The Intrusion

I tried to retire to somewhere quiet to listen to myself think. Just completely away from any people and any sound. I wanted to see if it was true that you'd hear your heartbeat, that you'd establish an ethereal and complete state of peace. What started out as an experiment born of curiosity evolved in a few brief minutes into full-blown chaos.

There were voices in my head.

They were retelling stories; recounting memories and reciting poems. One moment they were breathing warm whispers in my left ear; in the next moment they were buzzing about at my right, excited and inconsiderately loud. Somewhere in the back of my head was a shrill, falsetto (and decidedly male) little voice singing a song in slurred staccato. Yet another voice is demanding my attention, grumbling and complaining about something somewhere to my right. The oddest part of it is that I recognize these voices. I've heard them well and often--but to think they now existed in my head?

Even now, sitting here, I can hear vitriolic practicing her presentation to the rhythm of Sanjana's mellow scatting. Karina is screaming Pink!! and chasing something in circles in the left hemisphere of my brain, and the voice to my right is my sister complaining about the noise (I was tempted to respond; you think?!). There's cynix singing his "You're Ugly" tune and Kendal is desperately trying to convince me to do something ("Chel...!")--probably to stop the unbelievable mess scattered shipwrecked across my entire plane of thought.

The worst part was what came later.

I stopped concentrating on the silence, and I stopped blocking out the noise. The voices receded as the A.C.'s comforting humming poured like cool, refreshing mist into my head. That silence was nearly complete. The deafening white noise was like a veil that saved me from the pandemonium that had momentarily ruled my head.

"It's cold." What?

"No, it's not. You're such a sissy." No way...

"I didn't say anything." Go away.

"Not youuuuuu...!" Argh.

"Rach, you're stepping on my foot." I would have stepped on heads if they had been there.

Later on I would realize that I had been falling asleep as I was thinking these things. Or rather, as these things thought themselves out. It was heavily odd, of course. Anyone would be freaked out by the notion of voices in their head. Only this was more like an imaginary recap--courtesy of a tired and sugar-ridden brain--of the day's conversations. Presented in delightful jumbles with a shot of bizzare eerieness to top.

I really need a holiday.

"I know! Me too."

Indonesia’s Presidential Candidate, Another Pitfall In Our Democracy?

Much buzz has surrounded Indonesia’s Presidential candidates. From the current president SBY, to former presidents Megawati Sukarnoputri and Gus Dur. Also ex-Governor of Jakarta Sutiyoso. But the question is, are they really the best options for corruption and problem ridden Indonesia?

SBY – is the first Indonesian president elected democratically by direct vote by the Indonesian people. He boasts a clean corruption free reputation and reputed good heart filled with well intentions. However, his indecisiveness has left few problems to be solved.

Fun Facts: He procured his own album, singing and playing his guitar quite delightfully in his album.

Megawati Sukarnoputri – Is the daughter of charismatic Sukarno, propelled to the spotlight sheerly by her lineage her brief Presidency has been mocked by many. Though feminists would be pleased by another female President, her crying over every natural disaster victim without initiating any solution has been made a mockery of several 11th Graders.

The overall tone is that, things won’t change. There is no candidate that spurs out hope, that is a fresh voice to our Democracy.

Sure, there are reasonable candidates but the same faces reappear and we once again stuck to pick which candidate would bring LESS Damage to Indonesia.

My personal pick: Pak Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono.

Why? Because I believe in his intent to better Indonesia. Perhaps his indecision will be lessened if he won, he would not have too be wary so much of reelection and political consensus.

This is the Indonesian people’s second shot to putting a President in the Istana Negara. Will we take it? Will the candidates proof themselves?

On a side slightly geeky note, I'm actually excited for 2009!

It's going to be my first vote!

While I might be doing so in an Indonesian Embassy in a country I decide to go to University in I’m quite unabashedly giddy in the thought.

So I sincerely hope, along with me, Indonesians should realize the importance of our decision, and the press and the public should be aware of the gravity of the situation.

We actually have the power to put into Office our leader for the next 5 years.

We have an opportunity! (despite it accounting for practically nothing... [ our votes do count, they count 0.000000000000001% (not sure of the exact mathematics but the number of Indonesian population and do some mathematical thingo to it) ]

The biggest question is, will the next president be able to achieve change and progress?

Predictably, only time will tell.

Malaysia, MalingAsia?

Disclaimer: I wrote this for Voice and added personal biases to it, so sorry Voice!

The diplomatic relationship between Malaysia and Indonesia has never been perfectly harmonious. Dating back to the Sukarno era, conflicts and disputes over land territory has been rife, this problem has yet been settled and a new type of conflict arises.

On Malaysia's recent tourism campaign the Malaysian government featured an ad with two dances actually BELONGING to Indonesia which immediately spurred critical anger from the Indonesian government and its citizens.

“"We want the Malaysian government to stop copying our cultural heritage," said Tritomo one of the many demonstrators in front of the Malaysian Embassy in Jakarta.

The stealing of ‘cultural heritage’ is not only limited to dances. Last October another cultural rights dispute has circled a theme song for the Malaysian tourism promotion "Rasa Sayang" or "Feeling of Love". The Indonesian government is currently pondering whether to sue Malaysia for the breach of copyright. Upon that possible lawsuit Malaysia has defended that the song has a dual origin based on the many cultural customs similar between the two countries.

It seems like a recurring pattern to me, does Malaysia really have no culture of their own to the extent that they would steal ours just to make up for their own mediocre culture?

With not only songs and dances in question but also traditional handcrafted souvenir like shadow puppet theaters and batik fabrics the troubles that are being sold in Malaysia for traditional ‘Malaysian’ merchandise among many things. It would seem the troubles and worrisome relations between these two essentially similar yet polarized countries will not end quite so soon. (Nor should they)

Furthermore, Malaysia’s blatantly racist government has approved a militia to round up (read:Beat up) illegal Indonesian immigrants. There was even a case when a wife of an Indonesian diplomat got beaten up because of those sorry uneducated imbeciles of militia did not recognize a diplomat passport.

You see, forgive my imprudent assessment, but when my countrymen are beat up, and my culture is taken, I cannot help but feel antagonistic to those Malaysians, to the point that calling a friend of mine ‘Malaysian’ is the worse insult I can think off, to the point that I resent and decline to eat Penang food (though Teh Tarik is really delicious), and to the point that I’d never bring the Malaysian government revenue by going to their racist filled soil.

So yeah, Malaysia might be ‘Truly Asia’. But that is only attributable to the fact that their Asianess derives from Chinese, Indian and Indonesian cultures.

So to people looking forward to going to Malaysia, please DO feel the truly Asian-ness of Malaysia, because it is. Truly stolen.

Why Anime is Good for the (Troubled and Depressed Soul)

(At least momentarily)

People often mock anime’s many flaws as something only dumb people watch.

Yet, these people often forget to some extent, we are all simply stupid.

We all have our own moronic guilty pleasures, they be it anime, food, celebrity gossip, pets.

But what make anime good for the soul is the sheer simplicity and often good faith that through hard work everything will be successful.

There is a general principle in every anime or manga, the hero or heroine will always break through despite their tragic flaws.

Through the help of devoted peers and kindness of elders, they prevail, and they prevail brilliantly and heart racingly so.

But then the CD stops playing, and we all see the brilliant blue sky in which everyday, people’s dreams,

their soul,

and their body break and so we are forced to see the true horrors of this world.

Aware of our mortality, I store my memories, aspirations on by desk neatly pilled. Glancing at it as a means to keep breathing, keep writing, keep living.

And so I toil, toil so furiously so despondently, so desperately. Toiling for a future I dream off, a future that I’m certain would probably never exist.

So why do I live?

Why do I strive, give my unwitting best?

Because I can’t stop.

Because I’m too much of a coward to simply let go.

Because if I let go, there will be nothing else to hold me up.

Confidence - Part two

In life, I have been baffled by many mysteries. Among many of them, I am most puzzled by the dumb who teach to the smart; the un-liked who act as social queens and kings; the fat and ugly who flaunt their aesthetic distastefulness to everyone around them.

In this school of ours, it is not uncommon to find cases where a 3-student comes to a 7-student and begins to faultily endeavor to teach him about things he already understands, or when an inappropriately opiniated person attempts to equate himself to intellectuals while only making himself seem even more dumber.

One of the problem with people nowadays is that they are simply too kind. They are encouraging, heartening the inept by saying that they are in fact talented and simply need training, when the very reality is that these people are truly unintelligent. But shouldn’t people instead be honest while being gentle, admitting the existence of flawed human beings and the idea that some people are only gifted in particular areas, rather than planting inappropriate confidence in those who ought not to have it? It seems like a harsh stab in the gut, but to me, it’s much better to put people in their places rather than turning them into lunatics.

I, for one, believe that people ought to have their own places in society, realize what they are, and remain in their appropriate places. Intellectuals ought to be people with actual intellectual capacities; artists should know a thing or two about aesthetics; fashion editors shouldn’t look like drag queens.

It is when confidence is displaced - when those who are undeserving of it possess it - do we experience trouble. So where do we go from here – make the stupid think they are smart, or put them in their rightful places?

Confidence - part one

Confidence. It’s a tricky thing. Too little of it and you find yourself an insecure, sad, pathetic little man who is completely withdrawn from the world for clearly wrong reasons. Too much of it and you look like a lunatic who is completely out of tune with reality.

It is only natural that when a man is well-endowed and consistently skilled in a particular area, he becomes accustomed to the idea that in some ways, he is actually superior to others. This sort of confidence, which we know as conceit, is universally frowned upon by any society. The Catholic Church calls it a deadly sin, and we all see it as a sure path to destruction of one’s social life.

I, however, believe that it is perfectly acceptable for someone who is indeed superior than others to realize the obvious truths than point out to that very fact. The idea that everyone is created equally – none better, none worse – is, after all, completely ignorant of the reality that some humans are born retarded and other, more fortunate ones, are gifted with extraordinary talents. The concept of equality is just icing to the bitterness of the harsh veracity, created to allow the less fortunate ones to feel better about their shortcomings.

There are, however, unfortunate occasions when those undeserving of confidence are mentally-handicapped to the extent that they have remarkable reserves of confidence – far beyond what is appropriate – laid in their minds. The unremarkable ones who act as remarkable ones are not only severely destructive to the well-being of society, but to themselves.

A stroll along memory lane brings me across a particularly interesting case of such tragedy - a girl who believes in herself as a businesswoman and leader so much that the very questioning of her (clearly nonexistent) competence in such things would lead into utter pandemonium. This young lady, who (under nobody’s consent) made herself leader of a school newspaper, against everyone’s better judgments, insisted on using inkjet printers to mass-print a newspaper that I was sure no one would take interest in. Sure enough, my predictions were realized, as we lost ten million rupiah to ink cartridges, while gaining only one million of revenue. After all this, she still had the nerve to go to Unicef, donating the mere one million rupiah of revenue gained from selling the journalistic realization of her idiocies, and in smug confidence, saying, “Through my skills as a leader, and the cooperation of our team, we have raised one million rupiah for the better good of this world.” She now visits our school time to time, often meeting Mr. Eric and bragging about how skilled an economist she is, when it is obviously clear to all of us how ill-fated she is in areas involving money.

Think about it. Imagine if these creatures comprised for the leaders who rule over the world. After all, extreme confidence and charisma are traits of people who gain extravagant power, that we are surely bound for hell if these ridiculous displacements of confidence in the world continue. Like it or not, these things are beginning to happen – we have ourselves a dimwit monkey who thinks he can run the greatest political and economic entity in the world and is apparently attempting to do so. What if this girl, with her admirable confidence, and her legacy of losing nine million rupiah to ink for a damned school magazine, follows the same footsteps of the monkey who now runs America, and ends up being the second female president of Indonesia, or if that's too far, grows to become the minister of finance for this country? Oh hail, death to us all.

Hands

It was not until today that I think about other people's hands.

How some hands are smooth, how some hands are rough.
How some hands are small, how some hands drown me.
And how each shake is unique; grips that show what's inside the heart.

Every once in a while I would look up and see a smile, and I could tell a lot of those hands were actually genuine. The sincere hands squeeze gently. It's their way of saying, "Congratulations!" To those hands, of course, I smiled back. Though there were big men with presumably calloused hands, all seemed soft to me thanks to the smiles.

The whole congregation only had one door to exit. Assuming none of them wants to, they were obligated to stand in line to shake hands with the pastor. After the pastor comes his helper… and seven other new brothers and sisters in Christ of mine. I was the last of the lot and one had to get to me before one leaves the building. I felt sorry for a lot of them. I know they have other things to do, places to go, trains to catch (the church was next to a railway station), but they were willing to sacrifice a few minutes to shake my hand and, more often than not, mutter ’congratulations’.

Of course there were obviously satiated hands that would rather be anywhere else in the world but there. Those hands still had to shake mine; only sometimes our hands barely touch. It was like, I don’t know, more of a tap than a shake. The thumb did not even bother bending. To my surprise, I still smile to those hands. Of course I did not really plan to, but I had been smiling for more or less fifteen minutes, so why not go on until the church is emptied? I had no time to relax my facial muscles anyway. Those hands were forced to meet mine just like I was forced, by myself, to smile. After everything was over and I got in the car, though, I realized I should be happy for whatever reason all the time I was there. It was my day, my moment, of renouncing my faith in Christ.

Some hands were bored. Mine, too, most definitely. I reckon the line of nine or so people was too long for them. But me, I've never shaken so many hands in a day. Get this, I had to shake every person's hand in a church as big as Gym 2. I had to stand for about twenty minutes on a pair of high heels, faking a few smiles. I was happy, but nonetheless tired! I had to wake up at 5 in the morning that Sunday.

Oh, those hands. Eager, weary, mondaine, merry.
I shook them all.

At the end of the day, I reflected on how my tiny hands must, at one point, have felt that way. I bet there was a time when I could not care less about shaking people's hands. Shaking hands is a symbol of appreciation, thanks, and often respect. I should be thankful; I should be pleased, that at someone (well, more than one) in this world would care to touch my hands.

I'd rather them hold my hands, though. But not just anyone, I want a certain someone to hold my hand.

Should I be doing this, assuming things? I am somewhat sensitive, I read people from their actions... and I could be wrong, of course. So until I receive my degree in Hand Psychology (is there such a thing?), I shall never judge a person from his or her hand shake ever again.

I told Mr. Eric about this the next day. He said I should care more about the millions and billions of germs and bacteria which got transferred to and fro my hands that day.

Nasty. Someone, anti bacterial wipes, please!

The Insidious Senior

Disclaimer: My thoughts, as rash as they are, are my own thoughts and opinions.

Not those of Monochromatic Rainbows.

Note: Lots of insults ahead, some of which are not the original manifestation of my brain.

Raised in a traditional Chinese family with Chinese values, I'm not one usually susceptible to moronic and pointless dishonorment of seniors and those older than me. But neither am I a coward hiding under a blanket of cowardice (thought I would emphasize the point in case I wasn't clear enough just how much of a non-coward I am).

I'm sorry I cannot say the same for "The Insidious Senior" whose ONE single action has left me with a strong feeling of abhorrence and indignation.

Before I unfold the sequence of today's events I must before give you a disclaimer: I'm a healthy girl of 16 years of age; a hormonal girl who might very well be overreacting about this situation but I am quite aware that neither am I a creature with staggeringly retarded perspicacity.

The Tale:

My mother gave me a Bible several years back; it was a leather NIV version, which I soon took a liking to. I wrote my name on the title page and my mother's but soon after I got a blood red/burgundy NKJV Bible. I am ashamed to say I much preferred this new one from then on and so left that leather NIV on my shelf one day. Earlier this year, my homeroom teacher required of us a Bible to be put under our school desk and so I brought my pastel orange NIV to school and placed it under my desk, which, to my agitation, soon disappeared. Fast forward several months and come today, 10th of December 2007 - I found it. I found it in Pak Purba's room, but it wasn't how it was before. I cannot form into words the extent of the damage. My friend L kindly photoed the images. From what previously was a Bible of relatively good conditions, it had now become this piece of masquerading ... something

I'm not the most ardent of Christians, but neither am I bereft of a conscience and a sense of decency (both of which this particular senior appears to lack).

We often mistreat our Bible, scribble on it, pile things on top of it, and other forms of negligence I'm sure our adolescent minds can cook up from here to the beyond, but this! this is far from negligent. In fact, this senior took measures to destroy it. I don't care at all if he IS an atheist, or Buddhist, or Muslim, or SATANIC even, I am just at complete loss at how this could happen at a supposedly Christian school.

I'm not suggesting he be suspended or anything of the sort, (some divine retribution, some divine intervention which would eventually lead to some pains, in his life would be perfectly acceptable)

Yet, I'm not God, nor do I have any sort of authority to punish him, that's fine, but I can mock him, can't I? So here I am: fuming, scheming, typing.

Dear Senior, If you're reading this, I would advise you to close your sorry little four-eyed eyes and go play hentai games/kill helpless animals or anything equally pathetic.

The thing is, you lied, I asked you, confronted you earlier this day and you lied. I was at the time unaware that you out of what petty little brain you have decide to write you name and GRADE on the side cover. I never really did suspect that the other person named 'R' in MY grade would do such a thing because you know why? Frankly he's smarter, he would realize that

a.) it's a Bible.

b.) destroying the Bible would anger someone.

But more than that, I knew that person had a modicum of respect for people's beliefs. Unlike you. Because that's what it amounts to: blatant disregard of people's property. And that property, IS A FREAKING BIBLE.

I do not care if you thought it was amusing, because if that what it was, amusement, a way to settle your boredom than you really are scum, fit to wiggle away the rest of your life among the lowest of the lowest.

Denial of your actions or even trivializing the matter just adds up to laughable cowardice.

And if you decide to mock me or ask the help of your friends, that's just horribly pathetic, I the lone short junior girl who have been scared refused backup from friends. (Because your pettiness did not deserve their attention despite their equally enraged emotions hearing your lack of ... numerous moral/ethical/human qualities.)

And no, I want nothing, nothing you do will appease me. An apology? Sure.

A replacement for my Bible, no, that's the only thing I do not want as a result. Verbal sparing, disagreements, bring it on. But I beg everyone not to stupidly appease me by giving me another Bible, because this isn't what it's all about at all.

It's about how someone could be so idiotic....., no I take that back, calling you an idiot would be horrible insult to actual idiots. I'm not simply enraged because of his contemptible conduct. It's about him damaging an item that people have died for, and tortured because.

An item, a symbol far grander, more purposeful, and more important than ANY of his DREAMS could ever be (let alone accomplish).

So there, I'm apologize that I took so many words to convey the extent of his imbecility.

Because honestly, I do not have any desire to make him seem like a fool.

Why should I take all that credit.

PLAYING WITH FIRE, or [how human hearts hurt]

Sunburn is a good example of a first-degree burn.

You don’t really feel anything when the sun is scorching your skin. It’s only a few hours later that the realization sets in, and you just know that that patch of skin is going to hurt tomorrow.

First-degree burns are red and very sensitive to touch...These burns affect the outer-layer of skin, causing pain, redness and swelling.

You walk around for the next few days with one eye kept open just in case anything is out to get that tender piece of red skin. All you have to do is hover one hand over it and you can feel the heat seething out of it. That’s one angry stretch of skin, and you know you better not upset it any further. Some (marginally smarter) people put gauze over the burn. The rest of us keep our arms sticking away from our sides and our hair from our faces.

Protect the burn from friction and pressure.

Let’s not go into detail about what to do when your backside (am I allowed to say Bee-yoU-Tee-Tee?) gets sunburnt. Let’s just say that that’s the kind of problem you really don’t want to be faced with (but what were you doing baring your bottom in the sun anyway? Skinny dipping? Pretending to be a hotdog?). But that’s just the first few days.

The next part is scary. It can even be messy. But it is also agreed that this part can be fun. The skin darkens, goes slightly grey, then begins to peel. You go crazy and rub it off, piece by tiny piece, to reveal the raw, red skin underneath. You might’ve expected this new skin to look like baby skin; pale and smooth. Instead, it’s red and shiny and—dum dum dum—numb.

Relax. You’re going to be okay. That red and shiny skin will heal further (but not before becoming tender and painful all over again) an in a little while you’ll be all better.

Second degree burns are a different thing altogether. There’s blistering and singed flesh. The skin oozes clear liquid and is a bright, (very) angry shade of red. Beneath the skin surface, hair follicles die and sweat glands shrivel up. As time passes, blood vessels are damaged—blood flow is cut off and the burn escalates to the third degree.

Second degree burns hurt; a lot. Sometimes it’s enough to send a person into shock, and shock in turn is sometimes enough to kill people. So you could die just from the pain. That’s how bad it is. I’d try to illustrate it, but some things are best left to the imagination—on the other hand, let’s imagine your arm is on fire (even if it may no longer be on fire); your heart is pumping erratically and your brain can only garner enough sense to scream or groan in pain. Besides the pain and the scream, your brain also happens to have enough sense left to smell the awful stench of burning hair and skin. It smells like death. Even if you’re not dead yet.

Burns of the third degree are very curious things. According to the BSRC (Burn Survivor Resource Center), unlike the first two burn degrees, third-degree burns are white. They’re blanched like that because there is no blood in that part of the body. The flesh is not only damaged, it’s practically cooked. And the weirdest part is that third-degree burns, apparently, do not hurt. Sure, third-degree burn victims get shock too; but that’s from the messed up blood flow.

All you get to feel is a tingly sort of numbness. All you get to gain is a lifelong scar.

First Degree Burn

Second Degree Burn

Third Degree Burns

All of this is interesting enough. But I didn’t put it up just to warn people of the dangers and consequences of playing with fire. I did all that because as I was reading about these things I thought about the way that the heart hurts. I thought about how we hurt similarly whether physically or emotionally. How different things affect us to different extents. How sometimes we end up scarred. How some people end up dead.

There are a lot of simple enough problems in life that place us under heat; but the more complicated ones burn. The simplest of these complicated things are like first-degree burns. The symptoms may start off as subtle disturbances in our otherwise happy lives. Eventually we realize something is wrong, and the heart knows it’s in for a rough ride. You know you’ve already gotten hurt; it just takes time for you to start mincing the pain. When it does come, we’re careful not to aggravate the problem further. We nurse our wounds and eventually, we harden. We become tough and insensitive to similar problems and we assume it’s over. It takes time for that stone-heart to flake away, and when it does we get hurt a little bit by this vulnerability, but we get better. Don’t play with fire, is the lesson of this wound.

There may be more difficult situations than that.

With second-degree burns you’re singed and you’re terrified. It takes more than just you to solve this problem, and even with help you’re bound to come out of it with a few broken things—broken hearts, broken spirits. Important things. Sometimes you don’t come out of it at all. It’s when everything’s rushing at you all at once and you run out of ways to deal with it. The body runs out of blood or breath, the heart runs out of hope.

Third-degree burns are a different kind of dying. It’s parts of you losing blood, losing hope. Losing color and function and feeling. The fire consumes cell by scorched cell and you’re awake and conscious to experience it. The worst part is hurting and not feeling any pain. Losing and feeling no regret. You don’t have to die to hurt this badly. It doesn’t have to hurt at all to be wounded this deeply. The lesson here is that there most certainly is a deeper death than dying. This is the kind of death present in the hollow eyes of people who lose everything. This is the kind of death that clamps its teeth on their skin and their flesh and their hearts, and sets it on fire.

This is why they say tears burn on your cheeks.

This is how the human heart hurts.