lelaki memang benar-benar perwujudan dari mitos yang selama ini beredar? Apakah benar sebagai seorang lelaki, nafsu dan gejolak birahi menjadi dorongan terbesar dalam kehidupan saya?

Dua pertanyaan itu telah memenuhi benak saya selama beberapa hari belakangan ini. Setelah mengkaji dan menilik ke dalam diri, ternyata ada banyak hal lain yang mendefinisikan diri saya sebagai seorang lelaki. Jenis kelamin saya memang lelaki, tapi ternyata menjadi lelaki tidak hanya urusan kelamin, pak.

Mungkin saya perlu mengklarifikasi sesuatu. Tidak seperti yang mungkin bapak pikirkan, saya masih menyukai wanita. Seperti bapak kemukakan pula, kadang-kadang ketika melihat seorang wanita mengenakan baju pendek, ada yang bergoyang di dalam diri. Tapi apakah saya harus memuaskan keinginan saya itu pada saat yang sama? Mohon maaf pak, saya adalah manusia yang tahu tempat dan waktu yang tepat untuk segala sesuatunya. Disamping itu, yang membedakan antara manusia dengan binatang adalah kemampuan pengendalian pikirannya. Seorang manusia pasti memiliki kemampuan untuk mengendalikan diri. Sesuka apapun saya melihat seorang wanita berpakaian minim, hati manusia saya mengatakan untuk tidak memperkosanya di saat itu juga. Ungkapan bapak yang mengatakan bahwa wanita berpakaian mini berarti memprovokasi pemerkosaan terus terang sudah melukai harga diri saya sebagai seorang manusia.

Tidak bisa dipungkiri, saya juga memiliki sisi liar di dalam diri. Saya paham bahwa kadang-kadang godaan itu terlalu berat untuk ditangkis. Kadang kala memang semua itu terasa bagaikan meriam yang siap untuk meletus. Tapi, tidakkah bapak ingat dengan apa yang pernah bapak dan hampir semua lelaki di dunia ini lakukan? Mungkin memang hampir semua orang tua mengatakan bahwa onani atau masturbasi itu adalah hal yang salah. Walaupun begitu, hal tersebut (mungkin) hanya akan merugikan diri sendiri. Mudharatnya jauh lebih sedikit ketimbang berlaku seperti binatang dan menghajar si wanita berpakaian mini tersebut.

Surat saya ini mungkin akan disalahartikan oleh beberapa orang sebagai himbauan bagi semua wanita untuk memakai rok mini atau celana pendek. Salah, pak. Saya juga menentang pemakaian rok mini dan celana pendek bagi wanita yang secara fisik tidak pantas mengenakannya. Tetapi kalau memang mereka nyaman memakai pakaian tersebut, kenapa tidak? Toh bukan berarti memakai pakaian serba tertutup bisa menghindarkan seseorang dari tindak pemerkosaan. Jujur pak, kadang-kadang pakaian serba tertutup justru bisa menjadi sangat menggairahkan karena misteri yang tersimpan di baliknya. Ada tipe lelaki yang tertarik dengan tipe wanita tertutup. Semakin tertutup, semakin besar tantangannya, semakin liar imaginasinya. Tipe seperti ini mungkin malah tidak akan melirik kepada wanita berpakaian mini.

Dengan menimpakan kesalahan kepada wanita, terus terang sebagai lelaki saya sangat terhina. Perkataan-perkataan semacam itu telah mereduksi eksistensi lelaki sebagai makhluk yang hanya dikendalikan oleh nafsu birahi. Apakah itu esensi terdalam para pria?

Nafsu birahi adalah bagian dari diri saya sebagai seorang lelaki, tapi itu bukanlah satu-satunya hal yang membuat saya seorang lelaki.
Terima kasih atas waktu dan perhatiannya. Mohon maaf apabila ada kata-kata yang terlalu vulgar atau malah justru kurang vulgar.

Pria Indonesia

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

How My Gaming is Ruined

I was and always a voracious gamer. For me, video games greatly helped me learning English and channeling my negative emotion. Many people would not believe when I said I acquire my English through Sony Play Station. Cannot really blame them, since people always thought that games are just trivial things such as soccer, racing, or shooting games.

They just haven't unearthed a precious jewel called RPG. Since my enlightenment moment of RPG, I have become a devoted disciple in the school of RPG. They became my inspiration of writing stories, developing my imagination, and further sharpening my creative writing. And no, this is not a boastful hyperbole. Final Fantasy, Legend of Dragoon, Chrono Trigger, Tales series, you name the titles and there are big possibilities that I had them at least for couple of hours.

Entering Children's Literature for the first time, I was super excited to hear that games are considered as texts for children. Therefore, games are eligible objects to research and study in my field. A blissful heaven, I thought. Being able to study something that I always enjoy? What more can I ask??? The researches will be really interesting and enjoyable, won't they?

Every journal article about game analysis has been downloaded to my HDD. Every book about gaming theory has beautifully decorated my shelves. Add those with the analysis of hero and fairy tales, the framework of narrative and text, plus post-structuralism. If only I was not limited by the gaming library I could reach in Cambridge, the topic for my thesis would be something related to gaming. Thankfully, the piracy-free Cambridge has purged away that (foolish?) idea. Instead, I turned to comic books (which might be equally foolish for some people).

Thesis was finally submitted, things were packed, and I got back to my home country. Out of all the thesis writing and library lurking, what could be more relaxing than grabbing the joystick and starting my very own adventure in gaming world. At least that was my innocent thought.

As I played Star Ocean, my mind was not relaxing. When Millie's father departed to Caulle and got petrified, suddenly my brain started to vibrate. This must be Campbell's 'Death of the Father'. At the same times, reading Roddick's mum's comment on Roddick's father led me to the same result. "Of course Roddick's father should be dead. Without it, there won't be an adventure!"

Wait, what? I was supposed to relax, yet I start analysing things. All the reading of books and article finally paid off. They have been internalized in my mind and came out during my gaming moment. Not a relaxation I got, but the game forced my mind to think HARDER and analyse. C to the R to the A to the P!

Now I blame education for ruining my pleasure!!!!!

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Shattered Illusion

It’s in Dubai Airport that my dream went into pieces. The moment of realization that I am leaving Cambridge came there, as I sat in front of Gate 222. I was surrounded by many other Indonesians, shattering my illusion of racial diversity that I had in Cambridge.

There will be no more cute blondes with blue eyes, or cute nerd gingers. There will be no more pints of Stella Artois, there will be no more weekly visit to The Bird. The images of Market Square flashed in my mind, raising the regret that I had there. After almost a year living in Cambridge, buying my midnight burger in Trailer of Life and Trailer of Death, Ostrich Burger hasn’t touched my tongue yet.

And another image of room B-19 in Norfolk Building popped up in my head. I don’t know who the recent occupant is, yet the setting will forever remain unchanged in my dream. A small room with many books, the place where I spent my life building new life and new family in UK.

A new family was born there, in the dark small hall. Can’t tell everyone how special that hall is for me, since that feeling is undescribable. And all those images left me to tears. Because the illusion called ‘family’ is shattered.
Now I’m back with my old family. Even worse, the lady sitting next to me started to blabber about system in Indonesia, yet quite illogical. Sigh!

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Ode to B-19

As I walked down from the city centre to St. Edmund's College, the feeling was different. Usually I went straight to my room there and lied down on the bed. Yet, the room key was no longer in my possession. It was in the receptionist along with my university card.

Yet my feet moved swiftly, guiding me along the way. Every step, every stone, and every path screamed the same thing. They led me back to my home.

B-19 in St. Edmund's College.

My home.

The place where I built my new family.

The place where I started embracing my life.

The place where I learned things.

The place where I left my heart....

Here in Cambridge,

Here in Britain.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Rajutan Sepi

Di dalam sunyi
aku merajut sang kata
yang telah terlupakan
ditelan sepinya keheningan.

Sang kata yang tercerai-berai,
terhambur tanpa suara
dihentak kasar oleh sang sepi.

Tak lagi bermakna.

kosong

nol

...

..

.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Dear Someone 4

Dear,

You look so old and tired recently. I know you're exhausted, you just told me several months ago. Hhhh, I shouldn't care though. I shouldn't. Yet I couldn't help noticing your new profile picture in Facebook. That picture does not resemble the you I knew. Yes, it's your smile, but without the special spark in your eyes.

I understand your regret of throwing away your dream. I can see your regret for the past crimes to atone. They're there, in your words. In your effort to reach me back. In your every sentence. I dealt with language, remember? I can read between the line.

You're just so tired and lonely.

Is this something you deserve to get for all the games you played?

A divine curse for breaking your vow to Him?

Of all people, you should know better than that.

You should.....

Thursday, July 07, 2011

Effeminacy

Just today, I encountered an offensive comment as a reply for my tweet. It all started when I joked about applying for a job as fashion buyer. And no, I did not intend to create an irony out of the gender expectation of some jobs. It's more because of the fact that I am fashion blind.

I have too many encounters with various post-structuralist theories that they changed my perspective about gender. After all, gender is a mere social construction. Yet, similar to the case of religion –another social construction, people tend to be blinded by the skin and ignore the core problem. Commoners are trapped just in the construction, creating a false God out of the construction, consequently neglecting the true deity embodying the framework. Gee, I think I should stop talking about this religion mumbo-jumbo, or this writing will turn into yet another religious critique.

“I think you should try applying for the job, sir. It suits you, you’re a bit effeminate! :p”

The word ‘effeminate’ used to be a term I hated. It has haunted me for years, controlled my behavior, and hindered me from embracing the real value of life. Yes, the offensive word carrying social gender expectation. Being inside the structure and trapped in the traditional masculine hegemony has empowered that word, the word of torture. Spat that word near my ear, and you would boil my blood and stir my emotion.

‘Effeminate’ sure does exercise its power, attacking any man’s Achilles Heel. No sane man (within the cage of traditional gender binary – masculine hegemony) will be willing to hear that term directed to him.

“I am not effeminate! I am a man!” And to prove my manliness, I would beat people saying that word to me senseless. Well, it’s a bit hyperbolic, since I lacked of physical power to do so. But I always assured that the mocker would get something in return. (Gee, I might be the next host for the spirit of vengeance).

Once or twice, the words might be just a joke, non-funny one. But getting accustomed to hear the mockery, I grew more sensitive. Once, my students said that I was effeminate for trying to emulate British Accent. He attacked the accent (yes, for him American accent is manlier, while British accent with all the stresses implies effeminacy), yet I had to hold my anger. It happened in a classroom, my territory, the safe place.

So, what happened today? Did I explode and burst into anger?

No. I did not. Why bother with the old and rotting shell of masculine hegemony? Why bother with outdated gender construction? Gender and sexuality is constructed discursively. People have their own share in the construction process. But it depend on ourselves to accept or to rebel. It’s a ‘Gender Trouble’.

Instead, I pity him. Pity for he is still trapped in the old and archaic masculine hegemony. Pity for he can’t see beyond the structure.

Pity for his bigotry….

and blindness…..

…..

..

DRAG!

Friday, July 01, 2011

It's almost the time to bid farewell. 
My dream starts shredding itself, 
scrap by scrap, 
piece by piece, 
drop by drop
leaving only tears
bursting out of my chest
tearing me apart. 

And I want nothing
but an eternity
forever frozen in dream
encapsulated by the figment of imagination
embracing solace

Friday, June 24, 2011

Unfinished Trilogy of SEDaC

On the second age of the earth, lived a brotherhood of Silver Tongue. The member of this brotherhood mastered Silver Tongue's technique, an ancient wizardry of sounds and words. So powerful was this technique that a civilization would be at mercy of one wielder. No sword nor magic could kill the Silver Tongue wielder but Silver Tongue itself.

H'ruu, the High Master of Silver Tongue, had ruled over the brotherhood for eons. He had seen many wars over centuries, christened new generations and burried all of them. H'ruu seemed to be the perpetual leader of Silver Tongue brotherhood, until the Three Generals appeared, the survivor of the fourth Holy War.

Three Generals were three of H'ruu's best champions. They are Lord Gespenst, Lady Stalia, and Lady Seytank. With great confidence, H'ruu crowned his three champions as the new leaders of Silver Tongue brotherhood. Their first task was to train the new batch of champions and maintain the familial connection among them. For Silver Tongue brotherhood should not aim to win the war, but helped people in need. It was too dangerous to really wield the full power of Silver Tongue in the battlefield. New champions should not be tempted to harness it as a warcry.

Emerged from the ashes of Holy War, the three generals knew the consequences of abusing Silver Tongue. They were given the mission to brought Silver Tongue back to its root, a brotherhood. There was a power beyond sound and words, family bound.

The first batch of Silver Tongue consisted of Lady Mayl'nda the Fair, Lady El'nda the Calm, Lady F'yza the Small, Lord Dhamma the wise, Lady Roth the Slim, Lady Arone the Judge, Lord Farda the Exile, Lady V'cha the Silent, and Lady Ikea the Slick. As the new champions, they had to go into fourteenth Clan War. Sworn under the pledge of repressing power, they could not win the war. Yet, the bound between them grew stronger. It was the beginning of a Silver Tongue family.

In the midst of the clan war, several new champions joined force with them. D'mee the Silent Cry, Leo the Gentle, Lady Rosye of East, Earlain the Firm, Lady Diertche the Destroyer, and Sharp Tongue Rheani. Assisted by these new recruits, the clan slowly ransacked the opponent. They grew into a considerable force of war without using full power of Silver Tongue. Unique ability of each power greatly enhanced the force and balanced the war.

But war was never forgiving. Lady Saytank had to leave the field to rebuilt her hometown. Lady Arone the Judge and Lord Dhamma left to Highland, still with the promise of helping anytime they were needed. The task grew more difficult for Lord Gespenst and Lady Stalia to mentor the champions. They had more recruits joining to replace the departed.

Northwind Deo, a junior recruit, brought his companion to the clan. El'stya the Gale, Deflective Hyuga, Lady Hamutia the Speed, Calm Mind Jestina, and Calm Heart H'nee soon joined the ranks. It was in this time that despite the loss of the prominent members, Silver Tongue Clan gained more respects. Their newfound power came from the wine they shared, from the unison moves they made, from the melody they combined.

More and more champions sided with Silver Tongue, following their increased power and respect. Three female warriors, Eulla, I'anthe, and Berenedete joined the rank, proving themselves as powerful allies. They led several battles and brought some victories for Silver Tongue. Estvin Elvin worked together with Lord Deast and Fast Pick Jun'O became a valuable team. Meanwhile, Hot Blooded Al-Dheet, Cheerful Reekhy, and Book Keeper Elka provided another ransacking force. Lady Mey'ng acted as the support officer for the garrisons.

Despite all the victories they gain, a dark power lurked in the heart of Silver Tongue. An ancient demon, Nu'Inda the whore manifested herself after being bathed in blood. She approached Lady Ikea the Slick and tempted her with power.

Lord Gespenst, on the other hand, had grown tired and old. He desired a rest, yet his pledge to Master H'ruu exempted him from withdrawing before finding a worthy successor. In his view, Lady Diertche the Destroyer, and Sharp Tongue Rheani were the perfect successors. The champions before them had withdrawn to normal life. Lady Mayl'nda went back to her legacy, taking the throne of her kingdom. Lady Roth the Slim withdrawn to assist support of the battle.

Fuelled by her ambition, Lady Ikea took the power of Nu'Inda the Whore and became known as Ikea the Bitch. She sabotaged every effort of succession and tried to kill Lord Gespenst. Her lust of victory and hunger of sexual touch led her to rip her Pristinal Robe and donned the Passion Bustier. Another Civil War took place between Ikea the Bitch and Lord Gespenst's followers.

Forced to utilized the full power of Silver Tongue, Lord Gespenst subsided Nu'Inda the Whore and bursted Ikea the Bitch into pieces. Though he was on the winning side, Lord Gespenst's wound was too deep. He had no other choice than stepping down the throne. Knowing that Silver Tongue Clan would never be the same again without him, some loyalists withdrew themselves together with the Lord.

Seeing the empty throne, Ikea the Bitch seized the opportunity, crowning herself as Queen Ikea the Slut. Her reign wrecked the sense of family within the clan. Under her rule, every member was permitted to utilize the Silver Tongue. Unfortunate for her, the very heart of Silver Tongue was kept by the Three Generals. What Queen Ikea the Slut knew was only the surface level.

The bonding power with Nu'Inda the Whore put Ikea into a constant sexual crave. This lust put her into the embrace of Cloud Warrior from other clan. Determined to wreck havoc on Silver Tongue, Cloud Warrior made us of Ikea's sexual crave and tricked her to willingly surrender the power.

Once Cloud Warrior seized the throne, he banished all the previous champions from the clan. (Former) Queen Ikea was banished (without her knowing it) into a small cottage, deprived from her former glory and sexual craving.

Lord Gespenst could not do anything but cried. One day, the vengeance will come to Ikea, Nu'Inda, and the Cloud Warrior.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

A Mountain Boy

Time flies. As if the Hermes sandals are taken by the old Cronos. True, time has been my best friend in healing all the wounds. But time is also responsible for the new wounds called separation. Separation from people you know, new friends you made for a short time, new place you can finally call home.

Few days ago, a dear friend from Korea went back home, leaving Cambridge. It's barely possible for us to meet again (especially if I am going back to Indonesia. Duh!). No flashy farewell party, no crazy farewell drink, no classy farewell dinner. Just a hug outside the receptionist (YES! St. Ed doesn't have a plodge. LOL).

I told her my plan to go back for graduation and further plan to present in the seminar on March 2012. Can't deny that I wish to see her again in the future. She was happy and said, "You have done so much in your academic life! Your struggle was not wasted in vain! A mountain man going to Cambridge, eh?"

Her sentences got stuck in my mind and brought me to another contemplative mood. True, I have never dreamed of going into this university. As a student, I was never the brightest. In my elementary years, I tried so hard to get the first rank in class. But, how many times have I had that privilege? A socially awkward and super talkative dark skinny boy. Not the bright one nor the rich one. Hell, I could barely afford books. True, I did dream about Cambridge in this stage, but just as a wild imagination from reading Sailor Moon.

Junior high sank me lower. 30th rank out of 40 students? Desperation and panic attack every term during the final exams? Got into the 239th rank out of 400 students for the mock exams? And still social alien due to the lack of interest in soccer and rock music. My best aim for the university then was just Gadjah Mada University.

Senior high? Good grief. I was not in a good school. Rural one where people know nothing of its whereabout. Dreaming of going abroad was too much to bear. With the tuition fee of 5000 IDR (equal to 33 pence) per month, affording a ticket to go even to Malaysia or Singapore was a mere wild thought. My only hope was to participate in a student exchange program. Guess what? There was an offer of AFS student exchange. But if I was selected, I had to pay up to 600 USD for that. Now, how could I get 600 USD? Afterall, I am just a village boy. Yes, my house is on the mountain, far from the city centre. You, dear Cantabrigian fellows, might not believe me if I say that until the second you read the article, phone line has not reached my house yet.

My university is not popular either. Please, my fellow Cantabs will never hear of that place. Not a flashy one, not a famous one. It is not even Gadjah Mada University. Less exchange program, less scholarship. What could I do? Twice I put myself on the Fulbright exchange program and got rejected twice. My desire back then was just finishing the undergrad and live a simple life as a teacher. Yes, a mere teacher who teaches in senior high school. Earning a decent amount every month, enough to buy meal and pay the rent. Totally lack of ambition, eh? But what could I do? Without any scholarship, I could never afford the tuition abroad. Self funded was never a choice. Hell, it's not even a choice! I really need to be a high class hustler to get the money. Well, that's an ironic joke among friends.

After graduation, I decided not to settle down on any permanent job. If I have a permanent one, it will be hard for me to pursue the scholarship. Various part-time jobs only for the sake of living while trying to get the fund. For almost two years, I applied to many scholarships available. Nothing successful, and I grew impatient. I need money to keep living, I need a permanent job to secure the future.

There were times when I wanted to just give up. There were times when I got really frustrated, thinking that I picked a wrong choice. Afterall, I was nobody studying social science (or worse, education). So many scholarships for natural sciences, for medical study, for biology, engineering, chemistry, and their friends. But education or literature? I was literally crying alone in my room many times, regretting my decision. The decision for my undergrad major, the decision to reject all the permanent job offers, the decision to be stubborn.

And just by the time when I was almost giving up, my phone rang. Something I could never expect, a chance to be a part of Cantab network. And here I am, a Cantab member. Something that I did not even dare to dream.

Am I lucky? Perhaps. But if I gave up, I would not be here now. I might have ended up in a cheap master course somewhere. I might have ended up being rich from working. Who knows? But I took the blow, I took the risk, and here is the boy from mountain.

Friday, June 10, 2011


I am

Feeling worthless.............
Feeling unwanted.............

Just want an end for everything.

Monday, June 06, 2011

Dear my beloved,

I can never comprehend what is inside your mind. You are such a paradox indeed. Understanding your way of thinking can lead even Freud to madness. It's a labyrinth more complicated than the one housing the minotaur. Or worse, even Minotaur cannot bear to live in your everchanging labyrinth. A harpies' nest with constant dragon flame and the darkness of the deep ocean.

You are supposed to love and protect me in your bosom. Your role has been sung by the poets since the dawn of time, the tale of a heart you're supposed to have has been recited in both literature and psychology. Lacan called you warmth, Freud called you the first love, storytellers call you the womb, religious freak calls you the guardian.

Yet, you guarded me with knife and broom. Every bruise on my back is your sign of love, you said. The scar on my cheek is a proof of your everlasting affection, isn't it? What about the knives? Constant knives in front of my eyes? Are they also your way to protect me? You don't want me to get hurt outside, but you're willing to hurt me yourself.

In the name of your love, you would rather kill me yourself than seeing me getting killed outside. But an assumption cannot be justified, for I may not kill myself outside. Yet, my death will be certain on your hand. You love blood, you love the violence, you love the sound of my cry, and above all, you love the music of my surrender and desperation.

The knives have haunted my nights. It has been more than a year, but I just can't forget piece of sharp metal in front of my face. I just can't forget the rolling thunder from your mouth that threw me away to the slump of humiliation. At that night, you striped my humanity out of me. I'm just an animal you can slaughter at any time. For any reason. To your demand. In the end, it's always you.

I got out of your sight. Trying to start a new thing. Yet, now you can't shut your mouth asking me to get back. For what? You're no warmth, you're no love, and you're no affection. Are you trying to get me back to repeat the torture again? Are you trying to get me back just so you can kill me anytime you want? So you have your non-human object?

I am tired, dear Mum!

Wednesday, June 01, 2011

Masih tersisa harap ini untuk memulai hidup baru di luar Indonesia. Memulai sesuatu yang benar-benar baru dari nol, dimana tidak ada lagi orang yang mengetahui rahasia kelam masa lalu dan derita yang terpendam jauh di dalam dada.

Hidup baru berarti teman-teman baru, yang tidak akan pernah mengungkit luka lama yang terkubur. Kesempatan untuk memulai hidupku seagai seorang Chrys, sebagai seorang individu yang tidak terpengaruh oleh guratan darah yang mengucur di waktu yang silam.

Hidup baru berarti mulai membangun rumah dan kehidupan tanpa terpengaruh oleh bayangan kelam sang pendahulu. Tidak ada orang yang mengenali keluargaku, siapa dan apa mereka.

Adakah luka ini begitu dalam? Adakah rasa sakit ini terlalu lama tertinggal dan menggores setiap dinding sukmaku?

Karena sayap sang burung yang telah mereka patahkan terlalu takut untuk pulih dibawah tatapan mata para penyiksanya. Karena suara kicau sang kutilang selalu lenyap ditelan gema tawa penangkapnya. Karena kaki terikat oleh sakit hati dan mata tak berani lagi membuka lebar.

Adakah luka ini begitu dalam?

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Indonesian school of Children's Literature?

Few days ago, I had two Indonesian friends come to my room for dinner. Pretty inappropriate though, since my room is always in a mess with lots of books scattered in all eight directions. Luckily, they didn't mind (or probably they were being polite and decided not to say it). One of them started to browse my bookshelf and grabbed Michael Rosen's Sad Book.

"Sad Book?" she asked me.

"Yep! It's depressingly beautiful!"

She skimmed through the book and closed it in the end. "What's the point of having this kind of book? Why should children read this kind of book? What will the children learn?"

At that time, I realized something. My fellow Indonesians still consider children's literature as a didactic device. For them, children need to get the MORAL message from everything they read. If it doesn't have good moral value, the book should be banned. Since Sad Book doesn't have any moral value to learn, my friend will never allow her future children to read it (thus the children will miss one of great children books. Shameeeee!)

That event got me thinking about the paradigm regarding children's literature in my home country. Driven by my curiosity, I went to consult dear uncle Google. "Kajian Sastra Anak Indonesia" (Children's Literature Study in Indonesia) was soon displayed on the textbox. I didn't expect much because I know not many people are interested in this field (especially recalling all their undermining gaze for me).

To my surprise, I found one opinion from Riris Sarumpaet - a children's literature scholar in University of Indonesia, one new book about children's literature (it is released this April! Whooa!), and one online published thesis on children's literature.

I read Riris Sarumpaet's article first. She is quite famous in Indonesia as a literature scholar and has encouraged the development of children's poetry. She deals with children, so she must at least know something. Yet, her statement shocked me. Children's literature is seen as a place to nurture and implant the existing ideology for children. Wait! So that means children are shaped by adults to be what adults want them to be? This really reminds me of what Nodelman (1992) argues about colonization in children's literature. If that is the paradigm, no wonder educational and moral values are still considered IMPORTANT.

Moving on to the review of that new book, I saw the use of structuralist analysis in it. Well, the whole book is based on the structural analysis. Oh, there is an additional point in it, MORALITY. So, basically the book talks about how children's literature should be constructed to effectively convey the moral values. The same thing also happen to the thesis. Structural analysis on several books along the moral values.

Sigh....... No wonder I never know Maurice Sendak or Beatrix Potter before I came to Cambridge. "Where the Wild Things Are" must be considered as non-educative book due to the lack of explicit moral value in it. And Anthony Browne. And Michael Rosen. And many others.

Sigh!

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

A question that I hate the most recently is, "When are you going back, sir?"

I wish I can answer that question by saying, "I'm not going back!" But I can't do that just yet. I have yet to find a job abroad, I have yet to set my life here. And at this point, I despise my nationality that much. Being an Indonesian means being limitted by visa to go everywhere, to work everywhere.

Now that I stay in UK, I saw people from Europe travelling easily across countries. Hell, they can even work in any EU country easily. Yet, I need to go through a long and demanding admnistrative process for my visa. Moreover, it pose me difficulty in finding a job. DAMN!

But comes another question. Why do I insist on staying overseas? Isn't Indonesia good enough for me to work in? Well, economically yes. There are many job opportunities there compare to this country. But that means I have to go back home.

So many reasons, so many untold stories, so many ballads and verses of staying away from home. Yet, I found a big reason. I need to save my brother. I want to bring him away from home......

Yes, we had lots of bro-fight. We quarelled more than you could imagine. Yet, he can be really sweet. By the time I feel like losing hope here, he was the first person telling me that I can do it. "I believe you can do it, because it's you!"

Sometimes when he told me his suffering, I am more and more motivated to take him away. But I have to find a way first to settle here, to prepare what I need to have.

I'm desperate to help him, yet I haven't been able to do anything.....

Monday, May 16, 2011

The Celestial Mother

The rosary beads slowly moved in my palm, causing soft frictions among my fingers. "Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blesseth are thou amongst women, and blesseth is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus..." Those words softly slipped away from my lips, floating in the darkness of the dawn.

Yes, the watch in my wrist showed number two, flashing in red. It was two in the morning, yet I could not close my eyes. Out of nowhere, my hands were tempted to reach for the white rosary next to bed. A rosary from home, something that I had never touched for a long time. It was white and shiny, each bead was made from pearl. As white as a baby soul should be.

With my mouth recited Hail Mary constantly, my mind wandered around leaving my body and entering the ethereal field. Formless, weightless, bland. No eyes, but I could see my corporeal body moved like an automaton.

What was it that I was looking? I denounced my faith in any religion and I stripped myself off from any religious dogmas. But what on earth had encouraged me to recite the mantra of the roses?

Ah, it was not God the father that I was looking. No, the Father is nothing but a bastard! Afterall, Father is the figure of law, the limitation waiting to be killed. While the Queen of the Roses is a kind woman. She was the primordial mother, the womb of the earth.

Yes, I was trying to find my way back to that comfortable cave. I longed for the breast of Gaia, whose every drop of milk turned red and came penetrating our every vein. It's the forgotten mother, the earth herself.

And I saw her, naked in all her glories. She stripped away all of her tunic and went to the ocean. With her ripe breast, she seduced the might ocean, asking him to embrace her. She let the tide fondle her breasts, led her into celestial pleasure. Her long hair covered each coast line while she moaned joyfully. Her cries of happiness was in rhyme with the sound of waves and the whistling seagulls. The ocean rolled her along the sand, touching every spot of mother's body. She gasped as the salt water embrace her figure, drowning her in ecstasy. Her belly trembled with glee as the ripples caress her back.

It was the wildest intercourse ever imagined. Yet, it was very soothing and moving. A celestial love among the earth and the ocean. The sacred matrimony and the beginning of every life. The prime mother, that's what we've been forgetting all along. A nurturing God, not a condemning one. She who cares about the world and not set the law. The breast of life and the cave where people can reside safely.

Yes. The mother, the Queen of Roses, the Goddess of Mercy.

"Hail Mary full of grace....."
"Om Maha Kali, Shri Maha Lhaksmi, Maha Sarasvati...."
"Om Mani Padme Hum....."

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Binary Trouble

It's about stereotype for gender binary, guys. With the existence of Queer Theory, why do we still gender the stereotypes?

I am biologically my man, but what is my gender?
I certainly know nothing about Manchester United,
but I don't care either with the designer of Kate Middleton's wedding dress!
Yes I like to play video game and dislike playing Barbie doll,
but I am good at cooking and bad at mechanics.
I love opera, but don't ask me about fashion tips.
I dislike Twilight, Edward Cullen, Bella, and Jacob
the same way I don't like Saving Private Ryan.
But at the same time, I like The Butterfly Effect and Zatoichi.
I don't like Miyabi, but I favour Terra Patrick.
For me Brad Pitt is hot, but Jolie is not. Nicole Kidman is.
Yes, I watched Queer as Folk. But let me say that I also watch The L Word.
Don't get me wrong, I ogle on Power Girl's costume but Wonder Woman with pants is equally hot, while Superman is a steroid victim.

THE QUESTION IS, HOW IMPORTANT ARE THOSE THINGS?

I will still live on without knowing the detail for Manchester United or Royal Wedding. Jacques Lacan is far more interesting!

Eat your bashing stereotyping comment, dear friends. Gender is constructed, and not an innate thing. Stop bashing, stop the stereotype, and one day you'll know that there are more important things than the binary.

PS : I watch Glee, and I believe it might also be your guilty pleasure.

Monday, May 09, 2011

A Girl Who Kills Her Own Heart

“I’ve killed my own heart!”

That is the most shocking sentence I’ve ever heard. What does this girl mean?

“How can you live without a heart?”

She laughed.

“I am alive, that’s it!”

“But, how can you kill your own heart? Who’s going to regulate your blood circulation?”

“I am alive. Isn’t that self explanatory? I don’t need my heart to pump the blood!”

I was puzzled with her explanation. But she just smiled mysteriously.

“I took my heart out and crushed it. But contrary to the medical belief, I don’t have the blood in there. My colleagues were as surprised as I was during the surgery. But that is the fact. No blood!”

Silence.

“Tell me then, what is your secret?”

“My heart is the heart of the world. I crushed it and gave it to people suffering in remote parts of the world. Each piece grows into a new heart, pumping the blood into their already cold bodies, heating their mind and spirit. Each beat of their hearts becomes my heartbeat. Each drop of blood in their veins flows through my veins. They need my heart more than I do. On the other hand, I won’t have a heart attack or broken heart!”

She waved goodbye and went her own way.

She’s right. She kills her own heart, yet she’s more alive than many people.

Friday, May 06, 2011

The Dead Father and Symbollic Order

Well, this time I am fascinated by dear Jacques Lacan (and to think how I hated him before with all his difficult framework). My research leads me to read his concept of Name-of-the-Father. It is started as a psychoanalytical theory, but then it becomes really popular in literature. After careful observation, it turns out to be really interesting.

So, what is this Name-of-the-Father? According to Lacan, human grows because of the separation from the 'mother' and the taking up of a position with respect to the Law of the Father. 'Mother' here refers to the primordial sense of comfort and joy. Well, if we would refer to Freud, mother is the source of warmth and food while we are still in the infancy stage. However, the father then 'castrated' the child through the separation from the mother. Of course, this is done to nurture the child, right? But this separation will create a trauma for the child and led to an intense hatred. (Ooops, I'm going too far to Freud. Let's revert back!)

The main thing with Lacan is that in order to grow, the infant should be separated from the comfort of the mother and kill the Father. Yep! Killing the father. However, unlike Freud who took it literaly, everything in Lacan is symbolic. Well, we cannot deny that a dead father in many stories will open a possibility for the hero to harness and wield a greater power. I guess, the death of the father is a primordial desire nesting in our subconsciousness. No matter what you do, an offspring can never really escape from the shadow of the predecessor. The only way to stand on their own is to 'erase' the predecessor.

Now, in the concept of the 'Father', Lacan called it the figure of Law. As a figure of Law, 'father' is the determiner of everything. In some ways, some Lacan scholars compared the concept of 'Father' with Freud's Jewish God Yahweh. Both are the upholding yet demanding agency which never reveals its true face. A great authority, in short. Furthermore, Nobus (2000) defined Name-of-the-Father as a "culturally determined regulation of the natural order of things." The Order!

Well, if we see Name-of-the-Father as 'regime of the normal', then it justifies the movement of feminism and queer theory. Both talk about the struggle against norm. And what is the characteristic of norms? Dictating, regarded as a natural order, and full or authority. And in relation to Young Adult's text (which is my research object), the rebellion of adolescent is directed against various institution such as school, law, and religion.

Then, if we assume that human being is a group of adolescents, it is quite normal for them to rebel against the 'Father'. Afterall, without the rebellion, they will never trully understand their position within the power structure. Robert Samuels mentioned that "[i]t is through the castration complex that each subject must accept the intervention of the law and the desire of the Other, by either affirming or denying the role of the phallus in the determination of identity" (1993: 27). Some decided to succumb with following the oppression, and some decided to live outside the structure.

True, if we kill the father, we will be immersed into the order. Afterall, the death of the father is the entry to the symbolic Order, the so-called-pseudo-stability. Yeah, I am being sceptic here, since there is no such thing as a perfect stability. That is just a utopia!

In respect to my last article about drag and religion, the rebellion against Name-of-the-Father can also be paralleled with questioning the norm in religion. When we see the religion as the 'ultimate' law of humankind (which is happening right now by people worshiping religion and not God), therefore the growth can only be achieved through the death of religion. Afterall, in the evolution of religion, they are diminishing each other, by trying to kill the predecessor. Seeing the concept of Uber-man and Superman in Nietzsche, I guess it can be said that they have kill their 'father' as in religion. And why are they called super? Because they've already risen to the status of hero, just like in Campbell's Heroic Monomyth (1949).

But what is the consequence? Being fatherless means conquering the phallic figure but there is a shift from the oppressed into oppressor. When one kill one's father and rise to the symbolic order, one will be 'father' for other. Thus, other people will try to kill. (See, this is why I never thought that utopia will never happen). In terms of rebellion against religion (let's just say the atheist or agnostic), when they successfully topple the religions right now, automatically they will form new symbolic order.

I guess, that's why Pippi Langstrump although empowered by the absence of his father still maintain the fact that his father is still alive. Afterall, no challenge and resistance will make life's dull, eh?

(Again, what am I writing here???)

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Queer? Religious affair!

Reading Donald E. Halls' Queer Theories, I felt like being slapped in the face. He said that recently most queer theories are confined in a discussion of sexuality only. Meanwhile, with Hall's presentation of the real background in Queer Theory, I realized a wider implementation of the framework. Why was I trapped as well in the same way of thinking?

Before I go to writing the implementation of this framework to criticize the social condition in Indonesia, let us just see what upholds the theories. The basic of queer theory lies on how we define queer itself. Thus, that is the question. What is queer?

True, many people would just answer that the term queer connote to the concepts in sexuality, be they sexual orientation or sexual deviance. But before that, queer denotes the term of weirdness, or borrowing from Said's concept, "the others". Hall said that Queer represents the oppressed groups by the "regime of the normal".

Whoop, wait! Do not fall into the pitfall that "normal" here refers to mere heterosexuality! Michael Werner in 1993 define "regime of the normal" as a mode of government, a form of management of people, their activities, and expressions of selfhood. With the existence of "regime", logically there are oppressed groups. And these oppressed groups are referred to as "queer", the groups with potential to disrupt the hegemony of the "regime". With "regime", it means Foucauldian power hierarchy took place in ruling the relationship here. Foucault once proposed "domination-repression force", a domination by the power ruling over economy. Furthermore, there is a power struggle / dynamics here to determine which power should be on top, which power has the ability and capability to dominate. The dominance power then decide what are the "natural" and "normal" according to their standard. Thus, the repressed ones are the groups deviating from the idea of "norm". Interestingly, Werner said that these groups also include feminists. ethnic minorities, and activists of all persuasions. They are the groups that people are not supposed to be. Thus, for this groups, a change is strongly advised. If they can't change, they'd better be silent. Ooops, silence? Again you can refer back to Said's post-colonialism.

See, quite clear though that queer in Queer theories can be understood in a broader sense. The basic premise here is the power relation over these groups. How the powers are maintained through some kind of struggles or dynamics.

Interestingly, as I read the book, an idea popped up in my mind. What if we put religious affair in Indonesia into the framework? Let's just assume that Nietzsche's "Gott ist tot" has not really penetrate the mind of people. (No need to assume though. It is considered as a forbidden view already. LOL) Well, I've just realized that for many people in western hemisphere (and some from eastern part), the control over religion by the government is indeed a bizarre idea. But for years (and for majority, for their whole life) that kind of idea seems really 'normal' for Indonesian. True, most of us just take it for granted. For some people, they confess a certain faith only because they have to, only for the formal reason. Seen from Judith Butler's perspective of gender trouble, this is similar to the concept of drag, how people perform gender (a.k.a. religion) parodically. They create a satyric performance of (un)expected gender/identity. The difference with Butler's concept, people surround them are not really aware with the drag performance.

Recently, a dear ex-student also posted a question over the religion hegemony, how religious people are trying so hard to maintain the coverage of religious values over the whole country. Now, referring back to the queer framework of power, there is always an effort to keep the hegemony/supremacy. In this case, the religious people are imposing the idea that the truth lies in confessing religion. People without any religious beliefs are satanic, evil, demonic, and corrupted. Well, logically that makes sense. As the "regime of the normal", they would try to make everybody "normal", even if they have to 'demolish' the Queers. Afterall, Halperin (1995) said that the concept of queer is whatever is at odds with the normal, the LEGITIMATE, and the dominant". See, pay attention to the terms 'at odds' and 'legitimate'. It makes sense that to maintain the power and throne, one should not hesitate to destroy opposing force. And by sitting on top of the power pyramid, this 'regime of the normal' loses the ability to reflect on their own flaws and fails to see the others' perspective.

However, since the power dominance is in the field of identity, then for people who are still 'at odds' with the 'regime of the normal', just be a drag. Sorry Lady GaGa, this time I am against you. 'Don't be a queen, just be a drag'. Identity is just a matter of a term in national ID Card.

(Gee, this is just a scribble produced from confusion of thesis writing)

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Surat Terakhir Semar

Bagong menemukan Semar tergolek tak bernyawa di atas peraduan pada suatu pagi. Di sebelahnya, ada sepucuk surat untuk Bagong

Bagong anakku,

Bapak pamit mati, le. Ini keputusan sing wis dak pikir dawa. Lebih baik bapak mati baik-baik di rumah sendiri, di kasur sendiri daripada di tempat lain yang ndak ada orang kenal. Sejelek apapun pendhapa Punakawan ini, tetep aja ini rumah kita. Walaupun sudah mau rubuh, tapi ada banyak kenangan. Rasanya baru kemarin kamu nangis karena ditinggal kangmas-kangmasmu, Gareng dan Petruk. Ah, sekarang thole-tholeku sudah dewasa semua. Cuma kamu, le, satu-satunya yang masih mau ngerumat pendhapa ini. Bapak wis ndak berharap kang Gareng dan kang Petruk pulang. Mereka sudah bahagia di kota dengan keluarganya masing-masing.

Sudah beberapa minggu ini bapak dengar rasan-rasan tetangga. Mereka sudah sepet melihat rumah kita ini. Katanya, jaman modern kok masih tinggal di pendhapa kuno. Merusak pemandangan, menurut mereka. Eh, pas bapak jagongan dengan pak Tarno yang di sebelah, katanya banyak yang sudah pergi ke Dinas Tata Kota untuk minta ijin merenovasi rumah kita. Ealah le, renovasi itu jebul maksudnya mereka mau ngrubuhke pendhapa ini dan mbangun yang baru. Wah, bapak ya cuma bisa ngelus dada dengar cerita itu.

Yah, kalau dilihat-lihat, memang rumah kita itu sudah beda dengan rumah yang lain. Rumah pak Amat yang ada di seberang jalan itu kelihatan bagus. Catnya putih, lantainya keramik, pake hiasan di atasnya. Banyak orang yang sering main ke sana, jagongan tiap malam. Ketoke mereka pesta besar-besaran. Lha tiap kali selalu pake toa. Banter tenan, sampai bapak kadang ndak bisa nggayemi uyon-uyon kalau malam.

Yang di seberang kali, kalau kamu perhatikan, ada rumahnya pak Kris. Seminggu sekali juga selalu ada pesta disana. Kalau kata orang-orang, selalu ada makan besar. Musiknya macem-macem, le. Wah, sayang bapak ndak bisa dengar. Lha jauh je, di seberang kali. Anak-anak muda kalau dolan ke sana selalu macak. Wah, kinclong-kinclong, le. Coba kamu lebih sering ada disini, pasti seneng nonton pacakane. Rumahnya apik tenan, rumah kita kalah jauh wis.

Lha rumah kita? Dari kayu yang sudah hampir kropos. Gelap, ndak pake toa atau musik aneh-aneh. Yang ada cuma suara jangkrik kalau malam. Kadang bapak masih nyetel uyon-uyon kalau pas sepi, dari kaset yang dulu kita beli waktu jalan-jalan ke pasar Beringharjo. Kalo menurut bapak, itu bikin hati adem dan ayem. Eh, kata orang-orang itu, musik yang sering bapak putar itu medeni. Musik untuk manggil setan, katanya.

Wah, banyak yang ndak ngelingi. Dulu simbah-simbah mereka sering jagongan disini kalau malam. Rokokan pakai klembak menyan sambil ngeteh nasgitel. Kadang kita bicara tentang sawah, kadang kita bicara tentang hasil pancingan, atau kalau baru serius, mereka bicara tentang sejatining urip, tentang hidup. Wah, itu bapak paling menikmati. Walaupun mereka cuma buruh tani, tapi pemahamannya tentang urip dan Gusti itu dalam. Lha dasarnya mereka bergelut dengan urip itu sendiri, memelihara kehidupan kalau kata anak-anak jaman sekarang. Ndak banyak aturan, yang penting itu bisa merasakan Sing Kuwasa.

Eh, simbah-simbah itu sudah banyak yang seda, anak-anaknya mulai banyak yang ndak peduli. Sawah-sawah yang dulu menghidupi mereka mulai ditukar dengan mobil yang cemlorong dan cemolong itu. Sudah banyak yang lupa dengan tempat dolan mereka dulu. Beberapa orang masih sering jagongan kesini dengan bapak, tapi cuma segelintir saja. Lumayan, masih ada bapaknya pak Joko, ada mbak Sumeh yang seda minggu kemarin. Kadang-kadang pakde Jabar atau pak Basiyo juga mampir. Mereka itu yang masih nguri-uri sawah pada masanya, yang masih sempat ngaso dan jagongan disini.

Eh, begitu anak-anak mereka sudah gedhe, mereka dilarang main ke sini. Kata anak-anak mereka, bapak membawa pengaruh yang tidak baik. Lha, sudah dari jaman simbah mereka ada disini, baru sekarang bapak dituduh menghasut mereka. Paham sesat katanya. Padahal kan simbah mereka itu belajar tentang urip dari nguri-uri sawah, bukan bapak yang jadi guru. Guru mereka itu ya sawah, ya kali, ya urip itu sendiri. Anak cucu mereka ndak berurusan dengan sawah, malah menjual sawah itu. Mereka lebih terobsesi dengan pesta di rumah pak Amat atau pak Kris.

Padahal ya, le, pak Amat dan pak Kris itu juga pernah sowan ke rumah bapak. Tujuan mereka mengadakan pesta-pesta dan jagongan itu bagus, tapi banyak yang datang kesana tanpa tahu tujuannya. Mereka suka hura-huranya saja. Lah, dari hura-hura, sekarang tiba-tiba bapak mau diusir hanya karena bapak ndak ikut hura-hura.

Bagong, thole anakku, bapak minta maaf sekali lagi. Bapak mungkin pengecut menurutmu, tapi lebih baik bapak mati di rumah sendiri, daripada harus diusir. Selagi ini masih rumah bapak. Desa kita sudah bukan lagi desa yang bapak kenal, dan bapak juga sudah terlalu tua. Bapak capek, le. Mungkin kamu bisa menghidupkan lagi desa kita dulu besok. Bapak sudah berusaha, tapi tenaga sudah habis. Dari ketiga anak-anakku, kamu yang paling mirip bapak. Kamu tercipta dari bayangan bapak, jadi kamu itu duplikat bapak. Sebagai anak muda, inilah masamu, gong!

Semar

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Ghost in Library

It was nine o'clock in the evening and I was still sitting in the corner of a dark library. The bright neon light above me was dimmed by the line of shelves behind. The magic of book always brought different atmosphere to a room. Sometimes they could bring a torch of enlightenment in the darkest night, but the shadow of old memoirs trapped in the musky yellow papers of antiquarian could also unleash a bleak shade over the blackest midnight. Yet, they were only words engraved by the ink over papers. Still images enveloping the frozen memory.

The bright screen of my laptop shredded a glimpse of white light, covering me in the bright side. Such a contrast. My fingers danced over the keyboard. Clikety clank! Clicking sound echoed in the air, touching every letter on the side of leather bound books over the shelves. Words by words flew from inside the old inscription, possessing my every finger, building a piece of symphony guiding the dance of the hand. The fingers glided gracefully with the still orchestra playing in the shadow of antiquity and musky fragrance.

PING! Suddenly a facebook notification disrupted the music of the words. A glance over the frame showed me a familiar name. A girl I fell in love with for the last twelve years. What a coincidence! She came back in the midst of my still library evening. Yet, she was the embodiment of library itself. I loved her as I explored the very soul of library, caressing every aspect of the shelves, books, scriptures, and inscription.

My mind was drawn back to the lighter library in my childhood. Her library. Yes, she owned a library in her house. A community library built for the sake of her neighbours. I could not help but smiling everytime my feet stepped into that small chamber full of books. Not as complete as public library, but enough to brighten the day of ten year-old boy. For a socially awkward bookworm like me, that face of her represented the desire of social acceptance. No, more like a social zone where bookworm could safely explore himself. The one that will not frown upon a seriousness and passion for books. The first girl with the same passion to talk about new series of novels or comics. A place of comfort.

She introduced me to the musky-chamomile-like smell of antiquarian books. A cup of chamomile tea then became my favourite drink for a quiet evening. With a nice book as a company, I could feel the warmth embrace of that chamber. It was like coming back again to my childhood, along with her smile and touch. Then my mind would reel back the bookish moment we had together. Browsing the antique shelves of her grandfather only to find books or going to the hidden shelves in the old book store. What a memory.

"I'm going to get married!"

Short sentence, but sharp like a knife. It shattered my nostalgia and brought me back to reality. Suddenly the library felt darker and cold, as if its soul and spirit went somewhere. An empty lifeless vessel. An unfinished symphony. My hand grew limp and wet. Suddenly a hole appeared in my chest. For a reason, I know it was hollow, but I could not describe its exact position. Something was missing.

"Congratulation!"

"Thanks!"

She's off.

The library grew bleaker. But my shoulder warmed up. The ghost of library patted and embraced me in stillness. Yes, I still have the books and library.

-Dedicated to University Library and other libraries in Cambridge-
Damn, I've just published my poem here in this blog several days ago about a girl whom I've loved for years and today she contacted me. She said that she is going to get engaged next month. Next year, the marriage is taking place. She easily asked me to come to her banquet next year, or else I will miss the wedding of one of my best friends. She joked, "Don't break your heart!"

W-H-A-T?? How could I not break my heart? My heart is never completed because of her. Everytime I tried to look for another partner, I always return back to her shadow. Deep inside my heart, I always hope that she would be the one for me in the end, that my love is finally reciprocated. Such a drama queen, I know. But I kept that dream all the time. If you can get the meaning of the poem below this post, you know that her shadow chained me, hinder me to move on.

What do I feel now? I don't know. I just don't know. All these times, she never really knows how do I feel about her. Some friends know my feeling, they know that my feeling for her is genuine. Thus they tried to comfort me. Yes, this is supposed to be a happy news, but I just can't hold my tears back.

Wednesday, April 06, 2011

Namamu adalah Lagu

Namamu adalah lagu,
yang sempat mengalun pelan dalam hidupku
dan masih selalu bergema di dalam jiwa

Mengucap namamu,
bagai mendendangkan jalinan nada
yang membawa rasa bahagia
tapi juga membawa galau

Ya, namamu adalah lagu
yang mengalun sendu mengikat kalbuku
tak lagi bisa membawaku melangkah
karena rantai lembut melodimu
memaksaku diam dalam kesunyian

Nada mengukir tiap huruf dalam namamu
notasi kesunyian yang tidak bisa terlupa
walau sang waktu telah berputar
dan tahun telah berlari

Nada menjadi bait,
dan lagu menjadi simfoni
memukauku dengan kebesaran dan keagungan
dan menjadi tolok ukur kemegahan

Konser telah lama selesai
sudah saatnya mencari denting piano baru
atau gesekan biola yang mengalir menyayat hati

Konser telah selesai,
dan tidak akan ada encore
yang bisa menyamai kemegahanmu

Tapi namamu telah terpaku
terpatri menjadi kenangan
akan sebuah lagu yang terlalu indah

Dan tiupan seruling bambu
atau nyanyi angin senja
tak akan pernah bisa menghapusmu.

Namamu adalah lagu,
lagu dari hidupku
lagu lama yang tak bisa terulang

Namamu
itu
lagu
hidupku

Monday, April 04, 2011

A Lost Home

Stumbled upon a nice article in Kompas about a teenage girl who cannot love Indonesia, it got me thinking. The publication of this article is a miraculous coincidence with my thought in the previous day.

Having too many things to do, I decided to open youtube and listen to some songs. Started by Geef Mij Maar Nasi Goreng, I got carried out to various national songs. One of them succeeded in forcing the tears to roll on my cheek. Indonesia Pusaka, a favourite song since I was in elementary school, brought back the sense of nostalgia and sentiment. One by one, the pictures of rice fields along my way home sprung into mind. Yes, I lived in a village, surrounded by the green fields and harsh karts mountain. Those memories took me to a deep contemplation over my hesitation of going back home. Do I really hate my country? Or is it the political atmosphere that I hate?

The article about Nawa, the girl who can't say she loves Indonesia, tickled my mind. In a way, Nawa is lucky. She still lived in Indonesia. The bond is still there. No matter how much she hated the country, it is the country where she stayed. But in my case, I've been away from my motherland for months. Yet, the more I stay away, the stronger the wish to remain adventurous, just because I got fed up with the condition there. Both Nawa and I (and probably more people back home) can't seem to find a nice figure there. All we know are chaos, riots, disputes, "civil war", and oppression. It may be true, we are thirsty of a good leader, an inspiring figure that can rejuvenate the nationalism.

Yet, here I cried over those nationalist song. While scribbling this, my youtube playlist constantly playing Indonesia Pusaka, Rayuan Pulau Kelapa, and various songs about its nature. They took my mind wandering around the green fields, the mountains, the rivers, and the dream of peaceful country. Like it or not, the songs used to give me a very big pride to be Indonesian. A pride to live in a "great" country. But, what is so great about Indonesia anymore?

I burst into tears not because I miss going back home. No! The home that I recall through those songs is no longer there. I cried over the loss of my home. A home that I once loved and cared about. A place where everybody smiled at each other, along with the sweats running through their tanned skin. A place where children laugh happily while swimming in the clear river. A place where people greet regardless the different religions. Sounds utopic, eh? But I used to live in that situation.

Perhaps, one day that home will come back. Perhaps....

Scribble : Post-Colonial Theory and Jakartanian

Dealing with Post-colonial theory for my thesis has brought me into a deep thought about a condition in my own country. How people are still colonized by the colonial force from inside.

The background of post-colonial theory is Edward Said's Orientalism, which tried to convey the truth of colonial supremacy. The example that he gave at the time was the imperialism of western and white supremacy. Under this white supremacy, the western culture has crowned itself as the ruler of the world. Anything which is not coming from western culture is considered as "the others". Now, the term "the others" might not sound detrimental, but the impact of the term is the negative attitude towards them. "Others" are considered as low-class, and thus they need the upgrade from the "upper class", or "the average". "The Average" (Doty, 1995) itself consists of white, adult, middle-class, and heterosexual male. They tried to create a uniformity of the cultural depiction and forcing their values to the "Others". Thus, the homogenisation or appropriation to reach "oneness" or "sameness" was born. This homogenisation, in turn, creates a shallow miniature of "the average". The cultural-specific values from "others" are ignored or even worse, mocked.

Now, what does those things have to do with Indonesia? Isn't Indonesia a country where diversity is the ultimate power and distinctive characteristic?

True, we have tons of different races, local dialects, and accents. But, like it or not, there is an imperialist force putting itself on the top of power distribution. This force is called "capital culture". Well, not necessarily capital as in capitalism. What I mean here is the force of culture from capital city, or if I may coin the term "Jakartanian".

Since this (sub)culture exists in the capital city, it gains a dominance over other cultures. Without any doubt, it serves as the information source and cultural reference. However, just like what happened in the colonial era, it renders "other" culture lower compared to them. The negative labelling to the other cultures took place. The "others" are considered as remote, primitive, and uneducated.

Take a good example. I speak Indonesian, English, and Javanese. All these languages occupy different prestigious levels. Many people said that my English is "accentless", which they probably mean free from Javanese accent. However, my Indonesian is "contaminated" with Javanese accent. When most of my students heard me spoke Indonesian, they suddenly said, "Sir, you'd better speak in English. Your Indonesian is so bad!" Now, assuming that they don't have negative attitude towards Javanese accent, they still uphold the supremacy of "accentless" Indonesian. However, most of the facts say that Javanese, both the language and the culture, is portrayed negatively by the media.

So, does that mean that this is the colonization from the media? Well, what media are we talking here? As I mentioned previously that the media are centralized in the capital city, they do have a sense of responsibility to uphold such a culture existing in their area. Thus, they "label" Javanese people as innocent, uneducated, and simplistic. To be fair, they also "label" other tribes, such as Batak (harsh, rude, hypermasculine), Papuan (completely uneducated and unable to speak Indonesian properly), Madurese (again, harsh, rude, uneducated, wild), and many others.

Even worse, the negative attitude and labeling do not happen only in the media. With all the exposure to the media, people tried to attain this "oneness", to escape from the pitfall of primitive and uneducated. This resulted in the lack of interest for younger generation to preserve their tradition. Most of them refer to Jakartanian culture as the "main culture" a.k.a. "The Average" in post-colonial perspective.

Quite ironic, eh? People complain a lot about western imperialism in Indonesia, while they don't realize that the imperialism and colonization from within is even worse and can destroy the "Unity in Diversity".

Gee, sorry for this scribble. This is just a piece of mind coming to my head as I read Post-Colonial theory.

Monday, March 28, 2011

On Settling Down

A short conversation with Charline on last Sunday lunch suddenly tickled me. We were talking about the prospect of going home during the holiday. She is going to get back for three weeks since she misses her friends in Brussell. But she challenged me indirectly with the prospect of getting my dream job.

"So, if you get this job, you will not go back to your home?"

I shook my head.

"Not even for Christmas holiday?"

"That's just too expensive. I need to save up for my future!"

"Don't you miss your family?"

There. That question left me speechless. I did not know how to answer that. Why do I use past tense? I still don't know the answer for that. The answer is dangling and moving like the pendulum in Grandfather's clock.

Do I miss my hometown? Surely yes. I miss the cheap food there. I miss my friends there. I miss going crazy in karaoke room or hanging out in a cosy coffee shop. I miss sharing my meal with them. But on the other hand, I realised something. Life is going towards the future. I have choices to make, either trying to explore my world or staying in my little comfortable shell. I saw many friends made their choice already. Some decided to fly away and see the universe. Some decided to just stay and enjoy the small-town-spirit. Some chose to build the family in another place, some choose to settle down with their beloved one at home, together with the cute children.

What about me? Since the beginning of this year I made my choice already. I want to start over my life from the very scratch. I want to see the world, even if it means I will never settle down with my beloved. Ironically, Charlene's song "I've Never Been To Me" was my inspiration. True, the song talked about the beauty of domesticity, the fact that true happiness lies in home. However, people who stayed at home never understand that fact.

Though my constant complaint since years ago was my inability to settle down (and still going till now), deep down inside I refuse to settle down. I need to fly away. I need to flap my wings and to see different sides of the world. A comfort house in my hometown would just be a confinement to me. Is that why I can't find a nice person to settle? Because I am adventurous in soul? Probably.

Do I want to go home? For few days maybe, only to get together with those dear friends before finally parting again.

Yeah, I am just a 'bitch'.