Freirean Reading of Zombie

I am found guilty of watching tons of zombie movies, boththe crappy ones and the magnificent ones. It’s true, the repetition they portrayed is often cheesy and as uncreative as it can be. Furthermore, the zombieque culture becomes so huge and widespread that these undeads lost their charms. But why do I still watch (andhunt) those movies? Frankly speaking, these brain-eating brainless creatures brought about a sense of reminisce and nostalgic feeling for me.

It was started with the routine geek pajama parties I often held in my house with fellow geeks. Well, these chaps would certainly refuse the ‘geek’ label I used in this writing. Yet, what would you call four chaps having sleepovers for days only to play some video games? The year was 2001,back when the first Sony Play Station was still ruling and winning the third console war.
Some franchises stood out among the others, some titles flunked dramatically. One of the standing out franchises was Bio Hazard / Resident Evil. It became our challenge night by night, how to finish this thrilling silent game with sound effects amplified through gigantic room speaker in the darkness where the only light we had came from the TV screen and the green PSX LED. Ah, what a moment.

What is so special from the hordes of undead corpse flocking the world in search of fresh brains? They are less cool than their blood-sucking vampiric cousins, the perpetually seductive witches or the ever-furry werewolf neighbours. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. The market was also saturated already with constant exposure to these rotting bodies.

Yet the key to understand zombies are the concept of bodies through body culture studies perspective. Body is defined by Maurice Merleau-Ponty (1968) as Flesh, the being, and the appearance of oneself. This conceptual flesh puts body as an integral part of the mind, consequently in unity with main drive of any action. The integration with a force of will thus placed body in the position of a subject, as meaning, and as embodied existence.

Butler (in Bodies ThatMatter, 1993) argued that body acts or performs its own subjectivity,devoid of any influence from constructed reality and expectation from surrounding society. The seclusion of subjectivity from any expectation thus signified ‘body’ as the core identity; initial identity. Furthermore, body is theorised as “matter”, so that the cultural norms that constitute its identity can be exposed, examined, and critique. This is the state of nakedness, a complete strip off where self identity is broken down into Democritus’ concept of atom,the state where further division is no longer possible.

Thus, the common concept of basic identity is the result of negotiation / dialogue between the materiality of body and the materiality of knowledge and language. Within this framework, each aspect is materialised;manifested into solid matter. The solidification of two parties creates real spatial context of dialogue between them. Taking the nature of knowledge and language as being able to be controlled by any person, the dialogal practice taking place here follows an ideal Bakhtinian dialogism. A horizontal power structure wherein no party dominates the other operates here, creating an ideal negotiation and neutral adjustment.

Different situation may happen when culture is included here, as the nature of culture sometimes forces any person to bestow before it,the conquering nature over any individual living within its authority. An inclusion of culture in the dialogal practice would turn the natural dialogue into cyborgization. Following Donna Haraway’s (1997) concept of post-humanism,culture and social norms posses the machinization ability; operates as a gigantic mother brain penetrating the skin of the fleshed out body and replacing the natural parts with mechanical prosthetic. However, in doing so,not all of the flesh parts are taken out, creating power struggle between the nature and the machine. 

If we are taking an analogy of natural connection between flesh and knowledge and language into a man taking material and sew them into clothes, we can see that the skin still acts as a border between these two parties. Even though the unity between body and clothing can be seen, body will perform its own subjectivity to counter willful construction, in turn creates a clear distinction of constructional aspects. The difference here is the skin as a liminal field, the meeting point of body and construction. However, in the cyborgization, the skin is violated and instead being replaced by mechanical layers. The loss of liminal quality in the skin renders the construction aspects indistinguishable from the flesh.

The term power struggle consequently brings about the shift from horizontal dialogue into vertical dialogue; where one side reclaimed dominance over the others; Foucauldian scheme of war and oppression. Thestruggle between personal “body” and machinization

What about zombie? Using body cultural studies, we can scrutinise the implicit meaning behind dead ‘body’; dead ‘flesh’. What does it mean then? If (living) body can perform its own subjectivity, then zombie cannot perform their own subjectivity. Even though they are living, their freewill is taken from them. Without subjectivity, their main driving force, their main existence, and their very core are robbed. Interestingly, these zombies are still wearing their clothes; which leads into a reading that their knowledge and language are still there. Yet, without their subjectivities, knowledge and languages cannot be used (which is manifested in their lack of intelligence and lack of speech). In other words, this is the manifestation of closed society, a mutism in flesh (pun intended).

Another question sprung up, what are the main causes of this zombie plague? Some initial movies resorted to the explanation of Haitian black magic, yet the newest movies vaguely referred to viral infection. Whether we take side on the black magic (mythical) or biochemical weapon (mechanical cyborgization?), the zombies are all acting the same; following what the source‘programmed’/ ‘dictated’ them to do. Interestingly, this source successfully killed the body and reanimated them as some kind of slaves.

Similarity in this ‘society’/’hordes’ indicates soulless society, brainwashed into throwing away their very essence of identity and uniqueness and rendering their ability to think (critically) useless. According to Freirean perspective, this is one of the characteristic of a closed society led by a dictator / tyrant. In Education for Critical Consciousness, Paulo Freire (1973) described massification as a characteristic of a closed society imposed by the leader to avoid any coup d’etat. Within this massification process, any citizen should not be given any opportunity to develop critical thinking –similar to zombies inability to thinkand speak – and is expected to behave uniformly. This massification will create‘obedient’ domesticated civilians, separated from total project and consequently being dehumanised.

Before the perspective of this closed society, social norms are changed. Freirean concept of sui generis democracy explains that popular silence (mutism) and inaction is synonymous with healthy society. Thus, people who try to bring about critical thinking will be seen as ‘subversive’ and ‘public enemy’. This branding as a public enemy is what caused them to be crushed under people power; manifested as the attack of zombie hordes towards the protagonists.

Further similarity between zombie apocalypse and mutism also lies in the trigger to the zombie attack. In most movies, the zombies are attracted by any sound and sudden movement. Any voice breaking the silence of the zombieland will be treated as a threat to be taken care of; triggering flock attack. What would happen then after the attack? The victim will either be dead or turned into zombie; both results in mutism and submersion.

Unheimlich

Unheimlich
adalah ikan yang dikeluarkan dari air
berkelebat-kelebit panik mencari napas
di penghujung hayatnya
mencoba mengulur waktu
walau bimbang
mengingat belaian sungai
atau mempersiapkan diri menuju ajal
serta ragu
antara maju penuh sakit
atau mundur yang tak mungkin
atau bertahan di antara
dan tak berdaya
sama seperti saat ia
ada di batas
hidup dan mati
saat dilahirkan

The Price

Charlene’s song “I’ve Never Been To Me” had been echoing in my head in the last few weeks. It was consoling yet pretty much slapping me in both cheeks. Charlene sang the story of two ladies with two different lives; one who lived a domestic life and another one lived her limitless freedom. Both ladies mourned over their choices and wished to walk in another’s path. Oh human, always vying for what they don’t have and constantly feeling dissatisfied with what they already have....

Unfortunately, that song resonated with what my own experience. Somehow, listening to that beautiful songstress unearthed an anxiety within me. Being stranded in Macau to pursue my doctorate degree and that silly ambition of obtaining the degree before entering my fourth decade in life had got me thinking a lot lately. I came back into solitude one more time, just right after experiencing a very festive life in Jakarta with Vita Voxa and some friends I made there. But being here in Macau led me into solace without the ability to make friends due to the language barrier.

Did my silly ambition lead me to live my freedom without border and leave the domesticated life I could have? To think that I sacrificed the opportunities (countless opportunities) to settle down and just be a normal husband in such a boring household for this ambition of attaining knowledge and title. How many women I left and hurt just because I prioritised my pursuit of doctorate degree over my love life? How many times had I braced myself over the stupid commentaries and constant question, “When are you going to get married?”

I always responded to the question by saying that I prioritised my study over anything. And if there was something I really wanted, it was the freedom and wings to explore the world. This was the realisation I had when conversing with Sarasvati Devi on the peak of Gunung Lawu. My ambition to obtain this degree and this knowledge is similar to ancient heroes’ struggle to wield and harness the most powerful weapon. Knowledge and education are the new Excalibur, the new Masamune, the new Pasopati. By mastering the knowledge, one will gain such an immense power to conquer the world. That is the war we had to fight in the recent days.

Yet power will never be gratis. There is always something one has to pay for that. This solitude, this separation, and this anxiety are the price I have to pay. Just like Charlene’s heroine in the song, one will always have regrets. The price has been paid in advance now, why should I give up and wasted my payment?

Five Great Generals of Macau

My first month in Macau has been completely different from my first month in Jakarta. It was not devoid of any spiritual encounter nor the vivid dreams. Well, vivid dreams were never something strange for me. However, insomniac encounter is. And this was the most terrifying insomniac encounter I've experienced here.

It was started couple of days ago, when I had my first insomnia in years. To think about it, my last insomnia was during my undergraduate years. That was the olden days of yore, wasn't it? So, it was a complete panic in my side to find out that I couldn't sleep after 1 o'clock in the morning. There had to be something! Something!!!!!

For the next hour, I was just rolling on my bed, trying to hard to be asleep. And yes, there were some bizarre methods for that. And no, I'm not going to spill the beans here.

Two o'clock and my eyes were still open. DAMN! I needed to wake up early in the following morning. With such a might of a berserker, I forced my eyes to follow my command. Instead of meeting the pitch black velvet, I got a vision. There were five people all dressed in black rode their black horses into the direction of University of Macau. WHAT THE????

When they got closer, I could see the dress they were wearing. It was old Portuguese soldier costumes. All of a sudden, they introduced themselves as five great generals who once ruled over Macau in the olden years. I could hear the sound of horses rambling and shrieking under my window. All of a sudden, the other four generals went to four different direction inside the campus. They rode their horses fiercely and unsheathed their swords and swung it in such threatening way. What about the other one? He stayed in front of my building and did the same way.

WHAT THE?? I knew they were trying to find me and reach me. But with that attitude? It lasted until three o'clock in the morning, and that was when I realised. Three o'clock is always the bewitching hour of dawn. What was this site before it became University of Macau??????

A Dream From Last Decade

Having loads of spare time, I decided to revisit some old files stored in the harddrive. It was quite funny,as I kept them intact for years without opening. When those scattered old files were explored, some files were dated back nine to ten years ago. Time sure flies.

Among those files, a small scribble on my gang’s future was found. Being gifted by such a wild imagination, I wrote that supposedly sentimental piece of writing. The story revolved around what happened to us ten years after our high school graduation.At that time, ten years seem to be such a long time, far into the future. Yet if I graduated on 2004 from high school, then 2014 would be ten years after.Thus it became so interesting in taking a careful look on what I had planned for my life, what did the innocent me have in mind.

Here goes! Ten years after my graduation from high school, I would be married to a psychologist, waiting for our first child. We would live in a compact two-story house with small kitchen where the two of us had our breakfast every morning. While my wife worked as a clinical psychologist (I swear, back then I had no idea that there are such divisions in psychology. All I could think of was that she would be helping people on the couch. Yes, apparently psychology equals to couch, no thanks to Freud!). And what was my dream job? Where did I work in this made-up future? Considering my naivete then, it was written that I worked as an English teacher in a private senior high school. Yes, a teacher with no additional title of Master or Doctor. What a simple life!!!

Reading that piece of novelette(yes, it was not just a short composition –it was a short story of 40 pages!!) unearthed the memory I've long forgotten. After high school, I did not dream of continuing my education. There was completely no plan of looking for any scholarship. Going to the university and getting a proper job were my ultimate two aims.

And where did that take me? Let’s just do a contrastive analysis and a reality check! First, where does I work now? Not a senior high. In fact, I will be jobless in the coming month. So,proper job, CROSSED! Second, I should be expecting my first child by now. Last time I checked, there was no wedding ring on my finger. No wife. Frankly, I don’t even know when I will finally marry my life partner! So, wife, CROSSED! Next, a compact two-story house with kitchen should be the place I’m living. Yeah,instead of that compact house, I get a compact boarding room. Yeah, compare that simple life of married teacher with this soon-to-be-jobless, unmarried guy living in a small boarding room. Life is indeed a harsh mistress, eh?

Do I regret that? This is such a difficult question. Had I been given such a simple life, can I even stay living like that without any boredom? So many things have changed since last decade.Life has thrown me into various hellish experiences that shaped me like what I am now. On the contrary, life has also thrown various opportunities to me, the opportunities I cannot say no to. They have their own consequences, so shan't have I any regret on my own choice. This is the path I am paving, ignoring the path to simple life a high-school-graduate me dreamed. 

The Road to Ph.D #2: Conferences

The road to Ph.D is never an easy path. Some people were actually wondering, "You were only applying for the programme on late March, yet on June you already received the scholarship notification. That is an express counter!" But little did they know the long process behind this acceptance.

It was started in the beginning of 2012 (yes, far in the past). Being recently separated from the academic nuances of Cambridge, I felt the longing to scientific discussion. The real discussion, in which I did not need to chant "Children's Literature 101" for the sparring partners. So, when I saw some Call For Papers in some countries, I was suddenly motivated to send mine. There were three children's literature conferences I applied; San Fransisco, Canberra, and Taipei. Still clear in mind, it was on January 2012, when my spirit was burning even paying no attention to the potential funding problem.

First email came from San Fransisco, stating that they did not have any place for me and Risang (it was a collaborative paper). Canberra followed after, but with better news. It was quite funny to recall the revelation moment, as I was teaching TOEFL-Preparation class. Being such a procastinating teacher, internet was something unavoidable (especially while waiting for the students finishing their reading exercises). That was the moment when an email came from Tony Eaton confirming my acceptance. Still maintaining a poker face, I excused myself to go out (letting the students assuming I went for a loo break). Yet, in front of the door, the poker face changed instantly into a wide smile and stormed me into Simon's office. Taipei was no different from that moment, again in the TOEFL-Prep class. Looking back at those coincidences, TOEFL-Prep might be my good luck charm......

Canberra was my very first international conference. Knowing nothing about Australia, I went alone and self-funded (do not get me started on funding issue from my previous employer!). During the presentation, I met Kit Kelen, a professor from University of Macao, who became my moderator. Well, complication happen when my (now) ex got into the argument. The question my ex asked was, "So, how was the conference? Did you get any job offer or scholarship offer?" When I answer not yet, the response was "So, now you realise that your field is not profitable! Just go and change your subject while you still can!"

It hurt, like seriously. To be frank, which fool expects to get any scholarship offer or job offer on the first debut? But I took the words seriously and started doubting my choice. Is children's literature not that profitable? Am I bad enough that no opportunity waved over me? The words blurred my initial intention of joining conferences for the sake of enriching the knowledge and enlarging the network. Yes, I made a fool out of myself (no) thanks to the ex......

We broke up in August, yet not merely because of the conference in Canberra. The relationship trauma emerging fueled me to look for further escapade in the academia. Taipei still awaited me on November, for my third international conference (the second one in Malaysia is not closely related to children's literature). The determination to better myself as a distraction motivated me to write better and to be more focused. I was no longer thinking about any offer or possibility to continue the study. For me, those conferences would just be some entries in my CV as well as some experiences.

Surprisingly, I saw a familiar name in the participant list; Kit Kelen. Well, it certainly did not hurt to contact him through facebook asking about his participation. Furthermore, it's always nice to know one person or two in a coming conference.

Yet, this is the start of my further contact and discussion with him. It came as a surprise when he told me about his research and opening of Ph.D position. To think about everything, this is not an easy road and journey. The path was not paved in just one or two months, but years. And who said that joining those self-funded international conferences was useless?

The Road to Ph.D #1 : A(n) (Im)Possible Dream

If one asked me, “What do you want to achieve?” then the answer would be quite easy. I always have this dream of obtaining my doctoral degree before turning 31. Yes, being such a blabbermouth, lots of people know about this! Some people might say that I am living an unrealistic dream or simply point out that my obsession is bigger than my own ass. Well, I am a big dreamer after all.

One can always justify this choice of mine by quoting Paulo Coelho’s saying, “When you want something sobad, the universe will conspire to make it true!” Yet to be fair, I have lost the hopes of achieving that dream countless of time. Lots and lots of people told me that I need to focus more on the job seeking, shifting my ass from the part-time job I had into a real job. Then, building a family (getting marriedand conceiving offspring) should follow. “Get back to the real world and stop dreaming of being in heaven!”

The very first discouraging moment came when I finished my Master study. Instead of getting a rocketing score of my dream, the final score was far from my expectation. Worse, my score was below the standard to continue my Ph.D in that university. Comparing myself to some friends of mine who continued their doctoral degree there, the lowly feeling started emerging. The big question lingering in mind was “Am I even fit to enter the academia world?”. This is where self-doubt started coming, when I doubted my own ability, when I felt like a failure, and when I beat myself up. It was the point when I felt being castrated from the academia root.

“Let me just focus on being a professional lecturer!” said I. Yes, I gave up the hope for Ph.D! It was not until I saw an opening for a Ph.D position in Sweden. No, it was not in Children’s Literature, but a Comparative Literature instead. A mere speculation. Yet I anxiously waited for the announcement. My age started to reach 26 then. Quite a critical moment to fulfill the ambition, eh? When the email from Sweden suddenly came, it was an empty one. EMPTY email, with nothing., not even a subject. (Now, can I have a back sound of a glass breaking?)

You could call the rejection from Sweden as a final blow to my ambition. It motivated me to really pull my life together and look for a proper job. No more fooling around waiting for Ph.D! No more exhausting part-time jobs!
Did I completely lose my ambition? Well, deep in my heart, there was still a sparkling hope, flickering.Told you, I am a stubborn one! Even during my interview for the proper job, I answered, “I will not move to another institution except when there’s a scholarship offer!”

So, I moved to another town,started a new job, started a new relationship, built a new circle of friends,and completely restarted my life. In the first day of 2013, if I may add. With this perfect time frame, I thought of casting aside the effort to look for scholarships. Let me just be an ordinary man, an ordinary office goer, and an ordinary worker. At least for a year, the hibernating period.

And what did I get? Apparently Big Boss sure loves to play His divine jokes on me. All of a sudden, an opportunity came. Without really hoping of getting accepted (remember my resolution?),I applied for this Ph.D position. Made lots of mistakes in the application,made lots of blunder in the process, but what happened?

I GOT THE SCHOLARSHIP! A FULL ONE!

And what about the limit I set on myself? Well, if I finish it on time, my doctoral degree will come exactly when I am 30 year old!!! I guess, this is the advantage of never stop dreaming……..

Segelibat Pikir di Hari Buruh

Tiba-tiba beberapa hari ini saya merasa sangat tidak aman dan panik dengan kondisi pekerjaan dan financial saya di Jakarta. Semua berawal dari pertanyaan seorang mantan mahasiswa yang baru saja diterima bekerja di daerah dekat tempat saya tinggal saat ini. Dia sontak terkaget-kaget ketika mengetahui harga sewa kost di seputaran daerah tersebut. Menurut gadis muda ini, dengan biaya semahal itu kemungkinan besar dia tidak akan bisa menabung. Ironisnya, gaji awal si mahasiswi ini sebenarnya jauh lebih besar dari gajiku.

Peristiwa inilah yang mulai menarik pemicu dari semua kegalauan dan kecemasan selama beberapa hari belakangan. Ditambah lagi mulai muncul rasa cemas dengan status di kantor dan birokrasi DIKTI yang semakin tidak jelas saja. Dan yang walaupun mungkin sudah menjadi pengetahuan umum, kondisi Jakarta dan para penduduknya yang sangat konsumtif. Entah, bolehkah saya menyebut bahwa uang dan ekonomi yang menjadi mesin penggerak utama kehidupan di ibukota ini? Semua orang nampaknya berlomba-lomba mengumpulkan uang sebanyak-banyaknya untuk kemudian berpartisipasi dalam lomba lain menghabiskan uang sebanyak-banyaknya.

Dan persis di hari buruh ini, saya merenungkan kembali sejarah kehidupan saya hingga saat ini. Apakah saya orang yang tergerak oleh keinginan menjadi orang kaya dan mendapatkan uang sebanyak-banyaknya? Ataukah saya sudah mulai terpengaruh oleh pola kehidupan di Jakarta?

Pelit dan gila kerja memang sudah menjadi cap yang melekat semenjak beberapa tahun belakangan ini. Teman-teman kerja di Yogya menganggap saya sebagai orang yang tidak pernah berhenti bekerja demi mencari uang, bahkan dengan mengorbankan banyak waktu saya. Tapi yang mereka lupakan adalah bahwa dalam paruh kedua tahun kemarin saya sengaja bekerja dengan sangat keras untuk melupakan sesuatu, untuk mengalihkan pikiran saya dari sebuah trauma besar yang menghantui.

Siang ini, di meja ini, di tengah kepanikan dan kecemasan saya, sebuah suara hati perlahan berbisik dan bertanya, “Bagaimanakah kamu hidup selama ini?”

Itulah yang menjadi sebuah titik terang. Saya adalah seorang bohemian yang memuja ilmu pengetahuan dan bukan harta. Bukankah prinsip ini yang dulu sempat membawa kehancuran pada hubungan saya sebelum ini? Bukankah saya memutuskan untuk memilih sakit hati daripada mengubah pandangan hidup saya?

Dibesarkan di Yogyakarta membawa saya hidup layaknya orang-orang Yogya yang selalu mencoba sareh dan sumeleh. Mencoba untuk selalu bersyukur dan menikmati apa saja yang ada, tidak peduli seberapa banyak yang dipegang. Jika memang sedang berkekurangan, mungkin memang berarti sedang saatnya harus hidup kurang. Bukankah hidup itu layaknya roda? Tak terkecuali masalah ekonomi. Dan apabila urip kuwi mung mampir ngombe, kenapa tidak kita nikmati saja apapun minuman yang disediakan? Secangkir kopi kadang terasa hangat, kadang terasa pahit, kadang tawar, tapi kadang juga manis. Tapi, bukankah itu dinamika dalam menikmati si kopi? Segala sesuatunya hanya harus dinikmati, bukan untuk dibandingkan.  

Saya bertanya lagi kepada diri saya sendiri, apa lagi sih yang harus ditakutkan? Bukankah saya sudah pernah mengalami kelaparan selama seminggu sewaktu musim dingin sendirian tanpa teman di asrama? Bukankah saya juga sudah pernah berlatih makan dan memasak di bawah manajemen kepepet, saat-saat dimana daging thethelan sudah menjadi sesuatu makanan yang sangat mewah? Tidak bahagiakah saya waktu itu? Saya merasa sama bahagianya dengan teman-teman lain.

The grass is always greener on the other side, eh? “Urip iku wang sinawang,” begitu kata seorang teman. Jadi, kenapa saya harus kembali merasa iri dan tidak aman? Mungkin saatnya saya mengembalikan mindset burung pipit saja dipelihara oleh Tuhan, apalagi saya.

Selamat hari buruh, semuanya!

An Encounter with Sarasvati

Inside the bleak darkness coming from the closing of my eyes, the lips and tongue moved by their own and started chanting “Om Aing Sarasvati Namaha”. The Sarasvati mantra was never an alien thing for me, for it kept being repeated in various occasions. The Devi had already become my own mother, the personal matron for me who chased after knowledge. Million of times had the mantra been chanted in my journey of preparing each every teaching session, spoken with the hope of acquiring the perfect blessing for me, “The Tongue of Sarasvati”.

Drenched in sweat bestowed by the burning heat of midday sun rays on the peak of Mount Lawu, my flesh merged slowly with Candi Cetho’s upmost level stone floor. Along with the coming of the complete silence –occasionally broken by the mantra chant or eagle’s shriek, my mind and soul began shifting into different realm; the realm where I saw a long scroll mapping the logical flow of my mind.

Inside the solace I started to be pensive on my desire to continue the study, on the opportunity for advance education and the thirst for knowledge. It was the point where everything was translated into contemporary concepts, that my thirst for knowledge means I am thirsty for the secret behind this material world. Did that mean my thirst is equal to the thirst of blood ruling over the ancient conquerors? Wasn’t I trying to collect the ammunition to start the invasion and expansion over world dominion? Wouldn’t that be similar to my intention to sit on the peak of the world?

In a present context, I am the alternate form of savage knight. Yet the difference lies in the sword we’re wielding. Instead of harnessing an iron Zweihander, I am wielding the sharp rapier of knowledge and words. Does that transform me into a knight of Sarasvati? The servant of earthly and ascetic knowledge? Then, how does that put me in the grander context of the earth we’re living on nowadays?

Beseeching the divine power from Ma Sarasvati, the chanting kept going on and on. People might think I’m going on a trance when suddenly the darkness before my eyes turned into bluish hue. I knew something would come, but no fear nor anxiety embraced me that very moment. And there I saw, a swan flew towards me out of the blue. Not just an ordinary swan, the white vahanna swan of Sarasvati Devi. Within the next seconds, I saw Her. The goddess herself appeared before me with all of her glorious attributes, the sitar, the flower, and the four arms protruding from the back.

She did not open her lips at all, yet I could hear her saying. The divine mother of arts and knowledge told me that I did not need the divine power from her or any other deities. Gods and goddesses are just mere human beings who had perfected one of their aspects. The chanted mantra was not essentially to summon the deities, but to call upon the gods and goddesses lied inside their own soul. Everybody is essentially divine beings, yet people just need to realize that potency. What she specially told me was that I did not need any divine intervention from the deities, for from within me the power had already overflowed.

Then in a glance the Divine Mother left me back in the solitude. I knew I was grounded back to the earth. And I opened my eyes slowly.

"Daerah" : Hasil Normativitas "Jakarta"

Setelah tinggal beberapa bulan di Jakarta, saya masih merasa sangat aneh dengan sebuah kata yang sering digunakan penduduknya. Sebuah kata sederhana yang memiliki banyak arti, tetapi sudah direduksi menjadi sebuah istilah derogatif, “daerah”. Memang beberapa waktu yang lalu, saya sempat menulis mengenai kolonialisasi yang dilakukan oleh penduduk Jakarta melalui pembentukan identitas mereka. Tetapi baru setelah merasakan hidup di tengah-tengah belantara ibukota, saya merasakan kuatnya politik identitas ini.

Hampir setiap orang di Jakarta menggunakan kata-kata “daerah” untuk membedakan kualitas mereka dengan kampung halaman mereka. Selalu ada perbedaan antara “Jakarta” dan “daerah”, walaupun tidak selalu “daerah” diidentikkan dengan hal-hal yang negatif. Yang menarik disini, dikotomi “Jakarta” dan “daerah” ini seolah membagi dua kawasan Indonesia ini menjadi Jakarta dan non-Jakarta. Dikotomi ini membawa konsekuensi generalisasi karakterisasi “daerah”. Tanpa melihat perbedaan budaya di setiap daerah, “Jakarta” menyamaratakan karakter “daerah”. Dalam hal ini, mereka lupa bahwa “daerah” pun memiliki kekhasan masing-masing, tergantung region dan letak geografisnya.

Hal ini mau tidak maumengingatkan saya pada kritik Edward Said mengenai kolonialisasi budaya, yangmenghasilkan “White” dan “Oriental”. Pada kerangka berpikir ini, “oriental” tidak memiliki kekuasaan untuk mendefinisikan diri mereka sendiri. Penggambaran“oriental” yang muncul berawal dari stereotype dan stigma yang dipegang oleh “White”. Begitu pula yang terjadi dalam dikotomi kuasa “Jakarta – daerah” ini. “Daerah”vtidak diberikan kesempatan untuk mengolah karakteristik mereka yang berbeda,tidak pula diberikan ruang pengakuan akan adanya banyak variasi “daerah”.

Kelompok “Jakarta” mengambil alih puncak dinamika kuasa yang ada sehingga mereka merasa memiliki otoritas untuk mendefinisikan yang lain –yang pada gilirannya mereduksi keberagaman yang ada.Memang, puncak dinamika kuasa dalam pembentukan dikotomi ini dimulai dari besarnya kemampuan dan kekuatan financial yang dimiliki oleh “Jakarta”. Darikapasitas ekonomi ini, mulailah muncul sebuah pembentukan hegemoni kebudayaan yang secara otomatis menempatkan dirinya sendiri di ujung pyramid dan menjadi pusat dari seluruh kebudayaan negara. Dengan meluasnya kuasa dan pengaruh kebudayaan (yang juga dimediasi oleh media massa dan daring) ke “daerah”, mulailah muncul sebuah normativitas. Normativitas kebudayaan modern yang harusdimiliki oleh semua orang, pemaksaan nilai oleh “Jakarta” kepada “daerah” mulai terbentuk karena didorong oleh hegemoni kuasa ini.

Yang cukup menarik untuk dilihat adalah karakteristik asli “Jakarta” sebagai kumpulan dari migrant (yang berasaldari “daerah”). Penyeberangan para migran ini ke dalam pusat hegemoni telah memberikan motivasi kepada mereka untuk mencari aman dan masuk ke dalamnormativitas yang dibentuk oleh pemegang kuasa. Di sinilah kasus politik identitas mulai terlihat, bagaimana sebuah kuasa dan normativitas memaksa “Others”/”Oriental” untuk meninggalkan identitas mereka dan masuk ke dalam stabilitas dan keamanan,dengan cara menjual identitas mereka yang telah terepresi. Bahkan banyak diantara mereka –yang setelah masuk ke dalam struktur normativitas- mulai melakukan reduksi terhadap kerabat dan bahkan masa lalu mereka sendiri.

Menilik fenomena ini darikacamata kritik Derrida mengenai dikotomi yang menyebutkan anggapan bahwasebuah identitas dibentuk dengan cara “othering others”, saya tergelitik untukmenanyakan alasan tidak adanya dekonstruksi sosial yang berusaha dilakukan.Sebegitu lemahnya kah kekuatan identitas “Jakarta” itu sendiri sehingga mereka mencoba meraih legitimasi dan justifikasi eksistensi mereka melalui generalisasi “daerah”? Baik Derrida, Said, maupun Nodelman mengkritisi pembentukan identitas melalui dikotomi ini sebagai salah satu bentuk insecurity dari konstruksi yang ada. Dengan represi (yang dapat dilihat sebagai kekerasan terselubung ini), bukankah hal ini mengikuti alur pemikiran kuasa dan kekerasan dari Arrendt? Di mana sebenarnya kuasa ini tidak serta merta harus dicapai melalui sebuah represi?

Pertanyaan saya yang paling utama, sebegitu lemahnya kah konsep identitas banyak manusia Indonesia? Mengapa tidak banyak resistensi kebudayaan melawan dikotomi kuasa identitas ini?

Mungkinkah konsep dinamika kuasa dan dikotomi melalui kekerasan terselubung inilah yang membuat manusia Indonesia tidak terbuka dengan penerimaan? Atau malah tidak adanya penerimaan itu yang membentuk dikotomi menyebalkan ini?

God knows…..

Child's Play

Tip tap tip tap! I recognized instantly that sound of baby steps my son had while walking towards me. Having him in the household had brightened my days, for Seta cannot stay still for even a minute. His bland innocence was the sunshine for the house.

“Daddy?”

I gave him my biggest grin. It worked! Seta always loved seeing how silly my face was every time I grinned. He chuckled, further amplifying this excitement I had. With that kind of son, which father would not feel very glad?

“C’mere, boy!” I patted on my laps. And he ran all the way to my legs. Quickly I lifted him and sat him. Seta shared his big smile once again.

“Dad?”

“Yep?”

“Do you love me?”

“I do, son,” said I nodding.

“I love you, Dad!”

Another smile.

“Do you love your mommy and daddy, Dad?”

“Sure I do, son!’

“You never told me about them,”

And silence came. Seta suddenly felt heavier than ever. The palpitation in my chest grew faster as my mind rushed back into the dark, unearthing the ancient tomb within. It was as if an angel came to me and kicked me into a deep abyss with the smile as bright as the sun. The radiance forced me to dig into that tomb and unraveling every dark event I had.

 “Dad?”

I was out of the world, staring into a perfect nothing.

Perfect.

Nothing.

Not until a hand touched upon my shoulder emitting familiar warmth I had known for the last seven years.

“Daddy will tell you about them, Seta dear! Later. Hey, you want to grab a cup of hot chocolate?”

Seta nodded while looking into the voice. He jumped out of my laps and ran to the kitchen.

“You will tell him the story, won’t you dear?”

Still standing still, I couldn’t answer.

“He deserves to know the truth, dear!”

“That he – his parents, I mean, are not welcomed by his grandparents?”

“Seta is a good boy. He might bring about a change….”

“I don’t know, dear…..”

And I felt another pat on my shoulder. 

Alpha hingga Omega

Alpha

Kita berdiri di depan Pieta,
dengan dansa kecil nyala lilin.
Aku menggenggam telunjukmu
yang kau tepis
Doaku terdaras untukmu
selagi kau diam membisu
dan entah kemana.

Lalu kita pergi.......


Beta

Ombak laut selatan menderu
membelai kaki telanjang ku dan mu
Pada debur ombak pantai selatan
kuserahkan hati kita
tapi kau memegang erat milikmu
dan membiarkan hatiku
hanyut sendiri


Gamma

Sebatang dupa berasap lingkar
tertancap di depan bersila
Di hadapan Maitreya hamba
berdoa secara sederhana
khusuk bagi engkau
teriring ceramah panjangmu

Itukah yang membawa
doaku jauh dari Sang Kuasa?


(semoga) Omega

Kau menuntunku ke gua Maria
di bawah lantunan ritmis organ gereja
kau berdoa di depan gua
aku berdoa dalam sepi.

Alpha kau sebut aku
bisakah aku menjelmakan Omega bagimu
sebagaimana kau menjadi akhirku.

Far Future in A Formal Hall

It was almost dark when I rapped on your chamber door. And there you opened the door, revealing yourself in the formal attire. Black tie dress code, and you interpreted that by dressing all in black. For a second, I thought that my heart would stop beating in amazement.

“Are you ready?” said I.

You nodded and smiled. The rose that I held was then moving to your hand, enlarging the smile carved on your lips.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful!”

You grabbed my hand and hurriedly locked the door, as if we need to spend each and every precious second of that night together. But don’t you know that your touch sent the romantic tingles all around my nerves? Instead of giggling, I transposed that tingle unto a very big smile. And this is how you manage to make me smile all the time. All the time.

We walked hand-in-hand down the Castle Hill, along the lights from small old English pubs. The gown covering my black tuxedo kept me warm, yet your coat was apparently too thin for the winter breeze. The usual British winter, cold and dry without any trace of snowflakes. Did you remember how you were shaken by the cold? It was that moment when I held your shoulders in my hug; at least, some parts of you were covered by the gown.

Eddies’ gate felt so inviting as we entered through the front door. Mary -the night receptionist- smiled at us. That was your first visit to the college, wasn’t it? It was not a big nor famous college, unlike John or Trinity. But your eyes were glistening with joy and excitement. It was not until we walked down the hall –passing the pigeon holes- into Combination Room that you got more and more excited. We came just in time for the sherry reception, when you saw band of people wearing their gowns and formal dresses.

I had to admit, Eddies’ sherry is not as good as the Peterhouse’s one. But it was enough to warm your small stature within the embrace of bleak winter night. As if you forget that we were out of Indonesia, your face blushed in reddish shade as I pecked your cheek. Nobody thought it was a sin, dear. Across the room, you can also see people hugged their partners tightly.

“Is that okay?” you asked slowly, startled.

Just a small nod in response. And I could feel your hand gripped mine strongly. I could still recall you being timid and shy in one second and another startle came upon your face when the gong was hit. “What was that?”

“It’s the sign for us to march to the dining hall!” I whispered. Determined to show your worth, you walked confidently next to me going to the Hall. Not an exquisite one, for Eddies is not famous for being a rich college. You couldn’t see any beautiful paintings other than the chronological portraits of our Masters. I swear there was nervousness all over your face when we were looking for our seat. The bleak night outside further enhanced the warm light emitted by the candles in between us. The warm yellowish light touched upon your dark attire and my gown.

We were standing as the gong sounding, waiting for the short grace in Latin read by the Dean. The religious side in you seemed to get into climax upon hearing that Latin grace. It was five-courses meal with cheese in the end. But you strived upon gulping the red and white wine. Our hands were touching in the middle of the meal, and the neighbouring lady gave us an approving nod. You might forget her, but she was my hallmate.

The port wine finally came. I joked to you, “This is what runs Cambridge! The main motivation for us to come here, the infamous port!” Mixed chatters could be heard from all directions and the couple sitting next to us asked, “So, how did you two meet?”

“Over a simple text message, to sum up!” you giggled. “Thanks to a friend who match made us!” I knew from your giggly response, three glasses of wine and the initial sherry had got into your nerves. But, I just smiled at you. Small wink.

The dinner had finally done with the closing grace. “You wanted to stop by at the bar?” I asked among the marching students walking out of the hall.

“I don’t think I can have another glass of alcohol. Can we just go back to the house?”

“And why is that?”

“Because I just want to be together with you!”

At that moment, I hugged you tight, blocking the remaining students from going out. But I don’t care.

Because you were there.

And you are here......

PS : This is what I imagine, to be with my loved one in my beloved city.....

Bahagiakah saya?

Menanti sebuah penerbangan kembali ke Yogyakarta di Bandara Cengkareng tiba-tiba membawa kembali memori akan sebuah kejadian empat tahun yang lalu. Sudah lama sekali aku tidak memasuki terminal 1 di bandara itu, terima kasih pada sponsor yang membuat saya selalu bisa mendarat di terminal 2. Akan tetapi, hari ini saya kembali masuk ke terminal 1 dan menunggu disana.

Ketika melihat deretan bangku-bangku yang diisi oleh para calon penumpang, benak ini memutar kembali kala terakhirku duduk di sana. Empat tahun yang lalu, pada masa-masa hijauku, aku merasa cukup tertegun melihat seorang Bhikku yang berjalan keliling ruang tunggu tersebut. Tiba-tiba saja muncul sebuah dorongan untuk menyumpalkan ear piece dan memutar sebuah lagu dari ponsel.

Entah karena terinspirasi oleh sang bhikku atau memang sebuah bisikan ilahi, tangan ini memilih lantunan 'Heart Sutra'. Entah mengapa lantunan mantra tersebut selalu memiliki efek yang sangat menenangkan bahkan hingga hari ini.

Sekitar sepuluh menit setelah lagu itu selesai, sang bhikku yang melewati kursiku berhenti sejenak. Ia memandang ke arahku dan tersenyum. Kata-katanya sangat singkat tetapi misterius, "Wah, anda bahagia ya? Enak bukan menjadi bahagia?" Seselesainya berkata seperti itu, beliau pergi.

Ia meninggalkanku tertegun. Baru beberapa bulan sebelumnya aku membahas konsep kebahagiaan yang sejati, konsep kebahagiaan yang dihayati oleh para Buddhist. Bahagia di situ berarti tidak lagi terikat pada apapun, tidak menginginkan apapun, tidak merasa apapun. Dan konsep itu kembali masuk ke dalam benak ini, membangun sebuah pertanyaan besar. "Sudah bahagiakah saya?" Bagaimana mungkin sang Bhikku itu hanya berhenti di hadapan saya untuk mengatakan kalimat misterius itu? Bagaimana dia mengetahui bahwa saya tengah berbahagia? Raut mukaku pada saat itu pun sebenarnya adalah raut muka yang sangat lelah. Bau bantal, istilahnya. Lalu, apa yang sebenarnya membuat beliau mengatakannya kepadaku?

Empat tahun sudah berlalu. Tapi kembali masuk ke dalam terminal tersebut kembali menggali ingatan dan misteri itu. Hari ini, tidak ada lagi sosok sang bhikku. Tapi pertanyaan yang sama masih belum terjawab, "Bahagiakah saya?"

Soekarno-Hatta, 5 Desember 2012