Presence

It's been six freaking months since the Great Exit of the Great Love of my life.

We should be celebrating his 77th birthday in a week. But the birthday man won't be anywhere near.

I still feel weird looking at his pictures. He's still here. He ought to be, with presence feels oh so strongly. 

And at the same time, my eyes get wet, my throat feels lumped, when I pass by random places and am reminded of the last time(s) we were there together. The small restaurant we frequented. The flyover bridge. 

Or the pieces of paper with his hand writings. 

Dang, I miss him so very much.

Company in Loss

Divine Intervention

After all, the blog still exists. It withstands the test of time, and several posts that have never been published. As I opened Blogger, I saw six, SIX, drafts. It is actually kind of refreshing to reread them one by one, each only contains a paragraph or two, and most are unfinished sentences. I was toying with the idea to delete them, but then decided against it. They are, after all, the proof that I never meant to surrender this blog, nor the desire to write at all. It's always been there, the passion. And all I need to do is find way to resurrect it, to capture the very moment that will move my fingers, with the hope that it will restart a routine. It doesn't have to be a daily ritual. Weekly is probably even a bit generous. I am not optimistic, but I know it has to start at some point. 

It is also fitting that this particular post is written a day after I celebrated my birthday. The first birthday in the home country. I've been back for ten months. On surface, there should be a lot of materials to ponder upon, or discuss about. There should have been, say, a culture shock, right? It's not, however, the case here. I had been assigned twice to the same country, and - to be exact - the same side of a country. I knew what I should expect prior to going there. And when it was time to return, I think I also knew what I would be facing. The difference is that, this time I didn't go sentimental. I didn't make special trip to places that I had been. It was chaotic in between meetings and packings and completing administrative affairs, I had no time for mundane business.

But the memories struck me months after I left New York. I hate to admit it, because when I came for the assignment I had carried with me a kind of preserved rejection. I didn't want to love the city, as my first impression had not been that glowing (not literally, of course -- it's the city of lights, never sleeps!). Then I gradually accepted it wholeheartedly. I still have some issues with it, I still resent its arrogance -- but I now don't hold back from voicing my aching heart for it. I miss exploring its parks, strolling on its wide pavement, the carefree attitude, the little coffee shops, the struggling musicians in dark lounges in the dungeons, the muttering and the yelling in two hundred different languages. 

That aside, since I rejoined the folks in the headquarter, there has been only little down time. I'm entrusted with issues that I did a little years, years ago, when I just started it here, so I'm learning again. A string of new institutions that I have yet to get the hang of. Couple it with a series of high level visits, this has been a continuous educating journey. But life is indeed a neverending learning experience.

The return also brought before me the new aspect that I have been witnessing in the past but was never in one. A few days after I stepped on Indonesian soil, in a lighthearted dinner, as I exchanged stories with my parents and caught up with family issues, they broke the news: my dad has prostate cancer. And it's already in the mid phase. They had known about it for a while but it was the first time they disclosed it to me. My mom reasoned that they didn't want me to get distracted during my final works in New York. Fair enough, not necessarily sensible. As an adult, I must take the news like adults.

Long story short, following a few months of trying and retrying various kinds of medication, lab tests, and one small surgery, my dad's urologist came with the conclusion that it's progressive and my dad should seek the possibility of undergoing radiotherapy or chemotherapy. After asking around and consulting the oncologists, my dad decided to choose chemotherapy, despite his initial resentment, generated by the traumatic experience of watching my late aunt painfully enduring her chemo. He was rather optimistic, hearing other cancer patients' stories.

He became rather weak after three chemo sessions. July 18, he was admitted to the hospital as his temperature rose. July 22, the doctor sent him to ICU. His heart pulse was way above the normal rate; he was awfully low in oxygen, natrium, albumin, which turned his nails blue; his temperature ranged between 38 to 39; and both his lungs were affected with pneumonia. The ICU doctor said, based on his vital statistics, that they would try their best, but couldn't promise anything.

It was one of the lowest point in my personal life, and my family's. My mom couldn't stop crying and kept blaming herself for not taking care of my father better. And she was the one who had been by his side always, while the children -- working and living in different city -- only communicated via our phones. 

It was a big challenge to my faith.

Those were the days when we had to keep ourselves afloat, by hanging on our faith to God. We prayed and prayed. We sent our praises and hopes, with tears streaming down our cheeks and noses running. My dad was fed not only with medicines and liquid food, but also sleeping substances, to prevent him from moving his body parts, as it would be too energy-consuming for him.

The silverlining of the situation is that we are reminded that we have families, friends, colleagues, and even acquaintances, who supported us. Families and friends visited in groups, bringing food and praying with us. I had reunion in Surabaya with some friends whom I haven't seen for perhaps ten years, all came to show their sympathy and gave words of encouragement. My Canadian AFS sister, who was with us for only seven months some twenty years ago, wrote a lengthy message sharing her heart and well wishes. Outpouring texts almost crashed our phones. We were overwhelmed with love and compassion.

It was Divine intervention. They became the answer to our prayers, as we asked God to strengthen us.  

He showed His miracle again, that after a few days, my dad showed rapid healing progress. Ten days after he got hospitalized, lab tests and the numbers shown on those machines next to his bed display heartening result. On my birthday, my dad was able to sit and eat, and had short conversation, albeit being the receiving end. 

Divine intervention. You can't get a better gift, ever. 

Missing the Pirates

He told us his name is Desmond. "Just call me Des," he said with a wide grin. He was taking us to Layou Petroglyph Park, around 40-minute drive from downtown Kingstown, the charming tiny capital city of St. Vincent and the Grenadines.

The Park itself, I found later, was less impressive. And particularly disappointing for me. I had got obsessed with it, after reading about it in the flashy brochure laid in my bedroom. I've always got a soft spot for anything related to indigenous peoples. So, although we spent an hour or so going to the location - half of the trip was a detour to pick a friend - I thought it was worth it. The box office was already close, although it was not yet 5 pm - closing time, according to the signboard. But the gate was unlocked, so we could sneak in.

You can imagine my little surprise when all I saw was, amidst and despite the neat and maintained small park, this rock carving.




Now I understand why the Vincentian ambassador didn't look too enthusiastic when I asked about the petroglyph, although he still politely answered my question.

My travel mate, a Timor Leste guy, was quite delighted. I was glad at least one of us was. I picked him up almost an hour late. Thanks to Des's tendency to get carried away when talking about his homeland, we had to detour halfway to Layou when he realized we had been too far from Licindo's - the Timor guy - hotel.

The trip to and from the Park was, however, gratifying. The island's hilly roads allowed us to indulge in the picturesque sight the Caribbean Sea, adorned by the beach resorts and the island's seaport. Even the container terminal could look pretty.

"They were built by the Taiwanese," Des explained. "The Taiwanese are our friend."

Of course. Saint Vincent and the Grenadines is among the small number of countries forming Taiwan's hard fought diplomatic circle.

We were in the island for a UN decolonization seminar. SVG's diplomatic ties with Taiwan somewhat befitted its hosting the seminar. I wonder if it ever occurred to the Taiwanese to bring their case to the UN's decolonization committee. It would be difficult for them, though, as their situation does not fit the definition of a "colonized" territory. China is hardly an administering power - unless you count threatening and isolating as parts of administering (well, they CAN be, but in different circumstances).

Licindo gushed about how much the terrains remind him of his hometown.

"Where are you form?" Des asked.

"Timor Leste."

"Ah! Welcome! I never saw an East Timorese here before. You gained independence a few years ago, right?"

"Yeah," replied Licindo, glancing at me. We were both quite wary of what our driver might say next.

"What was the name of your leader? Who was captured by the Indonesian?"

"Xanana". (That was the first time I realized that Xanana is pronounced "Sha-na-na").

"Yeah, Xanana. What a man! And you, miss?" he cast his eyes on me through the rear mirror.

"Indonesia." I smiled.

"Ahh!" But there wasn't an awkward pause - not that was noticeable - before he continued, "Indonesians are nice people. Really. I like them."

This man would be a great diplomat for St. Vincent and the Grenadine. He's knowledgeable, and he knows what to say. But later I found out he was indeed acquainted with Indonesians: he once worked for a ship company with a group of people from all over the world. "Indonesians are easy to work with. They are not high tempered," he commented.

I thanked him.

Des told us that the native name of St. Vincent and the Grenadines is Hairoun, or "Land of the Blessed". His description of his country is full of superlatives. "We have a fantastic health system. If people go to the national hospital [it's the only one there] they don't have to pay. If they go for surgery, they only have to pay a small amount of money for the bed."

How about education?

"We have the best education system. Pupils don't have to pay anything, free books. They only pay for the uni. And we have plenty of very, very good schools..."

The Caribbeans may always be associated with beaches, voodoo, reggae, and Bob Marley, but they are also home to two Nobel laureates, Arthur William Lewis (Economics, 1979) and Derek Alton Walcott (Literature, 1992).

We skipped the shooting location of Pirates of Caribbeans, since I had to catch the evening flight and Licindo was heading to the Prime Minister's house for a reception. We witnessed the sun set as Des paced his new van, honked in impatience to slower drivers. The sun rayed softly on the colorful houses and roofs and the cobblestone alleys, where pedestrians walked and students chatted and giggled, all ready to hit home.

This island manages to retain its beauty and optimism, apart from the dangers lurking from its, probably, closest friend: the sea. (Vincentians dedicates a national day for fishermen, marking the importance of sea resources to their economy). Like for other small islands, the global warming and sea level rises are now an imminent threat to the livelihood of the people.

"We were hit by tornadoes and earthquakes, but they never tore us down," Des said. "We are indeed the Blessed People."

In the City

So I moved to The City - New York, the World's capital, so to speak - a few months ago.

Hence the new title.

More to come. I'm a bit depressed now, can't think of something worth writing.. Correction: a lot depressed. Am getting my third cup of coffee for today, hopefully it will be a bit relief. Watching my usually playful and high spirited feline company in gloomy mood and distant is heartwrenching. He somehow has this instinct that I'll be leaving him for a while.

First Randomness of 2011

God speaks in a million ways.

At a mall's security check, the officer waved at me and said "Keep your spirit high!" as he concluded his task. It was an unusual greeting, even during the first days of a new year.

In the background, Des'ree sang, "You gotta be bad, you gotta be bold, you gotta be wiser.. You gotta be hard, you gotta be tough, you gotta be stronger..."

Call it coincidence if you wish. I choose to see them as my Divine One's whispers, telling me that as the going gets tough, He'll help me be the tough that gets going. Ain't that what one needs most when things around one speed up faster than lightning bolts.

For some friends - and to an extent, for me too - 2010 was a hard year. An online friend had to give up to terminal illness. A close friend lost her father to cancer, and somehow we grew distanced not long afterward. Nobody is to blame for that. I was occupied with some works, so was she, and then she moved to Wellington for her 4 year tour of duty.

The online friend, Gracia, is another story. Our first 'encounter' was when she left a comment on a post dedicated to teachers here, years ago. Naturally, she was a teacher. Then she frequented this blog on its heyday - a.k.a. when I blogged regularly. She started her own blog during that time too.

By the time I got lazier and lazier in updating this blog, she also had less and less posts in her blog. I didn't pay too much attention on that - I spent my time more on tweeting. I didn't know if she tweeted too, I still don't, but she seemed more into Facebook. Of course, she added me.

October last year, she sent me a Facebook mail, saying hi and mushing about my new Big Boss. We made a small thread, conversing on that point, and it was discontinued simply because I had not replied to her last message. One month later, another friend from DC informed me that she had passed away. It still breaks my heart reading that last conversation. I just visited her Facebook page again and saw a wall message from her niece, whom she mentioned when she commented on my post about Abby. It's one heartwrenching experience, I tell ya.

November also gave me another surprising news: my next assignment. I'll be going back to the States. Another place though, somewhere around three hours drive from my previous post. That gave me chills in the beginning - a mixture of shock, joy and fear. I'll be doing something way beyond my expectation and something I never did. It took weeks for me to fully absorb the fact - and the preparation process kind of helped me through it. We were expected to arrive there as early as possible, so the office tried its best to expedite all things.

As the clock ticked closer to the end of 2010, I tweeted, "My 2011 resolution will be updating my blog".

And there it goes. My first post in 2011.

Diplomacy in the Age of No Great Statesmen

The Ministry celebrated its 65th anniversary some days ago, only two days after the country marked the 65th year of its independence. I often wonder whether the Ministry was the first national agency established. It has to be – I’m too lazy to make small research right now, but it is logical that at the time when international recognition was desperately wanted (and needed, by the way), an organization representing the nation abroad was deemed top priority. Aside from the president, what other state apparatus could serve this purpose? A foreign minister, of course.

History also tells us that during Indonesia’s early life (which could go as far as twenty years after the Proclamation Day) diplomacy had played a critical role in forming AND securing its very existence within the international community. An abundance of negotiations and agreements, accompanied by several military aggressions (which went both ways, in my humble and must be unpopular opinion), finally in the dawn of 1949 Indonesia got its long awaited, deserved, recognition from the Dutch. It was not a secret that the US’s stance on the Indonesian issue, deriving from its rivalry with the Soviet Union, determined the final process.

It was also diplomacy that won Indonesia’s interest in securing its borders and marine resources in the UNCLOS negotiations. Despite the fact that some countries – including the US – don’t recognize this international convention, it’s still a law abode by the majority of the international community, the US included in most cases.

Just like the country, the Ministry’s 65th anniversary is marked by a string of challenges. Corruption allegations and incidents with our beloved neighbor (and the so-called “teman serumpun” – yeah right!) must have given Pak Marty a big headache. You fangirls should have noticed that his hair has turned grayish pretty fast. The Ministry has been under spotlight and not for good reasons.

In the TV show DemoCrazy, Yudi Latief, a prominent scholar, raised the good ole diplomacy days to underline his observation that diplomats these days can’t accomplish what their predecessors did. Using those exemplary cases, one would nod in agreement.

The situation reminds me to an article in Intisari many, many years ago, in which a bunch of science prodigies were asked about their favorite innovators. One of them said it was Newton, claiming that Newton was brighter than Einstein, for “he’d made a lot more findings and innovations”.

That is debatably true. To a certain extent. But if we try to put the gentlemen in time context, we might have different perspective. Newton lived in an era of the newfound freedom of researches and science, Einstein made his findings when basic physics are already in place and formula established.

Similar case, IMHO, can be made to international relations. Post World War 2 was the age of decolonization; new nation-states in Asia and Africa emerged. The World War 2 trauma prompted the establishment of the United Nations, modeled after the failed League of Nations. The international community was in the euphoria of freedom, democracy and liberty. This gave way to highly gifted, inbred politicians in what was then dubbed “the Third World” – the Western educated (and many of them came from affluent families), multi-lingual, microphone and spotlight savvy, charismatic leaders. That was the era of Nehru, Sukarno, Tito, and their peers – who often headlined newspapers.

As in the case of many newborn countries, the Indonesian forefathers were those active in independence-seeking movements. They shared experiences in facing the colonial authority, breaking repressive laws, spending time in jails and exiles, and educating their less fortunate, school-lacking fellows. Some were engaged in physical clashes (by joining the guerilla army, for instance). Despite the various backgrounds, and the differing political ideologies (which transpired in the later stages), their united efforts contributed to the birth of this national entity and the forming of its identity.

This had made them in generally equal positions. They might have taken diverse roles in the government structure: president and the vice (and the prime minister), ministers, advisors, parliament members – but they had equal footings in the decision making process. And in the process of gaining international recognition, they discussed steps to take together, took turn making appearances and public speeches, and practically anything representing the ideal of democracy.

Over the years, the ministers become more and more the aide of the president. Hence, their role was diminishing, though after 1998 there has been significant change – thanks to parties shoving their candidates to fill in the roles. For the Foreign Ministry, however – aside from the one time Alwi Shihab was appointed the Foreign Minister – it has almost always been the case. More often than not, a Foreign Minister is a career diplomat. While this serves the purpose of having a professional doing his/her job, it often affects his/her ability to influence the decision making process.

In many highly politicized cases, the Ministry becomes car bumper, shield, or fire brigade. The recent challenges, and Indonesian missions still struggling to change tainted reputations, albeit the revolutionary internal reform, do not make it easy. How many people outside the Ministry know that diplomats do suffer from their job – not the glamorous ones as pictured everywhere? How many people realize it’s the matter of life and death for the diplomats assigned in conflict areas? How many people observe the number of young diplomats (under the age of 40) died of hard works? (Meetings and preparing documents that last for hours, sometimes well past midnight, with no health insurance) In the past three years, there are five young diplomats passed away this way. How many people understand that a number of diplomats – it’s no coincidence that they are the ones assigned in missions dealing heavily with migrant workers problem – have to consult psychiatrists to stay sane?

Of course, this is not Indonesia’s own problem. I remember a few years ago Washington Post reported that State Secretary Condoleezza Rice had to ‘coercively’ assigned diplomats to their embassy in Baghdad, as these diplomats initially refused to do so.

However, diplomacy today takes place in a whole different era. There are many more actors – and the non-state actors are more heard. More issues to solve, more actors play, and the lack of great statesmen these days – diplomacy is greatly challenged. Not only in Indonesia, but everywhere.

Lessons from Abby

Abby celebrated her second birthday four months ago. She has grown into a bright, talkative, and active toddler. She goes to her preschool twice a week and each time she comes home she brings along new songs and new “art craft” – don’t expect a masterpiece here, though. She is also a very social little girl – she likes to hang around other children and never shies away from new faces. In fact, she has always been the one who initiates conversations and conveys friendly touches – hugs and pokes alike, depend on the situation. She loves to be the center of attention (she’ll do anything to draw it!). She never fails to amuse me with her imagination – though at times her cat-level curiosity drives me crazy.

And she has taught me a lot of lessons.

Our first encounter was when she was five months old. Despite my initial enthusiasm, it was not love at first sight for me – the chubby baby with narrow eyes, barely-there body hair (eyebrows and hair, to be precise) and pouting lips didn’t impress me. I can admit now that at that time I was a bit disappointed. I had been looking forward to meeting my real niece, my sister’s flesh and blood, whose pictures showed an adorable little creature featuring rosy cheeks. Let’s just say she wasn’t what I had imagined and expected to see.

But that didn’t prevent me from the next process. Call it anything you want – Freudian self-fulfillment (as I haven’t had my own kid), maternal instinct, or simply the very effective, self-explanatory, Javanese proverb witing tresna jalaran saka kulina – in the end it’s about me loving her with all my heart. I would give the world to her if I can. My heart breaks when she cries, if she’s hurt, or while she gets sick.

On the other hand, I also want her to develop into – watch out, uber clichéness here – a good person. A smart, well-informed, and flat-out nice person. I want her to be somebody I wish I were.

I made my mistakes, and I want to correct them through her.

And by doing that I created another mistake, because I was trying to be God.

There is nothing wrong in guiding your children. In fact, the last time I checked, parents are obliged to do that. I may not be Abby’s biological mother, but heck, I’m still a parent figure.
As a parent figure, I often forget that Abby is also another person, who has command on her own. She might be pint-sized, but she possesses her own will and thoughts – and she has every right to.

I am obliged to give her any information she needs to conduct her life, to teach her to separate the bad from the good (or vice versa) – at least my version of what’s good and what’s bad. And in doing so I need to keep an open mind that my version of what’s good and what’s bad isn’t necessarily the universally accepted version. It’s probably not the same with my sister’s, Abby’s mother, version. The issue that comes next is that I automatically assume that my sister and I share the same view – while it turns out they’re often times opposites. That sometimes pisses me off, I tell her my opinions in perhaps the most authoritative manner, and guess what? I don’t have the right to do that because a) she’s not my daughter, b) I never had any daughter – or kids, for that matter – and c) she’s an adult. The results are: a) I don’t get my concerns relayed correctly and b) it strains our relationship.

Fortunately this doesn’t happen too many times. More often than not she happily lets me partake in Abby’s upbringing. And I eventually try to control myself too and be careful not to cross the line.

I learned from my relations with Abby – and other people, in light of her – that the best thing I can do is to be the navigator. Taking over the steering wheel while she is in the driving seat will be dangerous to both of us.

I may not need to be in the car at all either. But I can be the driving coach – that way, I still equip her with proper knowledge to understand when to go straight and when to turn around. When to stop and when to give way to others.

And I have to always remember this: we may share some cells and chromosomes, but she is her own self. She will go through a lot of things, ups and downs, pains and excitements, failure and success – all of her own. I should not associate myself with them – she doesn’t have to share them with me.

Because if I do, I’ll congratulate me for her accomplishments and blame me for her letdowns. It will be about me, me, me. Not her. While it is her life.

I want to lend a strong hand when she needs it. Be happy for her happiness. I need to keep a certain distance to be able to do that, with love as much as I have.

A Brief Note on Grammar and Criticisms

A friend recently confided to me she’s been interested in blogging, but is hesitant to start it, worried of how others will view it, and frightened she’ll have to deal with a big tide of harsh criticisms, or even mockeries, for her less-than-fantastic grammar.

I told her she needs not afraid of grammar critics, because:

a) Unless she invites people to take a peek at her blog (e.g., puts her blog address on her Facebook page, tells her friends about it, etc.), chances are it will be only her and a handful of accidental visitors who are aware of the existence of the blog.

b) Bloggers are generally pretty generous to newcomers; grammar correctness is usually the last thing they’ll be concerned about (particularly in Indonesia’s blogosphere). It is the content that might prompt comments – be it nice words or ugly condemns.

c) If one’s blog is criticized heavily for the grammar incorrectness, most of the times grammar isn’t the main issue. It might be the subject, the idea, or the personality of the blogger as perceived by reader(s).

Of course, one might argue that a blog cannot be considered the representative of the blogger – a renowned Indonesian blogger once claims that only 5% of her personality is reflected in her blog. Should that be the case, the blogger then ought to always, always, ALWAYS take any comment on his/her blog with a grain of salt – or even with their tongue in cheek. After all, once you decide to make your blog public (there’s an option to make it private, right?), you open your front door to a battalion of predators. To keep your sanity level in check you need to remember that THIS.IS.ONLY.A.VIRTUAL.WORLD (don’t take it too seriously) and strengthen your sense of humor.

On the other hand, the blogosphere is also the place where you will meet likeminded people, those very possibly will be good friends – maybe even become your other half – in the future. I met some of my closest friends here and I can’t be more grateful for that :).

The Farewell

I saw you lying there, helpless. Your hair was white. You were awfully way smaller than you used to be: only bones wrapped in a thin layer of wrinkled skin. You had never been fat despite a hint of beer tummy (you never drank beer, though, as far as I remember). At times you made gestures, uncontrollably. The doctor said you were unconscious, yet you let out a cry of pain. It hurts me to see you like that. I softly stroked your arm, your leg, while whispering words of encouragement. I wasn’t sure you heard me. I didn’t even have tears by then, unlike some of the other girls. But I was torn apart inside.

You don’t know how much I cursed myself for not calling you when I heard you had been ill. My (un)famed ignorance took the best of me as usual, taking it for granted that you were “just too tired of work”.

But it was work indeed that consumed you. Your doctors apparently had warned you to take things slowly since your body – your liver, in particular – had not functioned properly. Some say you hated going to doctors (and you didn’t exactly trust them). So of course you didn’t get the regular general check up as strongly advised by your American physician. I must say I admire your wife greatly, for her strength all this time.

The last time we hung out together in a group lunch was exactly the last time we met prior to this. You looked very normal. It was only a few months ago. Surely at that time the cancer had been spreading throughout your body, and YOU.KNEW.THAT.

Damn you for not even hinting about that! Damn you for hiding it! What was wrong with you???? You were not supposed to work even slightly hard (and YOU.KNEW.THAT) yet you stayed at the office until very late, traveled a lot, attended all those meetings! Were you trying to get the posthumous promotion aka kenaikan pangkat anumerta? Did you think our big boss care about that? I’m not sure he even knows your name!

Funny, being a workaholic, you actually like outdoor activities. I envied you once for being able to explore those cute East Coast towns during weekends, since I felt my days off had been practically robbed by the series of events I had to attend thanks to my line of work. But you and your wife took me to one of your ‘Civil War pilgrimage’ (you were crazy about the Civil War period) and I had a great time. Oh, and if it hadn’t been you, I wouldn’t have visited the first colony across the Harper’s Ferry. Thank you for sharing that with me. You would enthusiastically show off your Civil War scrapbook to anyone who would listen to you. (Well, we had to as we were served lunch in your apartment! :)).

Remember when you, Renata, Wawan, and I went to the Wolf Barn for Jewel’s show straightly from the office? That was our first time going there, none of us made a research before, so it shouldn’t have been surprising that we were salah kostum. Everyone else but us wore casual outfit, shorts and T-shirts and jeans, and carried blankets or folding chairs and baskets with sandwiches and wine. We were quite lucky that I (ahem) happened to bring a sheet of plastic tablecloth. I’m sure we looked like morons: working suit clad people sitting on a plastic sheet, watching Jewel performing on an outdoor stage.

I had to thank you too, in particular, for helping me finding a right place for the ASEAN picnic. That was a perfect spot, at the bank of a small lake. ASEAN people had a great time together in DC, and disputes in their own respective territories. Can we call it the sweet irony?

A couple of years working together with you, in combination with genuine friendship all along, are irreplaceable. While praying for you, I’m thinking of those times. I pray that God release you from your pain, and I wish that it also means seeing you around for more years to come. Yes, your cancer is in stadium 4, but God is more powerful than those cells He creates.

But if He decides to call you home, I can only say goodbye, wish you a peaceful trip to Heaven, and thank Him for letting me know you and befriend you. Love you, buddy.

Addendum: I got the news that you left this morning. Zai jian, mon ami. May you rest in peace.

Notes from the 2009 Grammy Awards

1. I thought the writers’ rally had ended last year. The 2009 Grammy Award’s script has been the worst I’ve seen in years! Presenters never sounded so lame. Crapfest.

2. I love Whitney Houston. But how come she decided to get high in the Grammy night, on stage? Girl, save that for the after party!

3. Nice effort, Rock... er... Dwayne. Just remember that only a very few people can be offensive and funny at the same time. You were certainly not one of them.

4. What did Katy Perry try to say with the fruity trapeze gal outfit? Her cherry Chapstick?

5. Jennifer Hudson is a pretty good singer, but I couldn’t help suspecting her Grammy was a generous consolation gift.

6. I almost burst into tears too when Adele cried accepting her Grammy. It’s so amazing that we’re built alike.

7. I couldn’t stand Miley Cyrus’s screechy voice, but her collaboration with Taylor Swift surprisingly excelled my expectation. She should always, ALWAYS, stick to lower notes. Taylor Swift has been this year’s wunderkind – no wonder Miley called her “my best friend”. I wish I could say the same thing about Obama and kept a straight face.

8. Sir Paul McCartney was the highlight of the night. How old is he, 70? Those way younger musicians didn’t hold a candle to him. Not even when they bring the whole marching band team on stage. And you think you only see parades on the streets. I would really love to rain on this one!

9. Lastly, with all due respect to the night’s “power couple”, their names Plant and Krauss somehow reminded me to my grocery list.

Obama Made Me Write Again

Obama's victory is indeed an historical moment, it deserves the honor to be the "break the curse" post in this long-neglected blog.

Forgive me if I'm not cheering along with his supporters and -- I suspect -- the majority of Indonesians. Obama is a good man, and despite my first sentence in this paragraph, for these past few weeks I agreed wholeheartedly with anyone predicting his win. On the other hand, had not there been the Wall Street crash and gigantic corporates collapses, his chances would've been a pretty tough call.

I am still quite happy with his winning, though, because it will gear positive sentiment in the market. My dad, a small number player (but he puts half his savings there!), might be able to finally smile again -- although I won't count on it.

I am also full of hopes with his foreign policy, particularly on the Middle East issues. Many Israelis seeing Obama as "unfriendly towards Israel" alone amuses me -- I am one of that larger group of Christians who can't stand the Israelis. That does not necessarily resonates with the truth, let alone constitutes Obama's attitude towards the Jewish groups and their powerful lobbyists. Obama is indeed viewed by many Jewish voters as sending mixed signals in light of the Israel-Palestine conflict and practically every other threat to Israel. Even if history showed that Jewish swing voters (that is, the so-called independent Jewish) tend to go Democratic, Obama's strikingly different background from the previous Democratic presidential candidates might have as well turned them away. The results have shown otherwise, of course. And this should not be regarded by all means as the evidence that there is a new generation of American Jewish, who have given up the idea of Israel claiming sole authority over Jerusalem. But rather a behavior shaped by past experience that any White House incumbent - Republican or Democratic - can never snub the Jews.

Obama's taking the seat in Oval Office does not also guarantee a friendlier US's policy to Indonesia. Obama never denied his Indonesian background, nor has he been gracious in complimenting Indonesia - if he ever has. In fact, during his campaign, he had tried to steer away from any association to Indonesia. His time in Indonesia serves only as a fact, though it did help him a lot in dealing with other cultures. But yeah, why should I be cynical to the Indonesians who are ecstatic for his win or early on formed Facebook groups to support Obama?

And like I said, I have the good reason to thank Obama: he made me write again.

Ugh.. by the way, did anyone also notice the similarity between Obama and our very own SBY? They both like to use their hands when speaking.

Tak Ada Asap Tanpa Api? True, But...

Senator John Edwards finally admitted that he had committed an affair in 2006, which was brought to public by the National Enquirer, and which was denied by him a couple of times. He was basically saying that a sensational news in a trashy tabloid was actually true.

National Enquirer may be trashy indeed. The thing is, often times they reported actual incidents. I remember last year they disclosed that the Disney Channel, squeaky-clean image, star Vanessa Hudgens had had nude pictures. Vanessa was smart enough to confirm the news timely, made a press statement about how regretful she was, and it didn't take very long for her to clear the air. Edwards could've learnt a thing or two from the teenager.

And perhaps I should eye gossip tabloids, internet rumors, and the so-called infotainments differently, at least with less judgments. Who would know, right?

On the other hand, however, Edwards might not have had the luxury of time (or timing, to be exact) that Vanessa did. He was in the presidential candidacy race.

This is what I despise most in cases where one messes up his/her personal life and that is used to judge his/her professionalism. As much as I hated Bill Clinton's infidelity, I thought (and still think) that some Congresspeople notion for his impeachment was beyond stupid. I don't know how bad the affair news affected Edwards' chances, though. He was against two way stronger contenders, so perhaps it wasn't even one of the factors.

Commitment Phobia?

Most of my close gal pals are single.

Most of my close guy friends are married.

Umm... which sex is it said to be commitment phobic?

Done. Finally.

Mission accomplished. *ear-to-ear grin*

And I am. So. Not. Disappointed.

Completing a fabulous day. Thanks, girls! :))))

It's not the substance, nor the wordings...

... it's whom you are going to tell.

Reading this gal's post, which was apparently inspired by another blog, I was reminded to the conversation that has been taking place between me and my folks since I arrived here.


Thanks to my baby niece for being super cute, I always gush about her in front of my parents, which - in return - will prompt them to say something like, "I know. Isn't it great to have a baby?"


Of course I know where this is heading to. I will reply, "You bet. And it's even greater that while I can play and have fun with her whenever I like, I can also always shout to her mom when she needs some cleaning up." Add the sweet but wicked grin.


"But you won't mind doing it at all for your own baby."


"Yeah. Yet I wouldn't know because I never have one."


"You see," with a deep inhale, "I'm really concerned that you're not with anybody."


The convo comes in various wrappings, but all in similar tune. Take another variation, "I'm so sad thinking that you'll be alone and lonely."

Being lonely is the last thing on my mind. I even feel like I can't have a decent amount of time for myself and with myself.

It IS the topic that never goes exhaustive, simply because both sides - my parents' and mine - can never agree on a certain thing: whether marriage should be put on top of my priority list.

Interesting to note that it is my FATHER who has been repetitive about it. Who ever said moms are the fussy ones? Anyway, my dad keeps trying to convince me that "Berdua Lebih Baik", along the lines of Acha Septriasa.

"I used to be like you," he'd say that. "I thought I was happy enough going solo. Now I can't ever imagine being without your mom."

"Because you are already married," I snapped back. "I've never been. I don't think I'll miss something that never exists to me."

"There you go again the wrong way. Trust me."

I have come to the point where I bluntly told him that marriage is not my top priority. I don't negate it, I don't discount the possibility -- I simply follow where life leads me. That means, if I am not interested in someone, I will not even TRY to like him. On the other hand, if a certain person is not interested in me, I will not bother to drop him a message. Tracy Chapman speaks for me: "But I'm too old to go chasing you around/Wasting my precious energy".

The thing is, his sad expression kills me.

Home Wrecker

Who should take the responsibility of the wreckage of Indonesia's households these days?

In my case: the mosquitoes.

Forget spending quality time with family over dinner, let alone watching television or a movie (DVD for sure!) together. Once we're done with the meals -- as quick as we can -- each of us will disappear into our respective bedrooms. The only places where we will turn on the aircon and spray on Baygon like crazy, obviously health issue isn't our priority. We can't spray it in the living room, since it's the playground for my baby niece. Of course, the baby's room (and her parents') is free of the chemical liquid. Now that's what I call sacrifice: she's fully wrapped to avoid contacts with those tiny bastards, and they will suffer all night :D.

What Happened on the Next Table Stays in the Blog!

Having a glance at the coffee shop, I was a bit disappointed that it was a bit more crowded than I had hoped. I came here to find a quiet place (sort of) where I can feed my ODD in peace (I'll discuss the ODD later), but I suspected it would take quite an effort to get a vacant table. I was lucky though that I spotted a table near the window, which was also near an electric plug. Now, that is FABULOUS.

Now, the best thing happened after I spent a few minutes random browsing, checking on emails, and finally resting on some Archie dedicated sites. A group of people were sitting next to my table, so I couldn't help overhearing their conversation. That turned out to be the most amusing thing for that entire day.

I'm too lazy to recite it, so I'll just put my conversation with this gal as I practically gave her a live report on the whole thing.

Me: while typing this, i'm trying to hide my laughter...
Her: why is the laughter about?
Her: *what
Me: there's a person sitting next to me, apparently trying to convince another man in the table to buy a diamond
Me: 1800 dollar man
Her: heh?
Her: where are you?
Me: and - this is what made me chuckle - he said "ini bukan sembarang berlian, karena kilaunya bisa dilihat dari kejauhan"
Me: *ROTFL*
Her: dari bulan?
Me: wakkakakakakk..!!!!
Her: where exactly are you?
Me: i'm in the **** cafe, in ******** ******
Her: aha
Her: and I am stuck in the bloody office
Me: come over here then!
Her: cannot
Her: at least not yet
Her: still crunching on my report
Me: huhuhu...
Me: and i remember i must submit our 2009 program tomorrow
Me: kekekkekkee... this man next to me does sound like a con!!!
Her: *laugh*
Me: and the other man actually bought it!!!!
Me: *ROTFL*
Her: that is the silliest part of all
Me: they're signing the purchasing letter now..
Her: at a coffee shop???
Her: sheesssshhhh
Me: hahahhaa... as if there's no decent place, right???
Her: precisely no other decent place
Me: and now he's giving the man's wife (i assume she's his wife, hehehe..) a MASSAGE!
Her: WTF???
Me: hm.. from what i witness.. it's not a real massage...
Her: it's a rub?
Me: he doesnt touch her physically
Her: *tongue out*
Me: it's like a "spiritual" massage
Her: *laugh*
Me: he's also whispering some sort of "jampi2"
Me: oh gosh, i can hardly contain my chuckling
Her: *laugh*
Me: the "masseur" smiled sheepishly at me
Her: "want some massage, ma'am??"
Her: *wink*
Me: it's obvious that i find it hillarious
Me: WAKAKKAKAKAKKAA.... STOP IT!!!!!
Her: *laugh*
Me: it's already very HARD for me to maintain poker face
Her: huahahah
Her: did he wink at you?
Her: *wink*
Me: oh oh.. he's rubbing her feet now... oooghhhh...
Me: and now he's making circle gestures around her, kekekkekekek...
Her: you!!
Me: you should've seen thaaaattttttttttttt.... *defensive tone*
Her: LOLOL
Me: by the way, now the dukun is making gestures above the head of one of the men in the group
Me: it looks like he's washing his hair, kekekkekekkek..
Her: oh bloody hell
Her: why are they doing those stuff in a coffee shop????
Her: can't they get a room or something?
Her: tsk ..
Her: *laugh*
Me: you tell meeeeeeeeeee
Her: and you seem to be entertained, eh?
Me: i'm definitely posting this!
Her: are they indonesian??
Me: they're indonesian!
Her: hahha . there you go
Her: weird stuff
Me: a VERY good blog material
Me: kekekkekekk..
Her: U SHOULD TAKE CANDID PICTUREEEEEEEE
Me: ooopsss... cannot.. i'm sitting too close to them
Me: now the dukun is doing another man
Her: *ROTFL*
Her: OH.MY.GOD!!!
Me: funny, i'm afraid that he'll be getting too close to me!
Her: you are distracting meeeeeeeee, I should be thereeeeeeeee!!
Her: hauauahahahaha
Me: yes, you SHOULD!
Me: kekekkekekkekekekkekek...
Her: watch your head!
Me: uh shut up!
Me: i'm terrified already...
Her: you dont sound terrified at all

Well, I may have not been terrified, but I was certainly watching the dukun warily!

Blanked

They said, you've been neglecting this for too long.

They asked, do you ever want to write again?

I kept telling them, I knooowww... - putting several emoticons trying to represent the actual situation, to no avail -. And I kept promising them that yeah, I will restart.

Not because I have to. But because I can't imagine never doing this thing again.

Then I look at those half written pages. The never finished drafts. The numerous inspirations remaining raw inside this head.

Hoping beyond hope, this will begin something. - Fingers crossed -.

Leaving DC (1)

So, do you like being in D.C.?

I think some idiots must live here.

Why?

For example, the Washington Monument.

Yes?

It looks nothing like the guy. It looks more like a tribute to Bill Clinton!

What do you think of Bush?

Oh, I love th-- ... oh, you mean the president??



(Excerpt from a dialog between Jeff Dunham and the adorable Achmed)