Mockingbird Journal

White Rose

2012-01-24T08:37:00.002Z

I came with a white rose in hand,
The whitest of the pristine ones
As I saw you walking down in the regalia
And looking really proud.

It’s the whitest rose I could find
Striped from all the thorns,
Just white and clean
As you like it to be

And then the smile came upon your lips
As bright as the stars
As red as the ripe apple.

So it came upon me,
That the white rose was out of place
As your happy face devoured the humble bud

Turning my back,
I put the rose on the ground
And went away

Interogator: Tujuh Tahun Kemudian

2011-12-07T14:24:00.000Z

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"?

Arisan! 2: The Review

2011-12-05T08:11:00.004Z

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

On Graduation

2011-11-21T23:51:00.001Z

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.

Kuburkan Aku

2011-11-16T08:28:00.002Z

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.

Cambridge: On Research

2011-11-10T06:32:00.000Z

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!!!!

Cambridge: Homecoming

2011-10-26T09:39:00.002+01:00

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……..

Surat Seorang Pria

2011-09-19T13:03:00.001+01:00

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

How My Gaming is Ruined

2011-08-23T03:30:00.002+01:00

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!!!!!

Shattered Illusion

2011-07-27T23:19:00.001+01:00

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!

Ode to B-19

2011-07-26T16:50:00.002+01:00

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.

Rajutan Sepi

2011-07-16T14:10:00.002+01:00

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

...

..

.

Dear Someone 4

2011-07-14T06:30:00.002+01:00

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.....

Effeminacy

2011-07-07T16:42:00.003+01:00

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!

2011-07-01T14:04:00.002+01:00

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

Unfinished Trilogy of SEDaC

2011-06-24T15:16:00.001+01:00

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.

A Mountain Boy

2011-06-12T19:14:00.002+01:00

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.

2011-06-10T21:59:00.001+01:00

I am

Feeling worthless.............

Feeling unwanted.............

Just want an end for everything.

2011-06-06T10:57:00.003+01:00

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!

2011-06-01T17:39:00.003+01:00

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?

Indonesian school of Children's Literature?

2011-05-26T12:38:00.003+01:00

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!

2011-05-25T14:06:00.003+01:00

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.....

The Celestial Mother

2011-05-16T14:58:00.002+01:00

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....."

Binary Trouble

2011-05-11T18:15:00.000+01:00

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.

A Girl Who Kills Her Own Heart

2011-05-09T13:04:00.001+01:00

“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.

The Dead Father and Symbollic Order

2011-05-06T13:54:00.003+01:00

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???)

Queer? Religious affair!

2011-04-26T15:55:00.007+01:00

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)

Surat Terakhir Semar

2011-04-23T09:14:00.002+01:00

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

Ghost in Library

2011-04-13T17:25:00.004+01:00

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-

2011-04-13T11:01:00.003+01:00

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.

Namamu adalah Lagu

2011-04-06T11:19:00.002+01:00

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

A Lost Home

2011-04-04T18:40:00.002+01:00

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

2011-04-04T12:01:00.002+01:00

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.

On Settling Down

2011-03-28T13:59:00.004+01:00

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'.

Retrospek

2011-03-02T17:49:00.002Z

Bara api di perapian masih menyala dan menari dengan lemah gemulai, menebar kehangatan di dalam ruangan. Sementara itu, hawa dingin yang menyerang di luar tidak bisa masuk merasuk ke kamar ini. Mereka semua menabrak kaca jendela dengan membabi buta, meninggalkan bercak-bercak kelabu yang merata dan mengaburkan pandangan.

Di hadapanku, seorang lelaki muda tengah asyik bermain di atas karpet. Mata birunya yang bulat terfokus memandang mobil-mobilan yang ada di genggaman. Ekspresinya menunjukkan betapa dalamnya ia terlibat dalam dunia yang diciptakannya sendiri. Keluguan terpancar dari kedua matanya. Perlahan-lahan, dia memalingkan wajahnya ke arahku dan tersenyum simpul.

“Apa yang terjadi dengan mobilmu?” tanyaku pelan.

Ia menjawab dengan ringan, “Dia terperangkap, pa! Mobilku mau keluar rumah dan berputar-putar disana.”

“Hei, bilanglah ke mobilmu, di luar salju terlalu tinggi. Sama saja, dia tidak akan bisa berputar-putar. Si mobil akan jauh lebih aman ada di sini bersamamu dan papa,” sahutku sembari tersenyum. Tanganku meraih kepalanya dan mulai mengacak-acak rambutnya dengan lembut.

“Kalau gitu, kita pergi saja ke rumah eyang. Kan disana tidak ada salju. Salju disini menyebalkan, pa!”

Aku terhenyak. Kalimat-kalimat yang keluar dari bibir mungilnya itu menyentakkan sesuatu yang ada di dalamku. Pikiranku mulai berputar mundur, mengingat kembali sengatan matahari pada kulit sawo matangku, curahan hujan deras yang sering membasahi badanku, serta bau khas yang keluar dari lemari dapur di masa kecilku.

Dengan suara sedikit tercekat, aku menjawab, “Karena rumah kita disini, nak!”

“Aku mau pindah ke rumah eyang saja, pa!”

“Lalu? Papa mau ditinggal sendirian disini?”

“Loh, papa juga harus ikut aku! Masa papa nggak kangen dengan eyang?”

Himpitan yang ada di dadaku mulai bertambah kencang. Bulu kudukku mulai berdiri dan otakku kembali menggila. Perlahan-lahan pikiran, kenangan, asumsi, mimpi, dan wajah-wajah lama mulai bermunculan. Satu-persatu, pelan tapi pasti. Muncul begitu saja dengan kejutan-kejutan yang membawa kembali perasaan yang telah lama tidak kurasakan. Seiring dengan menumpuknya semua kenangan itu, dadaku terasa semakin sesak. Ruangan di hadapanku mulai mengabur dan terasa sebagai sebuah ilusi belaka. Tiba-tiba saja, aku tidak lagi tahu perbedaan antara dunia nyata dan dunia maya.

“Hayo, papa kangen sama eyang ya?” sahut putraku. Aku tersentak dan kembali ke realita. Kepalaku terangguk pelan dan aku mulai meraihnya ke dalam pelukanku.

Lenganku menggenggamnya erat. “Kamu tahu? Kamu itu mirip dengan eyang kakung!”

Dia tersenyum penuh arti.

Oma, Wu Zetian, and Mata Hari

2011-02-26T06:45:00.004Z

Several days ago, on my way to faculty, I encountered a lady - an old lady - suffering from stroke sitting on a wheelchair. She couldn't utter any single sentence, but humming some sounds instead. Behind her, an old guy pushed the wheelchair. He might be the husband, I assume. Well, UK really is a haven for old and / or disable people.

But that special scene drew me back to my grandmother, to my Oma. Just like the lady I saw, she suffered from stroke for years. Finally she gave up at 1998 and passed away, leaving my grandfather feeling devastated over the loss of his loved one. The stroke is such a demon, transforming my uber-active Oma into near-vegetative state. Being a mere child, I could not do anything. Hell, I hated the stench on the bed and made me hesitated to draw near. And I live that regret up to this day. Had I known that I am going to miss her that much, I would sleep next to her and ignoring the reek bed. But regret always comes late, doesn't it?

The recent comments over Oma's youth picture strengthen this sense of retrospect over her. Oma was a very beautiful girl. She was very clever and smart, at least that's what people said. Some even mentioned that she is foxy and cunning. Hmm, that sounds like a deadly combination, eh? Beautiful, popular, but cunning and clever. From various discussion, turned out many people thought that if my Oma lived in an imperial era, she might probably be the second Wu Zetian. Background check on her family also revealed that I have a political bloodline, since Oma's family came from the influential family in ancient China. So, second Wu Zetian is totally possible for her.

She was seen as a dangerous woman by some people. But I am lucky enough to be born as her grandson. It is a common knowledge that grandparents love their grandchildren so much. Thus, I get to feel her great affection. Probably too much affection so some people said that she spoiled me. Hmm, might be (hey, does that mean I am admitting being a spoiled baby?)

But above all, Oma exposed me to chinese culture. If there is a person who knew a lot about that, she must be my grandmother. She is the one bestowing me with the name Li Xi Da. Not only naming me, but she calculated the strokes and change one stroke only to imply better luck and life. Mine was not the first time, since she also changed a part of my aunt's name into something else. No, cannot explain it here since it is very complicated. But above all, she is a very civilized women. She knew all about the culture and tradition.

My first visit to the temple was because of her. It was my first introduction to the Buddhist's and Taoism's pantheon. Starting from that point, she gave me lots of chances to watch Monkey King. She taught me the classical songs of Teressa Teng (which is rooted deeply and will make me punched people in face when they say that the songs are outdated). Her book collection was amazing, ranging from classical stories (Water Margin, Three Kingdoms, Monkey King, and many others) to medical and fortune telling. Sometimes she told parts from the classical epoch as my bedtime stories. Indeed she made me a true Chinese, live up to my "other" name, despite my appearance, dark skin and big eyes.

She is a woman of culture indeed. She lived up her chinese rituals as strong as she practice Christianity. Something bizarre for people hearing that, because society thought that Chinese rituals and Christianity contradicts one another. But she ignored them. In fact, she was also an expert in fortune telling. When she was still alive, she foretold her daughters and me. Something that I will really try to live up to.

Her interest in other cultures motivated her to keep learning. The knowledge that she gained helped her to immerse more in other people's conversation, and by that slowly absorbs new knowledge. That way, she doesn't look very dumb, but at the same time, she learned. Sounds like a perfect spy, eh? When I read about Mata Hari later on, she reminded me a lot about my Oma.

However, she also excelled in the heart domain, at least to me. When I did bad things to her, she would say that I broke her heart. As a child, it was very powerful for me. i never wanted to break her heart, because then I thought that I would lose her. That she would hate me, that she would left me all alone. From people in my extended family, she and my Opa are people who never scolded me. In fact, everytime I had problem with my parents, I ran to them. And they always provided console and comfort.

Now, I just want her to be proud of me, the first grandson and son. I will fulfill her nice parts of prophesy and avoid (as much as I could) the bad parts. What else should I say? Even all these words still can't represent how much I love her, and how much I miss her.

Family Ghost

2011-02-18T14:11:00.002Z

Warning! If you are a non spiritual person, you will find the context of this text annoying as hell. Continue at your own risk!

It has been a long and tiring week for me. I could not work on my essay for the whole week. My brain is constantly shutting off whenever I felt the crack of the idea in it. That idea turned to be an unfinished one, hanging alone and rotting. As days went by, more cracks appear, but they closed in a amazing pace. Leaving the rest of the idea untouchable and decaying. Slowly but sure, the decay spread through the whole mind, corrupting my sanity, just like a cancer cell multiplying and consuming the healthy part of the body.

Writer's block! That's the common term for my disease. It is not deadly, but can be really offensive for a writer. Yet, I am in the middle of writing my essay for the course. I invested myself so much in the essay and let my life hung on the thin thread. People started noticing that I lost my weight even more, just because I forgot to eat. This tumor made it worse.

Nope, it was not the worst. I had a huge trouble with my interview. Something silly happened and I did not get the expected data. My corroding mind suddenly went berserk outrageously. The cancer had exploded and consuming every piece of my soul and sanity. A dear friend over messenger noticed this and asked me what happened?

I didn't know. I really didn't know. He and my mother knew that there must be a trivial thing stuck in my very soul to cause this humongous rage.

"Maybe your date?" suggested my mother. Date? Seriously? I did not have someone I am seeing right now. I totally invested my life to my essay.

"You need a fresh air. Just stroll around the town!" a dear friend advised me. I'd just strolled my bike till the neighboring village. It's not about the fresh air!

And I realized something. I miss having "crowd" in my room. It felt so lonely, with me as the only soul there. I miss having my late brother beside me. All these months, my room was just a complete solace. Back home, there were many "people" accompanied me. Sometimes, a strayed one came and yield for help or warmth. Sometimes they appeared in my dream. Sometimes, they appeared before me. In short, my old room was a spiritual crossroad.

Living alone in my old house did not give me the chill of loneliness. I got my companion. My late brother sometimes came. There was this old man guarding next to my sleep. Sometimes he even gave me a soft massage when I felt exhausted. But none in my recent room. I guess, I really need to give myself a moment of silence.

Valentine's Reflection : Love and Faith

2011-02-14T17:23:00.003Z

Today is a valentine's day. Nothing really special, especially since I've been single since last Christmas Eve. The night before, I received a text from a dear friend mentioning that Valentine's Day is an annoying day for single men like us. So far, it never really bothers me at all. I never really found the real spirit of Val's Day. I've celebrated it since elementary school with my best friends by exchanging chocolate. And since then, the stamp for Val's Day is not to celebrate love, but a chocolate party.

But I saw a video link by an ex-student. It's a new Indonesian song about forbidden love. And why it is forbidden? Simply because both of them confess different faith. A foolish matter for me, but still I cannot help it. Being born as Indonesian, I cannot deny that religion has become a supreme power over people's life. Hell, I had to confess that I once was a church activist, right before I got fed up with people's hypocrisy over their religious dogma.

I once fell in love with my junior in High School. She was totally my type. Careless, tomboy, reckless, but smart and critical. (Sigh, I know my type is so weird! Don't give me a refine girl, I would reject her!). People kept saying that we would make a nice couple, since we carried the same traits. Rebellious, careless, direct, frank, rule breaking, and many others. (Another sigh!) But one obstacle lied before us. It's a different religion. It is supposed to be only one, but quite significant.

Still being very naive, I thought that I could overcome the problem. No, no! I was wrong! We drifted apart mainly because she learned more about her religious belief. She lives to it, and started to develop eccentricity. That was then the end.

Another story was with my ex. Again, we confess different faith, which was actually not a problem with me. I've been dismantling my belief in any religious rituals. We got no problem during the whole relationship. Interestingly, the disturbance came from outside. It was my family that kept warning me about the different religion among us. My mother even threatened me, "If later you get married in the mosque, I will not bother to come! You can have your wedding without me!" It was something that made laugh. (Some of you might know the reason why. :p) FYI, I broke up not because of the faith......

But one thing that concerns me is the fact that my parents interfered with my own love life. What it is with their interference? Can love be divided only between people of the same religion? Well, so far the classic argument is the children. When the children are raised by parents with different religion, they will be confused with the differences. But then, why should they bother? For confessing any faith is a human right in itself.

If we put religion as personal matter between us and The Almighty, then why should people interfere with our own happiness? With the choice of lover? Does it guarantee that people will have a happy life when they marry person within the same faith? Does it guarantee the inseparable bond when marrying people of the same faith? I still cannot help but wonder about that. Why is the freedom limited by the concept of religion?

Closing this scribble, I want to quote the translated lyric from that song.
"I am for you, you are for me
But is thing possible, for our different faith
God is indeed one, we are the ones being different"

PS : If love is indeed God's greatest gift, why should people divide it?

Blind Date and Sacrifice

2011-02-09T06:03:00.002Z

It was a blind date night, a night of charity event in University of Cambridge. I already filled the form on the very first day of the launching. Well, some people back home thought that I am just being desperate in attempting the blind date, but the truth is I just wanna try this new social experience. What does it feel like to meet a total stranger and go on a date.

The conversation among my classmates about the blind date suddenly changed my opinion. They were talking about having a bad date and planning on an "emergency call" for that. Honestly, I did not think about that point yet, not until they floor that solution. I guess, I was just being too optimistic and considering courtesy too much that people will not leave their date no matter how awful that will be.

When I got my form back, the first shock came. I know my date! Well, at least I know the person, but not knowing personally. Aaaargh, I wanted to date a total stranger! I wanted to know a new person! I envied people who did the research on their blind date partner via google or facebook, while I didn't need to do that. That certainly crossed out the thrill of doing the "research". The losing thrill, the thought of emergency call (which was made worse by my stolen phone), and the bad first impression of the person put me really down.

The thought shifted to the option that I will be the bad date. I started being very pessimistic and consider myself as not hyped enough to be on a date. Guess people already know how socially disable I am. The thought of getting stood up in the middle of the date lingered in my mind, poisoning the joy of going for a date.

But then everything went smoothly and nice. I was completely wrong! We spent five and a half hours together in a combination of dinner and pub crawl. Nothing bad happened, at least from I perspective. I did not get stood up. Hearing from the others who was left by their dates with various reasons, I felt very thankful. At least my date stayed with me until the end of the night.

No, it's not the case that I fell in love in the first date. Since the first time I already prepared myself that this will be a one shot event only. But I couldn't help but falling in love with dating. Going on a nice date reminded me how nice can a date be, how nice can getting involved with someone be. It's like someone points a flashlight in front of my face and shouted, "Wake up! Stop lamenting over your wrecked love life and start seeing people again!"

Well, on the way home, I had to stopped several times just because I had an overwhelming thought about that. My chest was tight, the sentiments brought me a lot of undescribable feeling. If that can come out as tears, what kind of tears would that be? Happy tears? Tears of sadness? One thing that I found was how precious dating can be. How precious can someone beside you be.

Realizing the great value of that, I looked up in the sky and secretly prayed, "God, now that I know how precious can a better half be, I only have one wish for this year. Please just give me a stable job abroad first. I will give up the possibility of having a perfect love life for that!"

Racauan Makanan Pembroke

2011-02-04T07:12:00.002Z

Saya mau meracau, dan kali ini dengan bahasa Indonesia aja ah. Bukan maksud apa-apa, tapi berhubung mau ngomong tentang makanan, rasanya tetep lebih enak ngomong dengan bahasa ibu (Jiah, padahal bahasa ibu aja belepotan nggak jelas!)

Jadi, demi merayakan (atau melarikan diri) Imlek di UK ini, aku menyanggupi undangan Formal Hall di Pembroke College. Sebetulnya, makan malam itu tidak diadakan khusus untuk Xin Jia, tapi kebetulan bertepatan dengan event itu. Jadinya, semua makananannya berhubungan dengan masakan Cina.

Awal-awal sudah senang dan penasaran, gimana tuh rasanya ikut Formal Hall yang makanannya Cina? La biasanya kalau Formal kan makanannya selalu Fine Dinning a la barat. Pasti perabotan makannya diganti semua, pake mangkok dan sebagainya. Penasaran, penasaran!!

Begitu sampai di tempatnya, ternyata Pembroke College itu gede mampus! Baguuuus (mata membelalak norak)! Terus, acara makan malam kita nggak di Dinning Hall, tapi di Old Library. Wah, begitu masuk udah terpesona lagi. Di sekeliling ruangan itu isinya buku-buku yang tertata rapi di rak, WWAAAAAA!!!!! KEREEEEEEEENN! (Noraknya keluar deh....). Suasana ruangan yang atapnya tinggi banget dan dikelilingi buku itu bikin tambah yakin, pasti ini makan malam bakal sangat menyenangkan.

Dan, appetizer keluar. Cihuy! Sudah menahan lapar ni. Bum! Tiga kulit lumpia, irisan loncang (spring onion), dan bebek yang diiris tipis-tipis. Plus ada saus manis. Hegh? Berarti ini makannya kita harus bikin lumpia sendiri? Terus apa gunanya garpu sama pisau yang ada dan disediakan untuk apetizer ini? Tidaaak! Masa harus dimakan pakai tangan? Mana di meja itu semua orang nggak tahu gimana itu harus dimakan. Akhirnya, dengan cara barbar dan tissue di paha, aku mengikuti semua orang yang ada di sekitar, mengabaikan cutlery dan makan pakai tangan. Kenapa sih nggak di-roll-in aja?

Masuk main course. Appetizernya enak sih, jadi pasti menanti main course yang (harusnya) lebih enak. Dan yang keluar adalah, nasi campur kacang ijo dan tauge mentah. Lauknya BBQ daging plus paprika yang dikasih saus tomat. Sebagai penikmat kuliner, aku langsung tahu itu maksudnya apa. Mereka mau bikin sate!!! Tapi begitu digigit, semuanya hati. Brrrrrrr.... Aneh banget rasanya. Mana itu main course disajikan di piring datar pake nasi yang dimasak ala barat, jadinya nggak pulen. Wadaw, gimana makannya? Disediakan sumpit memang, tapi kalau makan nasi di piring datar pakai sumpit gimana caranya? Eh, bisa sih, kalo nasinya pulen. Kalau nasinya kaya gini?? Dengan kesimpulan itu, akhirnya tidak ada orang yang makan pakai sumpit, Semua nyendok nasi dengan garpu mereka. Ada sendok sih, tapi itu buat dessert. Saya kan masih punya etiket yang baik untuk makan. Tapi pilihannya jadi makan pakai garpu atau sumpit. Sudahlah, makan pakai garpu aja. Mana itu nasi rasanya dingin.

Alex di sebelah nanya, "Feel like home?" WHAT???? Aduh, nggak deh, nggak! Ini nasi nggak ada rasanya, ini sate rasanya aneh. Aku bener-bener kangen babi merah di rumah, aku kangen mie kakap, aku kangen Kwee Tiaw, aku kangen babi kecap!!! HUAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!! (Tahu kan kenapa aku pilih tulis pake bahasa Indonesia? Gimana mau terjemahin kata-kata itu? Pulen, babi kecap, mie kakap, dll). Kupikir aku nggak bakal kangen rumah, karena waktu Natal aja bisa nggak homesick. Ternyata xin jia dengan sukses membuat saya merindukan semua makanannya. CATAT : Makanannya!!!!!

Sudah kecewa dengan main course, datanglah dessert. Bentuknya sih kaya ice cream. Begitu disendok, ternyata pake saus mangga. Hfffff, mangga! Bagian bawahnya, ternyata jenang sumsum (jiah, tambah lagi alasan untuk tidak menulis dengan bahasa inggris). Tadinya saus mangga itu kupikir gula jawa, hahahaha. Pertama kali datang emang sudah membayangkan dapetnya jenang sumsum. Lumayan lah. Ditutup dengan manis!

Kesimpulannya? Ternyata setelah dibandingkan dengan semua orang yang hadir di situ, appetizer dan dessertnya memang ciamik. Tapi main coursenya jempol ke bawah deh. Pfffft! Coba aja itu main course babi merah dan kwee tiaw untuk yang vegetarian. Yummy deh! *Mellow xin jia ni*

The End of my Year : A Heartbreak with Willie

2011-02-02T15:00:00.005Z

Today is the last day of the year of tiger. As someone who was born under the celestial patron of tiger, it feels like the time to step down from my throne. So many things have happened during "my reign", and I had to say, it was a good year. A perfect one even. However, my year was not all golden brick road and milk fountain with rain of honey (yuck, that's going to be sticky!). In fact, I had some topsy turvy moments. But it was not until two days before the year end.

Being raised in a superstitious environment, I could not help but believing some of those stupid rituals and beliefs. And one of the thing that I keep holding is the principle of balanced life, that life is like a wheel, cakra manggilingan, in Javanese term. That life will turn, putting you sometimes up and sometimes down. You can't stay fortunate for the whole life, there will be a time when you get a lot of misfortunes. But as the wheel is constantly rolling, there must be the same time for both the good and the bad. Therefore, the most difficult test is when you are successful, because the more you gain, the more you will lose (or vice versa).

For some people, it might sound silly for me to believe in this superstitious. When I got a traffic accident in the last day of 2009, I thought that it was my last misfortune for the year and I can enter 2010 with a brighter hope and fortune. But I was wrong, as the VERY first day of 2010 became the worst day of my life (so far). I entered that year with a pessimistic and gloomy soul. With the first day of the year became very bad, what other misfortunes awaits? The whole January was full of misfortunes. I fell down from my motorbike twice, went through the worst month so far. But I realized, part of my heritage is Chinese. So what if the Lunar New Year played a more important role as the turning point in my life? And it was. Just after the Lunar New Year, I got the letter that changes my life forever.

Reflecting back on what happened, I grew anxious as life seemed to take the right path during the remaining of 2010. My last days of 2010 were blasting! But the first days of 2011 were really bad with the kitchen tragedy. Ironically, I did not even consider that as bad enough to open my year (yeah, like any starvation is not bad enough to get me dying. What did you really want, Doel?). In fact, I spent my money extravagantly after I received my living allowance. I sold my old Blackberry (which carried memories of my ex) and bought a new, fresher, no-memory-of-ex-and-whatsoever, cool Android device.

It was an android, something that can arouse me and get me into the geeky orgasm (Okaaaaay, it's getting too much). A device of my dream, err, I mean the second device of my dream, since I can't never afford iPhone 4. And just two days before my year ends, I LOST IT! Darn! I lost it when I walked home from the faculty. Willie was in my coat pocket all the time, and when I reached Sidney Street, I realized that the coat was empty. Willie was gone!

In the next morning, I desperately seek the help form the Parkside Police Station. For people who know my history, you know how much I HATE POLICEMAN! Thankfully, UK police was completely different from my ex-students (yeah, I used to teach in the police department). Although they were nice, they never heard of any report regarding my cellphone. Ugh!! I am cellphone-less, and as a person growing up in Indonesia, it is quite depressing (dear European friends, you have to know Indonesian's addiction to cellphone!).

I guess, it was the misery that I need to think as the last down payment for the greater fortune and wealth in the coming year. At least, I know that the year of the rabbit would be as great as my year. Happy Chinese New Year, everyone! Xin Nian Kuai Le!!

Coming Back

2011-01-27T13:49:00.003Z

A beloved ex-student tagged me in a facebook post about the brain-drain related case. It was nice to know and find out that you are missed. However, reading the article carefully got me thinking about the prospect of going back home.

Just before I departed to the land of Great Brittain, I was full of determination that whatever happen, I will still go back home and build my country. Just several days before the departure, I met my head of the study program and asked her whether I can still teach there again after I come back. She said wisely, "Don't rush in making the decision. Once you go abroad, many things will happen and you might change your mind. I am giving you the time to rethink that decision."

And yeah, just after I stepped my feet in this land of liberty, I started seeing things differently. There are things that I could never think would happen in Indonesia, and I love that. I enjoy the freedom and liberty. And just like what the article mentioned, things are more safe and simple. The cultural comparison also took place. I couldn't help but comparing the culture, how people are more organized and responsible in this society.

On the other hand, I started seeing Indonesia in a very different perspective. It is like seeing it from outside the box. And interestingly, it gave me different things to boggle and consider. How my way of being is just very different, leading me to reflect all the things I've done, how I did those things. Some things led me to the joy and happiness of improving myself, but for some others, I could not even look back because they were too awful and shameful.

Worse than that, there was even a point in which I was ashamed of being an Indonesian. You know what people said about us? That Indonesia is a rich and respectful country. Yet, majority of the people here know nothing about Indonesia. For people who tried to prove that Indonesia is better than Malaysia, you guys will have a heart attack here. People know about Malaysia, Singapore, and Thailand. But most of them heard the name of Indonesia for the first time when I mentioned my origin.

In that lowest point, a friend told me, "That is the reason why you were sent abroad. You see the condition, and it's your task to return and educate people of Indonesia. You have to make the change!"

But, I am not sure anymore what am I going to do after I finish this course. Thus came the hardest question from a friend during lunchtime today, "What is your plan for next year?"

I don't know. I just don't know.

Hope

2011-01-13T18:15:00.002Z

I saw you sitting all alone in the corner of this room. It was lifeless, losing the radiance of hope that you used to bring. You were grim, feeling like you were casted aside by the world. Voiceless with an empty gaze towards the wall. I could even feel the stillness of the blood in the veins. Depressing, frustrating, yet ironic.

Ironic, for you were the one acting so happy and cheerful before. I could see the happiness and the sunrays reflected
on your eyes. The very eyes that contained both the sun and the rainbow. But then, it changed. You became a lifeless doll with no spark in that glance. No warmth, as if your soul was frozen in the emanation of absolute zero. The pale skin of yours told me the story, how you gave your heart to someone. You gave it to the one, wholly and thoroughly. You believed in the future, the one happy dream you shared with. But then, it froze and crashed. Not just your heart, but also the whole you. You must have crashed very hard, shattering your frozen stature into million pieces.

It’s hard. Very difficult, I know. Rebuilding your self from the million shattering shards. Along the way, you found that those shards hurt you so deep. You stepped on it, and you could not continue along the way. Heck, the floating shards eventually blinded you from seeing what lied ahead. The bigger piece might pierce your chest and stab your very soul. Were those the reasons you exiled yourself in the corner of the room and not wanting to walk ahead?

I did. That was what I felt. Gazing a far, ready to burst into tears at any second. Feeling hollow and incomplete, trying to torn myself apart more and more, only to get rid of this feeling of emptiness. I too was afraid of even rebuilding myself, for I thought the rebuilding would then get destructed later on. Useless and alone. It was not until I saw you from the different corner of this solitude that I braced myself and approached you.

Let’s ignite a small flame here! I want to see a spark of hope. I know you are strong. In fact, why don’t we build a new structure? I can shield you from those painful shard. We can share this pain and build a new slate. Afterall, who knows the pain more than us? You at least know how I felt, and what to do. I might not understand completely your experiene, your pain and sorrow. But I could be all ears. After all, we hit the rock bottom. What could be worse than that, eh?

It doesn’t matter if you lost your hope for the old world. Let’s build a new world! Slowly, we’re walking this path together. We can mend our hearts together, rejuvenating our very core with the sprinkled water of companionship. And we can go seeing the first sunrise in our reconstructed world.

Dedicated to all friends who became the victim of December-January Blue. The moment when many people broke up.

The Kitchen: Lock Down!

2011-01-06T22:40:00.005Z

It's the beginning of 2011. But rather than having a blasting celebration for New Year, I just spent the last second of 2010 in my own room. Pouring a bottle of champagne into my mug (yes, a mug, not even a glass). No party, no firework, no one. The college was pretty much dead. I learned my lesson, never stay in Cambridge during New Year's Eve!

The kicking start of the year was not that striking. There were some bad things, but at least they were not as BAAAAD as the one that I had on the previous year. With the last penny in my pocket (and this is a literal meaning), I stocked my food ration. According to the calculation, I should manage to survive until the next delivery of living allowance. Chicken breast fillet, check! Instant noodles, check! Eggs, check! Four pints of milk, check! Mushrooms, check! Corned Beef, check! Rice packs, check!

Yet, something unpredictable came into realization on January 4. Due to the nasty condition of the kitchen, with all the rubbish and trash everywhere, the housekeeping department decided to shut it down. They even put a padlock on the door and a fancy paper with the most annoying poem for my stomach. "This kitchen is closed until further notice!"

W-H-A-T????? What about my chicken breast fillet???? January 4 was the last day I could cook them in a good condition. What about my milk? How can I eat my cereal without any milk? And I still had around 2,5 pints there? What about my corned beef? I could eat a can of that for three meals! What about my lovely wok? How can I cook???

Luckily I stored the instant noodles in my room. They were intended to be the meal in time of dire need. And as I could not bear the hunger any longer, two packs of Indomie were meeting my belly. Only a single pack remained.

The dinning hall has been opened as well. Suddenly, the thought of hall's meal sprung and promising the inevitable delicacy. But still, when I tasted it, the quality remained the same. What other choices did I have, anyway? I started counting the hour as my belly started humming and waited for the bell. I must have sunk so low. I could still eat there, at least I could pay later, I thought. The problem was, I haven't topped up my meal credit. After two meals, the kitchen staff asked me, "You should top up your credit as soon as possible!"

GYAAAA! I was really tempted to answer, "With whaat? Do you accept leaves as the down payment? At least reopen the kitchen, so I could use them and not dine here!!!!" But I only nodded in silence.

Let me get back into the room and check the supply. A jar of Chinese chili, a jar of Sambal Terasi, and two packs of microwavable rice. Those will be my weekend menu, then. Ah well, I've been through the same situation when I grew up. That won't be that big problem. Recalling the moment when a piece of fried chicken thigh was very precious and 'expensive', this is not a bad thing. And without this tragedy, there won't be any story to tell later on. Hehehehe!

Retrospect

2010-12-31T19:19:00.002Z

The year 2010 will soon end. Trapped in a quiet dark winter night, I was carried into a retrospect journey to the whole year. A crazy journey through thick and thin. It was a year of joy and a year of sorrow as well. There are things that I lost, but I gained things as well.

The first day of 2010 would never be forgotten in my whole life. The first day of the year, and I lost something that I doubt can ever be regained. It was the day when my dignity was stripped away by someone that was supposed to be very close to me. A person I am supposed to go when the whole world is against me. But this particular person even be the first one to deliver a death blow to me, degrading me in front of other people. That day, I really wished that God would just take my life in an instant, sparing me from the public humiliation.

However, during that darkest month (yes, it lasted for the whole January) I found precious friends. They walked along with me, helped me to regain my stand, and rejuvenated my power. Even better, they were still there when I could not even look at myself. They accepted me the way I am, even after all the humiliation in which turn some people against me.

The next loss was a dear friend. This was not related to the first tragedy. Heck, he even said, "I know you're strong enough, but in case you need to talk, I'll be there!" He was such a nice friend. It's too bad that through some accident, his wife asked him to back off from his friends.

I got rejected twice by the scholarship in NUS and Erasmus Mundus. With all the pressures all around from my family, I almost gave up finding the scholarship. But all of a sudden, I received the mail from Cambridge University. They gave me conditional offer of acceptance. Never really thought that Cambridge would give me that. I guess, my friends really helped me a lot. They realized that I need to get away from that environment, so some of them prayed really hard for me to get any kind of scholarship that I applied.

The journey for the scholarship was long and full of unpredicted obstacles. Thank God I got that. I had to prepare everything. Resigning from my current job and preparing farewell for everybody.

Voila, this is my third month in Cambridge already. Got a nice life here, new environment, new friends, even new family. Hope 2011 offers something better.

Oxford #4 : DUUUUUUUUUUUCKS!

2010-12-24T09:38:00.000Z

Friday, 17/12/2010

The fourth day in Oxford was signified by the plan to visit Botanical Garden. My friend said that it was a nice place to contemplate and be in silence. Sounded like a good idea, eh?

Big mistake! The weather was freezing. It was minus two, and I left my hat in Cambridge. My whole body was warm, but my ears froze. Thankfully Botanical Garden was located in the other end of the town, so the walk there warmed me a little bit.

Right across the garden was Magdalen College. The door was opened. Yay! I peeked through it and found the board written “The college is open from 1 pm till dusk”. Darn! It was still 10.30. I'd better go to the garden.

The gate of the garden was nice, quite old and 'rusty' in a good sense. The garden itself was nice – if you visited during the springtime or summer. Almost nothing to see, except for the nice fountain in the middle of the garden. It was too bad that I did not have the DSLR camera. The fountain square was nice, even during the winter. The benches all around it were providing romantic nuance. Springtime, flowers, benches, fountain, and a lover. Would be very nice! Ah, stop dreaming.

After spending quite some times around the park, I sat on the bench and opened the map. Trying to plan the next destination. All of a sudden, two ducks were standing near my feet. If I could scream, I would scream at that second. One of them was the green headed duck, the one that I feared the most. I know this might seem ridiculous, but I was afraid of ducks. They are disgusting and scary, let alone goose. Slowly I stood up and moved to different bench. As I put myself down, those two ducks started moving to my direction.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Can you choose different person to stalk? I HATE DUCK, I HATE DUCK, I HATE DUCK!!!!!!!!!!!

Quickly I ran to the third bench. However, I observed their movement before I allowed myself to sit. They went to different direction. Fiuhhh! Next place was set, New College.

On my way to New College, I found a nice shop for pen and leatherbound journal. They sold nice quill pens. An exquisite piece of art and penmanship. I was enticed by them, but I could not allow myself to spend another 20 pounds. So, mental note was made. Have to come back to Oxford before coming back home. Buy at least one quill pen for beloved grandfather!

Finding New College was not a hard task at that time. I just needed to follow Longwalk Street and turned to Hollywell Street. Crap! The college was closed and will be opened at 2 pm. It was still 11.30. Having no more plan, I strayed around and found Harris and Manchester college. They had a nice chapel and garden, but it seemed that they were not even opened for visitors. So, another camera through the bar trick was played.

Next plan was finding Campion Hall and Pembroke College. It was easy. Those two were located in front of Christ Church. Pembroke was not interesting (or had I lost my interest in exploring Oxford colleges already?). Campion Hall was pretty tight. Remembering the suggestion of the lady in the church the previous day, I intended to just ring the bell. But what should I say to them? That I share the same namesake? That I came from a Jesuit university? Peeking through the glass door, I saw a similar arrangement to the novitiate in my hometown. Well, I did not go,

Considering the next destination was quite easy, as Museum of Oxford was pretty close. It was quite nice museum to learn about Oxford, from the Anglo Saxon era to the golden age of the university. The next floor exhibited the reformation era until the present one. A nice place indeed to study and to protect me from the snow shower. Hehehehe!

As the covered market was near, I went there and found it similar to Beringharjo Market back home. Not really interesting. The clock showed 14.15. I had two choices, coming back to Magdalen and New College or having lunch. Well, since I lost my interest in the colleges already (maybe next time), I headed to Cornmarket Street to grab something to eat.

The fourth day tour was finished. But that night was the chance to enjoy the Oxford nightlife. Jolly Farmers or Castle Taverns, eh?

Oxford #3: The Namesake

2010-12-22T10:10:00.000Z

Thursday, 16/12/2010

Ah, I could not believe that I had been in Oxford for three days. Well, with most of the colleges were closed, the planned trip became more and more limited. As I set my foot off the house, I realized that the north western part of Oxford had not been explored yet, save for Green Templeton, where I had my lunch during the first day.

The first check in was Worcester College. Again, it was closed. I seriously thought that Christmas Break was not a perfect time for tour de college in Oxford. Having no other choices, I could only get two shots from the front. Well, it was better than nothing, wasn't it? I headed towards the direction of Ashmolean Museum. Right across Ashmolean was St. John College. A pretty big one, yet even all the gates were locked. Worse thing, the college was located near the big road. So, even my front shot was disturbed by parking and passing cars.

Following the Woodstock Road, I took a shot of The Eagle and The Child. Well, at least I wanted to have a memorial of that legendary pub. I was a big fan of Narnia and Lord of The Rings as well.

After that pub, I was tempted to enter St. Aloysius church. It was one of the surviving catholic church in Oxford. Well, the first reason was the three wishes that I told earlier in the previous post. BAM! I entered when they were still reciting rosary prayer. No other choice, I had to sit and join the prayer. Thankfully I still remember Hail Mary. Hehehe!

Right after the prayer was finished, I looked around and found a nice shrine for Mary, Our Lady of Oxford. There was also a place to kneel down. Without any hesitation, I grabbed a candle, lit it, put in on the chandelier, and started praying. Sounds crazy, eh? I am. Next to the Mary shrine, which was full of precious relics, I found a shrine dedicated to St. Philip Neri. Turned out he was the patron saint for the order of the parish. The main altar itself was decorated with many statues of the saints.

As I proceeded to the exit, the painting on the wall struck me. It was about St. Edmund Campion. He was once a fellow of St. John College, Oxford, but was hung till death for his faith. In short, he was pretty precious for Oxford people. The thing is, I sort of having a connection with him. When I received my sacrament of confirmation, I took his name as my patron saint, together with St. Chrysogonus. As I got the college of St. Edmund in Cambridge, I felt that it was also a divine intervention. The more impressive thing was the fact that most people used to mock me over my choice.

They knew nothing about this saint, and it was weird to put Campion on the name. “Why don't you just take Edmund instead of Edmund Campion?” But I insisted on choosing this specific Edmund Campion. The fact that I ended up in St. Edmund's College in Brittain was not a random thing for me.

In the exit door, I talked with a lady there about St. Edmund Campion and the status of the parish. I saw IHS as the emblem in the second shrine, and I thought that the church belonged to Jesuit. But it was not. It used to be, but not now. She wondered, how could I know about Edmund Campion and Jesuit? When I told her that I took his name and used to work in Jesuit university back home (added with the fact that I almost entered Jesuit novitiate), she immediately told me to go visit Campion Hall. Apparently, it was the only Jesuit college / hall in Oxford and dedicated completely to St. Edmund Campion. At that second, I knew that I was not far from home. My journey and study in UK had been laid down for me since long time ago. More about this later, guys.

Finishing my visit to the church, I decided to go to Museum of Natural History. The museum road was the shortest way to go, but my old syndrome came back again. Direction disorientation! So, I ended up walking down the Broad Street. To my surprise, Trinity college was opened! Without having any second thought, I directed myself to that place. In the porter's place, I secretly prayed that he would allow me to enter freely when finding out that I was a Cambridge student. “One pound please!” Duh! Bye bye my lovely coin!!!!!

Trinity was okay. The explored area was certainly bigger than Balliol, but something just did not carry the sense of antiquity. It felt cold. Even the chapel was very dark and not welcoming. But there was an interesting part, the back one. The one with student laundry and library. At least that part seemed alive and warm.

In the end of Broad Street, I turned left to Parks Road, wanting to reach the museum. On my right hand side, I found another closed college. Well, sneaking a little bit to get two shots, I found the name interesting. Wadham college. Instantly, my brain went into Indonesian mode. It means transsexual in Indonesia, so I laughed spontaneously.

Well, after a long walk, I finally reached the Museum of Natural History. The exhibition was nice. At least I could finally see some dinosaur bones (yeah, I don't need to go to Smithsonian!!). But the silly side of me took place and the statues of prominent scholars around the arcade were far more interesting. Duh! At least I got my interest back when visiting Pitt River museum, just in the back of Museum of Natural History.

Pitt River hosted various idols all around the world. Quite nice to see how the statue of Virgin Mary was put side by side with Guan Yin. Both with the same pose, carrying a baby. I love that idea! But the shrunken heads were pretty creepy. They reminded me of jenglot, Indonesian traditional ghoul which haunted me during my childhood.

In the upper floor, Pitt River hosted an exhibition of weapon. There were various weapons all around the world. Being a fan of J-RPG with various weapon, I was excited for finally seeing the real claymore and rapier. More than that, they even had Bagh Nakh and Katar. Those were the weapons seen only in the game, but was presented right in front of my eyes.

The museums were done. Next thing on my list was going to New College to see the Old Wall of Oxford. Again, I passed Queen's College (which was still closed. Shame!) and tried to find St. Edmund Hall on my way. Found it, but closed. I could only stole some shots of the chapel and the graveyard through the bars. Trying to follow the Queen's Lane, I got lost again and could not find New College. So I decided to head down Longwall Street and ended up in Magdalen College.

Strange thing happened. As I passed the college, I sniffed familiar scents. Incense and menyan. All of a sudden, I got goosebump. Those were smells of creepy atmosphere back home. Why did I had it there? Quickly I hastened my walk and ended up in Blackwell bookstore (had a quick stop to take picture of imitated Bridge of Sigh. The original Cambridge counterpart was way more beautiful).

Blackwell did ruin up my financial planning. I headed towards the Norrington room, the one having three miles of bookshelves and found MAAAANNNYY interesting books. Damn! Books are really my drugs! They are addictive!!!!

So, I ended up my day tour with several philosophers and lunch in McDonald. Done for the third day.

Oxford #2: The All Souls Tragedy

2010-12-21T12:50:00.000Z

Wednesday, 15/12/2010

This was my second day in Oxford. Even though I was endowed with the bicycle to assist the exploration, I felt that relying on my feet was better, since I could enjoy every scene without having to find a place to park the bike. Thus, equipped with my thick winter jacket, scarf, and gloves, I set my way unto the gloomy and foggy city.

As I was in Oxford, I did not want to miss any college. If I could, I would set my foot on all the colleges. Well, something quite impossible, especially without the Oxford University card. Quite fortunate, my friend's flat was located near Nuffeld College. In under than five minutes, I reached the LOCKED gate. Darn! Taking my chance, I put my camera behind the bar and started taking pictures that I could get. Just two shots and I decided to got around the college, hoping to find a door to enter. Bum! Nothing......

Luckily, near that college lied Oxford Castle. Castle, huh? I would like to try it, entering one of the castle and saw what was inside, after my disappointment with Buckingham palace (which was very plain in its outer architecture). Visitor attraction would cost me two pounds. Huh? I did not want to pay to explore the hill. In fact, the castle must be more interesting than that. But I was wrong. The castle was nothing other than food court. What?

Not wanting to waste more time there, I started walking again, trying to find other fun colleges. Heading without any clear direction, I stumbled upon Christ Church. It was the biggest and most famous college in Oxford, for the first two Harry Potter movies were shot there. Well, now I am willing to pay for this, I said to myself. At least, I only needed to pay around two pounds. But again, I was wrong! The concession rate for student was 4.50 pounds. Darn! My calculative mind was furious with that. Fortunately, my 'civilized' and 'cultured' side were being more dominant. (But still, four and a half pounds? Puh-lease!)

The main quadrangle in the college was pretty big. Unfortunately, with my status as a visitor, my exploration area was limited. I could not step my foot on the Hermes fountain in the middle of the quadrangle. Or perhaps, it was still grass for fellows only? I always questioned that concept. A little ridiculous. Quite nice, but with limited area, I felt confined.

The dinning hall, on the other hand, was very much IMPRESSIVE! No wonder it was used as the Hogwarts' dinning hall. The arrangement looked very exquisite and expensive. All the pictures of notable alumni were hanging on the wall, covering most of it. And it even had a real fireplace, not an electric one. I wish I had a friend from Christchurch who can take me into the formal hall there. Hehehehe!

Move on to the cathedral, the decoration and room division were sophisticated and elegant. The seating arrangement was similar to other chapels, the altar was very detailed in the carving of crucifixion. The mosaics depicting several saints were also there. St. John the Baptise, St. Caecilia (I'm sure that my mum would be very flattered knowing this), and some other saint which I could not decipher from the latin writing. I sat down and prayed (yeah, I prayed after such a long time) in the right hand side of the cathedral, the private chamber.

After finishing Christ Church, I saw several colleges. Most of them were closed for public. Darn. But learning from experience, I decided to sneak in, only to take some shots. And the first one was Oriel College, one of the oldest colleges in Oxford. Next victim was Corpus Christi. Only two shots for this relatively small college. But at least, I got the shot of the special sundial in the middle of the first quadrangle.

Merton and University College were both closed by the bar. I could only sneak my camera behind the bar and got limited view of the college. As I continued the tour, I saw a very big and nice college. The gate tower was very classic, but not as rigid and conventional as the other colleges. It was Queen's College. Quite big, and it would be unfair to compare it to Queen's College in Cambridge. But again, it was closed! Daaaaaaaaarn!!! Not even any opening in bar, thus I could not steal some shots.

Next to Queen's, I saw All Souls College. Yes, said I in mind. I had been wanting to enter this college. One of the oldest, classic. The gate was opened but there was the announcement that the college was closed. Remembering the suggestion from several people, I put my poker face. When nobody was around, I stepped confidently into the first quadrangle. To my surprise, the porter stopped me. I never thought that he recognized every face of college residents. As I said that I was looking for my friend, he asked me the name. Spontaneously, I mentioned any common western name. Yet again, he frowned and said that there was nobody with that name in the college. Damn! I had to get out of here. There was no way I would be arrested for trespassing. I said that I would call my friend outside and quickly ran to the nearby University Church.

After calming myself, I continued walking to Exeter College. It was a college inspiring Philip Pullman for Jordan College in His Dark Material trilogy. As a scholar of children's literature, there's no way for me to miss that. But again, it was closed! Shoot! That time, I decided not to sneak in. Did not want to repeat the All Souls tragedy.

I decided to continue the walk and cross Broad Street. There were Trinity College and Balliol College. Trinity was closed, so it was not an option. But Balliol was opened. I stepped on and went to the Porter's Lodge. The admission fee was cheap, only a pound for students. But when he found out I was a Cambridge student, he allowed me to enter for free.

Balliol was not that big. But it certainly lived up its name as the oldest college in Oxford. The wooden floor to the chapel was creaking. The chapel itself was quite nice and warm. The light entered nicely and created yellow nuance on the brownish chairs. The garden was also quite nice and big. It was too bad that I could not enter the hall. But hey, this was not Christ Church......

The colleges were done for that day. But since the sun was still shinning, I did not want to get back home early. So, I saw a unique building near Trinity and decided to go there. It was the Bodleian Library. The History of Science museum was there. Interestingly, this building was actually the Old Ashmolean. So, my tour on that day was ended by the visit to the museum and the Shelley Ghost exhibition. A special exhibition of Shelley's family's writing. Well, who does not know him? At least people would recognize his famous wife, Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein. But his poems were also equally beautiful. Ozymandias would be forever linger in my head.

The rest of the day was not very exciting. So, that was all for the second day in Oxford.

Oxford #1 : Green Templeton College

2010-12-20T16:58:00.003Z

Tuesday, 14/12/10

I arrived in Oxford 20 minutes later than the expected schedule. Cold and hungry, as no breakfast touched my hand that morning. The cold breeze grasped every inches of my skin, though a thick layer of winter jacket was put over them. The fog was everywhere, giving this city a nuance of late 18th century. The buildings were old but big, unlike the old and small buildings in Cambridge. If Cambridge took me back to 15th - 16th century, Oxford and its crowd only took me two centuries backward. It was gloomy, I recalled what Jody said about The Oxford Murder.

The city was quite big. For a person coming from Cambridge, Oxford is comparable to London. More and more people were walking on the street. Following the direction from my friend, I went down the Hythe Bridge Street, crossing the Oxford Canal. The wind blew fiercer, penetrating every possible pore on my fabric. So, I tightened up my scarf and continued walking. 'Twas in five minutes that I reached the flat. I was in time for lunch.

As my friend was a member of Green Templeton College, she took me there to have lunch. Along the way, she showed the The Eagle and The Child, a famous pub where J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis gave birth to their masterpiece, The Lord of The Ring and The Chronicles of Narnia. A small and usual British pub. As we walked along the Woodstock Road, I saw St. Aloysius Catholic Church on my left hand side. I should pay a visit here, I thought. The thing is, my great grandaunt, who was a nun, told me that I am eligible to have three wishes everytime I visited a new church. And this time, I already knew what I have to ask.

We reached Green Templeton College in the end of the road. It happened to be a sister college to my Cambridge college. As mine was small yet cozy, I was not expecting a big college with several quadrangles. Well, at least my prejudice was true. Green Templeton was similar to St. Edmund, with an inside garden. In the centre of the garden, there was a nice tower hosting the dinning hall and Common Room. Interestingly, there were eight graving of Greek gods and goddesses on the top of the tower. I was told that they represented eight direction.

Entering the first room within the tower, the jade-coloured wall emanated warmth, contrary to the bluish sky of winter outside. The dinning hall itself was a small room. The tables were not arranged traditionally. Not something that you would expect out of common Oxbridge colleges. Even St. Ed still arranged the table traditionally (without the high table, of course). Further comparison with St. Ed came when I took the meal. There were only two meals! One meat and one vegetarian. Only one side dish, since the plate was quite small. I saw a pile of fried chicken, but my friend said that the pile was for salad. We went to the cashier and had to pay 4.80 for two persons! Yay! I loved that! Very cheaaaap! St. Ed, you have to go that way. Hehehe! It was just too bad that we had to pay in cash, even for the member of the college. How I miss card swiping in Eddies' dinning hall. :(

After finishing the lunch, we headed toward Common Room (as I typed this, I always wrote combination room first before common room. Cambridge had influenced me this far...). A nice one. The room was very cozy with couches everywhere. Pretty classy, I supposed. The ceiling was quite high, decorated with tall windows on the wall. You could see some part of Oxford since it was located on the second floor of the tower. With a sip of warm coffee, I lounged myself, accompanied by my friend and some other people she introduced me to. Again, the jade-coloured wall and thick curtain created a warm feeling inside. Later, I found out that the college atmosphere was actually pretty snob, since most of the residents were studying medical and business. Well, that might be the reason why their common room was executive-like. Ah, well, for once in a lifetime, let me be snobbish. ^_^

The tea break was done. It was time to explore the city on my own. Yet, as winter only allowed short exploration time, Ashmolean Museum was the only place I could go. But, that's a completely different story that I will not tell here. Not many people are into museum as I am.........

My Narnia

2010-12-20T16:55:00.001Z

Watching the third instalment in Narnia franchise, The Voyage of Dawn Treader, my fingers were itched to write something. Well, this is the first movie ever that I watched in UK. It did not fulfil my expectation about how it should be. I don't know, whether it's related to the backing off of Disney from the franchise or the story factor that did not support the flashiness as the two previous prequels. It lacked of grandeur from the very first beginning.

However, I realized something that watching Narnia made me go into deep thought about myself. Lucy and Edmund always dream about Narnia, for the adventure and grandeur awaits them there. Whenever the real world sucks, they keep thinking about Narnia, and how that world would offer something different to them. Thus, when they enter Narnia, they completely become other people, showing their other qualities and sort of running away from their real world.

A lot of people must also dream about going to their own Narnia. And what about myself? Of course I wanted to have my own Narnia, a place where I can explore myself and be someone else. And in this matter, I think I am quite lucky. Going away from home and stepping my foot to Cambridge was the wardrobe to my own Narnia. The scholarship that I received acted as my dimensional ring to access “the pool in the magic wood”. In short, Cambridge and UK are my Narnia.

After setting my foot in Cambridge and live far from my comfort home, I started exploring myself. I live as myself, out of anybody's expectation. Out of people's expectation (since nobody know me here), out of my parents' expectation, and even living beyond my own expectation. I sort of tapped into a different personality within myself. Just as Pevensie siblings re-don their mantle as High King and Queens as they got into Narnia, I tapped into a hidden personality in me. Well, it's not a completely hidden one like Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde though.

Talking about this topic, I started remembering Brad Paisley's song, Find Yourself. It is said that we can really discover who we are when we are far from home, when we are in a new area, surrounded by complete strangers. That's when we found ourselves. So, my Narnia, I will explore you more as I will also explore the dark wood of myself. Beware and anticipate the coming of your king!

Dante's (Fairy Tales) Inferno

2010-12-06T10:27:00.004Z

I finally tasted the adaptation of the famous Dante's Inferno. I was always amazed by the historical facts and how Dante wove them into nice tortures and torments (Gee, I might be crazy and psycho for saying this out loud). Divine Comedy is the book that made me spend lots of money only to copy it from the library.

When I found that EA Games decided to make a game adaptation of this classic, I was so hyped. 'Twas not until the release that I was disappointed. They chose PS3 and X360, which means I could not play it. I already gave up when I found the trailer of Dante's Inferno : An Animated Epic. Looking from the artwork, I knew that it is a cinematic alternation of the game. At least, Inferno came alive in an accessible media.

After spending some minutes of downloading the rip (yeah, thanks to the high speed internet!!), I began to watch it. The animation was crisp, bleak coloured, somber and grim. The first scene when Dante was wandering in a dark forest with the appearance of panther and wolf resonated with the first part of the composition. But it was an extended prologue of the original. Right after the dark wood, Dante found Beatrice lying with her last breath. Okay, this might be an introduction for people who are not familiar with the epoch. But something went wrong. As Beatrice breathed her last and turned into a spirit, Lucifer came and hold unto her soul.

My memory was hazy for a moment. Is there a scene of this? And it went clearer, that the producer did something in the adaptation effort. They put a fairy-tale like background, fitting everything into stereotype. Dante himself is portrayed as a knight coming from the Holy War. Well, he is a Templar. Meanwhile, Beatrice was changed into a Damsel in Distress, a princess waiting to be saved by the handsome prince.

It's weird, isn't it? In the original plot, Beatrice is the one who saves Dante from the darkness of his soul. Even more, she helps Dante getting through the journey. Is this a market demand to fit this philosophical tale into a fairy tale framework? Into the hegemony of a man, where woman is perceived as weak character to be saved? Interesting case, for in the 21st century like this, hegemonic masculinity still exist within the media and culture, in its subtlest possible way.

Dante himself is not a pure translation of the original Dante Alighieri. Even the fact that he had a pre-marital intercourse with Beatrice, a pure soul, reminded me of Faust. This resemblance is clearly nailed with the scene in which Dante found his unborn son in Limbo, the first circle of hell. Pre-marital intercourse with a pure soul, unborn child from the flawless virgin, this is clearly a mixture of two different classics. The producer might add this fact to spice up the plot, but it resulted in a different Inferno.

The distinction of good and evil is also very clear here. All demons in hell are evil, thus they have to be killed. Therefore, there are scenes in which Dante slain Charon and Minos. He even slaughtered the demon. Well, it is an important point in the game, but do they have to include the slaying here? They must be boss characters in the game...

The modification of the original also ignored the mythological references to certain characters. When Dante and Virgil have to mount Nessus to cross the river, I was very shocked. Nessus is portrayed as a sexualized female centaur with a bare chest and boobs. WHA? Nessus is supposed to be a male and lustful centaur who kidnapped Deianera in Heracles opus. If Nessus is a female, then she would never kidnap Deianera, thus never give Deianera the poisonous robe that killed Heracles.

Geee, I mumbled too much about this. This movie is not that bad, anyway. If you know nothing about Divine Comedy, this is a nice one (but you have to ignore different styles of animation throughout the movies, which can be pretty annoying). But for people who understand Divine Comedy, this is a completely new story. They only have the same name and concept. This is, once again, a fairy tale version of Divine Comedy.

Cambridge #2 : Christmas

2010-12-05T11:37:00.003Z

Christmas is drawing near. And having been living in European, I finally feel the celebration. Unlike in Indonesia, people are very eager to take part in the party. It is really a family time, in which every family has their own tradition. Everybody wanted to go back to their home as soon as possible.

That leaves me alone in Cambridge. A small city in the middle of the bleak winter surrounded by antiquity. Living in college meaning staying alone with less people with silence all around. With a short winter day and bleak sky, the white Christmas will not be white.

I am supposed to be homesick, like my other friends. But the truth is, I don't miss my home very much. Some friends asked me, "How do you feel of spending christmas without your family?" I could not think about any answer rather than happy. Yes, I am looking forward to it.

My Christas was never full with tradition. It was never memorable. So, a bleak christmas here is even better than christmas at home.

PS : What the hell is this writing? I must be at the bottom, for this is very baad!

Moonlight Sonata

2010-11-28T08:51:00.003Z

I got into a nice conversation with a classic musician yesterday. With the constant exposure to classic since my childhood, I came up with my own interpretation. To my surprise, the explanation came spontaneously. I did not think or contemplate. The tongue took over my mind, and along came elaborated speech of distinguishing between Beethoven and Mozart.

Did not think of what I said, I learned from myself about each of the musician. And it was true, Mozart is never really appealing to me, despite of what people said about him. Some of his pieces are too cheerful. Meanwhile, Beethoven carried his loneliness, isolation, desperation, and anxiety in most of his piece. For most of my life, loneliness, isolation, desperation, and anxiety were integral parts of me. That was the main reason of my connection with Beethoven. Even his happiest work, Ode to Joy would be somber in a slower rhythm.

Fur Elise used to be my favourite, but as times went by, Moonlight Sonata defined me more. When he asked me the reason of liking it, I could not explain it briefly. Each of the note carried desperation, so sad and dark. For some people who do not understand classic, this might be considered as scary and perfect for horror movie (shame on you, people!).

Now that I am staying in England, the feeling became stronger. I finally saw winter and autumn moon, and it was the real background for Moonlight Sonata. Something soft and calm in the middle of winter tree. A pale light trying to warm the cold and bleak winter. Bleak as the yearning heart for small amount of warmth. The solace and fake peace in the middle of the snow. The long buried pain and scar within the soul finally came arose due to the inability to bear it any longer.

Moonlight Sonata, the music about moon. But moon only occupied small amount of the music. The focus is more on the shadow of the moon. Under the dark shadow from the pale light, darkness awaits. It tempted people and scared them away with hundreds of illusion and deception. The sorrows lurk behind the white sheet of snow patiently wait for the next victim.

Ironically, Moonlight Sonata was originally created as Beethoven's proof of love. Indirectly, it portrays the dark side of the love. The sorrow after the betrayal, and the cold heart unable to love again, falling into pieces. There is this sense of unrecoverable condition, that no matter what happened, nothing could mend the soul. Something has already torn apart and shattered into crumbles. The impossibility of rejuvenation. In one hand, one hated the silence and loneliness, but on the other hand, it is something that one grow accustomed to. There is no way one can live outside the isolation and darkness, for they are what one knows all of one's life.

Shifting the situation into a merrier atmosphere would prove nothing. As the habit goes, one will keep creating a barrier and dwelt in one's own lonely corner.

Ah, Beethoven is just a genius!

I Miss You

2010-11-02T18:15:00.003Z

I miss you patting my head, as it reduces my stress level.
as it soothes my anger.
as it takes me into calmness.

I miss you kissing my lips, as it burns away all the laments.
as it conveys my feeling.
as it rips my chest and let my heart fly to yours.

I miss my arms around you, as I can hear your every breath.
as I can feel your soft heart beat.
as I can flow in your very vein.

I want to sing this melody with you,
hum every refrain of our journey
repeat every coda of our venture
and end it with the encore from above.

I miss you........

Chronicle #8 : English Education

2010-10-30T15:17:00.002+01:00

Well, coming back to chronicling my teaching experience. Something that I should have finished before I came to Cambridge. Well, time constraint made it a little bit impossible. Preparation ate a lot of my time, and procrastinating consume MOST of my time. Yeah, I am a goooooood procrastinator.

It came back to July 2009. After having a very bad "breakup" with certain bitch, I got a phone call that would change my life forever. It was from the Vice chairperson of my ex-study program. She asked me whether I would be available to teach in as a part-time lecturer. Whoa, whoa, NOT AVAILABLE? Get out of here, it was all I dreamed! I shouted spontaneously, "COUNT ME IN!!!!!"

To my surprise, she asked me to handle Interpreting classes. Yep, plural! I had two classes of interpreting. I was quite surprise, since it was a subject for final year student. Am I good enough to handle that, I thought in mind. But yea, without further ado I nodded (figuratively, of course. I was on a phone call anyway). And thus begun my journey as a part-time lecturer.

My first semester brought me into three different levels. I had interpreting class for final year students, writing class for second year students, and reading class for the fresher (Wait, fresher?? Gosh, this is UK talking. xixixixi)Again, I think my arrogance was really too much. Relying on the experience of teaching in History Department, I thought it would be the same. BIG MISTAKE, dude!

Interpreting class is really exhausting, both for the lecturer and the students. Difficult for students to progress, exhausting for the lecturer to prepare the material. Engaging students' participation needed extra effort, especially during a "sleepy hours". Yeah, Interpreting class at the moment when people got really tired and sleepy. Could not say that those were my greatest success. Once again, arrogance is certainly not a good start for teaching. But, I enjoyed it.

The Writing class was nice, but in some ways it was kinda limiting. I LOVE to talk, and by love, I mean A LOOT! And I love writing. Well, it was supposed to be okay, however lecturer did not talk a lot in writing class.*jawdropping* *speechless*

But I really enjoyed the reading class. Well, dealing with freshers is always nice. They were very cooperative and eager to learn. Not to mention their obedience. The discussion went well, and I enjoyed every moment of it. Have to admit, I looked forward to going into that class every week. Err, the first mid term test made that class down a little bit, but they soon changed their strategy to learn. To my surprise, they did improve. A LOT!

Second semester came, and I got more classes. This time, I had to teach two classes of Translation and two classes of Research Paper Writing for third year student as well as a writing class for second year students. And I should say that that was the most exhausting and challenging semester ever.

Teaching Translation was not as easy as flipping your hand. It was a skill. You cannot fully learn it, you have to acquire it. The best analogy of teaching translation i like teaching art. You have to feel it, and no theory could help you fully. So difficult that I almost lost my confidence in teaching. Killer, ambitious, killer, difficult, killer, serious, killer, killer, killer. Those were things written on my forehead for the students. Lots and lots protested for my grading system, but I insist on using my standard. Unlike the reading class in the previous semester, the classes were killing me.

Unique case happened in the Research Paper Writing classes. I enjoyed teaching in one class, we even had so much fun. I felt like having the best scientific discussion ever. But the other class ditched on me. This particular class, I never know why, also saw the writing on my forehead like the translation class did.

Thank God I had the writing class for second year. They were nice, talkative, cooperative, and sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet. Those people were funny, and the important thing was, they were the one keeping my sanity in place.

Well, I had my own up and down with that. No matter how long have you been teaching, there is always new thing to learn. And every class is different, so we really need to adjust ourselves without lowering the standard.

Cambridge #1 : Day One

2010-10-02T14:37:00.003+01:00

By the time I set my feet at Heathrow, I still couldn't believe that I reached far far away land. Everything looked the same, except the fact that most of them were caucasian. Within the airport, I didn't feel the difference to Indonesia. Hell, even when I took my train to Paddington station and saw London's landscape, it still felt like watching movie.

From Paddington, I went to King's Cross. After going through several torturing stairways (because of my overweighted luggage), I managed to get to the ticket booth. They gave me the ticket to Cambridge, and guess what? The train was leaving in five minutes from Platform 9b. Well, blame my wild imagination, but as I ran to catch my train, I imagined myself as Harry Potter running along catching the train in Platform 9 3/4. Thank God I didn't bump into Hogwarts Express. Hehehehe!

During my jouney, I found out why people said that England is wet and gloomy. It really is, with all the rain, cloudy days, and shades. The authenticity and antiquity were certainly there. It is really an old and classic country. The medieval scent is lingering in every tree, in every bricks of houses, in every pint of air.

And after an hour, I finally reached Cambridge. If London carried the sense of antiquity in every part, Cambridge is the antique itself. Every big building, colleges, and chapels warped me back to the glorious day of the monarch. The day of nobility and aristocracy. No motorcycle, few cars, and MANYYY bicycles.

With all the cold wind and light shower, I felt very welcomed by the old atmosphere.

Chronicle #7 : CEIC - The Intermediate Saga

2010-09-07T13:39:00.003+01:00

Intermediate level has almost never been apart from my journey in Language Institute Sanata Dharma University. In fact, it is almost identical with me. During my previous chronicle, I wrote that I taught in two intermediate classes. Now, the rest of Intermediate classes are written here.

The third batch of Intermediate class consisted of some mad guys and girls. Some of them were from the previous Pre-Intermediate level. I still have Gina, Angel, Ogi, and Yaya. Only Emi wasn't there. Combined with several newcomers, the class became more colorful. Initially, the coordinator was afraid of my partiality towards the class members, since I grew closer to the previous students. But as the time progressed, the whole class develop into one soul.

And what did I do back then? To be honest, I am still questioning that myself. Was I teaching or was I just merely playing with them? This time, I started losing control over myself. They lighted up the flare triggering my “wild” state. Moreover, I got Uul, my ex-senior during the high-school day, whom I love to trick with her echolaria problem. There was also the duet, Andhi and Taufiq, the OLD (yes, I put the emphasis on the word OLD) but nice Ario, the lecturer. I also had DJ Win, whom you might not thought that he is one, since he was quite serious.

The class changed into a brotherhood and family for each of us. I still remembered how we gathered outside the class, had a “cooking class” during the weekend, and several hangouts. Well, actually we are still hanging out together until now. The inspirational thing came from them was what Ario said, “When I came into your class, I felt like having a relaxation from my office duty. That's why I couldn't wait coming to your class!”

But I cannot have them as my students forever, can I? The next batch came, and to my surprise, they were crazier. There were cousins, Yenny and Wuri, the cool Andre,Fitri, who got the innocence face but in fact can act WILD! There were Rama, the ever-spirited boy, Laura, a childlike girl, Adit, the city planner, and the calm vet, Kristin. Donny the chipmunk, served as class clown, providing laughter and intermezo in a totally high dose. Luthfi the emo boy and Manov, the musician, who provided nice music during Friday Fun Fest. The class was also colored by the ever-ambitious Freandy and serious boy, Nanda Resa, who loved talking about politics and sometimes slow to diggest others' jokes. Gawd, I've just realized that this class is the largest in number among my other intermediate classes. Which probably is the LOUDEST class ever!!!!

After taking care of such a loud class, people would think that I needed a rest. Well, actually no, but somehow the next intermediate class was the smallest in number ever. I only had three students, Ipam, Dyke, and Dimas. Whew! What a challenge, since it was very hard to lift the class' mood and atmosphere. The worst case happened during the presentation, with only one student came LATE. Aaaargh, I felt like banging my head on the wall.

Thankfully, the next batch came with a flock of gooners and looners. There were two Intermediate classes, and I was in charge for both of them. In the first class, I only got 8 students, but they were more than enough for the level of loudness. Sure, there were Dewi and Yani, the cool and calm ones. But on the other hand, I got Satya, the mad scientist, Fryssa Yudha and Paska Aprilia, the deadly duet. Combined with the queen of one liner, Olive, the occassional looner, Vincent, and the posh girl, Weni, the result was C-H-A-O-S!! I didn't need to speak much, they wouldn't stop speaking. I remembered that once someone had to take me over for the class, and she sighed deeply, “What a class!!” Ahahahahaha, you rocked, guys!!

Well, the second class of that period was as fun as the first one, but with a slower tempo. Hangu, Uut, Burhan, Lia, and Tika. All were nice students, quite active and can go wild sometime. Just in a perfect dose (while the previous class suffered from over-dosage of madness). I also got a bunch of pharmacist. Amel and her boyfriend, Dita, and the eternal victim Ema. Nice class, especially useful for balancing my sanity. Hahahahaha!!

In the begining of 2010, I had also two classes of Intermediate level. To be honest, the first class did not leave a strong impression, except for one student, Mr. D. He was the only student who literally made me want to commit homicide in class. Most of the students were standard, not really crazy. Most of the time, I was stunned with all the corny and awkward jokes.

But as the balancing law stated, I got a LOUD class at the second shift. Gee, this class even reminded me of my third period. We were once again united as a family, even managed to secure a name for the class, Syphillis class. Aww, ain't that sweet? (Sweet? That's dirty!). There were Laura, the oldest sister(even older than me), Ria, the overly innocent girl with the chocolatte brownies, Ane, the hype one who happened to be a DJ-apprentice, and Ucrit, the small and childish girl. From the boy side, there were BIG Arif, who was a bit perverted, Tejo, the electrocutted-musician, Prama and Burhan, both with their own madness and silliness, Ernest, the photographer, and Ilham, the little brother of everyone. I really had fun with this class!!! BLASTING, guys!!

Due to some circumstances, there was no intermediate class in the following period. Instead, I was assigned to two pre-intermediate classes. But at least, in the next one, I still got my final intermediate assignment.

My job in CEIC is closed by a nice intermediate level consisted of Aulia, Celly, Pungkas, my old friend in Canista, Ronal, Koko, Tika, the talkative Cindhi, and Donna. Guess that concludes my having fun in that level.

Just realized, I wrote mainly about fun, not teaching. To be honest, teaching in the intermediate level really saves me a lot of stress. It relieved my burned-out mind and distracting all problems that I had in mind, saved for one time. Thanks guys for coloring my two-years of teaching in CEIC!

Chronicle #6 : History Department

2010-08-18T05:13:00.000+01:00

Just a few months after being accepted in Language Institute (and finishing the probational period), I got the offer to teach at History Department. They needed a lecturer to teach writing in English III. Since the director of Language Institute knew that my thesis was about writing skill, she appointed me for the position. Of course, in an instant, I nodded my head. Hey, it was a rare opportunity.

Having been informed that my colleague used to make the syllabus for the same class, I contacted her. When receiving the last-year syllabus, I was shocked. It was different. Not including writing skill at all, but English learning strategy instead. Meanwhile, the department asked me to develop students' writing skill. So, I changed the whole syllabus.

I was nervous back then. Can my syllabus be called as reliable? Was that really a valid one? Designing material and syllabus have been my activity since several semesters backward. But this time, I am dealing with the formal institute. University and official study program. Meaning, my syllabus will also be used as the consideration in the accreditation process. I had some moments of losing my confidence.

However, in the process, I found out that it was interesting. I got all the freedom that I wanted! I was free to choose what to teach, what to test, and even what not to teach. BOOM! The syllabus was done, the material was done.

To my surprise, I found out that English class in history department was treated like a step children. There were a lot of thoughts that they are hopeless. However, faced by the opinion like that, I couldn't help but challenged. In my mind, I set what could I do for them. If they were really hopeless, how could I raise their motivation to learn English and made them confide in themselves. At least, made them feeling precious and not being left out.

Then came the day when I had to enter the class for the first time. Dang, they were late for almost half an hour. I initially wanted to be angry, but considering their nature, it will have a bad impact to their motivation if I shouted at them in the first meeting. At that moment, I decided that I had to change my paradigm. I had to be very fluid. And yet, only one student came out of three. What should I do with one student? I finally ended up on chatting, and that was the first bonding I had with students from History Department.

As the time went by, I know each of the students personally. And yet, the class turned to be a workshop class. They got no complaint, and even got no secret. Most of the time, we were just having short discussion. I grew close to Angga, the perverted otaku boy and Gilang, the bohemian one. Ah well, actually we got close real fast because we were all bohemian.

Actually, I got more “students” when teaching there. It was a big class, occupied only by two students and one lecturer. But the class was always full (with invisible things). Huauahuahuahuahau! So, I was not only teaching a human being......

On the second semester, I met with Angga and Gilang again in English IV. However, this time I met more people. Sister Mena, the persistent one. She was left behind in term of ability and English mastery, but her persistence and diligence helped her to cope up with the others. She even served as my catalyst, especially when my joke went too far. I had Ifa, the activist, in my class. She was a bright girl, but her problem came in her dilligence. She skipped the class often. Thank God, she managed to pass my class, although I had to bend my own rule once for her sake. I couldn't let someone as bright as her failed my class only because of sickness. Then, I had the gentle Tati, as much as being inaccurate, she tried hard. Like the others, she almost failed my class too, but managed to escape. Then the last member who colored my class was Ismi, the WIIIILD girl. Well, not wild in dirty context, but wild in term of attitude.

Their class was different, for we had more students. The discussion was interesting. Can you imagine the students were so eager discussing agnosticism? Or when Angga suddenly came up with the topic of Hindu Trinity. We were really helping one another. (And that might be the reason why they never believe me being a killer lecturer).

The last class in history department happened last semester. I got two more serious students, but still pretty close. Deaz and Ayunda. They were very bright! No problem with dilligence. And yet, they still thought that the class was fun.

So, what's the moral value? Hmmm, never really good with this one, but lemme try. Can I say that, never underestimate people? Since they can show you their hidden potential. And it will really left you in awe.

One thing for sure, I was glad to teach in the history department. It was a memorable thing, even my sanctuary when I felt overwhelmed by my other teaching tasks. Sanctuary, since I can release my stress and burden, teaching while stripping all the formality.

Chronicle #5 : CEIC - The Beginning

2010-08-12T10:05:00.004+01:00

Just few months before my graduation, I applied for an instructor position in Language Institute Sanata Dharma University. My motivation back then was merely for having a secure social position while looking and applying for my Master Degree.

Well, skipping all the process and impression, I was assigned for Intermediate class. You can say that since my first period until this last one, I always got Intermediate class but once when there was no applicant for that level.

The training for the instructors demanded us to be instructor fully like the theory. Positioning ourselves as the instructor, giving and being the source of knowledge. Being the new member of the community, as well as having a probational period, I tried so hard to fit in. All the things from the training were implemented in my strategy and methodology. Assigned to one mentor, I tried so hard to copy her way of teaching, knowing that she is a senior lecturer. The combination of so-called good teaching and my bohemian style came into being. Yet, I never felt comfortable.

My first class consisted of some old students from the previous level. With all efforts to show my capabilities, I never managed to get close to them. The class turned out to be corny, partly because of my inability to manage the mood. All my jokes were cheesy, and even most students said that I often offended them. My evaluation became very bad, and this means BAAAAD! It was the time when I even doubted my ability to teach. Seriously, I was thinking of giving up teaching back then.

That bad result came into the decision of prolonging my probation period. Something shameful, at least for myself. I always saw myself as adaptable and prodigy, but that cockiness finally consumed me.

On my prolonged probation period, I was assigned to three different levels. Upper Beginner, Pre-Intermediate, and Intermediate. Further humiliation came in form of my being assigned to each of the level only once a week. A proof that the seniors had no trust in my capability (which honestly is lasting until now. But hey, who cares??) This feeling of desperation was even encouraged by the fact that none of my students decided to continue to the next level.

During my desperation, I found out that one of my high school friends, Emi, enrolled in the Pre-Intermediate class. Equipped with that fact, I decided to go crazy. Hell cares with what happened to my career there. I mocked my students there, ignoring what it might do to my evaluation later on. Fortunately, they accepted all those mockeries and insults. We even insulted one another. My Bohemian Style was resurrected once again.

The schedule rolling came, and I was removed from Pre-Intermediate, putting me into the focus of Upper Beginner and Intermediate. Upper Beginner never really stroke my attention, while in the Intermediate class, I had three students from Japan. Yuta, Naomi, and Satsuki. Feeling honored for teaching foreigners, I tried to impress them with the knowledge of anime. But they saw me in turn as OTAKU. Gyahahaha! I also got a band of students from UGM, four jesters! And for the first time, I had to teach two mature guys. One was a lecturer from a reputable university, and the other was a public accountant. Another addition to the class was the beautiful Regina, who later became the MC of our outdoor activity at the time.

In the meantime, the students from Pre-Intermediate kept asking about my whereabout to the course coordinator. They missed me and wanted me to teach them back. My coordinator was very surprised knowing that I was DEMANDED! Yeah, once again, DEMANDEEED! Thus, she put me back in the pre-intermediate class. It was when I felt right back at home. It was the factor which finally put me in a more stable position at the course.

I remembered the bond, especially when I had to turn down their invitational offer for dinner. It was a very complicated situation, and I had to explain it to them. To my surprise, they invited me again for dinner. Playing trick on them, the most memorable one was making Emi literally jumping out for a horror story and hiding Ogi's bag during the final test. If I have to mention their name one by one, I will have to carve them in my very grateful heart. Emi, Angel, Gina, Yaya, and Ogi.

So, what's the lesson? I think it is being yourself. Don't force yourself to be someone you're not. If you teach in a Bohemian Style, and you enjoy it, your students will feel that. They will enjoy you in turn.

Chronicle #4 : Mimika

2010-08-07T00:52:00.000+01:00

The fourth classical experience in teaching came to me upon the chance of giving tutorial. Sanata Dharma decided to have a cooperative program with West Papua. That province sent some prospective students to study under the scholarship scheme. However, due to the different quality of education in Papua and Java, the university saw the importance of matriculation program.

The matriculation program aimed to provide a more solid basic for those students from Mimika, at least in the three basic subjects, Math, English, and Indonesian. Thus, the matriculation was given to the three study programs in Education Faculty. Being a 'lucky' student in the English Education program, I was selected to be one of the tutors. I'd say lucky, since I went to the common room during the appropriate time, and seeing my face, suddenly I got the offer to teach.

Considering that English might be difficult, we were alloted 6 meetings. Those were then divided into 6 different tutors, consisting of 3 student-teachers, 1 real teacher, and 2 lecturers. Furthermore, it was divided into several different skills. I was lucky to get speaking, working together with Bu Ade, an English teacher from SMK Pembangunan.

Just as we thought, the students were difficult. There were 20 students initially, but their number decreased over time. The learning pace was VERY SLOW, and the tutors had to be extremely patient. It was even added with the fact that during a morning session – which is unfortunately my session – they could come late for almost half an hour.

Some students were problematic, no hyperbolic expresssion intended. When we shared among the tutors, there was always one name sprung up and heated our discussion. The student's name was Marco. People thought that he was lazy, unmotivated to learn, and having an extremely low understanding. I myself never experienced that thing, since Marco rarely showed up during my session.

One day, I saw Marco in my session. He showed up late. And I found out that my partners' saying about him were all true. It was a challenge, and I decided to have a personal approach to him. Getting close to him and guide him step by step, started spending more time on him. It was frustrating at first, with countless repetition and explanation even for a simple thing. My head was almost exploding, and the rage started to accumulate within. But I affirmed myself that I could pass this.

After several meetings, I got a surprise. By the end of the class, Marco came to me and expressed his gratitude, “Sir, thank you so much for explaining extensively to me. Now I can understand those things. You know, I might be stupid, but by your explanation, I really wanted to learn more. You are the first person who came to me and repeat everything slowly. I felt ashamed for not having motivation. Thank you so much for caring about me!”

At that moment, I had an instant meltdown inside. Is that the key? Seeing your student as a human being, not a machine. That however bad your students are, you still have to treat them as a human being, cura personalis. And the persistence in personification will result in a trusting bond.

In the end, Marco did not keep his words. He failed the matriculation and was sent back to Mimika. But he did give me something to learn and reflect. How to treat your student.

And trust me, fellow teachers, if you had that moment, you will realize that some things cannot just be measured by money.

Chronicle #3 : SMA 6

2010-07-29T11:18:00.002+01:00

As a student of Teacher Training Faculty, there is an obligatory step to pass, Practice Teaching, or commonly referred as PPL. Well, I could not escape from that obligation as well, thus I had to undergo that at 2007. Actually, I requested specially to be placed in the school which had the international class, for the sake of my research. To be more specific, I requested to be put together with my research fellows. But tha fate brought me another story.

Not only being separated from my research fellows, I was a little bit shocked knowing that I was put in SMA 6. Well, the first impression of that senior high school is never good. It is still famous for the juvenile. Gee, I was never a naughty boy in the first place. Well, I was and still am tricky, sometimes naughty, but never into juvenile. Hell, I even despised school gang when I was still in the senior high. It was a very frightening thought.

Came the briefing time, and I was a bit relieved to find that my partners were good people. At least, they were reliable and cooperative. Not only from Sadhar, I also met student teachers from UNY and UAD. Well, never had the problem with people from UNY, but I did have a sharp covert conflict with UAD, even involving manipulating students to hate them and put bad stigma for them in the common room. You can say that I learnt how to be a cunning politician back then, how to create disgrace without being known.

Enough for that, since it will just be a completely new story and journal. This chronicle talked about the teaching experience, anyway. In that case, I was lucky for I got a nice supervising teacher. Pak Harwanto, English teacher specialized in teaching conversation and speaking. He usually taught the material out of the curriculum. His principle is encouraging the students to speak English, regarding the curriculum. Furthermore, he loved his job very much. Therefore, I never experienced the “slavery” that most practice students had. Ohohohohoho!! arrogant laugh

Pak Harwanto gave us a whole week, teaching the same material for 14 classes, and that was it. No more. So, I taught 7 meeting in 7 different classes (1st grade) with the same material, while Kenyar taught the same number of class in the 2nd grade. In the following week, we had already been freed from any teaching task. WHAT A BLISSFUL HEAVEN!!!

Being placed under that type of teacher, my Bohemian style of teaching was further developed and encouraged. He never asked me and Kenyar, the other student teacher, to write him a lesson plan and curriculum. Hell, we were never bothered with making those stuffs until the end of the program. He only asked us what to teach, a small discussion about the material, and that's it. He even asked me to give mark to Kenyar, and vice versa. Being given chance like that, of course we gave one another A. Gyahahahaha!

Well, eventhough we taught in Bohemian style, we prepared our teaching material well. I still remember how I brought my own computer speaker to the class only for the sake of listening. Carrying the same experience of teaching in SEDC, I tried to get close to the students. Well, to be honest, I never put myself higher than those students, but trying to fit into their circle instead. Thus, the students were not afraid to me, but at the same time, they will be more obedient, since the communication is like a communication between friend.

They enjoy our classes, even though I said it myself. Being a tricky boy who loved to play trick on student teacher when I was in Senior High, I was afraid of having the same experience myself. Karmic consequence, eh? But it never happened, to my surprise. I even played trick on my students, and they were never offended, even enjoyed it. Err, I'd say that I outwitted those tricky students. That resulted in having a very WILD class. People might thought that my class was wrecked in havoc, with loud voices and shouts here and there. But hey, those were speaking classes, and the louder the merrier, eh? Pak Harwanto expressed no complaint, he even enjoyed the class.

The students? No complaint, no trick, and not even any violence. I even revised my impression that SMA 6 students ARE nice. Once you get close to them, they will even treat you as friend. I even spent the break time with some students at the canteen. Treating one another and gossiping about beautiful female students. Gee, it was a very nice experience.

Then, what is the lesson to pick from this chronicle? What did I learn from teaching at SMA 6? I guess the biggest thing I acquired was the encouragement for my bohemian teaching style. Hehehehehe! It's not wrong to be a bohemian teacher, as long as you can bring joy and knowledge to both your students and yourself. La Vie Boheme!!!

Chronicle #2 : Mahatma

2010-07-24T04:17:00.001+01:00

The second massive teaching experience took place during my SPD class. At that class, every group is supposed to teach in at least one class of non-educational institution. Every group is independent, in a sense that the lecturer paid no attention to you material development or your teaching methodology. The concern here lied in the professionalism and the art of entrepreneurship.

I was very lucky to team-up with incredible people. Mahatma, the name of our team, consisted of Non, a nice lady with strong determination, Dee, who provided us with nearly-infinite networking and negotiating, Riri, who brought about creative energy towards us, Fajar, the walking dictionary, Nugroho, our gadget expert and technician, as well as Yudi, the hardworker. We were so close, even grew into a family of our own, dwelling in the Self Access Centre.

Our passion and determination resulted in two clients, Poltabes Yogya and Grand Mercure Hotel. We broke the record of income (which is not yet broken up until now) in SPD class, resulting in 7 million only from Poltabes. Those were nice time, since I had the chance of teaching adult learners. My (supposed to be) students are the commissioners, Kapolres, and some high-leveled officers. Well, considering the nature of the police, I only taught one effective class there.

Nope, that didn't mean that I only taught once in Poltabes. We still had the other class there, for Tourism Police. At least, I had the chance of teaching them as well. Fun, though the students were not really memorable. The funnest thing is the teamwork with those incredible individuals.

We had also classes in Grand Mercure Hotel. Teaching English for Hotel Staff. Again, the students were not so great, but the process was superb! I mean, we dwelt in SAC for finishing the material, working together with 5 borrowed laptops on the table (at that time, having laptop is still a privilege to some people only), accessing the internet with connection made specially for us (and there was no hotspot back then). We had lunch in the lab, something forbidden, but we were covered by the SAC attendants, and even took a nap on the couch there. In short, the SAC became our own office.

The Grand Mercure Hotel was satisfied with our work, and they extended the contract into a more specific purposes, English for Spa. This time, it was more fun than the previous, since our students were more diligent, and we had the class in spa! The real spa, with the welcoming drink. Ahahahaha, it was a very unique experience. When are you going to have a class again in the massage room?? Therapy room??

The satisfaction continued, and we were contacted for a third contract. However, some members had already busy with their own business, and we decided to disband Mahatma. And that was the end of an era, concluding the second chronicle of my teaching experience.

Chronicle #1 : SEDC

2010-07-23T15:16:00.000+01:00

The prospect of continuing my study brings about its own consequence, I have to stop teaching for a year or more. It will be a very difficult thing to do, since I've been teaching for six years by now. Both good things and good things happened through the time being. I've encountered various people, various classes, in various condition. Thus, to honor those people as my stepping stone of learning, here I will be writing a chronicle for each and every class.

My very first chance of teaching started at August 2004, as a debate coach in SEDC, Smada English Debating Community. I was nobody back then. Although I studied at English Education, where I was supposed to be trained as a teacher, I didn't get any teaching theory or classes in my first year. So, I brought nothing, no underlying theories or principles. All I did was relying on my instinct and feeling, recalling my expectation of what a good teacher should be.

Well, it was never a formal class, since I was entrusted to coach a debating club in my former high school. There were no fixed syllabus, no fixed lesson plan, or even fixed rules. Nothing. Everything was left to me, I could do anything I wanted. But it was really valuable, for I learned how to teach by myself, I got many chances to develop my own teaching style. Moreover, I acquired myself brothers and sisters.

My relation with the trainee was different. In some ways, I never put myself higher than them. They were never considered as subordinate, just little brothers and sisters. They learned how to debate, how to solve the problem, and I shared the same things. We grew into a family, where one shared the problems to the others. Love and hate grew at the same time.

Training was never the only thing I did then. I learned how to cope with various problems. Motivating them, even stood for them in time of need. Ah, hell, I think I've written a lot about SEDC here in this blog. But the words will never be able to convey the real feeling dwelling within this soul. The warmth that those children emanated and resonated with one another.

I found myself one of my greatest brothers and friends in form of a problematic student. He was almost kicked out, and I learned through him how to stand for someone. How to encourage people, how to motivate people, as well as how to be there in the time of need.

The problem from the outside kept coming, and that was my test of endurance. To be honest, I was never strong enough to keep standing firm. No, I shed my tears million times, both in front of them or behind them. The thought of quitting constantly came into my mind, but the students in one way or another expressed that I was still needed. And at that time, I learned how the true connection of students – teacher can be really strong. Though the teacher might be smarter or older, he doesn't necessarily need to be strong all the time. The students can be your source of energy.

During the hard period of my life, when I felt alone and loveless, the existence and smile of those students were rejuvenating. They made me realize, that though I possess no girlfriend, I still have them, and I would never be alone with them. The constant message asking for advice, the complains, the smiles, and the sharings are proofs that I am still needed and loved. Some people might consider it hyperbolic, but without those students back then, I might have committed suicide. They were the lanterns enlighting my dark path, when I encountered my inner demon and felt that I would lose.

With all those things, I was never hesitated to stand up for them. Though not always frontal, I even confronted my own faculty for them. I confronted some teachers that I used to adore and admire. Why? For the sake of those children.

The salary might never be enough in number, hell, some people even said that the salary was not humane. But, hey, not all things in this world can be measured by money. There are more valuable things, such as the appreciation that you got, the smile on your students' lips, the strong bond you forged, and the sense of belonging. Those are the reason for me clinging to SEDC for 5 years.

5 years of happiness, if I may say. Those years weren't always filled with laughter and smiles. But even the cries and the tears are making it more worthed.

SEDC, my very first class, my very first students, but will never be my end. The 6 batches of SEDC debaters, whoever you are, you will always live in my memory and remembrance.

Desecration of a Temple

2010-07-06T04:31:00.002+01:00

Several months ago, I had the chance of accompanying one of my best pals to visit various Candi in Yogya. From him, I learned how people should respect Candi. He put off his shoes before entering the candi, went around the structure exactly 3 times, and really respect even the stone floor. Back then, he said to me that it is a sacred place for praying, and we should treat it as something really sacred. And at that time, my eyes were wide opened, that candi is really a sacred place, not just a pile of archaeological stones.

However, I faced a different situation when I had to escort my cousin to Borobudur several days ago. As people might know that Borobudur was one of the Seven Wonders in the world, it was supposed to be incredible. Moreover, it is also one of the biggest Budhist structures in the world, not to mention its unique configuration as a giant mandala to reach the Nirvana. I am not a Budhist myself, but with the background of Borobudur and its grandeur, it is expected to be respected.

When I got there, there was an announcement that people should not bring a food to the complex of the temple. Well, it was quite rational, since nobody would expect someone to eat in the mosque, church, or temple. And Borobudur is one of the famous temples.

But what did I found there? On the second level, I saw a family sitting in the corner and ate their meal there. They ate it as if they were eating in the park, not in a sacred place. Some of them are veiled women, while I shouldn’t judge them as super-pious, but it was a bit of a ironic scene, wasn;t it? Moreover, they threw away the garbage on the floor.

As a tourism object, surely many children visited the structure. But, most of them were not even interested in it. Well, not blaming them, of course, considering the nature of the children. But the parents themselves were not giving anything to their children. In their mind, they only consider Borobudur as a mere pile of stones from the time of long forgotten. Aaaargh! Does that mean they are allowed to desecrate it?

To make it worse, I accidentally overheard one of the tour guide explaining the relief. To my surprise, he told the tourists that the relief was about Shiva, one of the Hindu Trinity. Jiaah. Borobudur is a Budhist temple, and it’s not even related to any of the Hindu Cosmology. Where the hell did they found this brainless and uncultured guide?

The most ironic one is that, the foreign visitors even respected the temple more than Indonesian visitors. Gee, and what about the campaign of preserving our own culture? The younger generation showed no respect and interest to it, and how would they preserve it??

And with all the disappointment, I officially ran out of good words to write here. Let me stop, or else I might write bad things. Period.

Dalam Derai Hujan

2010-06-28T03:12:00.001+01:00

Sayang,

Senja ini hujan turun dengan lebatnya, dengan buliran-buliran air yang mengetuk-ngetuk kaca jendelaku. Angin yang berhembus dengan kencang menemani jatuhnya limpahan tirta dari langit bersuara sangat keras, memukul-mukul udara, menambah dinginnya suasana sore ini. Dan aku hanya bisa memandanginya dari balik kaca ini, pandangan kabur yang tertutup lelehan air mata angkasa.

Di dalam ruangan remang ini, aku hanya duduk sendiri berteman sepi dan kerlip cahaya lilin. Di sampingku, secangkir teh hangat mengepul menggoda membelai indra penciumanku. Api kecil dari lilin dan kepulan asap dari cangkir itu seolah berusaha untuk membawaku masuk ke dalam kehangatan semu dan perlindungan dari terpaan dingin yang menggigit serta kegelapan yang menyelimuti ruang ini. Listrik sudah mati semenjak dua jam yang lalu, sementara sinar mentari terlalu lemah untuk menembus air terjun cakrawala ini.

Ketika aku mencoba memandang keluar dari jendela ini, benakku melayang ke arah hadiratmu. Bagaimana aku merindukanmu, bagaimana ketidakhadiranmu di tempat ini telah membuat rasa dingin itu semakin mencekam. Tanganku hampa, merindu kehadiranmu, merindu ragamu untuk mengisi kekosongan pelukan ini. Jemariku mencari lekuk wajahmu, lekuk-lekuk yang telah kukenal. Dan aku rindu berbisik pelan di telingamu, kisikan lembut tentang rasa di dalam jiwaku.

Kita bertukar sapa dengan bahasa yang kita ciptakan sendiri. Kata-kata yang hanya bisa kita pahami sendiri, tanpa ada orang lain yang mengetahuinya. Karena bagiku, semua pandangan matamu memiliki artinya sendiri, setiap gerakan tubuhmu adalah kalimat yang terbaca jelas di mataku. Setiap hembus nafasmu menjelma menjadi rangkaian huruf-huruf yang bermakna, dan setiap getar di kulitmu menggambarkan detil kecil dalam jiwamu. Jauh lebih indah bahkan dari seribu Monalisa, jauh lebih dalam daripada ribuan karya ratusan filsuf, dan jauh lebih bermakna daripada seribu kata.

Tapi kau tidak ada disini. Hanya kerlip lilin yang hampir padam, dan angin dingin yang berhembus pelan membelai setiap sumsum tulang ini, menggigit dan menyusup terlalu dalam. Terlalu dalam hingga kekosongan ini menjadi jauh semakin menyakitkan dan hampa.

Dan hujan pun masih terus turun, sementara surya sudah mulai menghilang perlahan ke peraduannya. Malam pun menjelang, dengan angin yang semakin dingin. Ruangan semakin gelap, dan aku masih saja sendiri tanpa dirimu.

My Glee Club

2010-06-23T00:38:00.003+01:00

After finishing Glee: Complete Season One and watching its season Finale, my tears rolled out in the cheek. The song To Sir With Love had touched the very core of my passion, and at that time I was reminded to my own experience, coaching my own "Glee Club".

I already found out since the very first time watching Glee, that this is a story I can connect myself too. I did have the experience of handling underdog team, SEDC.

Just like Glee, SEDC was nothing. I only got few members, and we never won any competition at my first year of coaching. The school gave us nothing, and we had to try hard to sponsor ourselves. Most of the time, transportation became an obstacle, and the coaches had to escort the members to the competition. Not to mention refreshment and calling credit. Meanwhile, the payback was not that much (financially, but not emotionally).

The Sue Sylvester figure was also there for us. She kept trying to sabotage us in various competitions, making us lose in a completely unfair matter. And just like the character, it was (finally known to be) done out of jealousy. The first year was just another crash and burn. Most of the time, we got beaten up in our last step.

However, as the world turned, we managed to secure ourselves several positions. And from that time, we grew bigger and seized some spotlights at school. And that's how my "glee club" went from nothing to something. Guys, I'm proud of you.

Song of Song

2010-06-02T11:35:00.002+01:00

Dear,

Don’t you know that you have deconstructed my world? I used to live in a perfect solace, living all by myself and hiding beneath my own hard shell. But you came into my life, lightening every dark corner of my soul with your very presence. And at that very first time, my exile was completely shattered, forcing me to live under the mercy of your briliance.

You are the harbinger, ending my gloomy sanctuary with your radiance. A single smile of you bestows the warmth towards my small retreat. I was and still am blinded by your white seathe of flickering passion, leaving me nowhere to go but following your trail.

The innocence smile on your lips carry me to the deep slumber, provoking me to go beyond the unconsciousness. Ecstatic yet rejuvinating at the same time. Invigorating but daring, bringing me to the unimaginable pleasure within. Joyful and calming in the same moment.

I couldn’t stand seeing your frail figure crumbled by the tears, thus I shouted to the God to give me chance for wiping away your tears. Eradicating all the sorrow that your heart stored for a long time. Though small and weak as well, I am offering you my shoulder to lean on. You can cast away all the agony that burn you, cleansing them all through the tears you shed inside my embrace. And nobody would know that, let it be our little secret.

Yet you covered me with your wide brilliant wings, engulfed me by the sheet of soft lullaby. Just by being near you, I would forget all my worries. I do long to fall unto your chest, laying down my head on it. With the ticking sound of your soft beating of the heart, you already chant the softest and loveliest lullaby. I would not dare to dream while sleeping, for there is no more beautiful dream to dream. You were my wildest dream, and now it comes true.

Within your grasp of staring at me, my thought ran to every single corner possible in the universe. For you become my inspiration, toppling down the grace of the great muse, and reigning in their throne instead. And the most important thing, you are still you.

Prince of Persia : When Being Too Faithful Gives Nothing

2010-05-29T00:18:00.006+01:00

Game-based movie is always a dilemma. Most of them ended up failing, with the hard protest from the original game players. Those gamers (me included ;p ) protested the depiction of the character and the inconsistent storyline. Final Fantasy, for example. The gamers expected to see Cloud or Squall in the silver screen, but Square Enix gave us unmemorable female cast, and not even summon monster made any single appearance (save for the Leviathan-like monster). Or Death or Alive which was turn into a cheap rip off of crossover between Power Rangers and Sailor Moon, together with Ayane's purple hair. Uh-oh, that is one hell of a living proof that you cannot translate gaming stuff literary to the real world. Well, FF : Advent Children is one exception, though.

The most recent game-based movie comes from Jordan Merchner's masterpiece, Prince of Persia. A platformer. When I saw the trailer, I was screaming within. Everything was translated literally, with no awkward feeling. The costumes of Dastan are all alike with the game version. The depiction, the action. Well, the movie was adapted from the latest trilogy of Prince of Persia, not the original one.

Watching the movie in its first minute, I felt like playing the game. It shows the platforming action, jumping between roofs, gliding, hanging, and all the stunts. The shape of the houses are faithful to the original game. Hell, Jake Gylenhaal even looked like being prompted directly from the game.

A very faithful adaptation to the game. In fact, it is too faithful. Thus, you will encounter gaming branches and side quest here. Game storyline is made for the sake of exploring various levels and stages, showcasing the beauty of rendering. It's quite normal for a game version to keep losing the sacred dagger, and going to various stages and missions to retrieve it back and lose it again. Gamer will not complain, because they enjoy their involvement. Hell, this is a platformer, not RPG. So, the action speaks first, not the storyline. And this is the point where the movie falls. No storyline adjustment. And due to the fact that Prince of Persia's strength is in the action not the storyline, it became very annoying to watch Dastan kept losing the dagger. Not once, not twice, but many times! Sorry Disney, this time Dreamworks kicked your ass with their How to Train Your Dragon.

Talking about the action itself, I should have not complained. It's quite nice, but too shallow for Prince of Persia. It should be more spectacular! Instead, all the actions here are just too "usual".

Apart of that, the brotherhood thingy is a nice saying. "It takes the strength of brotherhood to keep the kingdom united!"

Dear Someone 3

2010-05-13T13:28:00.000+01:00

Dear someone,

I cannot believe that I am writing this unsent letter to you once again. I know that in the last letter, I expressed my intention to forget you. However, in this very moment, I suddenly remember you. That our painful parting created not only sorrow, but also somehow motivating.

I was a disappointment to you for one reason, that I was still staying with my parents until this age. Your commitment at that time was not having a relationship with someone who is staying with his parents. Yet, we clinged for 50 days. Beyond our thought, we already imagined a life without parents, a life for studying abroad. Both of us struggled for getting the awards. Yet, we took different paths.

You decided to stay for the same scholarship, pertaining consistency or just simply being stubborn. Yet I took various chances, the decision trigerring an inconsistence stigma upon me. After our parting, I was totally motivated to really gain the scholarship. I would like to show you how I can still achieve that, even without you being next to me. In fact, my ego told me to prove myself worthy to you. That I am more than you!

People might say that by holding this ambition, it means I still have some feelings towards you. Well, it’s not my place to say that.

The truth was, I felt as a total loser everytime a scholarship rejected me. Meanwhile, you seemed to forget your ambition by staying in a total zone and confessing that you will delay your scholarship. With your so-called withdrawal from the battle, I was still as motivated as before to slap you in the face.

Right now, I am holding this award to study abroad, in one of the most prestigious universities. Meaning, I am going for what we used to fight for. This egotism within me yearn to show this off to you. This mind is longing to shout outloud in front of your face, “Hey, your reason to underestimate me is no longer exist! I am living my own life, far from my parents. Even better, I get this award sooner than you do. Now, who’s the loser, huh?”

But I cannot do that. You don’t care with that, do you? What I can do is only pouring this grudge unto an unsent letter. But one thing that I know for sure, I am more than you.

Iron Man 2 : A Cry of a Fanboy

2010-04-30T07:58:00.003+01:00

Iron Man 2 has been out in the movie. Being a fanboy of Marvel comic, as well as being astounded by the first movie, I decided to watch it. The first installment brought a different approach to superhero movie. What made it interesting was the faithful way of retelling the origin of Iron Man. Audience was even presented with the original suit, the yellow tin man. It was also full of humor, made it a fresh movie. The release date of the first movie was also nice for fanboys. At that time, Iron Man was labeled as a jerk, with his bringing about Superhero Registration Act and Civil War. The movie brought him back to his root.

However, the second movie is different. It lacks of humor, unlike the first installment. The superhero action here is also a bit corny. So, you don't get both quality. There are many unimportant destruction. The destruction in the racing was totally redundant. The explosion of various cars also make it a mere eye candy.

In the end of the first movie, most fanboys had already cheered for War Machine and S.H.I.E.L.D. for the second one. Granted! We got War Machine and Nick Fury. But the War Machine is not that spectacular. It seemed to be cramped out. But probably the storyline is not that good.

Pepper Potts fits well in the first movie, but in the second movie, she's nobody. I mean, Natalie Rushman (a.k.a. Natasha Romanoff a.k.a. Black Widow) outshines her. She played well, though sometimes she acts as if she is the amalgamic version of both Natasha Romanoff and Yelena Belova (Black Widow 2).

The plot used here is the Armor Wars. But the execution was too lame. Not that spectacular. In my personal opinion, with Iron Man focused on the character development of Tony Stark, the Devil in the Bottle could be nice. That way, War Machine can be introduced smoother. The enemy here is also not that eye-popping. Whiplash. Errr, first movie's villain was not a well-known one, but it is the first movie, the introduction. I really hope Mandarin would be the villain in the second movie, but Marvel gives us B-class villain, Whiplash.

The interesting thing in every Marvel movie is the cameo. And in this movie, you can see Captain America's Shield, though not in a complete form. Too bad, when I watched it, nobody seemed to recognized it. The cliffhanger in the end of the movie also gives something to cheer about. Nick Fury's proposal, Avengers Initiative. Huray!! Iron Man, Cap, and Avengers! Next turn, we will get Civil War!!!!!!!

Overall, Iron Man 2 is not something to please the fanboys. Those loving explosion and care nothing about the shallow storyline should cheer out loud. But the true believers will just shout, "FIX IRON MAN!"

A Letter to Sarasvati

2010-03-26T22:31:00.003Z

Oh Sarasvati, the goddess of knowledge and learning,

It is said that you rule all about knowledge, learning, and knowledge. You are also the goddess of speech, the ruler of wisdom. The matron of all teachers in the world.

I just wanna ask you, how to be a good teacher? Should a good teacher be loved by all the disciples? Should a good teacher gave all what the students want? But how do the students know what they need?

I used to hear a saying from a wise senior, to be a good teacher, we should be ready to be unpopular leader. We should be ready to face the hatred from the students, for we should not spoil them. She said that sometimes the students do not even know what they need, and what they want is not always what they need. They have to realize that learning is not always easy and fun all the time. When the time is right, they will even feel the stress.

By the time I heard that, I found it ridiculous. For me, a good teacher should be someone who is accepted by the students, able to give direction from the inside. It worked, in several occasions. But then, when I face the class which I need to push harder, they refuse to work hard. I tried so hard to discipline them, but they saw me as a mere devil. I asked them to work hard, for they needed it, but I was labeled as evil. But I couldn't lower my standard, for they really need to achieve the threshold. If I lower it, they will not be able to gain the respect they need later on. And I don't want that.

To please everybody is not an easy job, not even a good thing to do. Am I not that ready to be an unpopular leader? I know I strayed too far from my ideal figure, but I've tried so hard to reach that. Being Mr. Nice Teacher in this case will not help them, will not help me either.

Oh matron, what should I do? What should I even try to do?

Lead my tongue with the melody of your guitar, and sprinkle my brain with your holy water. Let me dance the rhythm of wisdom, and guide my speech to the road of betterment.

Dear Someone (2)

2010-03-20T22:35:00.003Z

Dear someone,

Today is March 21. It might mean nothing to you. Probably just another date passing by, probably just another ordinary Sunday. You might just go to church or spend your day in your room. Might be hanging out with some friends.

But this day means something for me. Exactly a year ago, I met you for the very first time. Going to your boarding room, spending the time together while the falling rain beat the earth mercilessly. We talked of Jesus, of Buddha, of Mohamed. Paulo Coelho and other authors came along the course of our sweet embrace.

Slowly, you whispered in my ear, "Would you like to go to church with me tomorrow?" I nodded in an instance, even though I hadn't gone there for months. You brought me back, blinded me with all your sweetness.

You never remember the date. To be honest, if it was not for the date in the certificate I received that day, I would not remember it as well. You never understand the credit sender to your mobile phone at 21 every month.

The day we went our separate way, it created a scar. Leaving me numb even until now. I feel no genuine feeling anymore. Yet, you walked away easily, with the promise that we will still be friends. You still asked me out, leaving some hopes for my heart. I bore all the suffer, just to be with you. Torn apart inside, but keep it up outside.

And you started erasing my name a month ago from your cell. And I realized that I had to erase you from my very core.

Yet, allow me to cry alone at church today. Today would be my first day of going back to church, remembering you for the last time. Praying for you, and hoping to get more power to walk away.

I'll come to church, the very church we went. The very chair we usually sat on. And shedding tears, but this time, I'll be alone........

Simfoni Malam

2010-03-05T03:40:00.000Z

Malam sudah tidak lagi berbintang, ditelan oleh kelamnya bayangan. Aku terduduk diam di teras rumah yang dingin, ditemani secangkir kopi hangat dan angin sepoi yang mengusir dinginnya tiupan angin. Satu-satunya lampu di teras itu menyala dengan putihnya, seolah berupaya menjadi imitasi dari sang surya. Sangat kontras dengan kegelapan yang mengungkungku dan bangunan ini. Rumah kecil yang kutempati ini terang benderang oleh cahaya listrik, tetapi tetap saja hanya menjadi sebuah serangga kecil yang tak berdaya di tengah angkuhnya kegelapan yang menyelimuti. Bagaikan sepercik bunga api yang tak berarti.

Di depan mataku, terbentang rimbun jajaran pohon cemara yang berdesir tertiup angin. Mereka terbungkus oleh selubung pekat yang tebal, hanya samar-samar dapat kulihat pucuk-pucuk pohon itu. Siluet tak jelas yang menggambarkan langsingnya ranting-ranting cemara itu. Mereka semua berdesir tertiup angin yang menimbulkan siulan lembut, bagaikan sebuah orkestra sederhana yang membuai hati, membawakan simfoni malam hari nan lembut. Sesekali gemerisik dedaunan yang saling tergesek menghantarkan melodi-melodi spontan, mewarnai kentalnya nada-nada kegelapan.

Uap kopi berwarna kelabu bening mengepul dari cangkir kopiku, menghantarkan bau nikmat yang cukup menyengat. Ia menggelitik lubang hidungku dengan aroma khas, mengusir beban-beban yang menimbun kelopak mataku. Pelan tapi pasti, asap-asap kecil itu meliuk di udara, semakin tinggi dan semakin hilang terkena panasnya cahaya lampu. Ah, cahaya yang mengacaukan keindahan laku imajiku.
Sekelebat keinginan melayang di depan benakku. Kenangan akan gemericik sungai yang senantiasa menemaniku di kala kecil. Sungai dengan airnya yang jernih, yang menyuarakan ritme mitis penuh kedamaian. Ia membawaku seolah mengalir mengikutinya. Tanpa kusadari, suara-suara dalam benakku itu mulai berpadu dengan gemerisik dedaunan cemara. Angin yang menggerakkan ranting-ranting itu turut pula mempengaruhi kemericik aliran sungai. Pelan tapi pasti, suara cipratan air yang menghantam kerikil-kerikil kecil itu bergema pelan di relung sepi benak kepalaku. Crik! Crik! Crik! Dengan irama yang tetap, getaran-getaran ritmis di benak itu membawa suasana tenang meditative ke hadapanku.

Sebuah tangan lembut yang tak terlihat membelai kudukku. Ia begitu hangat, tapi begitu dingin di saat yang bersamaan. Desau sunyi sang angin berputar di sekeliling leherku, member kisikan lembut untuk bergabung dalam kisah simfoni malam hari. Siulannya lembut membelai rambutku, menggeser dedaunan kering yang terhampar di pekarangan rumah, semakin menambah hening suasana dengan suara keseran daun. Ia berputar pelan, berputar dalam gerakan spiral yang tidak beraturan, berupaya membentuk sebuah lingkaran sempurna, tetapi tidak berujung dan berpangkal.

Duk! Suara cangkir kopi yang kuletakkan di meja memecah nada-nada yang terjalin oleh para penguasa malam itu. Sesaat, simfoni indah yang membelai telinga itu sirna. Berhenti sejenak, menantikan langkahku selanjutnya. Perlahan tapi pasti, aku menuruni tangga kayu di depan teras, berjalan menghampiri pelukan kuat sang malam, meninggalkan cahaya yang ada di belakangku. Aku mendekati tiupan dingin yang siap menyambutku dengan seringainya, menantikan masuknya aku ke dalam kedalaman sang kelam.

Kakiku merasakan lembabnya rerumputan yang basah oleh embun malam. Rumput hijau yang kehilangan warnanya karena ditelan oleh bayangan Chandra. Mereka merentangkan daun-daunnya, membuka pelukan-pelukan kecil, menyambut sesosok makhluk dari cahaya buatan yang menuju dinginnya hembusan angin utara. Udara dingin menyambut wajahku dengan belaian-belaiannya yang membuatku menutup mata selama beberapa saat. Uap-uap air yang menari-nari di antara hamparan rumput dan hitam yang menggantung mulai memasuki hidungku, menggelitik syaraf-syaraf penciumanku dengan wanginya yang khas.

Aku melihat sosok wanita dalam kegelapan, berdiri di antara rimbunnya dahan cemara. Tapi ia menghilang dengan cepat, menyatu kembali dengan tarian yang digerakkan oleh usapan lembut sang Bayu. Mungkin hanya ilusiku saja, kegelapan senantiasa mencoba menyesatkan kita di gerbangnya dengan bayangan palsu. Itulah yang membuat manusia takut, melihat apa yang ada di luar, tidak melihat esensi dari bayangan itu. Bayangan yang tercipta justru dari adanya cahaya.

Dengan duduk bersila di hamparan rumput, aku menajamkan telingaku. BErusaha untuk kembali mendengarkan alunan simfoni malam. Tunggu, apakah ini yang dinamakan wirid? Masuk ke dalam keheningan malam dan memusatkan pikiran dengan alunan bunyi alami yang keluar dari mulut. Aku tidak perlu membuka mulutku, karena alam telah menciptakan bunyi-bunyi alaminya bagiku. Kriiik! Kriiik! Kriiiik! Nyanyian jengkerik yang cukup kencang, semakin menghantar benakku ke dalam alam kesunyian.

Tiba-tiba semua gelap, dan mataku menghilang. Aku melihat semuanya dengan jelas, melihat menembus gelapnya tirai pekat ini. Aku melihat indahnya kerlip bintang di langit, bertaburan menghiasi mahkota sang bulan yang tersenyum malu. Justru di dalam kebutaan malam, aku dapat benar-benar mengalami hangatnya tatapan sang bulan dan senyum sintal para bintang. Seolah-olah aku terbebas dari cahaya buatan manusia yang dangkal. Cahaya itu tidak akan pernah bisa menggantikan matahari yang telah menghidupi kehidupan di bumi selama berabad-abad. TIdak pula benar-benar bisa mengusir kegelapan.

Rasa rindu yang mendalam merasuk ke dalam hatiku, rasa rindu yang terasa amat tua dan besar. KErinduan seorang anak manusia untuk masuk kembali ke dalam rahim sang bunda yang telah membesarkannya selama berabad-abad. Rasa rindu untuk kembali bergulung-gulung bagaikan bayi yang baru lahir di dada sang ibu. Menyusu dan merasakan ketentraman.

Aku merebahkan diriku di dada sang ibu purba. Sang ibu yang senantiasa menjaga dan mengawasi jutaan anaknya, sang ibu bumi, tempat semua kehidupan berasal dan dibesarkan. Ia muncul di depanku, dalam wujud dada raksasa, tempat dimana aku menyatu dalam pelukannya. Sang bunda hadir dalam rupa dekapan erat dari rerumputan dan tanah yang hangat.

Ini adalah rasa yang telah lama kucari, lepas dari segala kepenatan dan kembali menyusu sari kehidupan sang ibu sejati. Sosok yang selalu mengayomi dan menjagai, melahirkan dan mencintai, menerima segala penderitaan dan kerusakan dirinya karena ego anak-anaknya. Figur yang mengasihi tanpa pernah sekali pun mengharapkan kasih itu kembali, karena tidak semua anaknya menyadari kasih itu. Menyayangi dalam gelap, mengasihi dari pekat.

Ia tersenyum, dan aku pun rebah dengan tenang. Telanjang di depan sang Pertiwi.

Nothing but Nothing

2010-03-04T06:18:00.000Z

The birds were chirping a tune of sorrow just a moment before they flapped their wings and flew away. The grim slowly captured the whole atmosphere of that meadow. No bright light, even though the sun stroke at its maximum force. Empty and cold, unlike the usual warmth emanated from the ball of flare. Even the dark clouds themselves seemed to be brighter compared to the grimace floating in the air.

Everything was still, captured in the freezing frame of dark cold breeze. A small silent whistle which was surprisingly able to seize the dominance from the fierce blow of the north wind. It penetrated every single marrow of the living beings around the meadow. As if pressing the stop button to make them muted and still. Not even the green leaves hanging at the big tree dared to move an inch. That whistle safely passed the flock of the leaves without making them rustled.
Shadow crawled from its nest, disguised as the indistinguishable cold bite. Not dark nor black, not grand nor big. Just a small piece of it, but taking over the throne of the ray. It donned the mantle of nothing, arising the hole above every being. Softer than the fierce black hole made by the exploding old star, but wilder than a mere sand trap. Hiding beneath the fake tranquility, it expanded the power through the air.

The exile, as people said. The land of isolation, the barren land of sorrow, filled with silent lament and dried cry. The absence of the sound made things as plain as the night. Unbroken silence absorbs every emotion. No tears, no laughter, no anger, not even peace. Its mute captured everything, engulfed things within the layer of nothingness. Nothing but nothing.

The Darkness Embrace

2010-03-01T22:24:00.000Z

I went up to the balcony that night and looked up the sky. Cloudy. Not even a single spark of the stars, not even a single glance from the queen of the night. Sighing slowly, I gazed upon the dark horizon. The lights were emanating from the warm room that I left, but they were too hot for my heart. The great light casted away all the shadow in soul, revealing only an empty space. I couldn’t stand for that vast wasteland. That was the reason I refrained to the dark corner of the night, under the protection of goddess Nox, the ruler of the night.

Honestly, I did not have any idea about what to do. Lending my soul to the spirit of the night, hoping to fill the hole with a great deal of shadow. Dark Heart? I prefer having dark side rather to having nothing.

My hand spontaneously shuffled the Tarot cards. Carefully, I drew one from that big deck. Exactly what I had in mind, the 15th card, The Devil. It symbolized darkness, the negativity that conquered my whole mind. What should I say? My wholeness was engulfed by the wave of shadow, a great wave indeed.

The tears rolled upon my cheek, trying to wash away the emotion. But I felt nothing, not even a slight sadness, not even a slight mourn. Everything was plain indeed. Flat, as in the flatline for the beating of the heart.

I didn’t have love, though I strived for it. I didn’t even have the capability of loving. Damn! This room should be filled with love, with someone to hug and share. But not even a single strike of interest to any girl. And no, I am not interested in guy either. I was loveless, craving for emotion, scratching the ground with the hope of finding what I was looking there, miraculously find it. But my hand bled so hard, that I couldn’t continue.

I shouted, shouted so hard till my throat felt like being torn. Trying to voice my desperation to the gods above. But nothing happened, only darkness remained. The only sound to respond was the ticking clock on my wall. Tick! Tick! Tick! Drove me insane! But could an insane guy get more insane? Haha, a very ironic joke.
The blackness tempted me to embrace them. They transformed into a warm blanket, promising the comfort. And with my last breath, I inhale the shadow, surrendering myself unto it.

Marriage?

2010-01-25T22:43:00.003Z

When I taught the intermediate class last period, I found an interesting statement to comment. It says that "Marriage should be the first priority in life". Awww, that was so "general mind", eh?

Most of my students stated their disagreement, saying that marriage is not the first priority, but should be the second or third. The bottomline is, it is not the first priority, but still in the top three. The reason was, the social construct oblige them to do so. People do not want to grow old as in-eligible bachelor. As single elder living only with a group of cats, sitting in a rocking chair and wearing their sweater all the time.

Jiah! What is so wrong with the social construct? Putting all those ideologies of marriage life and happiness. When you remain unmarried, you will automatically fall into the blackhole of misery. When you marry, you will have all the happiness in the world. And suddenly society assume the robe of almighty, bestowing happiness and misery to people.

Then what's with all the divorces? Then what's with all those successful bachelors and bachelorettes?

Regarding the priority thingy, is it true that marriage should be in our priority at all? Well, got no right to judge people's choice though. But, aren't there more important things in life??

Memento from the Public Lecture

2009-12-22T13:44:00.001Z

When I went to the public lecture by Prof. Chua Beng Huat, I expected to find a great deal of information about Cultural Studies. The Cultural Studies for Dummies. A very impossible expectation, really, for almost all attendants in the public lecture were experts. At least, they know and have studied more about Cultural Studies than me.

The notion that Prof. Beng Huat delivered to us was challenging though. He challenged us to conduct a research of Cultural Studies in Asia by giving some researchable topics. Mostly the topics he presented took root in the popular culture.

One of the discourses that got my attention was the discussion of Indonesian sinetron. We cannot deny the fact that Indonesian sinetron rules the film marketing in South East Asia, at least in the Malay speaking countries, which include Indonesia, Singapore, Malaysia, Southern Philippine, Southern Thailand, and Southern Vietnam. In this point, nothing can topple its domination yet.
The basic reason of the domination, Prof. Beng Huat explained, was the fact that most people wanted to see someone different from themselves. They are tired with themselves, and thus also despise seeing their own reflection as a leisure time entertainment. For example, Singaporean are tired seeing fellow Singaporean with a familiar problem and presentation in their TV Screens. Same thing happen to other countries. They wanted to see something “alien”. By seeing “alien”, they will not be able to identify themselves to the characters they are watching. When the characters do stupid things, they will be able to justify that it is done not by their fellow citizen, but by the neighboring countrymen. When the characters do something amazing, they also keep the distances, and thus providing dreaming space to the audience.

Listening to his explanation, it raised a big question mark within my mind. The same phenomenon also happen in Indonesia as well. Does this mean that the characters in our sinetron actually do not portray Indonesian? Does it mean that sinetron occupies a domain of itself? Excluded from the real cultural boundary existed in reality? Since most of our people also watch sinetron so that they are allowed to dream of experiencing the glamorous lifestyle being portrayed in the program?
The next big question that popped up in my mind was, does this mean that we are experiencing some kind of cultural identity crisis? That we need to represent ourselves in something that is not us?

On one hand, this phenomenon is nice, in terms that at least in one thing, Indonesia can prove its rule and dominance. On the other hand, this is terrible, the identity crisis is terrible. This could mean two things. First, it might be the beginning of a bigger crisis. Second, it might be the climax of identity crisis problem of our nation, which will give us a new direction to go.

Which one is which, it is up to us to decide. I would certainly vote and hope for the second one.

My Unborn Child

2009-11-18T02:10:00.003Z

When I sat quietly in my room, your image came across my mind. And slowly but sure, my tears rolled on my cheek. The palpitating bosom came upon me, and I couldn't breathe for a moment.

I remember every moment that I spent with you and your mother. I reminisce the time when we decided to pick a name for you, right after we found out that you are a boy. Your mum insisted give you a western name, while I really wanted to name you Seto. Yea, Seto, after the main character of Burung-Burung Manyar by Mangunwijaya. He stroke my soul the first time I read the book. A very strong character who believed in himself. Ready to face the consequences of every path he took, even brave enough to admit his mistake when he knew that he is wrong. And at the end, he remained unmarried and took care of his lover's boy.

Herbumi, your last name came from two Javanese words, Her and Bumi. Her means water, and bumi means earth. The combination of those two elements will create and nurture life itself. From the womb of mother earth, the seed will find the warmth and grow into life. However, without the water, any seed will not be able to grow bigger. This is where her takes part.

Those philosophies formed your complete name. Alexander Setadewa Herbumi.

Your mother and I talked about you the whole time. We were really expecting you, full of love. We planned everything, everything. Our friends knew all about you, pouring their hearts to you. Supporting me and your mom.

I sacrificed my time to take care of you, considering my busy schedule back then. I was still in my sixth semester, got so many classes and assignments. Teachings, projects, as well as having my SPD classes. But I didn't feel tired at all. I did them all for you, for my son.

I already imagined how will I spend my life with you, how will I play together with you, teach you how to be a real man, have a conversation about man's problem. I might not be perfect, but I will try to be the best dad you ever met.

But God's plan is not our plan. We arrived into that fateful moment, and POOF! All of our dreams faded away in an instant. You were gone. I might still be young and restless back then, but I do care about you. People might say that my problem was over with your departure from our life.

Ah, what do they know? It was one of the biggest loss in my life. My child, my son! And at the same time I lost you, I lost your mom as well. We were drifted apart by the loss, the tears created a great rift between us.

Well, who am I lamenting here? But I couldn't help but recalling you. Chanting your name in every second of my prayer. Revisiting you in my every dream each night. What I can do right now is only praying for you, realizing that even though you are gone from this material world, you will not forget your parents. I believe with my own heart, that you will watch over us. And you went first to prepare special place for us, and that one day we will be together again. In eternity.....

Bye, Seto.....

Nostalgic Moment

2009-11-16T02:16:00.003Z

It was in the Interpreting class, and I decided to open the class by playing an Indonesian song. What my students had to do was interpreting the Indonesian lyric into English lyric. And the song was “Sekitar Kita” by Krakatau. A quite old song, dated back to 1997. Wew, it was 13 years ago. Actually the real reason of choosing the song was because it is not a mellow love song, and it is full of social message.

When I played the song, my mind returned back to elementary school. The song hypnotized me, arousing many memories of my childhood. It is a jingle for my small group of friends back then. No, even when we gather, sometimes we still sang the song.

I remembered when we still donned the red and white uniform, thinking nothing other than study and play. The moment when innocence was still in the air. All we know were friends and foe, black and white.

A small group with the name that is not changed up to now, which FYI a bit embarrassing right now, The Greatest Kids. Hehehe! But we are no longer kiddos, we’re grown up. One of us suggested that we keep the name, since we have to maintain the “kiddos” side within ourselves, to balance the suffering of the world with the cheerfulness.

Acted like a group of superheroes, we decided to create a code name for each of us. Silly idea, but we worked that out. In fact, we still remember those names we created from parodizing the name of famous figures. I assume the identity of Michelangelo Bakarroti (a parody of Michelangelo Bounaroutti) myself. Caessar, the first ranker of the class, took the coat of Chriskapurbarus Colombus (taken from the founder of Puerto Rico). Cing-cing, the tough girl as well as warrior princess wannabe, went with the code Ledeng Van Betetman (this one is a bit tough, Ludwig Van Beethoven). The princess of the class, Agita, was given the honorary title of Marie Mencuri (taken from Marie Curie). The most feminine girl among us, Liana, inherited the name of Hellen Kolor.

Ah, the memories! But the song was ended, and I had to reassume my role as the lecturer in the class. My memories faded. I was dragged back into reality. The song still lingered In mind, though.

Slama dunia masih berputar,
Perbedaan tak pernah pudar,
Terbawa keangkuhan manusia
Tak ingin membagi rasa…….

Silly Complaint

2009-11-14T06:49:00.003Z

I happen to stumble on a ridiculously hilarious comment in readers' letter at KOMPAS. It was about the movie Inglerious Basterds. Yeah, the one with the Brad Pitt.

The lady who wrote that (and again, it is always lady who wrote those silly complaints!) emphasized on the children. Yep! She went to the movie theatre and saw that some parents brought their children to watch the movie. The movie itself, turned out to be vulgar and violent. Well, it is a movie about WW II, for God sake!

To make things worse, this lady claimed that it was the responsibility of the censor board to make the movie suitable for all audience. Ummm, knock knock! Have you heard about film rating? PG-13? 17+? M?

I agree that those violence should not be watched by the children. But it is completely the responsibility of the parents, not the responsibility of the censor board! @(*#^@*#&*&#(%#%#%$% What were you thinking, lady? Putting all the blame into the government and leave the stupid parents innocent? The parents should know that it is not a film for children, and thus they should leave the children. However, they should also give extra guidance to the children.

Imagine if the censor board cut all the violent and vulgar scenes.. It will be like watching porn without all the sexual acts. Hehehehehehe!

Dear Past

2009-10-22T02:09:00.004+01:00

Dear past,

How are you? I hope you found your home already, no longer staying at my own room. I already got so many baggage here, and yours cannot possibly fit here. It was a hard goodbye several months ago. It was kinda sad to see you leave this small room o'mine. We've been together for 11 years, and you've been the one accompanied me during my state of solitude, just when I needed someone to resort to. You kept giving me this ray of hope, which later I found out to be nothing more than a mere illusion. But I still have to acknowledge for our time together.

No, we had no quarrel. I still remember the separation, when I decided that I need to go out of this small chamber within my head. That I need to free myself from my addiction to you. You gave me euphoria, pleasure, and delirium. But I couldn't have them all, only in my head. They were and never real. And we decided to live our own life separately.

However, recently two of my best friends came and said something about you. They reminded me of you, of that old story, of that 11-year-of-togetherness. Both of them posted something in the facebook and dedicated those writings to me. Reading those, I couldn't help but reminisce about you.
Interestingly, both posts are related to angel, the fallen angel and the wingless one. Ah, it brought back memories, memories of the most beautiful angel ever. The one that seized my heart back then. Well, one friend of mine once said that man can only "fall in love" once in his life. If that's true, I think I already spent that chance. Ah, I think you know this story. We used to talk about this thing for the whole night long. A beautiful tale of sincerity, of loving and letting go, of being overshadowed and useless await.

Ah, I think I unearthed those sweet stories already. Too sweet that it aches. It came back from the ghost of the remembrance into a silhouette of the mind. But ever since you left, I was able to see through the things clearly. She might be my angel, but she is not the only angel in this world. Probably my first angel, the fallen and wingless one, but I don't think she would be my last.

Well, I think I mumbled too much. I just hope for your safety, wherever you are. Don't worry, even though we don't live under the same roof again, I will still pay you a visit once or twice. We've been friends, haven't we? Why should I erase my memories of you?

Just be good in your new place, dear. Please, take care of my strong but innocent wingless fallen angel.

Regards,

Chrysogonus Siddha Malilang

Teaching and Orgasm

2009-10-15T00:13:00.003+01:00

Darn, it's been a long time since I touch this blog of mine. All the teaching, classes, and corrections had successfully made me away. Not even a time to enjoy myself completely. But I DID manage to sneak time to play with my Nintendo DS and Megaten.... What a perfect lecturer I am... Hwahahahahahahaha... Good God, playing game during a break in the common room? THAT'S MEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

But anyway, strange thing that I found, I don't really feel exhausted doing all the teaching thingies. Tired? Of course, physically. But to be honest, I felt this mental satisfaction. It doesn't feel like I'm working, but I am playing a game instead. I enjoy every moment standing in front of the class, every time I joked around, every time I stare at my students' face.

I think you can say that I am fortunate enough, I work in the place that I like best. For example, other people might bitched around if they got to teach 5 classes in a day, from 7 in the morning to 8 at nite. And three out of five classes were 6 hours in a row. From 2 to 8... Breaking time.... At first, I thought that I couldn't make it. But turned out, I ENJOOOY IT!!!!

Writing class, seeing those smiling faces when I said I gave them 6 hours for the test. Reading class, all the new and spirited faces, along with some cute and young faces (Bwahahahahaha, teteup!!!). Pronunciation class, which turned out to be very fuuuun.. As well as two intermediate classes... With some cute faces and curves (Wkwkwkwkwk, I know it might sound so vulgar..... Peace!!!)

I don't know why, but teaching gave me a mental orgasm....

So dear blog readers (like I have any?????), till next time, when my teaching orgasm subside.... CIAOOOOO!!!!!!

A Lone Nerd

2009-10-04T23:24:00.005+01:00

It was a hot noon, and my stomach growled already. The first of the month, so my paycheck was in hand. I decided to have my lunch at McDonald. It has been years since I went to that junkie-fast-food restaurant. I was just curious on how it tasted. This tongue of mine has already forgot it.

And so I went there all alone. As usual, dwelling in my own solitude. People might stare at me, a single guy entering McD without any friend. Well, I get used to it already, with all those staring and mocking glance. True, at that time I was the only one who came alone. No friend, no girlfriend. Meanwhile, everybody else was coming with at least one company.

Hell! That's what I thought. Hell with all those stigmas! I am here to eat and I pay, nothing embarassing, I said in mind.

Ordering french fries, fried chicken, and a glass of coke, I directly went into a table, just near the corner. While I browse through the whole restaurant, my prediction was true. Nobody came alone, except me..... Ah, crap! Let me just eat mine. This hunger within me unleashed giant beast already.

It came to me that another new guy came. Clean, neat, nerdy-look, along with a serious face. Y'know that kind of guy. He came alone and ordered the same menu. Went into the table in the very corner, he ate those alone. His face focused on the meal, ignoring all the degrading glance from everybody else. Yes, the attention of those attendants shifted from me to him.

At that split second, when I saw him, I saw myself. He is me, just like me. A lone nerd who enjoy himself. Ignoring what people said or thought. The most important thing, we did no wrong. That's it. Period. Nothing to be ashamed of, then.....

I smiled myself, a smile for my own. There was a slight of joy arose within me. I am not the only one standing against people's 'norm'.

So, whoever you are, Mr. Nerd-in-the-corner-of-McD-Jenderal-Sudirman-who-looked-confident-and-ignoring-those-stare-and-glance, just know that you are not alone. And I am not alone as well.

Jigoku Sensei

2009-09-06T23:14:00.003+01:00

Again, I couldn't fulfill my resolution to write often in this blog. All the teaching preparations eat my time. I enjoyed them though. Teaching has been my passion for long. And this writing will be about teaching.

Jigoku Sensei is a Japanese anime about Nube. A special teacher with spiritual power. He loves his students so much that he would do anything to protect them. Most of the case, he dealt with demon and ghost.

I won't say that I possess similar power. Nope! But several weird cases happened to me. The most recent one happened just a while ago.

It was the last class, 6 PM. Something happened, so I had to move to another class. A small one, in the corner of the hallway. I kinda like the classroom though. Sometimes, if I got a break, I went to the room and going online there. Especially because it is located near the router. Quite cozy in the noon. The chair was comfortable, semi-sofa. And only eight of them was there.

For that class, I only have 3 students. The other three has resigned. A perfect condition, eh? You have a small classroom, small number of students, and space.. The material for that day was conversation. Voila!

Wrong! I have a full class! All the chairs are full. Other "things" were there. Nope, don't imagine scary things. They looked very normal, just like your ordinary students. They joined the class, and really study. I don't even fill the chill. However, outside the classroom, I sensed many of them want to join the class. They peeked from the window. There's no way I could let them in. No more place for them.

Jiah! When the class is over, those "people" smiled at me and vanished into thin air. They looked happy. Later on, I found out that some of my friends who taught in that class was often "disturbed". They were always freaked out.

Wew, reflecting on my previous experience, they just want to study. The more open we are to them, the more peaceful they will be. And out of the people, why did they choose me??

PS : This was the fourth time for me to teach "these people". Am I too passionate in teaching that they choose me to be their teacher?

Silly Act......

2009-08-16T01:07:00.004+01:00

Darn, I leave my blog for more than a month... So much to do, so little time. That's my I didn't update this blog of mine for long. (Owh, that's a lame excuse! Get your ass back to the computer and start writing!!!)

Oh-kay, let's start the story. Few weeks earlier, I received a phone call from my ex-Study Program. They asked me to be a part-time lecturer there, since they lacked of lecturer. Some of them are going abroad to pursue the doctoral degree. To be honest, I was so surprised and excited that I felt like jumping around the house.

And some times later, I went to the common room complete with the formal clothes. Shirt, tailored pants (Ugh, how I hate this one! If only I could, I would teach wearing blue jeans!!!!), and cats shoes (yes, this one, I cheated!). People started staring at me with wonder. I didn't need to be a telepath to read their mind. "Aw, that senior of mine finally made it into a lecturership!" Huahahahahahahaha!

I spent my time trying to mingle with other lecturers in the common room. Acted very busy in front of my beloved BenQ, and finishing the snack there! Finished with everything there, I bade farewell to everybody.

Then I saw her in front of common room, my old friend who happened to have her birthday few days before. I got excited and ran to her. She saw me and smiled. But then it happened! The slippery floor combined with my slippery shoes brought me out of control. My coordination system failed me!!!

And BOOOOM! I fell down with an embarrassing pose. So very cartoonish! Ouch, I looked around and fortunately, only senior students were there. If only my students were there, how would they react?? Darn!!!! For the first time in a long time, I am feeling the embarrassment! Yuck!!!!

Jakarta Ranting #4 : The Forgotten Moon

2009-07-12T23:45:00.003+01:00

Yes, as much as I hate Jakarta, I decided to go to the accursed city for my holiday last week. Purely for holiday, without any other businesses to take care. My dear friends invited me to relieve my stress there, and they promised to bring me all the fun. Well, since I had nothing else to do, why not accepting their offer?

I already prepared myself for the rate difference and the hot weather. No longer I wore my jacket everywhere I went, no longer I placed rate limitation in my account. Everything went out okay. I had so much fun, thanks to those crazy friends of mine there. I finally felt how weekend in capital city was. And the weather was still as hot as ever.

Continuing my trip to Bandung, I was greeted with colder weather. Cooler than it usually is, even friends there admitted that. The freezing breeze and temperature brought my body to its worst condition, especially after being exposed to the ever hot Jakarta. I didn't enjoy Bandung for my high fever then.

When I got back to Yogya, I just realized that the cold weather everywhere was due to the full moon. Usually I paid attention to that, and thus being able to anticipate the changing weather. And FYI, it's not related to mystical mumbo jumbo. It is a common knowledge that when the moon reached the peak of its cycle, the full moon, the temperature will drop. The bigger the full moon, the more it drops.

I was swayed by the atmosphere of metropolis city of Jakarta. Blinded by the lamp lights made by human being. It is a city with million lamplights, trying to rule out the night and rival those natural glimpse of stars and moon. The skyscrapers every here and there jutted high, covering every possible corner to gaze at the night sky.

And in that beautiful modern city, the space of nature and observation towards it has been radically eradicated. Cast aside by the name of modernity, industry, and business. Even the old tradition of observing the cycle of the moon to determine the weather and breeze becomes stranger by default.

Thanks to my fever, I finally re-noticed the cycle of the moon once again. And this full moon is so beautiful. Big and bright, yet cold and soothing, touching our deepest flow of vein with chill. But under the influence of frost, we have the chance to re-ignite the flame of ourselves, re-appreciate the warmth from a cup of tea, and good night rest. That's why I still don't want to leave this city, since I still want to have the bond with nature around me. Ah, fool me.....

Carnot System and Life

2009-06-19T11:06:00.003+01:00

I was tempted to write upon the stability of life by the comment in two posts before this by Yellowtofu. He stated that we can make an analogy of perfection and balance in the Carnot system. Hmm, I was never a good student in the senior high. To be honest, I cheated in my National Final Exam, including Physics. But, I happen to know about Carnot system.

Carnot system is the ideal machine, in which the output is totally equal with the input. Very efficient machine, eh? (Please correct me if I’m wrong, but this was written in my piece of cheating paper during National Final Exam! Hehehehe!)
Yellowtofu made analogy that actually the stability itself would equal to death. Because everything is stable and harmonic. And to think further, when everything is balanced and in order, what should we do then?

Perfect stability and harmony is only existed in utopia. Just like Carnot system is only utopic design. And I can imagine that in utopia, everything is perfect. There is this balance of love and hate, of black and white, of good and evil. Everything is in harmony. But then, life would be so dull. We will have nothing to do, even no chance to do anything. STOPPED. No challenge, no threat, and that would mean no opportunity to develop ourselves and explore new things.

What would it mean for human to stop developing? DEATH.

This makes a strong revelation, that actually there is a beauty in an imperfection. That friction would lead us to a full life. That the imperfection would lead us to the dream of perfection. And life itself is one big IMPERFECTION.

The struggling to reach the stability is what makes us alive. The journey to shed away our imperfection to achieve perfection is the real essence of life. The voyage for us to keep being better over time is what breathes us spirit. And we will embrace our final destination in death.

Dream Journal 4 : An Empty Train

2009-06-16T05:40:00.004+01:00

I wanted to go to Bandung by train, so I went to the train station. It was very crowded at the time, many people are waiting for their train. And suddenly I heard the announcement that the train to Bandung will soon depart. Quickly I moved to the train and went into it. There were nobody there, saved me and 4 young girls.

The five of us walked together, trying to find the comfortable seat for us. Contrary to the crowd outside, I found nobody in the train. It was empty, totally empty. Everything is broken, like the train had not been used for years. We felt totally strange there. We kept going to the last compartment, and finally found a girl sitting there.

She asked us, "You want to go to Bandung?"

We nodded. The girls started to find the seat in that compartment. I was still curious at that time, "Where is everybody, miss?"

She stared at me and smiled. "It's very hard to explain. Let's just enjoy the journey!" She stood, and I could see that she was short. Her T-shirt is purple, and she had a nice pigtail behind her head. Her face seemed familiar, but I just cannot recall it.

"It will be twenty five thousand rupiah per person," said her. We handed her the money, and she said again, "Thank you. We will soon depart! Enjoy it!" At the same time, the train started moving.

The young girls started having conversation among them, while the short girl sat comfortably in her seat. I was driven by my curiosity. "Will you excuse me for a while? I want to see the whole train!"

They looked at me for an instance and just nodded. I went out from the compartment and started walked along the train. Nobody there, so I decided to went back to my place. But on my way back, I saw a man with red checkers shirt. He had thick beard and short curly hair. He stood in front of glued newspaper, as if he was trying to read all the articles. Yes, another person! I screamed in my mind enthusiastically.

I approached him, but when I reached his spot, he was no longer there. I saw him in another compartment instead with another guy that I didn't see previously. My body shivered. I looked at the newspaper, and the date was March 25, 1987. DAMN!!!

I rushed back to my compartment. There, I approached the short girl and asked her, "Tell me, is this a ghost train?"

She looked at us with a sad look. "We don't mean to deceive you, sir! But yes, this is a ghost train!"

I got shocked. The young girls in that compartment were also got shocked. "That's why there were nobody here. But, how do you manage to find out that, sir?" they asked me.

"I found a newspaper dated back from 1987. There is no way someone would save newspaper that old!"

One of the girls gasped. "Yes, there's no way newspaper from 10 years ago was here. It is 1997, isn't it?"

This time, I became more and more pale. I just realized that the girls were also ghost. They came from 1997....

The short girl looked at me grimly and said, "Sir, if you feel deceived, we can return your money and you can stop in the next station. Next one will be Rembang!"

"Yes, please! I want to stop at the next station!"

The train stopped, and I quickly jumped off the train. It was really a big station. So crowded, but everyone is gray. Damn! The train has gone off without me, and I couldn't see it anymore. As if it vanished into thin air. But the song they played in the train is still echoed, even after I woke up. It was the song "Mengenangmu" by Kerispatih, but only the last part.... "Di keabadian!" (note : In eternity....)

DAMN!!!!!

Love and Hate

2009-06-07T23:12:00.007+01:00

Just recently, I remember the excerpt from Chrono Cross opening movie. It says,

"We loved so many, yet hated so much
We hurt others and were hurt ourselves,
yet even then,
we ran like the wind,
under the cerulean sky"

Well, it says something. It reminded me of the equilibrium between light and shadow. There will always be a shadow when light presents. The two are always co-exist. One completes the other, and without one there will be no other.

Thus, in one's life, we cannot make every people love us for the way we are. There are always those who hated us, no matter how good we are doing things. There is no way we could avoid people's hatred upon us. However, this could also be applied towards ourselves. No matter how good we are, there must be some people that we hate.

It is just like the principle of yin and yang from the ancient china, in which we cannot have all white or all black. We love and we hate, it's an inevitable fact.

However, the next thing would also be interesting. Remember the saying, "We reap what we sow"? When we hate people and tried to hurt them, indirectly we are hurting ourselves. We hurt others and were hurt ourselves. There is no way to avoid the pain. Even the old javanese saying said, "When you are pointing mistake of others, your three fingers are pointing at yourself!"

People are actually mirror of ourselves. When we hurt them, we hurt our reflection. And when you attack mirror, things will just bounce back to yourself. When we hit on someone, we actually wanted to shatter ourselves down. That is why, hurting and being hurt are actually one hell of a circle.

However, it is the circle of life. No matter what we do, we cannot have just one side. As long as there is love, there will be hate. As long as we hurt others, we cannot escape from the pain. But we still need to progress through the life, keep running, for we will find the cerulean sky above us.

PS : It gives me an urge to elaborate this writing even further. Probably will do a continuation of this later on!

Success is Ne'er Counted Sweetest

2009-05-31T14:13:00.002+01:00

Success is counted sweetest

By those who ne’er succeed
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear, of victory

As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear

I always adore Emily Dickinson’s poems for their subtle tone of sorrow and irony. The poems are able to deliver dark atmosphere as something romantic. Call me stupid, but for me, she is in the same level with Edgar Allan Poe in the ability of creating a beauty out of somber and dark theme. Death, sorrow, agony, and regret.

This is one of the poems that Dickinson wrote to ilustrate that the winner will never know the taste and glory of winning without tasting the lost. You have to taste something bitter to be able to appreciate the sweetness. If one is spoilt in the whole sweetness all the time, one will never be know how precious that is. Just like she said in the third and fourth line, to comprehend a nectar requires sorest need.

When one is marinated by the bitter and sorrow, one will be able to appreciate and keep the sweet that one has. No matter how small is it, no matter how insignificant it is. The sweetness and victory will be the ultimate prize, for one has been dreaming over it, no matter how trivial it is. And there will be a great struggle to maintain and keep the treasure. After going through all the blood and wound, the person who reaches the dream after so many failures will see it as something worth to fight. As something as precious as one’s own life.

One example, a very cliché one, came from the field of romance. Let’s just say that when someone who kept being rejected and having the heart broken will always try to keep the feeling of his or her lover. One will try to keep the relationship, since one knows that it is precious. After all the pain and wound that one has gone through, one will fight to the last blood to keep the happiness. But when someone never felt the rejection and is always placed and seen as the centre of the world, the idol, then one would never know how to appreciate the relationship. This person might think that it is okay to break people’s heart, for there are so many people wanting him / her. Then, there will be no effort to maintain the relationship.

Dear Someone

2009-05-12T01:33:00.003+01:00

Dear someone,

Ever since I knew you, my life is never the same anymore. I never lay at rest ever since. Nightmares keep haunting me in the cold bleak and restless nights. I am constantly sweating and cold-feeted. My mind never ever have a resting break, not even a second.

One of my worst nightmares involves you. In which we met and kissed heartily, sharing everything that I hid behind this thick ice wall built years ago. The kiss was so hot that it melted the wall, allowing the flow of the repressed emotion. The worst part came when suddenly I awoke and found out that I am alone. On my side, only my pillows and bolsters, while I hope to find you laying beside me. The green clock on the table near my bed showed that it was only 2 o’ clock in the morning. You were still asleep. Meaning, I still had to wait for long before I could contact you, only to know how had you been, or even meeting you. To make things worse, I had to get back to sleep without you beside me, trying to force my eyes closed, rest alone.

Every message from you with the writing “Have a nice rest” triggered all those beautiful dreams which ended up in a very bad way.
Call me a masochist if you want, but one thing for sure, deep inside my heart, I don’t want to get away from this torture you caused me. There is a hidden beauty lies within this pain, there is a sparkling pearl covered up in this mud of desperation.

And I will just stay, because I know that everything will not be in vain.

Yogyakarta, May 9, 2009

Prayer and the Tears

2009-05-07T03:54:00.006+01:00

I couldn't sleep, just rolling around my bed with my eyes closed. Trying to grasp some resting moments. But the image keeps reeling in my brain, just like newest movie teaser. Yes, literally a teaser, since it kept teasing me, disturbing my peaceful slumber.

Suddenly I heard a familiar melody, Chrono Trigger main theme. It was already 4.45 in the morning. The end of my bedtime. Damn! I slept from 10 at night, woke up at 4.45, but not even a sense of refreshness came.

I jumped out of my bed, and intuitively grabbed my rosary. Went up to the second floor, and saw that things are too bright. I decided to turn off the light, cleaned some spots in the floor, exactly in front of my small Pieta statue. Went down again to look for a lighter, and lighted up three candles in front of Pieta.

Why Pieta? Probably because I remembered when my friend told me, Pieta is the beginning and the ending of Jesus' life. He was born from Mary, and back to Mary in His death. The whole pain that Mary had to bear.

I made a sign of cross. No, I couldn't started my rosary prayer. Tears rolled in my cheeks. Damn! "God, I just don't know what to do. I tried to chant the rosary prayer, to look for empowerement, but it made me cried even more!"

I touched the small cross. "I believe in one God, the father, the almighty,......" Bead by bead in that section was touched by my fingers. It came to the beginning of the first ten Hail Mary.

I stopped. My tears bursted. Couldn't handle it any longer. "Good God, I know this pain is nothing compared to your passion to Calvary. But I needed a break, really. I have found a lover, someone who care for me. Yet, You still lay a path of stone for me! How long should I bear this wounded body?"

Tear by tear fell into the beads as I recite, "Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee....."

After finishing the first ten, I barely sobbed. I calmed down, my emotion was soothed. I started imagining that somebody supported me, like Mary supported Jesus. Continuing my second-ten-Hail Mary, I did them calmly. But on the tenth bead, I couldn't hold it any longer. I want Mother Mary, who support her son whatever path He chose. Bearing the pain of embarassement, but She hold that for her love to Christ.

It was just unlike somebody that I know, who can even throw knife at me many times. Those images kept reeling over my mind. The broomstick over my whole body, the duster over my back, all the bumps on head. I saw the flashback, complete with the voice of thrown plates, broken glass, and flying knives. The scar on my left cheek. Where she is supposed to be my Mother Mary.

I stopped my prayer again. "God, I need somebody to support me. I wanted somebody to walk hand in hand with me. I know you gave me that already, but we just cannot make it until the condition is clear! It will still a long way to go, not until I live my own life."

The next ten Hail Mary were decorated with constant sobbing and rolling tears. I grabbed the bead tighter, trying to put my mind at ease in the dark of the dusk. My mouth kept reciting the prayers, but my mind wandered around.

Where were you, dear lady, when the world turned against me? You didn't provide a shelter, yet you were in the side of the rest. Where were you when I tried so hard to stand firm over the attack? You were the hardest attacker. Just in time when I need a shoulder to cry on and trust, you threw me away with disgust. You threw me away from your home, and your re-acceptance was filled with suspicions.

I got home with bruises in my body, made by the children. You gave me that love, yet some moments later, you added more bruises. In my body, and in my heart. I came home, seeking a shelter, for I was exiled for being different, and you exiled me as well. For a whole week, I couldn't hear any word from you.

At that time, I was totally jealous with Jesus. He had Mary, as a worldly place to turn to. The one who stood before him in the time of passion. The one who stood before the cross. And the one who gave a silent cry while having His body over her knees.

Amen. Finished. "God, guide me through my journey by these beads. I know things are painful, but it might be for a greater sake. For my plan is not Your plan. But I cannot make it myself, just lend me Your power and please stay beside me. Let it happen to me according to Your wish, for I am your mere vessel!"

Teaching and Dating

2009-04-15T12:39:00.004+01:00

Teaching and dating are surely two completely different things. For me as well. I love teaching, and it has been my passion since God knows when. But dating? Hohohoho, it was a thing I'm bad in, at least until several weeks ago.

But who would expect that those two could intertwine and interconnect one another?

In what sense?

Let's see, what I've been doing these several days.

Teaching (set induction) : Good morning, class! How are you? How was your weekend? Anybody remember what we've learned last week?

Dating : Hi, good afternoon. How are you? How was your Dutch class yesterday? What did you learn?

Teaching (asking question) : So, who knows the answer for this question? (silent first) X, (another short silent) what does "it" refer to in this passage?

Dating : Well, (silent) X, (another short silent), where are we going?

Teaching (set closure) :
Teacher : Okay, that's all for today. And I am going to see you guys next week.
Students : Okay, bye!

Dating :
Me : Okay, so that's all for today. And I am going to see you on... (silent, because I realized that it was my habit of closing the class!)
My date : Huh? Of course we will see each other again. Why do you still doubt it?
Me : Oops, sorry! (be thankful that the habit of closing class is not identified!)

OMIDOG! Because I love teaching that much, I bring my teaching habit to the date??????? Geeee..... So those classes on Microteaching, Language Teaching Methodology, and Language Teaching Strategy are really internalized into my very soul.

Happy Marriage and Personal Independence

2009-04-03T15:24:00.001+01:00

Weeeew, it has been so long since I am updating this blog. I've been so busy lately that I found it hard for me to find time to even breathe. Well, that might be a bit hyperbolic, but it was close to the reality. My mind was occupied with the workload. Not to mention that I also found a resting place, which I hope could last forever. Huehehehehe! Hey, my time should come sooner or later! Twenty two years of solitude has been hard enough, let alone one hundred years of solitude (trademark of Gabriel Garcia Marquez).

I happened to stumble into a short article in the newest Gaya Hidup Sehat, the tabloid discussing anything related to the healthy life style. And this article happened to relate to the marriage and relationship. The myths of Marriage.

One of the myths of marriage that is proven wrong came in the point that a couple should do everything together forever. Yet, it was proven that a happy marriage doesn't mean that shallow. Even a healthy marriage would maintain the individuality of the couple. Without the freedom to preserve the independence and individuality, the relationship would turn unhealthy and poisonous.

Well, what should I say? This is so my point of view during all this time. I believe that even marriage would never ever be able to fuse two different beings into one happily unified being. There are senses of togetherness indeed, but it doesn't mean that we have to always be together all the time. We should have time also for ourselves.

This is the view that I've been holding towards relationship, let alone marriage. In a relationship that I've always been wanting, I don't want my spouse to occupy my whole time and life. I still need time for myself, to be self-absorbed sometimes. I might love my darling (yikess! Darling? For real??) wholeheartedly, with all my life, but I still need to be myself.

Probably I've been seeing some examples on this kind of relationship. A friend of mine who happened to be in a relationship with his love lost his freedom and independence. He is never able to enjoy time with his friends without his girlfriend. He turned dull, uninteresting, and boring. Everything is always ruled by his girlfriend, meaning losing the authority. Yikes! Sorry sorry baby (literal translation of Amit-amit jabang bayi!), I despise that kind of relationship, since I value personal independence more than anything. I am me, and I define myself.

Aura Kasih and The Myth of Beauty

2009-03-15T13:52:00.005Z

I happened to stumble on To's status in facebook. He had this status polling, asking who likes Aura Kasih and who doesn't. Out of curiosity, I gave comment, answering that I never really like her. She is just too bitchy. Apparently, On gave also a comment on that topic. He said that every guy who doesn't like Aura Kasih, especially her sexy body, is not normal.

JLEB! Hey, hey, hey, there must be something wrong here. Or was it me who is abnormal? For me, the impression of being bitchy beat the sexiness out of her. I mean, yes she might be a sexy girl, for being able to be an artist. But she never stroke me in the eye, not even in heart.

Suddenly, I remembered the discussion in the night before with Gin about the myth of beauty. Yeah, the hegemony over how woman should be, about an ideal woman. And apparently, I can be seen as an outsider from the myth's perspective. And being an outsider, being different from the "common norm" will automatically place us as an exile. The Others, borrowing the term from Gayatri Spivak.

Consciously, or unconsciously, people nowadays has accepted the imported version of this myth. They developed some kinds of fetishes towards woman body. And an interesting fact that people seemed to forget came from one of the oldest civilization in earth, China Empire. They had Four Classical Beauties. One of them was Yang Guifeng. Interestingly, Yang Guifeng never possessed a slim and slender shape. She was a bit overweight and stocky instead. But hey, people considered her as the classical beauty.

So came again the classical motion for a debate, what is a beauty? The most neutral answer would be; it's a relative matter. But if it is relative, how could there be the common and uncommon? Normal and abnormal? How could it be that considering Aura Kasih sexy and admiring her is normal while not admiring her means you are not a normal guy?

I happened to admire some girls who are not considered sexy by many people, yet for me they are still okay. Contrary to most of the guys who like big bo***es, I like the small one, the cherry one, but not the "flat" one (got to admit that this might be an influence from my lineage though). In some other cases, even Mit said that And is not beautiful, thus she wondered why could I be crazy about And. Or what about Faj who considered Macy Gray hot, who considered Waris Diri as the sexiest model?

So, to the guys who do not think that Aura Kasih is beautiful, do not worry, pals. You are still as normal as a guy can be, since beauty is a relative thing. This proved one thing, especially to On, there is no normal or abnormal thing in beauty!

PS : Since this note has stirred some misleading opinions, let me emphasize here that Aura Kasih is just the illustration. What I want to discuss is not her, all the gossip, and being judgmental. The main point here is the social construct that has become a hegemony over perspective and thus eliminating the individual opinion. That's all.... Hell with the artist!

Bullied who becomes a teacher

2009-03-10T11:48:00.004Z

Bullying is a common case happened here and there in the school environment. However, only recently does this phenomenon become a global concern. Well, forgive me if it has been discussed widespread since long time ago, but for me, bullying has been unearthed only this several years.

Well, most people said that bullying gave bad impact for the children. That's true! They mentioned many things to stop bullying, to prevent bullying from happening over and over again. Yet, everything is just stopped in their own mouth. Some said that the teachers should participate in eliminating bullying from school. Some teachers even said that they tried their best to get rid of bullying from the education field. N.A.T.O..... No Action, Talk Only! Yet, we cannot deny that there are some teachers trying to focus on their attention to the bully. Trying to stop them from bullying others.

Uh, I'm not saying that those actions are all wrong. But the problem is, they don't really know how the mechanism of bullying is. Nope, they placed themselves as a higher authority, thus trying to use the position to stop that. Ummm, that's not how it works, dude!

To be honest, I know only a little theory on bullying. But in my teaching activity, I'm always trying to pay more attention to the bullied and marginalized students. Well, departed from my own experience as a student, I know how does it feel to be alienated and bullied. Yes, I'm standing here as the ex-bullied. In fact, I've been bullied until my graduation from Junior High School.

When I started teaching, I recalled those feelings of being bullied, of being alienated just because I was different then (I'm still being different until now, though!). I decided not to let others feel the same way I felt. Fortunately (or unfortunately), the chance for practicing that came right under my nose. One of my students back then was a big bullied. Marginalized and alienated by many others, including most teachers. GAWK! That certainly was no good...... (Having no friend is still far more okay than being alienated by your teachers - or parents!)

I gave him chances to do things, trusted him, and approached him personally. It worked! He gained his confidence. At the same time, I tried to approach his friends, convinced them that disliking him is okay, but alienating and bullying are NOT OKAY.

Another memorable experience also came when I handled Matriculation program for Mimika students. Got to admit that they were hard to handle. One of them was VERY BAD in studying (ummmm, another word for ST***D!). Hated by most instructors, destabilizing the class, and never showed seriousness in learning. Most had given up on him. I started implementing the same strategy. Helping him personally, approached him, and gave him the chance to participate in the class. It worked, dude. For the first time, he bid me his thanks.

So, for the teachers out there who have never tasted the bitterness of being bullied, here's a quick suggestion for y'all. Help the bullied regaining their confidence, please. It means a lot for them, showing them that someone is still paying them attention, that they are not alone. In some cases, it will even give them strength to break free from the bullying. When one is hardly bullied, one will think that no one cares. So, show them that you care for them!

Do not know how to recognize bullied? Well, they are usually the one kept silent in the class and ignored most of the time.

Good luck, and if many teachers do this, we can eliminate bullying together!!!!

My Eulogy for SEDC (I'm Really Leaving)

2009-03-04T00:00:00.003Z

Last Saturday (28/02), I went to a farewell lunch together with my fellow juniors in SEDC. Well, actually they were my trainees, since I was the trainer of SEDC. However, we've grown closer, that no distance was among us.

That was really a farewell lunch, for that day was my last meeting before I officially resigned from SMA 2. Well, it might be a weird decision, resigning before the academic year ended. But a new teacher who really wanted to be a hero had annoyed the hell out of me. She even asked me to resign as soon as possible. So, why shouldn't I? In fact, she's one hell of impolite teacher. Shouted in the common room like a person from the jungle.

Hearing my decision to resign, most of the juniors regretted that. They said that they would lose not only a trainer, but also a brother. Some teachers indeed cried. Well, I couldn't help but feeling sad too deep within me.

I realized, my teaching there for almost five years has formed my way of teaching until now. I approached them not only as a trainer, but also as a brother. As a friend. That way, I could win their trust over me. And yea, sometimes they shared their problem with me. I really enjoyed it. And what I considered as my biggest achievement was not the 1st place in the Province level Debating Championship, but one of my juniors who had many problems made it until graduation.

Now, if I am allowed, I'm going to mention how proud I am to every one of you. Yes, I'm proud of Arum, who made it into success in her campus activity. I'm proud of Dharma Birawa, my calm and intelligent speaker. Faza Kautsarina, for being a superior "chicken little", Fika for being able to progress from one hell of an underrated 1st speaker to winning the Province level Debating Championship. Melinda, the one made it into Diajeng Jogja and still remember me. Ruthe, for developing her best, from the late comer into winning the very first trophy for SMA 2 at English Jambore. Linda, for being the speaker who never gave up. Ahmad Firdaus, for being the one showing me how to be a really good teacher, reminding me what an ideal teacher is, and teaching me that trainer should not be only a trainer.

In the next generation, I would also like to express my pride to Rani, Dici, and Erlin. They were the successful substitute team. Nothing left from the original team, and we had to build a new team from the scratch in the second semester. Yet, they managed to win some competition. Demi, for being one hell of intelligent supporter for the team, though he went to the competition only once. Leo and Rosa, for going to UMY competition and shared the joy of debating.

My third generation includes Dio Alief, the spiritful debater ever. He showed me his growth and development. Though never win any competition, he was the spirit of the team, with his enthusiasm and spirit. From being a very polite speaker to being a rapper in the debate. Yogis, for giving a new atmosphere and different sense to the SEDC debating world. Listya, the one showing her development over time. At first, she was a bit shy, but then she managed to be the lioness of the team. I admit her guts, for she was able to make decisive action together with Dio in the later time. You really cannot see it from the way she was in the first time. Mutia, the versatile speaker, who unfortunately tasted the sweetness of debating battlefield only once. But she's in United States now, together with Yustia. Hani, the one with a good observation skill and thus capable of being a good adjudicator.

The fourth generation brought with themselves, again, a different atmosphere. Cheerful and relaxed. Aditya Herlambang, the rude speaker who changed for the better into a spiritful speaker. Aulia Recky, the fast thinker who maintained the harsh side of the team. Eka, though short, he contributed to the team dynamic, and made a solid team. The other team, Olla, Yanti, and Puput also grew. They started as a team which zero winning streak in the first competition. But they outgrew the other team as the strongest team in the generation. Olla as the first speaker, with her "tukang becak" thingy, Yanti as the second speaker who was able to provide calmer atmosphere of thinking, and Puput, as the destroyer. You really cannot see how brutal Puput was in the debate from her daily behavior. Mayang, the debater as well as a manager for the whole debating club. She and Yuda, the ex-captain of OSIS, provided more administrative support for the SEDC, thus we had access on almost everything we need. Juno and Dias, the late-bloomers, but managed to reach the unexpected. Yes, they were debating for fun, with no ambition. Yet they managed to reach the semifinal at SMA 8 Debating Championship. The Dark Horse team, completed with Asvin, another late-bloomer. He was between Juno and Diaz in term of craziness. Wow, this generation is the biggest in number.......

Ah, what a memory... I've spent almost five years of my life teaching them debate and some life values. If I could, I don't want to leave them now. But all is said and done. I have no regret, since in fact, those are beautiful five years.

PS : Since I am so kind, I gave that annoying teacher a last gift, the book entitled "The Art of Dealing with People". With my handwriting, I wrote, "May this book help you in developing and IMPROVING yourself, as well as differentiate between POLITENESS AND ETTIQUETE and SELFISH PRICK!" Hehehehehe......

The Loyalty of an Old Barber

2009-02-07T01:27:00.004Z

I don't know his name. Never really asked him though about it. But since the banner in front of his shop has this writing "Narimo", I always refer to him as Pak Narimo.

He was a barber. Not a famous nor a big one. In fact, I knew his place just by accident, since I was accompanying my grandfather buying satay, right across his place. At that time, I decided to try having my hair cut there. It was in 1999, and it cost me only 1500 IDR. Pretty cheap, eh?

Since it is not a big salon, don't expect to have harajuku style, or any other popular style. It is a grass root barber shop. Simple cutting, simple people. You could find pedicab drivers having their hair cut there, you could also find students, or old men. Yet, you will feel the peaceful ambiance there. It was almost similar to the atmosphere in the village.

It has been a long time for me to go there. Usually I have my hair cut by my mother (yeah, it's free) or by my neighbor (cause my mother will pay it. Damn, I'm so stingy in this matter!). And several days ago, I got annoyed with my messy hair. My neighbor's salon was closed, and I didn't want to ask my mother. Thus, I decided to pay "Pak Narimo" a visit.

I came to the place. No one's waiting. I sat directly in the chair, and he smiled at me. Still as friendly as ever. Still wearing tailored pants and white shirt, time seemed to freeze in that chamber. I said nothing about the model. Just need to trim it. It felt so nostalgic.

Suddenly, he asked me, "Where do you study now?" Ah, I thought it was just a friendly question. I answered that I'd graduated and worked as a teacher.

"Ow, time really flies," he said. "Last time you went here, if I'm not mistaken, you were still a student of junior high school!"

DEG! My heart felt like stop beating. He still remembered me, even after this long years. I never thought that I am worthy enough to remember. At a time like this, I felt very happy, because somebody would remember me, for being me.... Just when I thought that I worthed nothing to remember.

My haircut finished. I paid him with 10000 IDR bill, and he gave me change of 6000 IDR. "Thanks!" 4000 IDR! It was too cheap. Last time I went there, more than 4 years ago, it was still 3500 IDR.

However, I know that deep down, he didn't look for a prosperity. He searched for longevity and happiness. With that rate, many people still go there, especially those grass root people. When big businesses are hit by the global crisis, a business like this will still exist, under the consumer loyalty.

And I think, I'll continue visiting him to have my hair cut again. He deserved it, for remembering me after all these years.

An (Ever) Offline Account

2009-01-30T22:34:00.002Z

I logged into my Yahoo Messenger, and saw his icon. Offline, just as usual. But from this point on, I know that it will never appear online again. Damn, should I just delete him from my friends list? But then, it would be as if I denied and erased all the history behind. And for me, past is something that formed us the way we are now.

I met him at the online forum, tracked back into five years ago. Video games forum, to be exact. He was selling DivX Anime back then, and I was drawn by the offer. He stayed in Yogya, the same city in which I reside. It might be easier and faster rather than my usual DivX vendor who resided in Jakarta. Thus, I decided to contact him, to be able to get all those precious films, which I cancelled later on, seeing on the price. Uh, probably it was me being too stingy though.

He was glad to find some forum users who came from the same city with him. Back then, in 2004, not many people from Yogya went into the forum. When Pink made a special thread for users from Yogya, we grew closer. Not that close, though, but since the thread was first populated only by him, Pink, Ast, and me, what did you expect? We filled the thread, bumping it over and over again. Our effort was worthed, many people started coming to the thread. We grew in number.

It came from Pink’s idea to make the first gathering. Too bad, only three people came then. Me, Pink, and him. Seeing him for the first time, we felt very shocked. He was more than six years older than us. Yet, when we played game in Fantasia, I felt this inferiority of being childish. He was so calm and looked mature. Yet, as a fellow Chinesemen (Okay, I’m being a racist bastard again!), he managed to see beneath my dark-arabic-like skin and face. He suspected me being a Chinese.

My first encounter with Yahoo Messenger led me to add him as my online friend. We chatted, and surprisingly, we found many interesting facts. We studied in the same junior high school, shared the same hatred and love towards several teachers there. And he actually knew my family! Yep, his father and uncle were actually my grandfather’s tennis and basketball mates. He used to live near my previous home. And, we share the same surname!
Furthermore, he even told me his plan to get married, the process of getting into the relationship, and the proposal. How the condition was reversed, in which the girl proposed him, upset of the slow pace. Hehehe! I also managed to find out that he used to have a kidney operation two years prior. It led him being unable to access the excessive workload. But he was in the recovery process.

Just few days ago, Ast posted in forum, asked us whether we knew the bad news from him. People started wondering, what kind of bad news was it. It turned out to be the worst news.

Just when Ast wanted to buy some papers from his store, he called him. Long tone, before suddenly a woman picked up the phone. She told him that Agus passed away that morning. Kidney failure. Very shocking.

So, I think I will just save your ID in my messenger list. At least, while I know that it will never appear online again, it will serve as a reminder of you. Agus Julianto, or better known as Agus08221 in VGI forum. So long my friend! Rest in Peace!

PS : But what should I do with your number in my phonebook???

Facebook oh Facebook!

2009-01-27T04:28:00.002Z

A social networking site has become a hype since the introduction of Web 2.0. Well, not that hype though during the very first existence of it. Even I did not really pay any interest to the launching of Friendster Beta. I created my friendster account only to take a sneak peek to the global phenomenon (at that time).

During few months after the creation of my account, I didn't bother checking it at all, since I only got few friends with friendster account. But then, when they grew larger in number, I started to e caught in the flow. I started to enjoy looking for some friends of mine. Interestingly, I managed to meet some of my old friends there. Friends from elementary school, from junior high school, and some of old colleagues.

The ability to give testimonial to friends was very attractive. It became an arena to show off, a free place to encourage our narcissism. But the idea of testimonial grew older and started to be left behind. At that time, friendster started to change it into comment. But recently, the once-dynamic-site grew older and unattractive. I don't find enjoyment anymore. Nothing left to do there.

At this twilight moment, rise the dawn of facebook. As previous case, I joined facebook just because of the invitation from my friends. I created my account there, but I lost my interest to the social-networking site already. At that time, most people still used friendster, and only some migrated to the facebook.

As time went by, more and more people join facebook. I still hadn't found any good reason to be active in facebook, even with all the interesting application available there. I didn't play the game, I didn't bother sending gift or such. It was not until I found the interactive facebook mobile, in which I could access facebook via my beloved old cellphone. I found that it worked like plurk, it updated the news in a more detailed manner than friendster. (Beat me, I know I was such a n00b).

I started to be active in facebook, in terms of creating stronger bond to those in my friend list. I managed to find some people who were not in friendster before. I could even find my father's colleagues, some famous authors, some artists, and such. My mother's schoolmate did add me in facebook, thus making me the bridge for communicating with my mother. I found some lecturers of mine, and many pastors!

(This is the point of the writing!) To surprise me even more, I even found my father in the facebook. DAMN! I live with him, meet him everyday, and he didn't say any single word about joining facebook. And I found his profile!!! My dad, the techno dummy, the one who always blamed my gaming habit for corrupting the computer system, the one who couldn't differentiate between email and blog.......

Omidog! The facebook influence really is that wide!