the dog-gag type

So, seems like I’m gonna start writing (at laahast..)

No theme, no stream…just my immeasurably random thoughts. See I once read that there are two kinds of thinker: first the linear type. Talk with them, and you’ll find order. Compliance to rules and steps. But meet the other type: the non linears. Talk, and you’ll generally find chaos. Ideas and thoughts sparking here and there. No order dude, no shape nor pattern, splashed here and there. Put it simply, like a dog’s gag.

I find myself, more of the 2nd one. But hey, I write to myself (really, not for you readers :p) . No intention to teach, preach, brag nor strut . But if you, yeah you there, unintionally bump into this blog. I hope u find this blog, not so much as a dog’s gag, rather… an interesting firework (cheap maybe, but hell interesting). But hey! you decide..

  

   -Big wuffs-

 

Do They Live on the Streets?

Girl: “So whereabouts in Indonesia are you from?”

Me: “Jakarta”

Girl: “None of your family was hurt from that big earthquake I hope”

Me: “No, luckily no..I don’t have family in that city. That city was actually on a different Island.”

Girl: “And have you heard anything about what’s happening there? Like the progress and stuff”

Me: “Well last time I heard, they’re still trying to recover bodies from the ruin..and that they expect to find around 2000 victims”

Girl: “Oh, ok…that’s not good. So how are the people there before the earthquake? I mean… do they live on the street, or shacks and stuff?”

Hmmm…I was tempted to answer: “Yeap! they all lived on the streets, eat grass and asphalt. But the lucky ones get to live in trees”

French Fries Snob

It was one Saturday evening, at a pub. A genuine pub in winter is always good: warm and smells…well, pub-like. That is a mixture of beer, people not showering, and with a hint of carpet. To a UNO party I was invited. A table of 10 people playing, obviously, UNO card games with a pint on the table. There was me –Indonesian- , a couple of Colombians, a Brit, South African, and some Aussies and a French guy whom I’ve never met before.

Before the mind-and motoric-challenging game began, I introduced myself to some of the new faces. “Where are you from?” They asked me, “Indonesia” I said. The Aussies, being jolly mates, responded with “Oh, that’s close by”…or “Ah that’s nice, Which part?”. “Jakarta” I said.

Then came a sound from the French guy who sat opposite me, “Well I heard that people from Jakarta are bad people”

Perplexed, I stared but couldn’t respond. He might have seen my shocked face, so he continued with “Yeah, I went to Bali & Jogjakarta a couple of months ago, and people there say that Jakarta people are all criminals”

What the hell??!! Well, I heard that you French people are just snobs! The snobbiest of snobs, you know…a whole nation of snobs.

That sentence had perfectly formed and arranged in my head, it had already travelled to my tongue, then my lips opened, lungs sucked in a bit of air (for extra power to make a point)..but then, a millisecond there my sensibility kicked in. Saying stuff like, ok let’s be a better person and let’s just give this pale-face (to avoid saying racist remarks like “white”)- French-snob an education.

So instead I said “Well, if you think it’s true then that’s just sad. Indonesia is a really big archipelago. So it’s normal that you’d find different cultures within Indonesia. Like you went to Bali, where people are calm, beaches make them relaxed lot, and friendly. Jogjakarta, cultural city, people are sweet, smiles a lot, slow paced. In coastal cities, people are loud, harsh, but hilarious. Well Jakarta is Indonesia’s busiest city, coastal, hot, crazy traffic, so yeah we’re not as smiley or as relaxed. And yes, crimes in Bali may have been known to be committed by incomings from Java who could not find a decent work in the crowded Java, but they’re a fraction of all Javanese/Jakarta population thus cannot represent the whole lot.

Fuh… there, I tried to be the better person. So we proceeded to play UNO. After games after games after games, 5 pints, and a whole lot of cheating attempts, we moved to another pub. Where the French guy made another remark, worthy to be posted on facebook’s “Asians tired of being asked stupid questions” group.

“So, what’s your real name?” he asked.

“Huh? Should this be not my real name?”

“You know, because you people usually have difficult names like ‘shing liao chu” and change it into something more practical”

“Oh yeah, usually Chinese/ Koreans do that…not all Asians” I said.

I asked myself today, why do I get annoyed with these remarks?

Perhaps it’s like when Russians get asked “So, you’re a communist? I saw Bond movies”

Or a Colombian gets asked “So, are you a drug lord or something?”

A Muslim gets asked “Where at home do you keep your bombs?”

Pacific Islanders get asked “So, I heard people in the Pacifics are all FAT, you know…obese and all”

A German gets asked “I bet you Germans think you’re all uber alles hey?”

Or even perhaps…like a French guy who gets “So, I heard French are all snobs”.

Whereas these remarks come from people who simply don’t know any better, unfamiliar about other cultures (which is kind of normal I guess). Their only sin is actually being so confident about their cultural-insensitivity.

Months after the incident I met the French guy again, and when he asked me what I thought of him the first time we met, I said “I thought you’re just a random French snob”. I told him why, and he admitted his blunders saying “I was trying to be funny it was a stupid remark, I remember that night and regretted ever saying that”.

When I asked him why French people think they’re better than anybody else, he said: “Well, French people are so cool back then… But now, Spanish and Italians are way cooler than us. So we like to reminisce, holding on dearly to the past..way back when we were cool”

A fair enough answer I thought, so I forgave him and we became friends.

The next time I met him, we talked about our plans after Adelaide. He’s planning to finish another round of internship, finish his degree, do something in Indonesia (yes Indonesia), and then back to France and work there. I told him I wanna go for a Master’s program, somewhere in Europe, “There’s this program in UK & Barcelona. Really interesting but I want to look for scholarships, couldn’t afford is otherwise” I said.

“Why don’t you have it in Jakarta? Scholarships may be more difficult” he said.

“Well, there’s a lot of scholarships from EU to developing countries you know. So there’s pretty much high chance for students from developing countries to go study in Europe”

“Really??? (eyebrows raised). Aarrrgh so that’s why we pay a lot of tax!”

Hmm……………….

Letters from Ibu :) (because she writes beautifully, and because I love her so)

(August 24th 2009)

On The First Day of Ramadhan

One day when U R 4 years old,we went to the supermarket and we both were fasting,seorang bule berkata “seems like every body is having a big dinner tonight,what are they celebrating?”.

I said “2day is the first day of the fasting month,my 4 years old lovely daughter is fasting right now,from 5 morning to 6 evening,about 14 hours.”

Si bule terperanjat,”14 hours no food n no water allowed?” “Yes,not even a drop 0f water.”  He asked,”can human stand it without dying? never,never and never.” “Oh yes we can”.

Nah,sekarangpun kamu bisa dakwahkan hal ini (mengenai puasa) kepada lingkungan terdekatmu,OK?

On Me Watching Harry Potter for “free” (not proud of it after this email :p)

Lucu2 ya kelakuan orang2 dari developing countries seperti ceritamu itu.
Makanya yg pertama masuk surga adalah orang yg paling adil diantara
kamu. Adil dalam arti memberikan hak orang lain sekalipun dia tidak
meminta,bahkan diapun tak tahu bhw itu haknya.

After Complaining to her about My Bikram Yoga Sores

kamu harus sering latihan pillates yg ringan2 aja setiap hari spy
lentur dan jg gak terlalu Endutttttt.don’t forget much fruits n
vegetables everyday.

mesjid AL Fajri setelah diprotes sejuta ummat,akhirnya mengecilkan
suara yg kearah kita,jd agak tenang lah,gak bising kayak pasar malam
lagi.yg belum bisa diatur adl suara petasan anak2 kampung yg sok bakar
duit.

Sudah dulu ya,aku mau terawih ni,biasa,dirumah,dan sendirian,love u…………….

Shaft & The Kissing Disease

Shaft, and the Kissing Disease
Mono, or mononucleosis, also called “the kissing disease” due to its transmission via infected saliva, isn’t as funny as the name implies. The virus that causes it (Epstein-Barr, or EBV) can be transmitted by less exciting routes, such as sneezing and coughing, and the consequences can be really unfun. Besides the standard swollen glands and sore throat (which can be really severe), the long-lasting weakness and fatigue that follow can be a trying experience.

What’s even neater is that we’re told “there’s no cure” by the hallowed halls of modern medicine. Go home, get plenty of rest, drink plenty of liquids, and wait. (www.vitaminusa.com)

 

I met this guy a couple of months ago, vertically challenged, BIG ego (yes the napoleon complex), a good looking fellow I should say, witty and star of the party. I’m sure you have this kind of friend. Now, for the sake of anonymity let’s call him Shaft.
A player by reputation, he’s got one girl for each day of the week. Sometimes even two. Lunch date with Sarah, drop Sarah home, pick up Katie, and dinner with Katie. The dropping of and picking up is a strategy to anticipate Katie coming in while Sarah’s still around. “Good time management baby!” he said.
Last weekend at the pub, disaster was brewing. Two of his girls came. Each not knowing that he’s been dating both of them. The brunette was cynical and smart, and the blonde was…you know, blonde. Brunette came earlier, shaft casually sat next to her..they chat, drink, it’s 11.30pm. It’s amazing how Shaft can act so calmly knowing that blonde’s gonna come soon. Turns out that he had in his hand…(wait for it…) a wild card.
Brunette has an illness that eats away her stamina. Yes, the Epstein-Barr makes her get tired easily. And on that illness Shaft was betting. He secretly wishes Brunette will soon leave the place. Not 10 minutes later, Brunette stood and left. And 5 minutes after Brunette had left, Blonde enters the scene.

Amazing how fate leans toward the player hey?

Not to the sick, nor to the blonde.

On The Subject of Being MEAN

This is something I’ve been wondering for a quiet a long time now.  Does success requires a degree of mean-ness? A couple-a-weeks ago, I met up with a friend who’s now working at a radio. We had dinner and talk about stuff that are of ginormous importance. Amidst our important chat, she told me about a client of hers, “I have this client right.. female,  30ish, single, famous in the advertising world..oh and mean”.  “Mean how?” I said. “At our first lunch meeting, she told me proudly that she’s used to thrashing about her office when she’s pissed off. You know, like literally sending office supplies flying” she said. Then I loosely concluded “Oh, the tipical old spinster syndrome”. Then she added “But you know what, she’s really great at what she does. She’s a prominent personage in the business, and amazingly people respect her”. There was a short moment of silence, when we ponder the prospect of doing better at stuff by being a lean-mean-machine. How cool would we be… being important, shouting at people…throwing office supplies at our assistant.  O how very professional would we look.

Do you believe in karma? The whole what-goes- around-comes-around- stuff, and you-reap-what-you-sow stuff. Well I do. I had always believed that if you send out bad chi’s out into the universe, you can bet that they’re bound to boomerang and kick you in the buttocks one of these days. But why-oh-why God, that people meaner than us reap more success than us??? Do you have to nurture have a degree of nastiness to be at the top of the food chain? Was it just the quality or the attitude too matters? Is meanness instilled in every man’s heart as a tool to be used in this dog-eat-dog universe?

I’m beginning to have doubts, about all those values we were taught in school.

      “Treat your friends with respect” they say.

      “Sorry and please are the two strongest words in the universe” they say.

And those our parents taught us.

      “Choose your words wisely young man” they say.

      “Respect is earned” they say.

Seriously, what on earth were they thinking man?

 

 

(checkout www.pitterpattershop.com for more)

The Date…it’s Bothering Me

The date on my desktop, blipping, bothering me. On TV, all pink and stuff, bothering me. It’s the 14^th of February . What the bitter have say about the holiday : “it’s a conspiracy between the greeting cards and the flower industry”. What the optimist say “it’s a celebration of love”. On which side do you stand my friend? BE A MAN! Says Russel Peters, and pick a stance. I, well..I’m a bit of the non-participant actually. But hey, I applaud those who have created employments around this tradition. Truly, what a great idea Sirs.

            Wait a second, this post will not open the debate for valentine “for or against”, nor to tell you about my personal lovey dovey stuff, nor to invite you to pour your heart out here. I’m gonna tell you a story.  What I’m about to tell you fellas, is a true story. A love one (seems like all this hype has gotten on to me also, so what the heck). What I hate about most love stories are, their too syruppy you feel sick. Or too flamboyant you wanna vommit. You know that feeling, after watching a too syruppy love drama? I don’t want you to feel that. Please bear with me a seccond.

            The story of Nicolai Pestretsov came from a book I read years ago called “All I Really Need To Know I Learned in Kindergarten” by Robert Fulghum. Because the story will be so much better told in it’s  original form, I’m just gonna quote it straight away. Here goes.

 

He was a sergeant major in the Russian army, thirty six years old. He was stationed in Angola, a long way from home. His wife had come out to visit him. On August 24 (I’m guessing this was in the 70s/ 80s), South African military units entered Angola in an offensive against the black nationalist guerillas taking sanctuary there. At the village of N-Giva, they encountered a group of Russian soldiers. Four were killed and the rest of the Russians fled-except for Sergeant Major Pestretsov. He was captured, as we know because the South African Military communique said: “Sgt.Major Nicolai Pestretsov refused to leave the body of his slain wife who was killed in the assault on the village”

         It was as if the South Africans could not believe it, for the communique repeated the information. “He went to the body of his wife and would not leave it although she was dead.”

         How strange. Why didn’t he run and save his own hide? What made him go back? Is it possible that he loved her? Is it possible that he wanted to hold her in his arms one last time? Is it possible that he wanted to hold her in his arms one last time? Is it possible that he needded to cry and grieve? Is it possible that he felt the stupidity of war? Is it possible that he felt the injustice of fate? Is it possible that he didn’t care what became of him now?

         It’s possible. We don’t know. Or at least we don’t know for certain. But we can guess. His actions answer.

         And so he sits alone in a South African prison. Not a “Russian” or “Communist” or “soldier” or “enemy”, or any of those categories. Just a-man-who-cared-for-just-a-woman for just-a-time more than anything else.

         Here’s to you, Nicolai Pestretsov! Wherever you may go and be….

 

So…did the story rekindled your faith in the whole love thing? Did it make you re-think all your doubts in grand-amours stories? Did it change your whole perception on flowers, , presents, expensive and grand getures of love? Hey, varied response is allowed. Any response is allowed. But here’s to you camerad Pestretsov! Wherever you are.

           

(checkout ww.pitterpattershop.com also.. my writing’s there also )

RIGHT & LEFT SHOES (no this is not part of the children book series)

 

So I was talking with a friend, cant remember what it was about.. when suddenly I got this headache, after he said “oh come on, Men and women will never be equal ”. AY papi! This is the 21^st century,  I thought we’ve got things figured out.

 

On one enlightening day, as I was pointlessly switching channels, I came across this muslim scholar (named Quraish Shihab) on TV. It was a talkshow, a lady asked him about gender equality, and he answered “men and women are like a left and a right shoe. They are both shoes, one is neither beneath nor superior than the other, but they sure are bent differently”. Well there you go, I thought, we’re equal but different. I liked it (and then I repeat it to myself a couple a times to etch it on my brain so I can use it in the future as a bullet to shoot those male chauvinists, haha)

 

We’re physically different, physiologically different, which help to explain why men and women think, act and feel differently. Thus naturally, we require different things, we are capable of different stuff. Different, but equal.

 

Having a gazillion left shoes is pointless right? Wearing two right shoes is crazy yes? So men and women I think, are shaped and bent differently to complement each other’s existance. Simple, practical, well thought of and beautifully executed. So here goes my four humblest thumbs to God. Great job J

 

 

trapped

I love Indonesia. Ask me why, and I’ll say “I’m trapped”.

  Beauty, entangled by poverty, covered with pollution, and heftily corrupted.  

 

Ask me “So why is it worth any loving?”  

I say Travel Indonesia. Explore Sulawesi, Dive Papua, melt with people at sunset in the crowded Kuta beach, swim in those thousands of virgin islands.

 

oy people! Runaway and travel this country barefooted…

I promise you, you’ll bump into that feeling..a mysterious mixture of admiration, bewilderment,

sadness and passion. See why this land worth your every strain and every sweat.