The Choir Conductor's New Year's Wishes

The Choir Conductor’s New Year’s Wishes

I won’t send you my “best wishes for a Happy New Year” but my best wishes, especially for your happiness, for every new year to come, for as long as life.

God bless us all.

That was the Choir Conductor’s e mail to his friend who had aided him during his recent Choir Concert in his church.

December 2008

Opa Johan's Granddaughter's Prayer

Opa Johan’s Granddaughter’s Prayer

Lord,
You know what I’ll ask.

Amen

December 2008

The Choir Conductor's Thoughts After A Reading On Hell

The Choir Conductor’s Thoughts After A Reading On Hell

I had read the thoughts of an ancient, very famous poet in a mentor classic, in beautiful verse “The immortal drama of a journey through hell” something like that was said. It was so praised by famous, learned people, translated into so many languages. I only succeeded to read half way, as it was a scare, - even worse than a sermon threatening the listeners with hell - of the nine circles of hell, of sinners, of the damned, of the great poets of all time, Homer, Ovid, Horace, Lucan, Virgil, including himself, of “the blest and beauteous shining of the Heavenly cars, ...”

I can’t imagine a God so pitiful, so weak that He could ever be offended, blasphemed by His creatures and take measures for the insult, wrong doing by punishing them in such a torturous way. A God so partial who would take sides, welcome the chosen and reject the damned.

As I think of human dignity, who could pride himself to be a better man than another? How degrading, to praise one and humiliate the other, more so for a God. I imagine God far greater, far more generous, impartial, no words ever could grasp, rather than a God so humanlike as depicted that way.

And I thought of the wonderful songs, thoughts so heartening and so hitting the mark as “Bliss”*, “I Believe**” and for days am I in a happy, cheerful mood. I would rather sing those songs than recite the credo of the church: “I believe in God the Father, The Son and the Holy Ghost …”

To watch the wonderful flight of dragonflies in the air, so light, so fast “jumping, diving” catching small insects, of the pigeon’s solo flight with powerful wing-strokes skiing, soaring high up in the sky, of the flutter of two, tree butterflies chasing after one another in the wind, see the leaves of the flamboyant as snowflakes falling, see fallen flowers on the grass as a milk white 4-petal tea tray of the barringtonia asiatica, see angsana blossoms as a yellow carpet on the ground, watch the little honey bees, flitting hovering, perching, visiting flowers, … while leisurely sitting with my wandering thoughts. I could endlessly write about paradise that’s around me.

I remember a Chinese painter said about painting beauty with the least possible strokes or with the most possible strokes and I thought of beauty just composed as a simple song or beauty as rich as composed as a symphony or find a paradise in a short story and I think of O Henry and Andersen or in a novel.

Why keep myself occupied, busy with hell, as I listen to Elly Ameling singing Schubert, Brahms, Schumann, … songs. I remember some one saying “See heaven in a wild flower” or remember the wonderful thought: “One Earth, One Sky, One Humankind” or have my picnic on the bank of a lake, a river or on the side of a brook, … What delight!

But I might judge him wrong. Perhaps am I a bad church choir master to have such unreligious, disrespectful ideas.

Thus he disclosed his thoughts to me.

Bliss* (Seligkeit)

Joy and peace and love reign in heaven above;
Angels praise God’s glory, such the ancient story.
Would that I were there such sweet bliss to share!
…
I would rather stay here, with thee says May,
Sit here at thy side, love, as thy bonnie bride, love!
And with one sweet kiss seal our heavenly bliss!

I Believe**

I believe for every drop of rain that falls, a flower grows.
I believe that some where in the darkest night, a candle glows.
I believe for every one who goes astray, some one will come to show the way.
I believe above the storm the smallest prayer will still be heard.
I believe that some one in the great some where hears every word.
Every time I hear a new born baby cry, or touch a leaf, or see the sky, then I know why I believe!

December 2008

Ade's Christmas Gift

Ade’s Christmas Gift

“I’m sorry, I can’t come singing this time. My leg awfully hurts.” Ade telephoned her choir master just an hour before the Christmas Eve service began. He was downhearted. She was his “locomotive” in his choir. Now they would sing without her, - try, make the best he can with the others.

Then during the warm up he was so happily surprised to see Ade hobbling coming in. “Thanks God” he said inwardly.

After the service the choir master said to her: “Thank you, We sang very well. That was your Christmas gift for me and us, I never would forget” as he imagined her pain climbing down the stairs and walking to the church with a hurting leg.

December 2004

International Night Kite Festival

International Night Kite Festival

What about having an International Kite Festival in the Evening/Night. The kites scotch-lighted, (light shining on the kites). Wouldn’t it be a very delightful, enchanting, spectacular show?

To the attention of Mrs Endang W. Puspoyo (founder of the Kite Museum Of Indonesia) and flying kite lovers.

December 2008

They Never Thought It Was That Much

They Never Thought It Was That Much

Faisal and Setiawan, still school boys, were arrested for just stealing chocolate, deodorant at the time of social unrest. Better take it home than burned or destroyed. It would be too bad if you’re not allowed to take home you on purpose would destroy the goods and burn the store as many did. Perhaps so they thought,

Why take them to court while it could be easily pacified among those concerned?

I remember the house which was build of bread, chocolate, sweets in a fairy tale. There is no child who would ever wish to destroy, burn it. It’s better to eat them. Suppose the store, supermarket which they destroyed, burned, was not build of cakes, sweets, … but had gold coins pasted on the floors, the doors consisted of Rp. 100 thousand banknotes, their walls of Rp. 50 thousand banknotes and banknotes to the value of all the commodities in the store. If all the money would amount to the same value of that supermarket including all the goods, I think they would never ruin it, were it (in) money. They never realized it was that much.

For weeks the boys were detained in jail.

“Well, the verdict was two month in prison because of stealing such a trifle worth only Rp. 7.900.-“ Upik said, “calculated, how many hundreds, even thousand years in jail should be the sentence of those who stole, destroyed, burned to a value of billion rupiahs, harmed, even caused death and laborers without work. Many thousands of them were not arrested.”

Meanwhile owners silently wept, wept for their loss of goods, motors, cars, shops, homes, … that had been destroyed or burned, - the fruits of working, building for years with sweat and tears - for their family members that had died without any wrong-doing. As in a war, whom should they ask for justice?

From Suara Karya, February 1, 1997

A Flower

A Flower

There were beautiful yellow flowers on a vegetable field. But a more beautiful flower was on the bank of a lake, washing, with her little child.

1970

The "Golden Sowers"

The “Golden Sowers”

There was a bouquet with lovely “Golden Sowers” beside a garbage bin at the road side for any one to take it home.

How hard is it, to have the courage to pick those thrown away lovely flowers, walk home and place them in a place of honor, to say nothing of caring, picking up “fallen” flowers. Are they different from “decent” flowers?

1970

A Sweet Memory In Pecenongan

A Sweet Memory In Pecenongan

When we were eating in the open air eating place in Pecenongan, a middle classed housewife, decently dressed was selling shrimp crackers from table to table. All the guests coldly, indifferently, proudly refused. Disappointed, downhearted, she suppressed her feelings as she had to “climb down so deep” to become a vendor selling crackers and she went away.

My wife waved her back as she remembered a similar treatment when people refused to buy her self baked snacks at that time, to save, support us, her family who were living in a hard time. She bought two parcels of shrimp crackers. But for the woman who was in straitened circumstances (remember, there’s no middle classed housewife ever wants to humble herself selling shrimp crackers as a vendor), it was a lot, it was so sweet, so encouraging, so heartening, it was like a heavenly gift though she only succeeded to earn Rp. 2.000.-.

Only those who are visited by hardships, know the blessings, of happiness, of gratitude for small things, a little kindness. A happy beam lit up her face and we went home with a sweet memory of her.

When life is on the dark side, then there certainly is a sunny side on the other side but not seen as on the two sides of a leaf in the sun.

From Berita Buana, October 19, 1993

On Awakening

On Awakening

There, on the Ancol bridge I saw the glorious rising sun through a gateway of trees stately sailing on a mirrored waterway.

There was the Kembang Soka in full bloom. What an expression of joy and gratitude. There was a branch broken, yet, it was still blowing. No one noticed it, only a butterfly and me. And there were such a lot of flowers and a lot were dropping, falling. Only some flowers were visited, yet she didn’t stop flowering and asks nothing in return. She only could give, grant her riches.

I hear a happy, carefree, girlish laughter, my little girl frightens me in jest, in play and leans affectionately against me. I hear the cheerful “good morning” greeting of Tien, I feel the cool wind, I hear the birds warble, I see the flowers open, I see, I hear, I feel, I smell; unconscious, never cared before.

I have a faint longing after a home when the sun is setting, for a light in the distance. How peaceful is the night with the moon and stars watching over me.

A better world opens. I feel my inner dawn is breaking.

1970

A Thought On Dying

A Thought On Dying

For man life is short as just ten years or a thousand years. Life is so precious and death is such a scare. Do you ever want to die willingly in the place of your child, grandchild, your father, mother, wife, husband, grandfather, grandmother, brother, sister, … to say nothing of another? Except, when life were hell, then death must be heaven!

December 2008

The Choir Conductor's Thought On Poems

The Choir Conductor’s Thought On Poems

I just read poems in our foremost Jakarta’s news paper, reread this many times but it was as though I was reading Einstein’s theory of relativity.

“Am I so blind, so stupid of not being able to read, grasp the meaning, beauty of the poems or is it … ? Well, don’t be so nasty, to think so bad of others.” I said to myself.

And I mused, “Should poems be clothed in vague words, as a riddle to be beautiful? A beautiful thought would still remain the same when conveyed written, spoken, sung in plain common language, or just written on a piece of paper or in a book or a respectable newspaper.“

And I thought of the immense lot of beautiful songs of Schubert, Schumann, Mozart, Brahms, Wolf, Bach, Beethoven, Gershwin, Hammerstein, Vaughn …, with poems as their lyrics of Goethe, Schiller, Brentano, Heine, Muller, Whitman, … which I enjoyed, so well-known and loved through out the world. They are certainly not lesser poets than the author of those poems and it was not so very difficult to understand them Why be downhearted? Shouldn’t you be feeling proud of it?

So the choir conductor comforted himself.

November 2008

The "Kacer"

The "Kacer"

“There she warbles, the Kacer and frantically she flies against the bars of the little cage to vent her pent up joy where she should stay, live for as long as life without lament or complaint. She had never known the joys, happiness of being free. How sad, how pitiful” said pak Arif.

“Of not just flying against the bars but delightfully flying so free in the sky.

“Of not perching day and night on a stick in the cage but to enjoy itself in trees, to play, to frolic, to warble, to rest, to see the sun, ...

“And rapturous find its mate, to build their nest, to lay eggs and patiently hatch them and raise the baby chicks with love.

“Sure, it’s but a bird, a creature, but a being so alike a human being,” said he.

Teasing, A Way Of Showing Friendship, Love

Teasing, A Way Of Showing Friendship, Love

“It’s rude, impolite, if you wriggle and free yourself when I want to embrace and kiss you by force” said mother to her little child.

“This is for paying off my moral debt” said her lover as he handed her flowers.

“Why is this rice so bitter?” said he timidly to his wife starting the peace treaty to end the ‘cold war’. Then his laughter which he had kept suppressed, straining all his efforts, broke out as water gushing from a broken dam.
“Sure. As bitter as is your heart,” said she teasing him in return.
So peace was restored.

“Oh, I forgot something.”
“What did you forget, you scoundrel?” she asked.
“Kiss you.”

Teasing, without hurting, humiliating, is a subtle way of showing warm friendship, love.

June 2008

Why? Ask Pardon To Me!

Why? Ask Pardon To Me!

There was a man in the Philippines who was sentenced to death for violating a girl. He had asked clemency to president Estrada. People prayed for him and many people abroad sent a petition for mercy.

I met the girl in my dream who said: “Why ask mercy, pardon to the President, to God? Why not ask me? I have the right to pardon him, he, who has tortured, threatened, forced, soiled me. They haven’t suffered the affront.”

Perhaps to ask for her pardon, mercy would be even worse than the death sentence, I thought.

And I imagined him if he were granted to ask mercy from her, he would kneel before her and say: “I am here not to ask pardon from you but to say that I really deserved this death penalty.”

She was cold, kept silent and he went away.

Meanwhile she secretly did send a letter to the authorities to free him on the moment of his execution.

Wow, he never would, ever could repay her greatness as long as life, as I created them in my mind.

July 2000

Pak Arif's Birthday Celebration

Pak Arif’s Birthday Celebration

Pak Arif’s children are grown-ups. They all have a car, but pak Arif walks, bicycles, takes the bus or train. “Sure, old-fashioned, unwise me” he said. They want to gladden him by taking him to a first rate restaurant, or provide the means for him to travel abroad as his birthday present.

“Well, just in the neighborhood of Jakarta are many beautiful spots.” He mused. “Jurangmangu, Kampung Melayu in Tangerang, Tanjung Pasir, Cinangka, Kapuk, Serpong, Rumpin-Leuwiliang, Ciater, Cibubur, Wanaherang, … still so clear, so live, so beautiful in his mind’s eye but a lot is now gone, lost. Wow how delightful it was to be welcomed by a girl with a branch of red colored rambutan just taken from the tree after being tired, running through Cilenggang village, which he did not eat but took home to decorate the dining table. He remembered an unexpected kiss of Upi, as his birthday present some 50 years ago. That was a present!!!!”

It was his dream that some day he would tour whole Jawa from village to village on a bike or walk, take an angkot (public car), have a lodging in a county inn, or sleep on a tapang (low wooden sitting table) in a warong (village shop), it would be fine if he could visit the other islands as well, or with his grandchildren walk in the river Cisadane, - not along - with his grandchildren from Rumpin to Leuwiliang. No, not touring abroad. It’s a pity he couldn’t take Upi, his wife to accompany him as it would be too tiring for her.

“What does dad like?” they asked their mother.

“Just give him a pair of sandals as his old are almost worn out,” said she. “When he got a fine Swiss watch, he didn’t wear it. At last he returned the watch as he preferred his old cheap digital watch. ‘No one would like to steal or rob it, besides, it can be used as a ringing bell to wake me up, a stopwatch and calendar,’ he reasoned.”

“Or present him some bags of earth to heighten his garden, eh, I mean his forest or his little plot of ‘land conservation’, since it’s free for every plant or creature who would like to visit, settle there while his forest is just 3 x 7 m. There is the waringin, flamboyant, belimbing, which he rescued, rambutan, nangka, mahoni, saga, and many others, I don’t know their names. He took weeds from his far trips home on a bus and planted it there. He doesn’t buy any plant, flowers, except a yang liu, a kind of willow. Not to say about the ferns.”

“There are two ponds he made himself. ‘I’m not accomplished in the art of landscaping. Let Nature be the artist he said.’ He has fresh water shrimps, fishes from the river, lakes, sawahs (rice fields), marshes, saved from being poisoned or drought. The water plants he took from the rice fields. There’s the beunteur, sepat, cupang, cenang-cenang, julung-julung, ikan macan (tiger fish) which he saved when it was still small and harmless, but forced to free it again in the Ciliwung river in front of the Istiqlal Mosque, as it preyed on the other fishes as it grows bigger, together with snails from the Bogor Botanic Garden which he had hatched, that razed his water plants. ‘you should watch them cautiously, live, - not see them in pictures or in aquariums - as they live vigilant in their natural surroundings,’ he advised.”

“He never cleaned his ponds, yet the water was very clear, he didn’t feed his fishes, during a draught he filled his ponds and he made a device to prevent his ponds from overflowing during rain, yet happy in the rain some fishes, especially the cenang-cenang jump out of his ponds.

“Besides he had a sawah frog caught when still very small who became an excellent jumper. He hides, sits on a wild water lily leaf till one day he croaks and reminds him of the sawah, the village. There also were fresh water crabs, but they disappeared. Father loves to see his residents that like to live or visit his garden, happy. There was a giant dragonfly visiting his pond. Its pupae was very fearsome to look at. It was as a miniature dragon and very ferocious. There was once a beautiful colored spider spreading its net above the pond. Little bats also visited and birds warble and had their nests in the waringin. The ‘kruidje roer me niet’ (touch-me-not weed) which he planted at the side of his pond was growing like a beautiful mini tree descending its branches into the pond. He loves, enjoyed his forest and ponds and learns what nature taught him: ‘the strong is slowly killing the weak’.”

“There too his dogs were buried” said mother.

Happy, warm, close together with his children and grandchildren, pak Arif celebrated his birthday with roasting, eating sate in the garden. Mmmmm. Breathing the barbequed smell awakens the appetite. There after, roast corn, drink sekoteng (gingerly drink). The moon and the stars were shining quietly, there was a cool breeze, the sound of a Sunda gamelan on a cassette. Happy with his new pair of sandals, with the earth and compost for his plants, “who still wants to be persuaded to go abroad or go to a restaurant as his birth day present? Ha, ha, ha.” So said pak Arif to his wife before going to bed.

From Suara Karya, March 15, 1996

Opa Johan's E Mail To His Grandchildren 5

Opa Johan’s E Mail To His Grandchildren 5

Well, leave the great, famous poets, painters, composers, scientists, heroes, … at home. Let hear what they said, see what they painted, hear what they composed, asserted, they did, instead of just quoting, citing dry, empty, stupid stuff as general knowledge and burden your brains with their names or their works, dates, residence, … to impress people as a cultured, intelligent person.

Just think, there are thousands of composers. Mozart himself composed more than thousand works. You don’t know Mozart just by knowing, remembering his name or his K.V.’s. You know Mozart by listening, hear him “speak” through his pieces even though only one but you enjoyed, loved it. Even shouldn’t you know his name or the title of the work, or did not know who he was. In an Encyclopedia you can find, learn a lot about him but you still know nothing about him, unless you ever have heard a piece of him which you really like and think it’s beautiful. Did you know this?

May 2008

Remember, This Is "Leisurely Reading"

Remember, This Is “Leisurely Reading”

I have no claim, pretensions to be accomplished in world issues, scientific, political matters, to write perfect English, to be accurate, complete, … “Leisurely Reading” is some what of a common, plain man doing his chores in his daily outfit, in shorts, without a shirt, barefoot, or on slippers, sitting on the stairs or on the floor, ground or a low stool among the plants, living leisurely with a sea of time for himself.

I work on my home page unhurriedly. Certainly not excellent as done by a professional publisher as I’m doing it my self as a layman, for I have not the means nor the necessary skill or knowledge.

My writings yet remain the same, published, unpublished, praised or blamed, today or tomorrow.

Valuations fall and rise.

November 2008

The Little Puppy

The Little Puppy

There was a fluffy puppy playing so lively with a little round fruit at the roadside. Every time it jumped, preyed on its plaything or running around it. It was as though seeing a naughty half naked little street boy who knows how to enjoy himself.

When little girl lured, tempted, caught him and held it in her arms, it wriggled, wrestled to free himself, wagging its tail and ran happily, excitedly around her, as though to say that it doesn’t deserve to be fondled, granted such a love, an honor from her.

What will come of this little nobody’s puppy on the street I thought. But I didn’t allow little girl to take him home, as she would leave the care of it to others.

Days thereafter, we looked for him, but we didn’t see him, and he stayed away until one day someone told us that he was killed in a car accident.

Then we missed him.

1975

Pigeons' Woe And Happiness

Pigeons’ Woe And Happiness

And there were the pigeons of the boys that should be given away or sold as they had too many of them.

Bruintje - I call him so because he was brown -, maybe was ten times sold but always returned home. And every time he came back happily, I felt a conscience prick, a pain in my heart.

At last I forbade the boys to give them away, yet he and its mate were stolen. They had pulled out their strong wing feathers, but both returned with just half grown feather wings.

I turned to “family planning”. But they still may have one egg hatched once a year. What a happy event it was for the parent birds. It was as though they were young again with their baby chick while they were in old age already. Both were still passionately in love as the first time. Even when his wife was so old that she stumbled and couldn’t fly anymore, Bruintje was still running after her. We call it giring (passionately in love). Everyday was a wedding celebration, not only once as in a man’s life time.

1969

Wrong Again!

Wrong Again!

Little girl was drawing with crayon. Wrong, wiped with a darker color. Wrong again, another color on it, wrong again. In her anger she swept through her picture with black. Failed, she thought, but it was hanged on the wall in the class room as good, valuable by her drawing teacher.

1969

Psalm Of David Of This Age 2

Psalm Of David Of This Age 2

He is the Almighty. His Word is written, imprinted, engraved, all over and around us.

He doesn’t need my, our praises. He doesn’t need our aid, our assistance to preach His Words. Who can pride, qualify himself to be his representative? He is anywhere, not only in Churches, in Cathedrals, Mosques, Temples. His community includes all living and is not limited to those only who believe in Him, for as long as time.

He is that created, who regulated the universe without any effort.

Without being taught, at the very moment of happiness, each one, every being knows, how to sing, how to praise. At the very moment of death in death agony, everyone, every creature knows how to pray.

He is God I created after my own image.

1973

The Sun Is Shining Again

The Sun Is Shining Again

Little girl would take a walk with her parents, but she prayed to wait for her to finish seeing the film Kimba, the white lion.

“Go immediately or leave her at home.” her older brothers angrily snarled. It was as though a happy little bird was shot. She got tears in her eyes, her heart bled.

Father and mother for all that still waited for her and after having seen the film they went out together.

There was a shy, happy laugh on her face more than all the weariness of waiting.

After the rain it’s wonderful to see the sun’s peeping and shining again. Sure, this sun is anywhere around them.

1969

You Blockhead

You Blockhead

Little girl said affectionately to her father who prepared her milk: “the milk isn’t sweet enough, you blockheeead” stressing on the word blockhead. How wonderful it was. It was much warmer than hear her say “dear father”. There was no one who ever had the courage to say so to him.

1969

What A Vitality

What A Vitality

There was a little happy tree almost cut down. How laughable, ridicules or better, what a pitiable sight. What had it not “bled”, endured the offense, indignity. But out of what was still left, new branches sprouted and from these, again new branches and it was a fine, happy little tree again.

And there was the fighting cock who was hit in his eye – they had let him fight – and that immense loss of an eye, and all the pain and suffering, he bore without complaint, lament for days with strength and dignity. Is there anything wrong with the fighting nature of cocks and crickets?

And there, she saw the sun. She managed, succeeded to grow up through all the greenery and she flourishes, rejoiced, shines that unwanted “weed”.

And there are the poor, as weed, - not planted in a flower pot, or in a garden - but along the road-, rail-side, along a ditch, in barren environments, ruins, cavities of a wall. Remember, this is Jakarta. They’re very tough, strong as forged by fierce hardships. They certainly are also blessed with the Creator’s kiss.

1977

Am I Blind?

Am I Blind?

Little girl, her eye was hurt against something and ran with fear to mother. “Am I blind?” looked up, lifting her little face with wide opened eyes close to mother’s. A precious souvenir unexpected offered, not ever to miss this chance, pressed a kiss on it and joyfully the cherub played, ran, frolicked and frisked again.

1969

Handle One Man Harder Than A Hundred Oxen

Handle One Man Harder Than A Hundred Oxen

According to my granddad, handle one man is harder than a hundred oxen. Sure, every man wants to be independent, be his own. He doesn’t like to obey, to be ruled, ordered, commanded to do this, do that, blamed, scolded, he so hates, except he is paid or forced. That’s his nature. So don’t do what you don’t like, what you hate, to others especially to the weak, the old, children. That’s the saying but it’s so very natural and without the saying, anybody would have found it.

October 2008

Musing Over A Bowl Of Chicken Soup

Musing Over A Bowl Of Chicken Soup

I remember the fate of a puppy at the roadside. We don’t have to take it to the hospital, provide a bed, covers, not to be spooned, forced, persuaded to eat. No chicken soup. If only we give him but leftovers of a meal that would be more than sufficient to keep him alive.

“Water, … “ cried the evacuee, his hand lifted before dying of thirst and hunger in a war in Rwanda or Cambodia. Oh, his life is still so precious.

Meanwhile a bowl of warm chicken soup was served. By little tea spoonfuls granddad who is very old was fed. He doesn’t want to eat anymore, he can’t enjoy the so delicious soup anymore. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t want to live. But his children and grand children didn’t want him die and encouraged, forced him, tortured him to eat the chicken soup to stay alive.

“Well, let us kill a chicken, especially for granddad,” so they, the family decided before.

“Ah” said the chicken without words, “Why must I be killed?” I’m still young, I still want to live, enjoy life, though I should be sleeping perching on a tree, in rain and wind, though they wouldn’t provide for my food.” Only could he know that he would be slaughtered for the sake of a man who doesn’t want to live anymore. Suppose he knows it, what could he do? Those that know and want it, are we.

And the chicken was killed. It doesn’t help if he would protest, cry for help and justice.

“When I’m as old as granddad, give my dish to some little puppy so he may still live. Don’t kill a chicken for my sake anymore. Better, let me die.” Si Upik whispered to me. “But then I should say this to my daughters and granddaughters and I’m not yet married ha, ha.”

Berita Buana August 19, 1997

Musing Over A Used Plastic Paint Pail

Musing Over A Used Plastic Paint Pail

I’m sad to see my fine blue plastic paint pail, which I used to carry fish, not filled with fish, but oil waste of the motor bike of my son. Months now it’s staying there, instead of being emptied, cleaned, it was again filled as his motor had to change his oil again.

He certainly did not know what to do with it. He had not the heart to empty it on the ground as the plants would die, into a ditch, the fishes. When spilled, it was difficult to clean it up. That’s just one motor. Just count, what a lake is needed to store – remember, this is an Indonesian thinking - oil waste of millions of motor cycles that are in Jakarta only. Where do the car repair stations throw away that oil?

I wanted to write something nice, not write something so disgusting as black and dirty as oil waste of motors.

About Bero the village young skinny dog in Ciloto who welcomed, walked along with us on picnic. He was so very hungry. With each ”slurp” he seemed to say: “Oh how nice, delicious, thank you, thank you.” And he got more and ate and ate till his belly was round and N.B. he still ate unripe mango fruit for our dessert. He’s our dear friend now. Is he there still. How I miss him.

Or see, hear the jingling bells of the deleman (cart), the horse’s trotting and the animated chatter and laughter of little children in it passing by.

I remember our head of the HBS (secondary school), we called him directeur, some 60 years ago, who was tall, a valiant man. He could be nominated as a hero in a film. One day he came as usual on his old bike, his voice was hoarse, yet he still taught us. He told nothing what had happened in the night before. It was his secretary that told us the news. He fought, succeeded to overpower and bound the intruder who threatened him with a knife as he usually worked till very late at night with unclosed door and gate. “Come in Mr. Rasad” he said without looking up. He thought he was our Indonesian teacher.

But there was another thing special and that was his wife he so loved and respected. She assisted him in his work and in tying up the intruder. She was thin, wobbly, trembled, had a quavering voice, perhaps the consequence of imprisonment in the second world war. His name is v.der Hage.

Or the cunning, patience of our ABRI (National Armed Forces). They waited till almost every one believed that there was no hope, every one had no confidence that our armed forces could ever rescue the hostages. Then unexpected they attacked and freed the prisoners in the Timika forests. How our people rejoiced.

Now, what about the ruins of a house that was torn, broken down. Where do they throw this away? Doesn’t it just transporting ruins to another place? Or detergent’s, nuclear wastes, …? That’s enough. No more talk about that. That’s for those who love to solve those problems and care for our earth and wellbeing.

July 1997

What Comes First, Me Or Others?

What Comes First, Me Or Others?

“Some say that thinking of others, caring for others first would make us happy,” said Boy to si Upik.

“If a mother risks her life for her child, a man for his family, his country, … , did they not dedicate it to others first?” she said.

“Certainly not. They did it for their own sake, interests first. It makes them happy, though they sacrifice their lives. It has nothing to do with selfishness or being an egoist.”

“Do you want a man who marries you for your sake, your good?”

“No.” said si Upik. “For, then he doesn’t love me, except it was for his own sake.”

“So, you can’t ever love anyone, anything, your father, mother, child, your country, … for his/her/its sake.” said Boy. “I remember the choir conductor saying to his members: ‘Don’t sing, exercise for my sake, for the church’s sake, for God’s sake. Just big, empty talk. Do it for your own sake if you ever care to love yourself, lest you would be a hypocrite, a Pharisee.’”

October 2008

Don't Promise

Don’t Promise

“Niet beloven. Belofte maakt schuld. ‘Don’t promise, a promise gives birth to a debt,’ so said father in Dutch, who could hardly talk, through the telephone with a quavering voice. He is very old but his thoughts are still clear, Ann.” said Luke.

“But, bringing, taking kindness, goodness to our neighbors also give rise to a debt, a moral debt, a feeling of gratitude, being obliged to repay. It would be nice if it could be done anonym as it would free the receiver from a moral debt. Don’t you think so?”

“What if you are so grateful but never could repay it?. What would you do?”

“I would repay the moral debt by making others happy, grateful in a similar way.” said Ann.

May 18, 2004

As A Frog In A Well

As A Frog In A Well

“Sure, though I may live as a frog in a well in Jakarta, but my mind, imaginations, thoughts, feelings, no dictator ever could subdue, kill, no preacher, no gospel ever could entice, seduce, lure, persuade me, except they (these thoughts, feelings) could be shut off by walls, imprisoned, they could jump out of any well, any prison and perch, settle on a leaflet or a page, yes, jump into the whole world in computers. Ha, ha, ha.” said pak Arif.

October 2008

How To Steal A Kiss

How To Steal A Kiss

Opa Johan’s granddaughter wrote a letter how she succeeded, managed to steal a kiss of granddad without having to wait 10 years more. Her letter was in Indonesian.

To Opa:

How kiss opa? Like this: talk about songs or music and wait, patient. And we must sit beside or behind (in the car). That’s the way. Want to kiss you must sit.

So my story, one day I, oma, opa, papi, mami and etc. in the car. We talked songs, then he’s hit. Every time I always hit a kiss opa. (without having to wait till 17 years old)

From Angela

March 2004

The Gelatik And Benji, The Dog

The Gelatik And Benji, The Dog

Have you ever seen the Gelatik bird. She is so lovely, in grey and black and a red-rose beak, so frisky and so charming as a stewardess.

What would she say if someone offered her a home safe from predators, hunters, place it for honored guests to see in a brilliant hall of a palace with hundreds of candles. She doesn’t have to search for food or water, it would be provided, served on a plate and a cup of gold.

Said the bird: “Though not safe from the hawk, the snake, shot, trapped by man, though not protected from rain, and storm and drink but water from the rice field, a ditch, or have to provide myself with food, endure intense hunger and thirst during drought, give me my freedom, rather than be caged in a beautiful bird house, protected and well provided. I want to fly, have my nest though just of woven grass, find my mate and happily raise my baby chicks.

I’d rather like Benji to be as a wild animal and leaves us, instead of loving us. But Benji when urged to stay away, leave us, and be free, he stays, though we give him but knuckles of pork as his food or has to sleep outside on the floor. Where we go, he goes, where we stay, there he stays and there too, he’s most happy and at home.

And I mused, which is the better, being free or being bound?

August 18, 2004

Opa Johan's Trip To Sadeng Jamboe

Opa Johan’s Trip To Sadeng Jamboe

Perhaps there never was a passenger who ever asked him, the ojek driver who takes someone on his motor-cycle to carry him from Sadeng Jamboe to Gobang. I my self have never been through this country road. How much should I pay him? After haggling it was agreed on Rp 40.000.-, that’s a lot for some one as me as I paid for my train fare just Rp.2.500.- (that’s about 25 US cents) Jakarta – Bogor some 60 Km.

It was fine, the country road was OK. Then we came on a not asphalted road with a lot of stones and holes, uphill, downhill. I almost was thrown off backwards as he suddenly increased his speed uphill on the stony road. I promised myself that next time will I learn how to position my feet, my hands to keep myself safe and take my helmet. And it suddenly rained, showered. We sheltered beneath a tree and the wind was blowing very hard. So we rode again to find another shelter and found a farmers hut. Halfway we came to the main road but Gobang was still far away.

I said to him “which way would you take on your return road. The same road would be awfully far and bad. What about going to Leuwiliang on the main road, I will take an angkot carrying passengers to Bogor station and you could return. That’s not so far off Sadeng Jamboe. I’ll add Rp. 10.000.-.” Rather than staying helplessly on the lonely road, I said to myself. He nodded.

I’m certainly happy as I remember this adventure on the heavy road, the beautiful view of mountains and rice fields, just for Rp. 50.000.- and I think he too must be happy with his unexpected earning and remember the strange request.

In the angkot to Bogor, there was a woman who could be my daughter. As when I asked the driver to stop she said. “Don’t leave here, it’s still far away to the train station. – she didn’t know that I’m a fairly good old walker - This angkot will be going past the station.” I kept my thump up in appreciation, gratitude.

As I left at the station, I turned, looked at her and nodded good bye. What a happy unexpected meeting just in an angkot.

And in the overcrowded train was a young woman who was sitting beside me as though needing “’someone to watch over her’, instead of you, why then have you a hurting leg?” Opa Johan whispered, “Am I not a good husband?”

“Oh, I’m a very rich man. And every day adding to my riches, imagine, just during a trip to Jamboe without the huge costs, difficulties, troubles if ever visiting the Niagara Falls. I deserve a kiss. Ha, ha, ha.”

September 2008

What Heaven Is

What Heaven Is

“Thrust a man into hell and he knows what heaven is. Ha, ha, ha.” said Boy.

October 2008

What A Bravado

What A Bravado

How brave, like heroes the soldiers marched, taking along the captive states leader before them and it was N.B. a woman. I would be ashamed to march in a show of force so degrading like that. When I saw this picture in a news paper a long time ago, I thought that there’s no courage needed when she is a prisoner. It would be brave to show it when she was still in power, or hoisting the flag when the enemy was shooting, firing, bombing on you.

“Hi, Susan, Fight.” Something like that, a woman shouted as a piercing, electrifying shriek. That was brave as almost all the spectators were cheering, supporting her opponent’s side during the “killing battle”.

And I remember the parade of heroes in the Olympic games in Beijing, heroes, warriors of states fighting in a fair battle!

October 2008

An Exeptional Woman

An Exceptional Woman

Though she has but about a half of a body, she wasn’t awkward among the people. She could drive a car and perform the daily activities only with her hands. She has her husband and a child. That was what I saw on TV.

I pictured her husband to be very special as he could still love her, a woman who has but the upper part of a body, perhaps from the hips, buttocks upward. It would be different if she were a miss world. Then men would run after her.

This woman certainly must be very extraordinary beautiful in another way as just with such a poor physical condition she still could be loved by a man. And I remembered the story of Beauty who loved the Beast.

Only a woman who almost has no hope to giving birth of her own child knows the immense joy, happiness when she really succeeded to give birth to a normal healthy baby. I believe that despite all this, she’s not any the less happy than any normal man or woman. She certainly could write, sing, play the piano, paint, swim, … if she wanted to.

Someone said: “Just of a loss of our teeth, hair, one would be worried, feeling awkward. Walking a little distance, in the sun, in the rain one would complain. Imagine, try it. She walks on her hands, not in a wheel chair.”

Despite her handicap, her extraordinary accomplishments limited in a smaller world - as I muse and think of Helen Keller -, certainly must be as amazing as those that were praised for passing summa cum laude on their PhD degree, or winning Pulitzer, Nobel prizes, having their books filmed, translated in many foreign languages, or championing mountain climbing, surfing, parachuting, visiting the seven wonders of the world, ...

December 12, 2004

Sint Nicolas

Sint Nicolas

January 31, 1995 is Chinese New Year, a day of joy for the children to reap “angpao” (a red envelop with money) from their parents, family relations.

It makes me remember the happy time full of delightful surprises, presents of Sint Nicolas on December the fifth. But someone said that it wasn’t good for the children to tell them a lie, to make them belief in a story that Sint Nicolas came from Spain and brings presents for children during their sleep, walking on the roof with his horse. Perhaps he never experienced the happy event in childhood.

That were really days of joyful waiting and surprises. When we were grown up, we were grateful to our parents for those happy days and now we are parents, we continue this happy event, occasion to our children.

With shining, excited eyes, a long time before bed time, the children prepared their shoes with grass for the horse of the Sint under their beds. How they long after the next morning to come as fast as possible and went to bed earlier.

Meanwhile, cautiously, as thieves, it was our turn who were excited and busy to pack, wrap up the parcels and laid them cautiously under their beds. It was delightful to read their funny letters to the Sint in their shoes. Far before daybreak we heard their excited whisper, walking to and fro and softly, carefully opened their presents. We had to restrain our laughs as we pretended to be sleeping.

To make the children happy, that was the precious gift of Sint Nicolas to the children. Making us happy by making our children happy that was his gift to us, their parents.

I told my grandchildren that they should tell the truth. They may tell a lie in fun or a beautiful lie as the story of Sint Nicolas that would make one grateful, happy for it afterwards. Or, when they are forced to obey a wicked command or request, except they have the courage to belie them as the hunter who fooled the wicked queen with presenting the heart of a wild boar instead of Snow White.

Sint Nicolas to me now, is someone who brings gifts, happiness, blessings, without disclosing his identity, to free the receiver from a moral debt.

Jayakarta, February 15, 1995

ABRI, The People's Guardian

ABRI, The People’s Guardian

“Wow, the ABRI (Indonesian National Armed Forces) were so patient, didn’t become angry, emotional, kept silent, like stones when they were scolded, derided, laughed at, pointed with a finger to their very nose, pushed back, thrown with stones by demonstrators, rioters. I would ’burst’ in there place. Who could endure it? They’re human beings, not robots. Instead they were regarded in the wrong, as inhumane, when they were taking measures to restore law and order.” So someone comments when he saw this on TV recently.

We were panic stricken, we feared for our safety, our dogs, May 14, as we saw the smoke rising in the neighborhood and imagined the mob, rioters coming closer. Moreover those who helplessly saw, experienced the plunder, the fire, the outrage, affront. The presence of ABRI security forces was a relief, a blessing.

And I remembered the joy, happiness, pride of the people when the ABRI forces triumphed and succeeded to rescue the hostages in Irian Jaya.

But for the military who sacrificed their lives – “heroes” said si Upik – doing their duty to protect, safeguard, rescue the people, there was almost nothing in the papers, on TV. No silence observed, no poetry reading, no flag half pole hoisted in their honor, they’re not missed, not mourned by the public.

For these heroes and the victims who were robbed, raped, killed without any fault, who were likely to be forgotten, unnoticed, my flag waves half pole.

Suara Karya, June 19, 1998

Lost And Found Again

Lost And Found Again

Si Upik imagined her dear dog got a stunning blow on his head, or slaughtered, cut off his head, or perhaps as a corpse on the street after an accident with a car. If she only could know that Chicko was stolen by someone who would really love him, she readily would give him up.

When she came home after searching for her dog in the neighborhood, she feared that she never would see him again. And she remembered his hair so soft, his body so warm, his pulsation so live, … when he reminded her that his water vessel was empty by playing with it or scratching with his paws against the fridge when he wanted iced(!) water.

She softly heard a noise as though someone was repairing the roof. Not a cat, it was impossible that her dog would be on the roof. Yet she forced herself to climb. How scary it was for her who is a doctor. No woman doctor was ever climbing the roof except perhaps in films.

When she reached the ridge, she looked into the other side. Yes, there he was as in the story of the lost lamb, not trapped on the edge of a precipice but on the edge of the roof. A misstep would make him fall. She climbed down to him trembling, reached, embraced him, while Chicko clung to her and so, she, small as she was, took him as large a lamb in her arms on the roof.

How happy she was. Chicko who was received as a very dear family member was lost and found again. A long while she kept awake. It was love that made her, every one, every creature brave. Though money could make life comfortable, easier, it was love that made her, us so happy, even though for an animal.

Jayakarta, May 22, 1993

On Super Stars

On Super Stars

Not seldom do we read articles praising someone as super stars. Here is an instance:

“ … He, this living legend, stays in a five star hotel in the president’s suite that was once visited by vice president Walter Mondale and king Hussein. From the airport to the hotel he took a helicopter. His life was not less adventurous to those that are princes or head of states. We would be impressed about his riches and the millions of dollars he earned. … Something like that was written in the editorial of a foremost news paper of Jakarta recently“ said pak Arif to me “and I might add, erect his statue and kneel, worship and kiss his feet.”

“But I adore, am enchanted, fascinated by my little Star as I remember her lovely smile, her voice, her looks, her radiant eyes, her soft hair, her warm embrace, her kiss, … Eve, instead of being impressed, awed by shows, exhibitions of their fame, achievements, riches, earnings … ha, ha, ha.”

“I don’t care about the super stars on the stage, on the grass, or in the sky.”

Jayakarta, September 26, 1990

I Hate To Have Visitors

I Hate To Have Visitors

How I hate to receive visitors. I can’t keep up a clever conversation.

I’d rather visit him or her and I’m so free to leave as soon as I want. If he visits us, we certainly wouldn’t be able to chase him away anyway. And he just can’t go away immediately for courteous sake. Besides, you don’t know what it costs me to clean up the house, buy some snack, take it down the stairs, wash the plates when I have no servant to do it with a hurting leg. Days, since the announcement of his coming visit am I sick, vexed of waiting and of the thought.

And now, think of my brother in law to gladden us with oleh-oleh (a little gift of fruits or cookies, sweets after a journey) from Makasar by visiting and bringing it himself. I said to my sister “don’t trouble him to take it to us. But in my mind, I meant. not to trouble us with his visit. Oh, oh, my dear sister who was in France telephoned him, instead, urged, forced him to come in person to honor us. What a cruel, foolish request of a wife as he had almost no access to a car, a guide and a lot more in Jakarta. I’d rather free Johan in that case.

Instead of receiving his visit and embarrassed, converse about nothing, the weather, I now will visit him. How I wish he could sent someone else.

Imagine, Whom should I ask a favor to do something, I myself don’t like, hate? And he stays in Pondok Indah on the 11th floor. Whom should I take with me in the lift and carry the oleh-oleh downstairs? Who would drive me? Remember, I have to repay a kindness with a kindness. So I have to buy some snack, forced to do it myself, telephone here, there, traffic jams, … I won’t tell you all the trouble, miseries I encounter. I am vexed. All this is surely, really like hell to escape a worse hell.

“I got the parcel though. It was lucky he was away, ha, ha.” she laughed as she, opa Johan’s wife related this afterwards to me. “I’m oh so happy it’s over. He has returned to France.”

“Well, I just stopped by in Kebon Jeruk on the way to picnic this Sunday morning and knocked on the gate.” said Opa Johan, “Blacky joyfully, excitedly ran up to me from behind the gate as the gate was locked. I’m so welcome. He’s so happy with my visit even without oleh-oleh. What do you say?”

“Sure, as I am not a dog.” She said.

As she mused, what a price it takes just to receive someone’s unwanted goodness. Instead of a blessing, a happy surprise it comes like a torment you’ll always remember if you can’t, don’t have the courage to refuse, become wiser, just because of a small, stupid parcel, thing, request.

September 2008

The Rich "Pemulung"

The Rich Pemulung

I imagined his immense treasure in his cart for old junk as it carried a sleeping girl and he hummed:

With you beside me,
Living, sleeping in my cart;
Right there’s my palace, my paradise.
With you beside me,
The richest man seems poor to me.

The girl is mumbling in her sleep:

With you beside me,
Am I honored as a queen of queens.
With you beside me,
Hell doesn’t terrify me,
Nor do I wish to go to heaven
Save with you.

They haven’t the means to buy themselves a marriage certificate, to wear shoes, even slippers. More over for a glittering feast in a grand hotel, for hundreds of guests to be invited to witness their marriage. Yet, the moon smiled, million stars watched and rejoiced, witnessing their marriage celebration: as they sat, eat together from the same banana leaf with their fingers, drinking together out of the same old aqua bottle. Was there ever a warmer couch than sleeping together in each other’s arms?

That was some years ago. Recently I met them again. Perhaps they were the same couple, maybe another. The rich pemulung became still richer as he was blessed with three little kids and a baby. The eldest was walking with his mother, his younger brothers and the baby were in a big carton box like little pandas with shining eyes in his cart.

Oh, no, certainly not a cart but his marriage coach when he carried his princess, his bride home.

“Going to the public health clinic” he cheerfully waved at me. Though he only earned his living with gathering, collecting used carton boxes from garbage bins, he has a cart, that cart was his business capital, his wedding carriage, his wedding couch, remember, he’s an entrepreneur, he’s his own boss. “Better be the head of a chicken, rather than be the tail of an ox, ha, ha.” he thought.

Some day when his children are grown up, perhaps they proudly would say, ”true, my parents were called poor pemulungs and lived from collecting old junk, yet they were very rich in feelings, loving, happiness and succeeded to raise us to be graduates, business owners, ….”

Bisnis Indonesia, December 27, 1991

An Unforgettable Quarrel

An Unforgettable Quarrel

“Hi, Pak Tani, they look fresh and good, those vegetables. How much does they cost?” so I asked him.
Said the farmer: “ Rp. 50.-.”
“Can we haggle about the price?”
“Sure” he said.
“What about Rp. 200.-? That is too cheap. Raise your price please.”
“Oh, no, no, no. That’s too high. What about Rp. 75.-? That’s high enough. It can’t be raised anymore.”
“What about Rp. 175.- ?”
“No, no, no, the price is fixed, not more.
“After fierce battling to and fro we agreed on Rp. 150.-.“

“How happy we were after our hot dispute, quarrel we’ll never forget. Imagine, just for Rp. 150.- , I, we got more than a million dollars worth in happiness, you know? Aren’t you proud to have such a rich husband” and he whispered: “who has the courage to praise himself? Ha, ha, ha. What do you say?” opa Johan said to his wife who pinched him.

“Oh, it’s just your fancy, fantasy.” she said.

October 1974

The Marriage Pledge

The Marriage Pledge

In 2008 and before

I promise before God and His community here to ever love, aid, assist you and be true, faithful in rain and shine, in plenty or want in good health or sickness until death would part us.

In 2100

I vow that I free you from the marriage pledge. I’m grateful you granted your love this very day, may it be every day.

After 2200 the marriage takes place without vows, promises, pledges, as all the creatures on this earth.

“You’re not mine, I’m yours!”

September 2008

Sadam And Bush

Sadam And Bush

It is in the year 2050 on earth. Sadam and Bush are in heaven.

Bush: Hi Sadam, you truly played your role superb. How you hated me as I called you ‘the axis of evil’ and accused you of hiding weapons of mass destruction, terrorists and the world believed this. How brave you were as you stood alone. No country had the courage to take your side. My army was as thousand to one strong compared to yours, moreover aided by coalition troops. Your son Uday who was hunted and trapped, yet did not surrender though he was besieged, surrounded with. Humvees, helicopters and a lot of military personnel.

Sadam: Sure that was my role. The judges who sentenced me to the gallows acted their roles, why hate them or hate you for your earthly role. But at that time, absorbed in acting our roles we didn’t realize, forgot that we were just acting as was ordained, decided in the play of our supreme Dalang (Puppeteer). We said “our Allah” and you said “our God”, but now we know, they are the same, the supreme Dalang. We have performed, done our roles and the show on earth goes on.

Bush: As I now think in heaven I would like my role could include, to apologize for the damage, wrongs done, for the victims, your fallen heroes and pay in compensation to your country, your people when my accusations turned out wrong, not proved and also for our fallen heroes in a needless war. Then the heavenly spectators of the show on earth would sympathize with me.

September 2008

"Someone To Watch Over Me"

“Someone To Watch Over Me”

“As she stood so close in front of me, I would, could embrace her waist in the overcrowded train. And she looked down on me and I looked up at her. And when my neighbor beside me left, she sat close beside me and gently pressed herself against me as a woman leaning against a man, though I was wearing shorts, the only man that’s wearing it that way in the train, dirty, in plain sports shirt, old, worn shoes, white hair. She didn’t turn away in disgust, you know.” he said. ”I would kiss her goodness, warmth and I thought of the young man who asked Princess Diana to be allowed to kiss her. This was even more than a kiss as it was granted me unasked despite my poor appearance.” Opa Johan was silent.

“I’ll never would see her again. I ‘m grateful it was just there in that overcrowded train, of that very moment, I’ll ask not more, but remember this with fond affection.”

And Gershwin’s: ‘Someone To Watch Over Me’, slowly dawned on me.

September 2008

A Victim Of His Own Creation

A Victim Of His Own Creation

We certainly would rejoice having created new, better varieties of grain, coconut, chicken, cow, fish, … if indeed of better quality. Scientist are experimenting with genes and what not. But without wise, prudent consideration, they might become a nightmare instead of a blessing.

Have you ever heard about the hybrid “man-animal”? That is a descendant of crossing man and animal. What if one day man would really succeed to create this, as is a Spinks that has the body of an animal and a head of a man or vice versa. Or succeeded to create a deadly virus as AIDS and the virus escaped of an accident in the laboratory, or create nuclear, chemical, bacterial weapons?

I remember an old charming story, I don’t know who the wise author was.

There were three sons who intend to dedicate their knowledge for their country. The first was Iptek, the second Biotek and the third was Moyung. He was a nonentity, he can’t pride himself on scientific merits, as his other brothers, except his common sense.

The oldest proved his ability by constructing the scattered bones of a lion. The second added meat, skin, claws, teeth to the carcass.

“Now, watch” he said, “I’ll bring him to life”.

But Moyung was terrified. “ Don’t” he cried. “He would prey on us”.

“Well, Moyung really is a fool, ha, ha. There never was a scientific proof that lions are endangering man.” said their brothers.

“Wait” Moyung quickly climbed a tree.

The two brothers were proud of their lion. But as soon as the animal came to life, it pounced upon them.

Yet the modern version said: “The author erred, or fooled. Don’t worry, Iptek, Mr. Teknology and Biotek, Mr. Biotechnology were save and praised, honored as the Saviors, Messiah of mankind and the world. It was Moyung who always used his common sense, climbed the tree became a prey of the lion. If you don’t believe, just reread the chapter on lion’s behavior for the secondary school.” And many people trust, believe this.

The Jakarta Post November 10, 1992, Media Indonesia, December 6, 1992

Opa Johan's E Mail To His Grand Children 4

Opa Johan's E Mail To His Grandchildren 4

By 2040 you’ll be mothers and fathers as your fathers and mothers now are and your children as disobedient as you now are. You would have just one child at most. You argued: “We won’t be as stupid as our grandfathers/grandmothers who had more than one, five, seven, … children and be their nurse maid”.

It’s 2070. Have you ever imagined yourself as by that time you are as old as I am now. Your grandchildren are as tall and strong as you are now. But that’s a long way off.

They welcome you: “Hi oma, Hello opa! We’re going to Paris shopping. Are you coming with us? Our class this semester will visit the Himalayas. Did you really kiss your opa on your 17th year, oma? That was brave. Ha, ha, ha.”

”Sure, as I’m a scarecrow myself now and so you would. He, he, he. I certainly was a cute teenager, you dumb head.”

October 2008