character

“F*ck Valentine’s Day, Happy Chinese New Year” was the reddest sign in the hostel. A lady clad in bubbly thick black winter jacket sat down near a wide window. She sipped the tea out of the white cup. I drank their tea and it was all water, no bold flavor in that pity cup. But, she drank it well maybe because she put some sugar in it. She held a note and a pen, her hair was frizzy, ugly dirty blond updo-ed with black elastic. She looked at me and jotted something down. I glared at her, ‘Lady, what are you doing? Are you describing me and making a character out of me in your horrendous note?’ It was snowing outside and yes, people were attracted to put some black on their white. But, you don’t describe me lady, not with that curious eyes. I am not a character unless I grant you permission. I slurped what’s left in my cereal, made a bit of sound with the bowl and wooden table, and then gave her a hate stare.

Blessings and Shizz, etc.

Let blessings not be count
Though they come in pieces,
Only to make unevenness round
Be it on a naked man or Saint Mary’s kick
Warm womb or a thrown brick

Let blessings not be count
They’ll shock you bitter otherwise
A grand one astound
With a liquid of despise

Let blessings not be count
You’ll never get the exact amount
Coz shitty scatters like a fount,
You’ll be drown,
And you’ll never be found.

-the roller-coaster year, 2010-

What Do You Do?

This November, what do you do?



Look back grabbing frozen moments



Stand yellow on red pedestal



Refrain from passing through the red box

cont.

Blow songs recorded in the wind



My sour bubbles are cancerous yet marvelous



Bloat with soft rainbow balls



Stand on a height filled in my palms



Taste the blue and white cloud swirl



Sail to an island



Where we won’t be carcasses

sonic

The day when @javierpaloh left SORE. Very unfortunate of course, because I really like his fragile voice that completes SORE's quixotic lyrics and sound.
In this blog post: White Shoes and the Couples Company, Bengbeng and Trisno, PAS Band.

Imogen Heap said, "Mmm what you say?": Democracy in Language

“Why is American English hard to pronounce? Most language is pronounced as what is verbally stated. But not English, and French,” said an old southerner to me. First, due to their national pride, it is ironic that American English and French have something in common. Second, grammatical rules vary around the world just like how they govern the countries. So, if you mix two languages into one act of speech only bilinguals of those languages will understand your meaning.

You could think in Indonesian and tried to express it in English just like what Putri Indonesia 2010 did. Or, you could think in Indonesian and, being more strategic, uttered it in a mixed speech between English and Sundanese, like what the Director of University of Indonesia did. Or maybe you could mix Betawi language with Indonesian in your thesis, like what Seno Gumira used as an example in his “Bahasa Ilmiah” article, “Menurut pendapat ogut…”

Of course, mixing languages is not a crime; moreover, now multiculturalism is highly accepted around the globe. Pride of originality rises and we all believe that it is our right to use language system as how we want. We, Indonesians, all agree blindly (and have no intention to change it) that the language we use in everydayness differs highly in our writings. The language that Cak Tarno Institute members speak in Barel is different than what they tweet (even twitter is not formal!). The condition is different with English; there is no course for “formal” English and “non-formal” English. When you utter what you learned in English lesson, you won’t look as clueless as a new bule in the J-Town.

Why is it not bothering? Language is what we use every day to communicate (doh!). Because of this dependent interaction between the subject and language, its use is democratic. Really, there is no International Tribunal on language crime; English has different variations: Singlish, Indian-English, American English, Australian English; Javanese has seven formality levels (ngoko, ngoko andhap, madhya, madhyantara, kromo, kromo inggil, bagongan, kedhaton); and even our KBBI (Kamus Besar Bahasa Indonesia) and other dictionaries keep on changing (and I hate media that uses new technological terms such as tetikus). It is very amazing isn’t it that language has no governmental body yet it strives and blooms based on the convergence of its speakers’ interest without detrimental harm. It’s like the most natural act of democracy, without leaders.

But, is it really without leaders? Like in good governance, limitation to language democracy lies in its harm towards others. And “harm” here means when the meaning is not channeled and its detrimental effects. I personally believe that your flexibility to democratize language depends highly on: your audience, the function of your speech, and who you are (why are you the one who has the right to say that, not others).

First, your audience. When figures as UI Director and Putri Indonesia feel they have the right to modify language (intentionally or not), they have to make sure all of the audience understand their meaning. In the last UI graduation, did all audience understand Sundanese? No. Did all audience understand English? No. And how about a mixed speech of those two? Amazing. In identity level, did all audience want the director to highlight his origin? No. It’s like Batik, kebaya, all Javanese attribute, and Suharto in smaller scale or Soekarno with Peci (inspired by Modern Turkish movement), or generalization to use “Assalamu alaikum” or “Salam Sejahtera” to open all events. When you say those two greetings, automatically there are many religious greetings you do not mention. In this instance itself, we see how tolerance towards your own identity backlashes greater group of people.

Second, function of your speech. Did the UI Director tried to make a joke as anecdote in 2010 graduation speech? Did it appear only as a joke or in the whole speech? Let’s see what Seno Gumira wrote as an example in “Bahasa!”, TEMPO August 30 – September 5 2010 edition:

““Kalo kite-kite melejit di luarnye langit sono noh nyang same aje cepetnya ame caye mentari, ntu ruang angkase bakalan ngerut ampe abis, padahal waktu bakalan kegeber omber kagak abis-abis; lantes nyang kite namain barang, kalo emang ade, ntu barang bakalan jadi gede banget kagak ade batasenye…” Mereka yang hanya mendengar bahasa Betawi melalui lenong mungkin mengira ini salah satu lawakan Bokir, padahal ini terjemahan bebas dari nukilan teori relativitas Einstein,” Seno Gumira Ajidarma.

Really, I’m sorry for being born in Jakarta and do not immerse myself with Javanese, Floresian (my parents’) or Betawi language. Because of so called modern exposure through television, the broadcasted tone of that quotation is funny. Blame me, I am guilty for not equally explore all Indonesian dialects. Through a short verbal speech, how did I know that the UI Director was not joking? As an audience, should they laugh or wrinkle their forehead as a sign of seriousness? And if the audience laughed, would it be demeaning because it extended the “funny” stereotype? Usually we use a dialect to make our audience smile, like when Obama said “Nasi Gorenk!” or shouted “Sate, sate!” in his interview with Putra Nababan. It is satisfying that a man we think “more superior” could speak one or two words in our language, it gives a sense of “coming from the same origin”.

Thank God, Obama just said one, two, or three words in Indonesian with a clear function: as an anecdote. But what was in the mind of UI Director when he used mixed language? To convey that they come from the same origin? Of course not, not all audience are Sundanese. To make the audience laugh? No. Because they did not even understand what he was talking about (meanwhile “nasi gorenk” and “sate” are accepted nationally). To formalize a stereotype that Sundanese is funny? I doubt that. So why did he mix the language to make a great encouraging sendoff for the fresh grads who are probably threatened with rare job fields out there? Is a mixed language encouraging? Encourage you to learn Sundanese, I think.

Or maybe what we fear to say the most, he just celebrated ignorance in the name of multiculturalism. It is okay for not being excellent in English, because hey, language is democratic. Was “democratic” even in the head of UI Director? Or maybe language is not important, (Just like how academic snobs looking at the study of literature, humanities, arts, and culture)? This brings us to the third point, which is who you are. UI director is the head of all faculties and self discipline in UI and were encouraging his students to be discipline in their study and life (ain’t this is the difference between institutionalized education and education of life?). In democracy, we know the word ”understand”, but for a rather big name as UI Director, why should we “understand” your difficulty in speaking English? Did you pass you English lesson in flying colors? Why should a large audience who pays your salary open a Sundanese-Indonesian dictionary? We put high respect, hence high expectation that you are the one who can “understand” us.

And now I sound like an old lady.

Youth

Life has made a funny hit on me recently. Even my mom started to dream about me and my bf getting engaged (sorry Mom, not in my slightest dream). And now, she’s always tick-tocking my peaceful life, creating a woman-made time bomb. So after a Sunday shopping ritual with her, I decided not to go home but hung out with my friends then stayed at my room.

And while waiting for my friends getting their oh-so-expensive-and-fancy hair straightening and pedicure, I got myself a cup of frozen yoghurt. I grabbed a mature men magazine at first because Don Draper was the cover then I got bored and picked a teen magazine.

Udah lama banget ga baca majalah ginian. Despite of its miss-matched message (on feminism, consumerism, hence patriarchal system), teen magazines give you various and fresh information about teen. Doh! And I stumbled upon this particular blog address. I am a bloghopper and I always save new interesting blog address in my iPod. This particular blog, apparently, makes me want to adopt her a.k.a the writer. She is so adorable, honest, and explorative. Really, this girl might be a public enemy in her college or I don’t know what, she is a kind of girl whom you will totally hate (karena sirik) or love.

So, from this blog I found out that she wrote a book. I bought the book several days later (I never classified books like teenlit as cheesy or Roro Mendut as intellect, try to stay grounded) and read it in two hours straight. I read it in the office car en route to a place. Salah banjet! After I finished it, my eyes became glassy. And I thought further, “Dang crazy teenager. She got me learning about my heart and love life” which was a slap, HEY, my love life is not so different than a 21 year old’s!

Alright, I have a theory. If you want a kid, and you want your kid to be like A, B, and C it means that you are not done with yourself and you want to create someone new to accomplish your ideas. Morale: DO NOT have kids when you still feel that way. And I looked at this girl's writing, I want to have a daughter like her. OR… I am not satisfied with myself right now.

Girlfriend has a character, you know. And after several clicks of links related to her blog, I found her mom’s blog: yang bikin gw makin nangis. Her mom is fantastic. Her education system must be very good because she has a rebellious, self-assured, and responsible product. Before you get lost in my paragraphs, here are the links, chains of my glassy eyes.

Cosmo Girl – Casseybunn – "Letters, Stories, and Dream" (kalo mau sok-sok a la Beatles, ini kalo disingkat jadi LSD hehe) – Live, Love, and Me – this post.

I do not comment on her book, but you can see through her character despite the short fragmented diary-like story. She's got a lot to explore. Me too, and you too.

infatuation

You are my clay
I mold you as I may
I walk you near the Notre Dame and away
Through the red cherries mistletoe and snow array
I want you as my Christmas gift
Or found you sold in a thrift
Then we chime our conversation under the sun ray
Oh my, this mind clout, don’t leave me in decay

I Want Don Draper Full Treatment

As you can see on my sidebar, I am mad for Mad Men. And, let's be clear, for mundane reasons: the costumes and Don Draper (vintage clothes and men!). But the story line is also maddening because it feels just like a tinge when you watched it, but what you know is you're already flooded with your own tears or blood after watching each episode. Kudos for January Jones for portraying unbearable lightness of being perfectly.

Now, it's been too long since the third season - finale of Mad Men. I thought it was THE end. But this nymag article just made my day. Can't wait to see Sterling Draper Cooper Pryce MADvertising agency with the dapper Mr. Draper in it.

And below are Mad Men’s spurious comic-strip origins from Vanity Fair

"It’s a little known fact—so little-known as to be essentially untrue—that the popular AMC series Mad Men is based on an obscure comic strip from the early 1960s. The strip, Those Madison Avenue Men!, was an almost painful attempt to exploit its era’s Zeitgeist and never quite caught on. At its peak, in the spring of 1961, it was syndicated in only eight newspapers; it would run for a mere 43 weeks before being canceled. The final straw may have been a week’s worth of off-color strips in which the characters pitched a hypothetical Thalidomide account. (The comic’s creators would have no better luck with their subsequent strip, the civil-rights-themed Li’l Martin, before finally hitting it big with Heathcliff.)"








and...Mad Men creator and executive producer's desk (from Vanity Fair)

jacket whore

... ay em.

lesbleu

I bought the batik materials from JACC, Inacraft, and traditional markets in Bali and Balikpapan. White necklace above is from a small stall at Double Six, Bali.

Batik dresses and jackets are designed by the talented Ms. Myra and Ms. Myra =)

daughter

The year was struggling. It was a June with steady raindrops. Mornings would be full of heat then rain would wash down the street bringing down people from the office district to their home. People would mock at the sky. That year was a tip of something, said my mom. People all over the country felt a big energy at their core. They knew they’re going to be big. At the same time, middle age austerity pulling out what’s left for them. Canonic fundamentalists were going wild like dogs biting down the last creature found in the forest. Like vampires grooming out the last human on earth (yes, that year was also a come back year for vampires after Stroker’s Dracula).

The year was the year when old generation remembered what they saw in their youth circa 70’s. Sephia movies starred with thighs, legs, cleavages. Oh yes, they remembered it clearly. The then women leading stars now all covered up. Old, balding, fat stomached men condoned what they saw in the past, while their faces were the epitome of sleaziness.

The year was in a heat. Skirts were getting shorter and God’s payback was stronger. When suicide bombers were crucified, and so were people whose sextape was leaked. The year was the year when people wanted to do the best at everything. The best in combatting terrorism, the best in letting the outlaws grow in the name of democracy, the best in being pious, the best in sentencing corruptors, the best in not being caught up for corruption.

The year was when pancake and crepes all wrapped up into a branded high-class delicacy. Mom used to make me those for breakfast. She is the best. But, I am glad that she is not good at everything. At least, she is not the best at “inspecting” my rooms.

My father, however, was the The Best. He worships God five times a day, he fasts all days in Ramadans, he is also the best at collecting nude pictures, the best at beating Mom when he’s mad, and the best at cheating from my Mom.

He is the best at everything. Just like that year.

for(-give)

How do you forgive?

Is forgive equal to give? To give the person a second chance? To wish the person happiness? Is "forgive" = for (you to) give? Is forgiveness the purest form of giving? Because we expect nothing, even the value at our end is negative. Is forgiveness a humanity challenge? Is that a chance to show our deity human form that we can give although they hurt us?

How. do. you. forgive.

What would Jesus do? What would Oprah do? What would Zooey Deschanel do? What would Buddha do? What would you do?

If the easiest way to forgive is to forget, I want an amnesia right now.

lunch convo

We talked about relationshiz. It means, your relationship when it looks like a shizzz. I asked my girl friend, “Have you ever had a crush on somebody else while you’re in exclusive relationship with your current bf?” She said, ”I’ve never had guts to start exploring my curiosity over some guys if I knew that wouldn’t end up well. And since I’m in a relationship now, I just know, those crushes won’t end well.”

-Pak Sapardi, kami tidak mau jadi Hujan Bulan Juni-

photo intro

Three photo sets I captured from last February's trip:

1. politique

2. pinka candita

3. sexiest tomb : Oscar Wilde's

just because

I stab you with another face everytime you talk
And your eyes become someone else’s
I pictured that sax man sharing his joints with me
Your mumbles are stripped with the environmentalist speech
Our silences are merriment with the joker
In my mind.
That is the farthest I can go

bir hakiem

Fast and crowded, the underground metro crept to an open air. From here a light-swamped metropolitan city life sat its sheet under an early sunset. I hiked from Line 4 Odeon and stopped at Bir Hakiem. Unlike three days ago in a row, Paris was all dry and sunny. As if it understood I would make my biggest pilgrimage that day.

Swooshing, I followed the herds exiting metro gate. There, first thing under my sight was Ares Hotel. Its marbled floor and huge white flower pots popped an automatic comparison with the hostel I stayed in. Full off all-over-the world bratz who sacrificed their breakfast with cereal, orange juice, and hard bread for the sake of midnight heavy make ups and mini skirt cross cultural mating session. In the name of Perseus, I almost swapped my card to stay in Ares just for one night.

But of course, I didn’t. I walked through concretes until carousel light bulbs were in front of my eyes. And in front of it, on Champs de Mars greenery, there stood the Eiffel tower. For French speaking mass around me, clad in thick winter outfit, walking on that pavement was just like another step on their boring city. Here, I instantly had Monas in my mind. And it was. All big, stern, ugly, and grey that tower was.

Not until horses in Carousel de la Tour Eiffel started to move and accordion tunes flowed with it. And lights emerged in each bones of the tower structure. Sky as its background, was orange and purple blended, like a summer night in winter. Tourists around me, mostly Spanish speaking, shared that moment with their spouses, partner, family, and acquaintances. While I hugged Vincent deeply. He was my friend’s bad ass Nikon. I was alone on Parisian street.

Going back from there, I rode from Bir Hakiem until Line 6 finished at its last stop at Charles de Gaulle Etoile and spent a while in Arc de Triomphe, although I could’ve just taken Line 6 straightly to Lumiere. I prolonged my way back to the hostel because I wanted to see this city with you in my mind. On that journey, I played Anda with the Joints and SORE. It was just perfect. And, what do you do on a particularly perfect moment? You tweet, of course. And this was my tweet:

“walked back from arc the triomphe with SORE and Anda in my iPod. the only thing missing was my guy.” 6:58 AM Feb 17th via TweetDeck

And then I wondered what did you do back then. Were you asleep or working. Did you also walk with me in your thought. Then I knew you were not. I was all alone on Parisian street, even in my mind.


Three days after 2010 Valentine's Day