Friday, August 31, 2007

Heresy and My Ensuing Wrath

Disclaimer: The writer of this post is by no means a perfect measure of Godliness. His opinions do not in any way reflect the other writers of this blog.

A few days ago, I wrote two posts on this blog which I have now deleted for being contradictory and irrationally bashful. This, my dear friends, is the expression of my infuriation, with nearly all of that crude dementia filtered out.

Charismatic denominations of Christian faith place emphasis on its belief that Christianity does not have to be an ancient practice where worship is limited to hymns and the temptation to fall asleep in services is rampart. Instead, modern congregations such as Hillsongs have gained much attention for delivering modern worship music - something that appeals much more to the increasingly pop-culture-obsessed youth of today.

Stephen Tong, a noted Indonesian reformist preacher is extremely frank about his disapproval of this unorthodoxy found in such churches. I, being a member of his congregation, am one of these people who are not particularly happy of this fusion of rock concerts and services. We have been criticized for being culturally uptight and chauvinistic in our views against these more modern denominations.

Personally, I don’t necessarily mind listening and singing to these rock Christian songs. It’s the purpose of these songs that bother me. Followers of charismatic denominations argue that these songs allow people to have fun in church, to make church a place where everyone wants to be. But one must question, does devotion have to be fun? Is surrendering your own soul to a greater power supposed to be something easy? And more importantly, is this added fun to the whole Christian experience serving for a greater purpose?

As the line between rock concerts and church services become less apparent, what is to differentiate church from actual concerts? What is to keep people from attending church for the sake of mere ecstasy? I know I used to attend a charismatic church for this reason, like many of my peers who look forward to church as a fun place to jump around to ear-deafening music. Motivations and intentions are distorted to a vortex of self-gratification as we abuse “worship.” And while hymns composed by the likes of Bach and Handel are much less fun and enjoyable to sing to, they surely allow for more sincere devotion and is less prone to such decadent misuse.

And though this deformation of church into a concert hall is bad enough in itself, words don’t even begin to describe how tragic the pretension found in our school chapels is. During this week’s chapel, the twelfth-grade chapel band, performed “The Time Has Come,” a song from the Hillsongs United We Stand album. To my dismay, the song was accompanied by a two-minute-long intro that was completely unnecessary. It occurred to me that though the solo had not been necessary, its inclusion allowed plenty room for guitarists to show off their talents in plucking metal strings. It is ridiculous how chapel is taken advantage by non-Christian musicians as a showcase for their talent, to the extent that chapel is no longer a place for glorifying God, but a place for self-glorification. Chapel has now become a talent show that is involuntarily attended where students are forced to watch conceited displays of arrogance under the illusion of worship. Oh, the tragedy.

Music happens to be a significant source of revenue for the Hillsongs church. Their albums have consistently gained top positions in the Australian charts, as they are designed to do so. My friend rashly blamed Hillsongs for these "necessary" intros, ignoring the previously stated fact. The inclusion of two-minute-long solos in their albums is obvious in cause - to make their albums more appealing to the general public - to make their albums sell more so that their church can expand (which is by all means appropriate for a growing congregation), and to make the concerts (where these albums are recorded) more appealing to all who pay to watch it (including those non-Christian watchers who watch for the mere sake of fun).

One must thereby question whether or not the inclusion of these show-off sessions in our chapels serves for a good purpose. After all, are our chapels meant to please the mainstream public? Aren't the circumstances of Hillsongs United, - where songs are written to appeal to the public - completely unparallel with the circumstances of chapel worship? Aren’t we then abusive hypocrites who would be stoned to death by the Catholic Church for heresy if we lived in ancient times?

To abuse Christianity to the point that church becomes comparable to rock concerts and talent shows is beyond wrong. It is horrifying, appalling, petrifying, mortifying, disgusting, and worthy of vomit. And what is worse is that everyone is too ignorant to see and do anything about it.

So please, excuse us “chauvinists” for being “uptight” in our religious views. After all, aren’t we entitled the right to be angered by the blatant abuse of His benevolence? Tolerance for such senselessness is no virtue – it is merely a tool used to circumvent people from doing the right thing.

It is clearly obvious that the abolishment of charismatic denominations would be nonsensical and inconsiderate of those who are truly sincere about their faiths. Replacing rock with hymns in our school would lull most people to slumber and anger those die-hard rockers. So at the very least, dear rockers, take your vile condescension somewhere else - a club, a bar, a concert, just anywhere other than our chapels. To those who come to church for fun, look elsewhere for your bliss - a club, a bar, a concert, a place where those guitarists go to showcase their talent. Do so and we will all finally be pleased - guitarists will freely venerate themselves, jumpers will jump to the guitarists' self-veneration, devotion will no longer be abused, and you hypocrites will no longer feed my bitter soul with this raging wrath.

Deal?

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Love Me Money

"I'm not an actor, I'm not a star.
I don't even have my own car.
But I'm hoping so much you'll stay;
that you would love me anyway."
- Michael Learns To Rock

Can you believe this? Michael Learns To Rock dares to write such absurd lyrics. Darling... YOU DON'T HAVE A CAR, why in the world would I want to be with YOU??? We live on earth, sweetheart. I have no time for broke-ass guys like you. Boy, PLEASE!

I'm just kidding! Don't get me wrong, but
men these days should be ready to offer the ladies something more than just love. Love is not enough, and I'm not being materialistic.
Is LOVE relevant when you can't even buy your baby milk?
Is LOVE useful when your wife has to go to the neighbor for sugar?
Go ahead and love, but don't forget to live.
Love is an overused term. Get a diamond ring, and it better not cost 25 cents.

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Thursday, August 30, 2007

Indonesia's Incredibly Bright Future

Note: Somehow, this post (Indonesia's Incredibly Bright Future) written and posted on Wednesday was deleted accidentally. So I'm reposting it regretfully.

Disclaimer: I wrote this on caffeine high and this post contains broad generalizations and does not carry the opinions of other A1 HL-ers in my group.

As an Indonesian teenager who is more proficient in writing in English than in her own native language, I often feel ashamed of my incompetence in Indonesian.

I love writing in English, I hate writing in Indonesian.

I love English Literature; I often have problems reading Indonesian Literature.

It is a sad irony and predicament for many young International educated youths today.

I don’t know from where exactly this inadequacy comes from, nor when will it end.

What is the draw of the English language anyway? Is it naturally more beautiful, most audiophilically pleasing? Is it simply a matter of taste?

Are we, young Indonesians ashamed of our country, and thus our native language? Are we just too sick and tired in the reality of this country?

A gloriously corrupt nation whose ex-president (and probably our favorite) stole $35 billion from our country and despite all his crimes still lounges at his Cendana home?

Or is it something shallower, more sinister?

Maybe we decide, hey, English makes us special, makes us more exclusive. SUPERIOR even in comparison to the national school kids.

I think so.

Amidst globalization and the supremacy of American culture, us young people, gradually and not so gradually see our Chinese, Malay, Javanese, Balinese and our hundreds of cultures as boring, ridiculous, retarded and un-awesome.

We adore bule actors while we mock and laugh at Indonesian ones.

Seeing bule’s down the street we stare, we look, we fancy.

Who cares if they really are just average folks with different pigments? They are Caucasians and thus are cooler and awesome than we are.

Secretly we all want to be Americans and or Europeans, what’s so exotic in being Asian? Most of the countries in our continent are a third world country!

We aren’t Asian Americans, but as someone put it, we’re Americanized Asians.

Well, I am. I, sadly and shamefully am.

It a distressing and often irrevocable trait, I have been raised this way; all of my friends are this way. Apparently my love of English Literature is ironical. I may have read dozens and in a few years, hundreds of English Literature, but how many Indonesian books have I read? Probably less than a dozen!

I can name great writers whom I love and adore. How many Indonesian writers do I like? One.

Pramoedya Ananta Toer.

Even his work I first read in English, and then properly switched to the Indonesian version.

Even Pram, the Nobel Prize candidate whom I so revere, is mostly unknown and ignored by most of us.

Who cares? We say, he’s dead, and he’s irrelevant! He’s sooo boring.

But that’s not the point is it? He was someone who loved this nation, this country and the people of the Indies. He who spent so many years suffering and toiling for freedom, and wrote, just wrote for our country.

I called several bookstores searching for his most famous and prominent books today. It took me calling more than four stores to finally find it.

One of the person who answered my call and heard the title of the novels, asked me the author of this book! PRAMOEDYA ANANTA TOER! I almost screamed at her.

In Gramedia, Indonesia’s biggest chain bookstore, there are probably only two racks for Indonesian literature; half of it is used up for translated classics and modern works.

But there is dozens of racks for Japanese comic books, and mindlessly moronic Americanized chick-lits.

It has been sixty over years since our independence, almost ten years since the fall of Suharto.

No one cares about the future of this nation.

We all say, someone is going to come along and change all that. Someone is going to take care of it.

Time will fix our nation. Time will make this nation great!

I know sound like a rambling visionary screaming for a change in a world and society deaf and contentedly ignorant on such matters.

Nietzsche said Visionaries lie to themselves, and liars lie to other people only. Though he is right in certain ways, he’s still incorrect and the insane Nietzsche we all love.

We are already lying to ourselves anyhow. We’re ignoring who we are (genetically), and happily too!

So, to the foreigners I say with a dyed blonde hair, blue contact lenses, black tank top, jeans and a perky smile, “Hi welcome to Indonesia, we are the new generation of Indonesians, oh don’t worry we speak English, we live the American way! We don’t give crap about Indonesia!”


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The Key To My Heart

by: Karina Negara

Pass it on.
They key to my heart.
You have it in your hands,
But you don’t deserve it anymore.
You never did.

You have the whole package.
My heart,
And everything in it.
I want it back, Love.
I want it back full.
Because you stole it.
My heart,
And everything inside.

Loving you silently used to be fine.
You look at me,
I look at you…
Now your eyes are stuck
To the diamond of your heart.
She.

Loving you silently wasn’t much of a mess.
I could be here
And you right there.
I loved you endlessly,
But you never care.
That’s where it hurts.
That’s where I’m muddled.

So, pass it on.
The Key to My Heart.
It doesn’t belong to you,
I won’t let you unlock this soul.

With all my heart.
That’s how much I loved you.
But the pain has gone too deep,
‘Cos I cried too much in sleep.
I’m losing it.
I’m throwing it away.

Slowly we drift apart,
I grow out of love soon enough.
Give it back, Dear.
Give me back my most prized possession.

Pass it on.
The key to my heart.
Let someone else have it.
Let someone else love me,
With all of his heart.
For who I am,
And for who I am not.
I’m sorry I loved you.

*not to be graded, but you can comment :)

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The Pianist

My brother asked me to write a lyric for his musical composition a few days ago. I did not nod, nor did I refuse.

The tune was somewhat familiar. I can’t recall to what song it was similar to though, but he told me his girlfriend said the same thing. I do believe there are at least three songs in this music world that sounds identical. Look at Maroon 5, all their songs sound exactly the same!

We’ve always known Dio was talented in music. He was about to apply to a music university in California, when my mother said, "No, music is not going to be your career. It's good that you have the talent, but a music career will not last." I somehow agree with her, but she makes it sound so harsh.

Noel, my oldest brother, had trouble saying 'Dio' when he was learning to talk, so my parents gave up and just let him say ‘Do’.
Do Re Mi Fa Sol La Si Do…

It was the beginning of his highly appreciated musical journey.

My parents love music. I mean, who doesn't? My mom especially. If you have the chance to see my house, you'll understand. My balcony fence is decorated with a G-clef and a few notes. My stairs hold the intro to Für Elise; my dining table is engraved with the whole score. G-clef shaped lights are everywhere, and the Baby Grand piano has the right to be called brand new. I even have musical towels! Peculiarly, neither one of my parents know how to play a tune. They said they never had the privilege to learn. Lucky me.

As a result to their musical incapability, they decided they want all their kids to at least be able to play the piano. "Just in case," they said. Just incase what? Just incase my job does not make enough money? Well, they never finished that sentence. I was left hanging. Just incase...
I learned how to play the piano when I was three. I loved those cute little stickers the teacher stuck on my page every time I finished learning a song. I wonder what Dio's motivation was, because when I became too old for a stamps and stickers, I despised piano lessons. I abhor the hour, excited for it to end. Unfortunately, she will never let me quit. I want to, I still do. The way I see it, I am only wasting my parents' money. Why continue?

We have Dio to serenade us by tickling the ivories at home.

I was amazed when I saw his old room... It was filled with golden G-clef shaped trophies I never knew about, some almost as tall as I am. Now that is talent. He is doing what he does best. He is the pianist, I should back off. I have my hands reserved for something my heart superlatively prefers. Just incase. Dio and I can still work together. We can be a team. I will make use of my microscopic hands.

I shall paint his melody with amorous poetry.
So may I quit, Mom?

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Tuesday, August 28, 2007

The Beginning

Hello dear children. If you are reading this then you are either a fellow student of Ms. Wilkins', a peer of ours, or a mere curious stranger who stumbled upon this humble life journal on the internet. Whoever you are, we greet you to this virgin blog of ours.

I, Gary Kong, boy-extraordinaire (I'm just kidding with you there), along with fellow bloggers Rachel Gunawan, Karina Negara, and Stephanie Tangkilisan promise you that we will endeavor to deliver you witty writing in our soon-to-be literary home.

We all have things to say - brilliant things, I hope (or at the very least humorous, in the case of the occasional suckers), and we cordially share with you our thoughts and opinions here.

Till then, au revoir.