Opa Johan's 73rd Birthday Present

Opa Johan's 73rd Birthday Present



Opa (grand-dad) Johan related his adventure to his wife

I started from Gobang about 8.30. I wanted to go over the hills as a shortcut to Jambu. Just imagine, if you don’t know the route over the hills. It’s not on a map. Just a path, winding and steep. I have to push instead of riding on my bike but it was still nice as it was cool beneath the trees. I almost met no one on my way, more over, no one on a bike.

The Ojek rider (the man who takes passengers on his motor-cycle), knows the way. He said: “go to Cilangkap first, then Panunggangan, Wates, after Cigudeg turn back to Jambu. Seems very easy. But the villagers along the path didn’t know anything about Jambu. Perhaps the Ojek man who knows it, thinks: ”this old man is crazy to take his cycle up over the hills. Halfway he certainly will return.”

I then asked some one: “Does it need an hour to reach Cilangkap?” He said: “ Oh, no.” I‘m feeling at ease since it is not so far away as it could be reached within an hour. Imagine my distress, after pushing my bicycle for two hours, I still didn’t arrive. I then realized that what he meant was, that one hour was not enough to arrive at Cilangkap.

I imagined Cilangkap, a village to have roads and more traffic. On the contrary, it was not a village at all. It was amid the hills. There were only some bamboo huts, no traffic. They knew nothing about Jambu except the Panunggangan village. Again a path, but still nice in the cool mountain air.

After exerting a lot of effort and spending a very long time I reached Panunggangan. How happy I was, as there was a road for motor cars. It should be near the main road now, I thought.

Well, If you want to know hell, you just have to go alone along this road at 12.00 am, when the sun is blazing pushing a bike, without provision except a half bottle Aqua water. After two hours didn’t I met a motor car, didn’t I see a hut. I’m afraid that if I’m riding my bike on such a bad road I would get a tire leakage. And that would be worse, pushing a bike in such circumstances as there was no repair shop along the road.

After walking, pushing my bike for hours which seemed like ages, like a never ending road in the hot sun, it was so hot, I pulled my shirt upward to cover my head and face. I didn’t care as there was almost nobody who would see me. It would be tantalizing seeing an Ojek rider passing by. “Hang on,” I said,” never give up, surrender, you certainly will arrive at Wates and Cigudeg. There is a main road.”
.
“This is heaven” as I reached Cigudeg at last, although I still have to ride 3 hours to cover 47 km passing Jambu village to the Bogor city.

At dusk, on the train back to Jakarta, a passenger, after hearing my anxiety of a possible punctured tire in the hills warned me: “Before you start you ought to pray first.” But at home, when I asked Boy, he said “I’m not worried about that. Just take along a tire in reserve and a pump.” So, now will I learn to open and fix back the tire of my bike to be prepared when that happens. I think it is shameful to have God watch over our troubles. He certainly would say: “You lazy fellow, you just want Me to work for you.”

But suppose I got into trouble because of an accident, or forced to have an overnight stay somewhere on the hills, it would even be more exciting, thrilling, adventurous. Perhaps there are people who would help me. I would be very grateful and happy, more over he, who has helped, saved me. If I die, it’s nothing at all, as I don’t have to trouble you or anyone anymore. What if I were helpless, sick of old age? But I’m not yet prepared to leave my fishes, and plants. Who will take care of them? You? I don’t worry about you. It’s you who have to worry, take care of me. Ha, ha, ha.

I’m breathing deep and freely, my feet seem to be very strong and light, my appetite keen and I slept as soft as on a cloud. I saw, felt, what no one would ever see and feel. I’m proud to succeed in overcoming hell. You could say that this is my 73rd birthday present I gave myself. How nice! Aren’t you glad, proud to have your husband like this? Now kiss me. You owe me a kiss.

December, 2003

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Job Of This Age

Job Of This Age

Like a limb, a branch of a tree is cut off. But the tree doesn’t die, except it’s growing many new fresh branches out of it. Cut these new branches again and again, still many more new branches are sprouting without end.

I remember some one whose house was burned down and had lost all his possessions like in the story of Job who also lost his by catastrophe. He also crept slowly from down below and build himself a new, larger, stronger and better house than before and his business too flourished and improved.

I imagine some Job living in this age saying: “Suppose I lost my riches, my business went bankrupt and was deprived of my official duties. Why worry? Just with a little bit of extra exertion, effort, using my mind, I can rebuild, recover them again.”

Take his sight and he will say: “I will learn to see with my fingers and hearing. My inner eye is still sharp, and living in an inner world as bright as daylight I store my inner riches, which doesn’t need any room, any place, can’t be stolen, nor robbed without having to keep them in a save or in a bank.”

Make him sick and he speaks: “Thanks to my asthma, rheumatism, having an inherited proneness towards diabetes for instance, I will be conscious what it does mean to be healthy.
To recover from these illnesses, I readily practice the physical health exercises, and unknowingly will I recover, improve my health to above the normal level. I now am doing my daily activities such as working, studying, exercising my eyes, my voice, watching TV, eating, drinking and even sleeping like something to enjoy.

When all my friends leave me, my children and even my wife, there’s still my dog. He is the last one who ever will be leaving me and that only if he has the heart to do so. More over, even when I chased him away he still would return, though without having to take recourse to oaths of faithfulness.”

Well! Have him face a thousand and one difficulties, deceit, block, ruin him, he never loses his wits and never surrenders. Job is like that branch that was cut off and endlessly is growing many more new branches, as trodden grass that will rise and rise again.

So why worry when people (at that time) were crying anxiously: “We are facing an economic disaster, catastrophe, hyper inflation, political instability,… Well, we‘ll say with Job who still smiles: “Why worry? The world isn’t collapsing. Why surrender?”

From Jayakarta, April 1, 1998

A Time Traveler's Visit

A Time Traveler’s Visit

According to theory, - this is no imagination of the mind - man can travel in time as travel in space; to the past or to the future, so Stephen Hawking in a lecture at the university of Oxford asserts some time ago.

Then, some one in the year 10.000 A.D., boards a time vehicle and landed in Jakarta of today, he points to the traffic jams, the “mountains” of garbage, the quality of water in the rivers which is as dark and foul as water in the sewers. I told him that our government did a lot to solve the current problems: has broadened the streets, the roads, building toll-roads, improving the quality of the working force, implemented reforestation, curb inflation, ... To every problem, of land, unemployment, housing, education, he again and again insists: “family planning; one child only. Not two or more.

We can support, provide a living for more than a hundred billion people of the earth if we want to, not just 6 billion as it is in this, your time. Yet, we just keep our earth population at about one million only, to maintain, ensure the welfare of our earth, of all living beings, including plants as well.

For, each child that isn’t born, a larger living space, a better livelihood is opened for the living. The thought slowly dawned upon me and I saw the unwanted crying puppy which was left on a garbage pile at the road-side in the rain. Yes. It is better not to be born, instead of being discarded, neglected, die or starve from want of food or sickness.

“With a ‘one child’ family planning program, within one generation, the numbers of your Indonesian people would drop from 200 million to 100 million. All those pressing problems would become less severe. Within two generations, the Indonesian people will number 50 million. Within three generations, Jakarta will be freed from pollution, the water in the rivers clean, the environment green and the fauna prosper. After four, five generations, Indonesia again will be as the former so called ‘emerald’ on the equator.“ so he said.

I started, as I remembered the FAO report, that forests in Java and Bali have been cut down till only 9,5 % is left. That was in 1995, what about today?

“If the theory of traveling in time were true, why aren’t there any time travelers of the future visiting us?” I repeated Hawking’s haunting question to him.

“Suppose I really am some one of the year 10.000,” he answered, “there will be no one who will believe me and think I am just dreaming or mad, including you and Hawking.” and he disappeared, leaving me perplexed, startled, uncertain, whether it is real or a daydream.

From Jayakarta, June 24, 1995

Surpass The Most Delicious Food In The World

Surpass The Most Delicious Food In The World

“Do you know the most delicious food in the world, Arif?” asked Upi.

“Yes, certainly, I do. Food that’s served in the restaurant called: ‘Feeling Hungry’. Just some rice, sambal (concocted chili), tahu and tempe (fermented curd beans), fresh vegetables would make a divine dish. Drink water out of an earthen water vessel. perched on a boulder, accompanied by the sound of a rushing river, a cool breeze, eating at leisure, not disturbed by guests, debts, appointments, no tooth-ache and beside me … do you want to know who?

"No, it’s not you, Upi. You usually pinch, never kiss me. Yours’, … what’s yours’? ’Your kiss’” he whispered, “would surpass the most delicious food in the whole world. Ha, ha, ha!”

July 1996

Heroes In Times Of Peace

Heroes In Times Of Peace

Moved seeing a kitten in death-agony on the road, a youth took the courage, overcame his reluctance, stopped the traffic to pick her up and carried it to the safe roadside. Although he blamed the careless driver who caused it in his heart, yet he felt a warm feeling after having done this. And he pondered. Is it her fault to be fated to be born as just a kitten? Suppose she was a human being or born in The Netherlands, then she wouldn’t have to face such a lot. They told him that just for the sake of frogs on parade crossing a road, police stopped the traffic.

I remember a Dutch woman who was crooked, bent of old age invited me to her house. It wasn’t a house, but instead a dark shed waiting to be broken down among the remaining ruins of a house. She was welcomed with joy by her dogs, dogs she saved, picked up from the street.

Wearing a worn-out dress, old shoes, walking carefully, step by step with her stick and nobody to escort her, she climbed up the tram to the Glodok market everyday to collect thrown away bones for her dogs. There was nothing too dangerous, no work, no task too low, too dirty, too hard for her if it were for her dogs.

When she was offered to return to the Netherlands with a pension and accommodation for life she chose to stay here in Jakarta with her dogs. And I remember the story of Yudisthira* who refused to enter heaven, because he had to abandon his dog. And it was of her dogs that she herself didn’t want to go to heaven so early, so soon. That was some 30 years ago.

Alas! Only in the eyes of a dog, her dogs, it’s master never was growing old but was always a loving, beautiful and rich God’s guardian angel.

And I remember the courage of a youth who sacrificed one of his kidneys to save his brother. Or the perseverance of a mother who lost her husband, raised her little children by baking and selling her home baked snacks, till they became university graduates. And what do you say of those that became vagrants (pemulung, who make a living collecting something from garbage bins) to support themselves or their family, a job they are forced to create for themselves since there was no work, no free choice of employment, no just and favorable conditions of work, contrary to the Human Rights declaration.

Heroes in times of peace are gentle, without swords, arms, they’re not hailed, praised, sung, aren’t renowned, without a statue. They’re unnoticed but a keen eye would find them around us. It might be a child or someone of old age, a man or a woman or even an animal

Armed with love and kindness, these angels inspire us with their daring, boldness and self sacrifice. They don’t need a heroes’ day to remember as those we love will always live again in our dear memories.

* A hero in the Mahabharata epic

From Media Indonesia, December 15, 1991

Paradise Of Sounds And Music

Paradise Of Sounds And Music

Behold the greatest masterpiece on the screen of Space and Time:

A wonderful world; but no lovely sights were there no light, no stars to see were there no night. It would be dead were there no soul, no stir; of revolving, rotating planets, of sailing clouds, flowing water, waving trees, of crawling, fluttering, breathing life. It would be cold were there no warmth, or dull were there no forms, no shapes, no colors, scents and fragrances.

And having created this work of art, the Creator still added another master’s stroke of delightful sounds to break the silence of the world.
See You Tube: chewginhoa and chewspictures.blogspot.com.

Hear the delightful sounds of water murmuring, gurgling, babbling in a brook or splashing, rushing, roaring in a river; of fallen leaves, the golden paddy, Alang-Alang (sedge) rustling and trees whispering, sighing in the wind; the patter on the roof, the merry song of frogs and children playing in the rain.

Listen to a Tekukur (wood-pigeon) calling, high up in a tree and one senses the vastness and stillness of the sky. Hear the breeze-like sound of cicadas (Uir-Uir) and one is transported to the country and the woods. The “croak” of a frog, the “tuit” of the night-bird, the “thud” of a fruit falling from off its branch, or a gecko’s “tok-keeeeh” makes one feel something of the essence of the night.

Then hear such wonderful sounds as simple and natural as the crackle and the sizzle in a frying pan, or water dripping musically into a basin, of chiseling marble or chopping meat, a horse walking or trotting through a lonely road; the chimes of a clock or church bells, a lovely voice through a telephone, ...

Only artists create music out of sounds. How eloquent music is. It is even more eloquent then speech. Really, music must be made up of lyrics in sounds.

Hearing Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, we would be inspired to march bravely to the end unable to surrender. We would desperately fall in love with Porgy’s Bess, though she’s “such a liquor guzzling slut” in Gershwin’s opera and weep with Bach in his Matthew Passion.

Poetry must be music translated into verse, a painting must be music in line and colors.

The gamelan (Javanese Music) sounds like coming from some celestial abode, borne on the deepest awe-inspiring gong, as if to pervade our being and the world. And how fascinating is even a recitative of a dalang (puppeteer) or a qori(ah) who recites the Koran.

Yet, no less delightful are such little pieces as a prelude of Chopin, or a sunny, carefree, play-full sonatina, or songs some people refer to as Pop. All the same, they perform them with no less feeling than opera artists.

Our Pesinden (a woman aria singer) sing as beautiful as the Lorelei; even old men would feel like young again and they make husbands forget about their wives. The Kecapi-Suling (the flute and zither) sounds so heart-rending, one would contract heartache.

These little pieces certainly are as wonderful as the best of symphonies, opera’s or oratorios. They’re as wonderful as a cricket’s chirping to the nightingale’s song, or as falling Sawah (wet rice-field) water to the Niagara Falls, or as a firefly to the dazzling sun.

Indonesia Times, May 27, 1987

The Secret To Eternal Youth

The Secret To Eternal Youth

One doesn’t need to lose all one’s teeth, provided one regularly visits the dentist and keeps one’s teeth clean and healthy. Doctors say that if only one could exercise regularly and refrain from eating too much fat, one would be less prone to heart attacks. One also doesn’t need to become demented, blind, or deaf, if we only would observe … so they said.

Oh, and what a lot of threatening illnesses and diseases there are, and a thousand and one rules one should observe to keep oneself in good health and live to a grand old age.

“Well, I don’t care. Maybe I will have a shorter life, but I’ll make the best of it. Why should I bother about not eating this or not doing that?” said my aunt, who suffers from a weak heart and high blood pressure.

What’s the sense of living a long life? Even though we could be as old as Methusalah, who is said to have lived 900 years, when living would become a boring routine? Bedtime, 10 o’clock, wake up at six, brush our teeth after every meal, eat so many grams of carbohydrates, drink this many glasses of water, avoid walking in the sun and in the rain and so on. This will make me feel old and feeble.

I admire those who love mountain climbing, parachuting, skiing, motor racing, with all their fatal risks. Jessica Dubroff, still a little girl, died flying her airplane in an effort to realize her dream, to cross the United States.

So, to choose a boring, but healthy and secure, long life, or rather choose a delightful, care-free, adventurous, more dangerous way of living, with the possibility of a shorter life?

“Why choose one only? Take both. Have a long life and enjoy it too. Why can’t we make them work together?

You’re never too young to be old,” said si Upik laughing at her intentional mismatch of the common saying. Instead the song says, “You’re never too old to be young.” That’s it. Stay and feel young forever.

The Jakarta Post, January 10, 1999

Hous that's Banjir- and Gempa- Proof

House that’s Banjir- and Gempa- Proof

“Raining again.” complained someone on the train. His neighbor replied: “Well, when it doesn’t rain for a long time, people complain of the air being very hot, the land dry and barren, when it rains, wrong again as one complains about banjir (flood), being muddy, wet.

Meanwhile the citizens of Jakarta, the press were eager to discuss the banjir disaster. No, not disaster but celebration said the children, workers, employee’s, as they unexpectedly got a holiday and some children and people had a chance to rent their umbrella, sampan (small boat), push stranded cars, and earn some money.

I remembered the passenger’s wise reply as though to say that we are not grateful and blame the Creator, who doesn’t take into account our wishes, wants, schedules.

Banjir is impartial. Those who have their nests, lairs, homes destroyed, swept away, please move to a safer place. Man, who is better equipped with intelligence and means should be able to cope with flood or drought, instead of complaining, blaming, cursing them.

And I remembered the cactus in the desert who preserves water in her stems and leaves to survive. The penguin protects itself with thick warm feathers in the icy poles. “Only if man could build himself a home that’s banjir-, gempa- proof” I said. (gempa, earth-quake)

“It’s not impossible” said si upik. “Build a RUPUNG (RUmah aPUNG or a floating house).”

“How so?” I asked.

“Building a floating Dream House in the air. Ha, ha, ha.”

From Sinar Pagi, March 12, 1996

No Sundays ...?

No Sundays …?
“No Sundays, research 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. After every two years the manufacturer has to create a newer model of his car, and of every computer type that is just to be marketed, a newer computer type should be ready, since the life-time of each kind of product is becoming shorter and shorter. Then it is imperative that national productivity should rise from day to day.”

So something like that is said about the Age of High-Technology in our foremost paper in Jakarta with eye-catching head-lines as though to persuade people to join in this movement. It said that business war became fiercer and global. As though man should be raised, trained, formed to become something of a robot, a tool with a high productivity.

“Wow, if welfare, comfort, in that age should be got, be bought with such an inhumanly way of working, as though a machine, on the contrary would I make every day a holiday. There’s no day that’s not a holiday. Leisure time 24 hours a day, 7 holidays a week.” So Pak Arif jested.

I would live, stay in the beautiful Ci Nangka Valley where the Pasanggrahan river passes by, plant, talas, ground-nut, nangka, manggis, mango, … plow my paddy field, tend my buffalo, start learning to play the kecapi, (Indonesian zither) and unlearn what I’ve learned, instead of learning to become a very pintar (clever, smart) robot who lives in a jungle of concrete and towering sky-scrapers in dreary cities with a climate of high-technology.

What I would like of high-technology is that it should be capable of making one work just one day a week to support his family and still be able to travel abroad. Make the student capable to study just one day a week to make him able and pass his exam before the time schedule. Could abolish poverty from the world, make the earth fertile, green and have the people, all creatures live in a happier world.

But not such high-technology that would make man fuss and busy with pressing, preying on one another in a killing competition so highly insensible.” said he.

From Jayakarta, October 13, 1992

Sweet Home

Sweet Home

“I want a small house, a big garden. Its walls pastel colored, low seats, low tables, soft-lighted sleeping room, curtains like this, the kitchen like that, bath-room and toilet … I need a lot of things to have my home nice, cozy and comfortable.” so said the future bride.

And she looked up in the magazines concerning interior design or visited model houses, but the most important thing she couldn’t find in the books and model houses. And I then remembered someone saying: “A house, a palace could be bought but not a home.”

“Not in a golden cage, but in my nest of woven grass, warm and cozy among my baby chicks, that’s where I’m home,” said the Manyar bird.
“I’m home wherever my master is” said a dog.
“Among my books” said the professor.
“In the water” said the fish.
“Anywhere there’s Eve” said Adam.
“Where my children are, even in hell” said a mother.

“So, where, what we or whom we most love are, right there’s our home, our paradise, the place we yearn for, where we’re feeling very rich and the happiest in the world. A small hut would turn into a home. The couch., mattress, a mat would become the softest, warmest bed. Just the smallest corner would seem roomy and a little food would never be too little, as not to share it with each other.” So said Pak Arif.

“How so?” asked si Upik.

“Just imagine to stay or live with someone we hate. The finest place would be like hell. Tasty food would taste bitter, a large house would seem small, plenty of food would seem little, as there’s no food, much enough, no place, large enough to share it with one another.”

“Greener grows the leaf, Sweater breathes the flower, Brighter shines the day, When love lights up thine eye.” said a poet.

From The Seasons, Haydn.

From Jayakarta, December 10, 1997

Ranking Humans

Ranking Humans

It is very ironic when human dignity and merit are ranked. In fact, rankings in school thrust every student to compete with each other. Those whose score is below average feel inferior. Women are ranked to modify their quality of beauty.

Ranking underestimates the students who have a low grade and think that they are stupid. I think Pele and Maradona were not top students, because they liked to play soccer better than studying. Is it not possible that school can be fun without causing any jealousy, shame and superiority?

There is a story about a scholar who was reading a book when he crossed the river with a boat. “Have you ever read Omar Khayam’s book?” asked the scholar to the boatman. “No, Sir, I cannot read or write. “Well, than you waste the time of your life, because you cannot enjoy the great pieces of Omar Khayam, Shakespeare or Goethe.” said the scholar.

Soon the weather was getting cloudy and the wind blew very hard. “Can you swim,” asked the boatman. “No,” he said. Well, your knowledge, status and life are useless because there will be a storm.” The illiterate boatman was safe because he could swim.

What is left that is not ranked? Every one praises and respects those who are the smartest, the richest, the most popular, the most beautiful and any other topnotch achievements.

The lower a person’s IQ is, the lower are his dignity and merit. Is it wrong if a person was not born with a high IQ, courage like a hero, beautiful face or a lot of money?

Television once showed an art exhibition. The exhibition did not display the work of famous artists. But, it was the work of mentally-disabled people. I wonder which society still regards their dignity as human beings.

The Jakarta Post, from Media Indonesia, February 9, 1993

Aunt Nona's Surprise

Aunt Nona’s Surprise

All I remember of my aunt Nona in Muntok some forty years ago, was that she visited us unexpectedly without notice and there she was in Laan Trivelli, where we lived in Batavia or Jakarta today. She had no one to accompany her. She journeyed by boat, as deck passenger, taking with her wa-wa (dried big sea-worms) and kerupuk (crackers) which is a favorite snack with us children. My mother offered her a room in the main house, but she rather preferred a room in the back chamber near the kitchen and the servants.

She’s a kind woman, was never a nuisance to anyone. You never had to keep her company or having to talk to her. She always knew a way, perhaps to sit, dream, keep busy and enjoy herself. Suppose she wouldn’t be invited at dinner time she certainly wouldn’t be offended. Mother took her to the church, to sing, to pray and she seemed to be happy whether she understood what the preacher said or not.

Staying some weeks, then she suddenly thinks of home and said farewell, without making any plans, how to get the money for her journey back home. I never saw, heard her asking for money, never heard her sigh, although she had hardly anything and had lost her husband. She didn’t feel herself poor, though she only had access to the cheapest ticket as deck passenger with others and sleeping in the open night sky.

I hardly know anything about her. All I know of, is, that she lives in Muntok, selling coconuts from her trees and making kerupuk ikan (Fish crackers) to make a living for her and her child or perhaps her children.

I had never written a letter to her and she neither wrote me. Then suddenly there was a surprise of a letter from her, now, while I’m having white hair myself. Without opening it, I made a guess about its contents.

“She certainly must have money difficulties and is asking us for help, Hanny.” I said to my wife. As is often the case when people turn to you. But after reading the letter I am very ashamed of having such base thoughts of her. On the contrary, she, a very old, hardly educated, poor woman living in a little town, she remembered me, her niece, who is a university graduate and living in Jakarta, to have a share in the proceeds of the sale of my grandmother’s house in Muntok. “Please, give me your full name and address, so I can send the money to you.” she wrote.

With a feeling of remorse I told her, that instead, it was I that should have sent her money and that she shouldn’t send the money at all. So, that’s the difficulty when you’re a university graduate, but haven’t any earnings.

She seemed to agree with this for we received no money but a package with krupuk and Hanny and I were feeling fine. But only afterwards did we know that the money was stolen. Well, I’ll make a bet that she never could recover it.

Then after some months came Rp 200.000.-. Oh, she has taken the loss upon her, we thought in despair.

“Don’t worry, I managed to get the money back. It is your share in the sale of grandma’s house.” She wrote.

Me? Who has never visited grandma and never saw her house or did anything about it? Well, multiply it with 30 to know what its value is today. Who ever is giving us such a lot of money and especially from her, who has scarcely anything valuable, she certainly must be in want of money herself..

Before we were asleep I said to Hanny, “Thanks to her money, our roof that urgently needed a renovation since it’s endangering us, now has been restored and safe. It came as a heavenly boon at the right time. Beside her, I, who has a university degree, speak Dutch, am regarded as a good, honored citizen, suddenly see, feel myself as a very conceited being, to be so small, so nothing compared to her. She, who never had a proper education, who is regarded as a feeble, old, poor woman. She managed to retrieve the money from the Transportation Service!!! Oh, she doesn’t care whether people praise or raise a statue in honor of her, just as a dog that’s winning a gold medal of honor. How, ... with what, how can I ...? Not even with all the money, all the goodness I might shower on her could I ever repay her to express my gratitude.” A long time we were silent.

“By taking, bringing the same good, blessing, happiness to others, Luky.” Hanny broke the silence.

“Do you remember the poet saying, You’re just like a flower, So beautiful, so tender, and so pure, ... Though Aunt Nona must be very old by now with white hair and wrinkled, I’ve never seen her for some forty years, yet, her heart, her inner being must be still beautiful, tender and pure.”

“Oh, she is an angel from heaven sent down to earth.” said Hanny.

August 1997

Enlightened Whisperings

Enlightened Whisperings

Isn’t it strange how people chase away a mouse the minute they see it, as if it were an enemy, thief or a plague? But the mouse in Walt Disney’s eyes was a friendly, human creature.

Pak Arif said the same thing. In the eyes of a gardener or farmer, weeds obstruct garden views, damage roads and stunt growth. In their eyes, weeds should be destroyed.

But if people would only look a little closer, the Almighty would pry his eyes open. He will heal the blind and make them see. He will drive away ignorance. He will bless dull-witted persons with brilliant minds. He will chase away arrogance. He will make them see a beautiful garden with flowers, stems and leaves.

From Jayakarta, the Jakarta Post, January 21, 1997

Our Free Will, Free?

Our Free Will, Free?

“Certainly. Every one wants what is good, best, most beautiful. Is there any one who intentionally wants something bad, ugly, not liked or loved.” said Si Buyung to Si Upik when they disputed about FREE WILL.
.
“If someone chooses a wicked deed, chooses something he doesn’t like, marry a person he doesn’t love, it is clearly not his will, not what he wants, since it is contrary to what he wants, desires, wishes. Perhaps there are things, conditions, circumstances, customs, manners, dogma’s, public opinions which force, drive, persuade, influence him to do so.

“But who are we to judge others, as though we were a faultless, perfect human being. Suppose we were in his place, perhaps we wouldn’t have behaved better than he does or may be worse.

“When asked to choose, the bachelor certainly chooses Si Indah, the girl of his dreams, instead of Si Pengki. How can he not love her? He is unable not to love her. Can we force a mother hate her children? Then, suppose some one is threatened to choose between his life or his money, he certainly chooses his life. It is impossible for him to want his death. He has no choice. An inner voice whispered him that.” So said Si Buyung.

“More over, one is not free to want to be born in the year 3000 AD, born a man or a woman, French or Indonesian, in Tokyo or Jakarta, to live a thousand years, or to choose your parents, choose to be born a fish or a bird or not to be born.”

Sure, I reflected, our free will, our choice is not ours but just of what is implanted, whispered into all of us and all living beings according to the Creator’s own discretion, will.

And I remember Rumi saying: “Save what thou willest, what will have I?”

Berita Buana, 12 April 1997

A Valentine Day To Remember

A Valentine Day to Remember

It’s good that there’s no such thing as Masculinism, an organization protecting, promoting the rights, the interests of men, as I think of Feminism said Pak Arif to me..

What’s the fun to join a club of men, fathers, old men with dreary views. I am feeling old, cold, weak, lonely in the company of men. A man among men, is something of a desert, a night without stars. And I imagined the military personnel who for a long period had to be separated from their wives and children and sweethearts, he said.

Not as a village chicken hen that’s happy to rear her little chicks, if a chicken by selection is chosen for its eggs or meat, in the long run it would lose her natural instincts to brood and rear her chicks. If a chicken every day is trained to fight, what about a female chicken that one day might, would crow and grow spurs?

Well, suppose we men practice, live as those in a monastery, then one day would lose our natural affection for Eve, I don’t want to be born, said he.

It’s fortunate that we have a Valentine day to remember when man and woman, male and female are happy together; that time which is so praised, sung, painted by artists and celebrated by all creatures on the earth through all the ages.

Men and women, male and female are not created to be competitors, rivals, opponents or enemies as dogs and cats are.

Are you sorry that you were fated to be born female? I then asked my wife. I’m happy to be born male, otherwise how could I have found you? Ha, ha, ha. Pak Arif laughed as he related these thoughts.


From Jayakarta, 27 April 1995

Opa Johan's Baby Kitten

Opa Johan’s Baby Kitten

“It’s a baby kitten, that couldn’t hardly crawl.” Opa (grandpa) Johan told his wife. “It crawled on the pavement seeking after it’s mother but was lost. Instead, it wanted to follow me and it fell through a narrow opening of a sewer cover.

“I’ve never felt sorry, you know? But this time I was feeling bad. Why did I leave her alone on the side-walk? I hardly could stand her piteous crying for help.

“How could I rescue her as only my hand could come in through the narrow opening? If only it’s crying could be heard here and there but she is not seen. Unable to lift, to shift the heavy sewer’s concrete cover, I went home, waked up Boy and returned taking an umbrella and a rope but Boy wasn’t coming.

“'Pak, ada anak kucing kecemplung di got.’ there’s a little kitten trapped in the sewer, I said to a vagrant, passing by, asking for help. ‘Biarin aja.’ Let it be. He said indifferently.

“I gladly would give him or someone Rp 10 thousand if he could free the baby kitten. But who? Where was the young man who always cleaned up our garbage and readily would help us? I tried to fish her with my rope, my umbrella, hoping she would clutch it, but in vain, not knowing where about to “fish” as only her voice was heard anywhere around.

“Well, I’m not superstitious. I don’t believe in wonders and miracles. There was no hope whatever she could be saved. Then, unexpectedly came Boy and Heru, Rocky’s driver, passed at the same time. They eagerly helped and successfully raised and opened the heavy cover.

“Do you remember the disaster, accident with the nuclear sub marine Kursk of Russia? I imagined the people on land couldn’t eat or sleep, or work when they think of the threatening fate of the entire crew of dying slowly. So would I feel if my baby kitten couldn’t be rescued, wretched!

“When people succeeded to open the entrance of the ship, all were dead. Slowly drowned dead. When the sewer cover was lifted, my baby kitten luckily, is still alive and saved, despite the cold, wetness, fear during more than an hour.

“Certainly, your husband is the happiest man in the world. Aren’t you proud of him? Ha, ha, ha.” He said to his wife.

March 2001

Count Our Blessings Or Curse Our Fate?

Count Our Blessings Or Curse Our Fate?

How beautiful. a woman’s hair which strays from its comb, how sweet a flower which peeks over a neighbor’s fence. Clinton, the U.S. President, according to the American Press, has strayed from his vows during his marriage. This was the journalists’ Christmas and New Year’s present to Clinton that he will remember all his life.

Despite his marriage, his age, Clinton is still sensitive and not blind to the beauty and appeal of women. And it’s very possible that many beautiful women glance stealthily at him. Even if the U.S. President has never been unfaithful, at least he might have fantasized about having an affair.

Fortunately, he is just a human being, not a superman or a god. Because he is no saint, he knows his weaknesses and limitations well and acts as a human being. How could he understand others if he never faces trials or goes astray because of luring “forbidden apples”? Even a hermit could be tempted by a beautiful goddess.

A poet once wrote:
Since I saw her, I think I have been blinded.
For wherever I glance, I don’t see anything, but her.

Well, life would be gloomy, harsh and not humane at all if police officers, government officials, judges and artists were perfect men or robots.

Forbidding every man from straying is like cutting a branch which peeks over a neighbor’s fence. But cutting the branches doesn’t mean that they will not peek over the fence again. Human beings cannot be framed by the definitions of scholars. They cannot be confined by cultural walls, norms and rules.

It’s sad for President Clinton who is handsome and manly. If only his eagerness, ardor for women weren’t so large and could be limited by the “fences” set out by his wife as his American society requires. If he were a man born in King Solomon’s age, he could have had a hundred wives. Having a love-affair is protested by his community, let alone having ten wives.

We know that planet Earth is full of beautiful, charming and warm women. Have we to count our blessings or to curse our fate?

The Jakarta Post January 8, 1994,
From Jayakarta. Original Title, Bill Clinton And Women

Wonders Of Human Potentials

Wonders Of Human Potentials

“How vast are the potentials of a Computer. Imagine what it can do, perform. What I can handle, know and am capable of, is but a trifle compared to the abilities of a computer. To calculate, to write, delete, copy, paste, print, save, to communicate by internet, download, upload, connect to TV, Radio, play CD, VCD, and a lot more.” So I said to him who was repairing my computer.

“Certainly. Did you know that what we use and are capable of, of our brains is perhaps but a ten percent of its potentials? So someone said,” he added.

For days this thought was hovering over me. And I came to the conclusion, that it wasn’t our brains only but also our body was immensely vast, as a sea in potentials. And that of which we are capable of and use is almost nothing to what it can do, achieve.

Just imagine! Every language of perhaps more than a hundred thousand languages in the world could be learned by any one, but what we master are but some three, four, … ten languages. Every science of so many sciences could be learned, every music instrument, every sport, every art, every …, but what we’re capable of are just a few of them.

Mozart would just be an ordinary man were he born in an age without the music we now know. Van Gogh, Einstein just a farmer or a hunter were there no art of painting, no science. Their extraordinary potentials are unknown, hidden. They couldn’t have developed their talents.

It’s our brains that created the computer, the design of cities, space stations and all the things created around us.

What feet are capable of we only know when seeing invalids cook, shower, write, paint, handle a computer, drive a motor car, nurse a baby, raise kids, play on the guitar with their feet.

And I wondered whether there was one who ever was stupid, dull, dense but then turned out to be a renowned violinist, stage manager, cinematographer, … as a larva, pupae who came out a butterfly. Perhaps they’re ignorant about their potentialities or have no opportunity to exploit them to the full. The human potentials are so vast, almost unlimited, infinite except limited by one’s lifetime as is a tree that we cut off its branch always will sprout many new young shoots as though awakening after their slumbering, dormant potentials. When there was no bike invented, who could know that every one has the potential as cyclist. In the age of 10.000 A.D when we might be living in space-cities and space-travel to other planets and the moon, …how could we know what our new awakening potentials will be, what we’re capable of in that age.

Just think of it, there’s still such a lot that I would like to learn, to know: the bahasa Sunda (Sunda language) to be able to enjoy a Wayang Golek (puppet) performance, Chinese to be able to read The Red Chamber Dream, astronomy to know the wonders, the journeys, the history of the stars. To learn harmony and be able to compose music, to play the piano, learn to sing well, to ski, sail, to know more about the still nameless weeds, about animals, about … But even with a thousand years wouldn’t have I finished learning it, mastered the arts, sciences, languages. It’s like enjoying a mountain climb, despite the very tiring, trying efforts as new fascinating, captivating, enchanting sites, sceneries come into view, new paradises open. Even when we are convinced to have reached its summit then again another higher summit arises.

Yet am I still very grateful with the few things that I can reasonably do, am capable of, achieve, perform, enjoy in a limited lifetime. I so very much enjoy my “mountain-journeys” though I’ll never reach the tops. Well, isn’t it lucky that we happily never will reach these?

It’s like having a few choices out of thousands of the choicest, most delicious dishes. “Don’t spoil, don’t be greedy.” So I say to myself.

November 2007

Souvenir From Atlanta

Souvenir From Atlanta

Ruined was the dream, gone the hope, after nearly all of our athletes failed in Atlanta. Only badminton-doubles aces, Ricky Subagja and Rexy Mainaiky finished to give us some memories to cherish.

In the heat of the contest they never gave a thought to the gold which they were expected to win, nor the presents they would be getting if they won. All they seemed to be hearing was the sound of music in their hearts, extolling their dedication to their nation and their country.

Personal defeat would have meant little to them, but to suffer defeat while defending someone’s honor – that of their nation, their people, their kin, or their loved ones – would have been unbearably painful.

Something in their hearts seemed to compel them to win, to accept no defeat, although it would have been much easier to give up judging by the close contest during the most exciting match and the strength of their opponents, who also gave their best for the honor of their nation.

In this kind of spirit lies the true gold which Ricky and Rexy brought home to present to us – a kind of gold that far outshines any gold medal presented at the Olympics.

From Suara Karya, The Jakarta Post, August 19, 1996

On Being Rich

On Being Rich

“Well, the richest man in the world is Bill Gates. Don’t you want to be as rich as he is?” Si Buyung teased si Upik. “He can buy an island, have his own private airplane, helicopter, breakfast in New York, dine in Paris and buy himself a queen and a kingdom., if he wants to.”

“I don’t care what he has and what he does. Why envy him.” replied Si Upik. “Would you rather trade Sonya, your sweetheart for his riches? I wouldn’t exchange my eyes for his wealth. It’s only a pity that stories on the poverty of the rich are hardly ever published.”

“Imagine a doctor practicing till after midnight almost every day. Even though he might make a lot of money, he must be very poor in regard to enjoying his spare, leisure time. When does he want to start living? Before he realizes he’s become old, weak and sick. That must be some kind of poverty of the rich.” said she.

On the contrary, despite being poor in terms of money and possessions, Pak Arif is certainly very rich in terms of his time. He ensures that every day or almost every day is a great day, a holiday, a feast of surprises of sheer delight and joy.

This is the case even while he is doing his chores, learning or exercising his feet, arms, voice, eyes or teeth. He’s always aiming to outdo or surpass himself, rather than others, and busying himself with whatever he loves, likes or considers best.

“When anything happens to go wrong, never lose your wits,” he says. ”You hardly ever can lose. You can almost always improve on what you did before. I met a woman without arms, who could handle a sewing-machine and nurse her baby.”

Pak Arif certainly wouldn’t sell his way of life for all Bill Gates’ wealth.

Good health is regarded one of the greatest riches by my sport’s teacher. Nearly 70 years old he still has a good appetite, perfect teeth, good eyesight and a strong voice. His body is still supple and I believe he can still run from Jakarta to Depok.

For those kidnapped or those being kept as hostages, even all the world’s riches amount to nothing compared to one’s life and freedom.

Where as the wealthy and the rich are hailed and praised by the press, the “riches” of a poor man have been composed into verse in Gershwin’s opera. This is what I remember Porgy sings about:

I got plenty o’ nuttin’ An’ nuttin’s plenty fo’ me
I got no car, got no mule, I got no misery.
De folk wid plenty o’ plenty Got a lock on de door,
‘Fraid somebody’s a going to rob ‘em while dey’s out a makin’ more.
What for?
I got no lock on de door, (dat’s no way to be)
Dey kin steal de rug from de floor, Dat’s o keh wid me.
‘Cause de things dat I prize, Like de stars in de skies, all are free.

“Well, is it worth anything?” asked Si Buyung.

“Though one can have them for free, nonetheless, they are priceless. Just imagine, without the sun, the moon, the stars, the sea, the fresh air, the mountains, the streams, lakes, woods, flowers, birds, animals, fish, our brothers, sisters, our mothers, fathers, our sweethearts, our eyes, our health, our freedom, the world would become dull, dreary, cheerless, a hell and collapse.

“Without Bill Gates’ wealth we would still live, laugh, be happy and might have heaven the whole day long, you Dumb-head.” Which is Upik’s way of saying “Dear Brother.”

The Jakarta Post November 2, 1998

On Being Free

On Being Free

There’s the joy of going to the Taman Ismail Marzuki Art Centre. We listen to a music recital outside the concert hall, me and her, just sitting relaxed beneath a lantern besides the pathway as we could also hear it softly, exquisitely in the open air.

I don’t have to come in formal dress, tight shining shoes, take a taxi, I just come on sandals, lightly clothed, take some snack with us and we enjoy eating it at leisure. We don’t have to talk, to comment, to shake hands with people, politely clap our hands and we‘re so free to stay or go, to listen or not listen when it’s boring us.

There’s even a greater being free. When people think, fancy that I’m a great art lover, and send me an invitation, then, I for a long time hesitating between going or not going, - as I am feeling forced to go as not to reward the kind attention of those who send me the invitation with a disappointment - I take courage, leave the cards, forget about the arts, take my bike and pedal slowly, leisurely to enjoy the evening, stop somewhere at the Monas Park and buy me warm tahu pong (fried curd bean).

In my mind’s eye I see the people in the theatre where I also would be “entrapped”, sitting stiffly, talk all the fuss about nothing, basa-basi so we say in the bahasa, just clever talk, ceremony. Now am I far away from it, so free, also free from the fear to disappoint those who very kindly send me the invitation, to celebrate my won freedom with eating tahu pong, with my self, my thoughts sitting on the sidewalk, charmed by flickering pelita lights (oil lamps) of vendors beneath a glorious starry sky.

How happy and free is the mother duck with her lovely ducklings resting in the shade beneath an only tree but freer, is the julung-julung baby fish in the sawah (rice field) water, almost infinitely free, so free, unbounded, unconscious of time, place and worries.

1977

On Prohibitions

On Prohibitions

“Don’t climb the wall. What if you become paralyzed ever afterwards, as my father’s friend after his fall. So said Ann to me. I’m always feeling fine climbing the wall when I’m cleaning the rain-drain from fallen leaves on our neighbor’s roof before. It’s for the sake of my trees, lest they should be cut down if he complains. But ever since our daughter said it, I’m feeling guilty when I’m still climbing the wall, making one become insecure and afraid to fall.” pak Johan told his wife.

“Why harbor such negative thoughts when she cares for your well-being?” said his wife.

“There’s no prohibition to sky-diving or rock-climbing, which is far more dangerous than climbing just a wall if one acquires the necessary knowledge, training. Well, A Soek, our servant when he was about seventy years, braved going down the well in the night without a rope and ladder to save a cock that had fallen into it, while we young boys didn’t have the nerve to do so. Which is the young and which, the old?” pak Johan replied.

“Since Ann warned you not to climb up and down the stairs to recover from your rheumatism, didn’t you feel guilty when you secretly disobeyed her? But I’ll exercise you so, that you’ll not only be able to run up and down the stairs, but climb up and down Gunung Putri hill and be two hundred percent cured, if you want to. Who is having negative thoughts?” said pak Johan.

“Except to protect, safeguard others from harm, perhaps to regulate the traffic, prohibitions - don’t climb, don’t touch, don’t play in the rain, don’t do this, don’t do that - make even children behave like timid, weak old men and give birth to a feeling of guilt, transgression, misdemeanor, without any wrongdoing. Suppose our grand child wants to play with a match box, rather than forbid, scold or beat her, I will tell her how to use it safely, what harm can be done, or just keep the matchbox out of her reach.

“If I were a teacher I’d say: ‘Go on cribbing if you can do it successfully, but when I catch you, you’ll get nil or I’ll have an open test and the students can, may look up in their books and use a computer’.

“So suppose you want to come in but I don’t want it, I just lock the door, instead of writing a ‘‘No Admittance” sign, ha, ha, ha. I can’t force, prohibit others not to desire, not to love or hate, what they do desire, do love or hate, can you?” pak Johan teased his wife.

April 1999

Hidden Treasures

Hidden Treasures

“And as I think of all the “gold” or the vast hidden treasures of beauty, wisdom, … - money can’t buy -, in Bach’s Matthew Passion, the Mahabharata, The Dream in The Red Chamber, in the fairy tales of H. C. Andersen, in the Chicken Soup For The Soul, in a Chinese painting, in a film of Walt Disney, too many to be mentioned. And that so cheap or almost for free to have it, Just the price of the book, the CD or VCD or just by borrowing or even to see or hear or read it somewhere without having to possess them.” pak Arif said to me.

“Who ever is feeling poor with so much “gold” around him, as he could have them for almost nothing. He is so rich, who would be envious of another one’s wealth? Don’t you think so?” pak Arif asked me.

“Oh.” comments someone “It’s just printed paper, paint on canvass, a thing, a good. Except, .. it’s worth a lot of money or whether it could be profitable to posses these objects.”

Pak Bandrio's August 17th Present

Pak Bandrio’s August 17th Present

Subandrio’s latest love was in old age without the romance of young people in love. His hair was turning grey, his eyes, his sight, his looks, his strength, … were declining But among all men, he, who was still in prison, blamed, avoided by many people, was chosen, elected to be her husband.

Subandrio, political prisoner with a death sentence, was minister during the reign of President Sukarno. He is very lucky, people said. He was granted clemency and freed from the death penalty. Now he again was pardoned from imprisonment for life and has a loving wife who freed him as Savitri* did, who freed her husband from Yama, the guardian of Death.. She was so grateful, so happy facing a better, sunny future when he, Pak Bandrio even at the age of 81 just could be released and come home. Is there a grander present granted him and her? Contrary to what is common in marriages, their love was still growing in old age, despite his imprisonment. She couldn’t help the tears from falling down.

I don’t know whether all this, is so. I just imagined, pictured her and him, to be so.

From Ekonomi Neraca, August 25, 1995

* The heroin in a story of the Mahabharata.

The Greatest Wonder

The Greatest Wonder

Imagine a rose as though equipped with an invisible lab within, processing exquisite perfume, a certain green for its leaves and red or rose for its flowers while each part of the plant is alive. A rose never errs as to have an orchid for its flowers.

And that is so easily processed and in such a short time just out of dead earth, air, water and sunlight, which has no color, no perfume, no wood, no stem at all. This is the greatest wonder. Our foremost labs aren’t able to process and get the same results just out of earth, water, air and sunlight and never will. And what’s even more wonderful, unbelievable is, that a plant, - not just a rose - can propagate new life. An animal, man can procreate a new living individual in a similar subtle way.

Meat is produced in an invisible mini factory within the cow, just by feeding, providing her with grass, water, air, sunlight. Man isn’t able to produce meat in a lab or factory. It’s not man that produces meat and milk, and its bones and teeth and eyes and feet …, but the cow.

From Jayakarta, October 27, 1994

Evacuating To Other Planets?

Evacuating To Other Planets?

To the people of our earth!

Family Planning. One child each couple not two or more. Our world population would drop after just a few generations.

When one day we would succeed by family planning to limit the world population to less than 500 million after a relatively “short” period of a few generations, - considering the time elapsed of perhaps a million years to reach just a 500 million people of the world – then there’s no problem of climate change, pollution, green house effect anymore, no. COP-13 needed in Bali.

At that time we could each have a hectare of land. Adam and Eve had the whole earth for themselves and the “jungle” of concrete, asphalt, cement would be broken down and restored, recreated back into a paradise.

What is the sense of evacuating to other planets as we ourselves are the perpetrators, generators of our own disasters, leaving our earth in a sorry state?

December 2007

Dream House Of The Future

Dream House Of The Future

Wow, how dangerous it is to work or live in a many storied flat or sky-scraper as I remembered the earth quake in Jakarta recently. And Jakarta has to build upwards. How safe are the village cottages compared to the modern towering buildings.

“Were I an architect, I’d design a Dream House of the future.” said Si Upik. “Its floor, its walls, just guess … I fill with air. Small and light. You could easily carry it wherever you like just by decompressing and fold it. In case of a fire you could easily save your self or carry it away. In times of flood as at the time of Noah, the house becomes an ark. It can cope with earth quakes and there’s no danger from being destroyed as a vagrant’s illegal dwelling by government functionaries as you easily can carry it away. Transport and set it up as easily on land on camping, mountain areas as well as on a lake or river. You could save on truck-loads of cement and iron, save on trees being cut down, river-sand and boulders taken from the rivers and a lot more.” So she said.

Yes, it’s a nice thought full of fancy of si Upik. This age is oriented to the small. Formerly the KPM (a large Dutch corporation) has to install the IBM machine in a big room to do the administration. It needs a large hall or many rooms to store its files. Today one could perhaps have just a table with one or two computers to do the same and enjoy, join in the internet. One day people would prefer a small, cozy Dream House. It is flexible in its use, rather than a giant sized luxurious house, which is very costly, has high maintenance costs and is fixed to the same place for ever.

According to Upik’s calculation, if she doesn’t make a mistake, the floor of a small Dream House of 6 m by 6 m as thick as 50 cm according to the law of Archimedes, is capable to lift, carry a weight up to 18 tons or all the furniture of the household and perhaps including a car. What is especially special of this house is, is that it is very cheap, as it main constituent is air which is free and never exhausted or ever will disappear as cement from the market.

People succeeded to create cars with solar energy. Ikaros in the Greek tales dreamt to be able to fly as a bird. Today one can fly a gantole, a sailing vehicle in the air, in the future one would be able to fly as Gatotkaca or Superman.

From Jayakarta, May 24, 1996

Revealing The Secret Of Indonesian Fruits

Revealing The Secret Of Indonesian Fruits

Leisure, fountain of our Joys!
To be delightfully occupied during our leisure time. Reading leisurely, working leisurely, learning leisurely, traveling leisurely, eating leisurely, ... and fall asleep. To feel the throb of being alive, to escape the clock or trap of routine duties. To be master of one’s time.

Should you happen to visit or stay some time in Indonesia, I would like to treat you - instead of visiting the well known famous tourist’s sites - to tasting, touching, seeing, smelling, eating, picking, plucking, cutting, cracking, watching the many kinds of our country’s fruits in a leisurely way. Imagine the funny faces you would make by “savoring” such subtle delights or perhaps ... tremendous tortures and miseries.

Nangka is as big as a roasted pig on the table. You never know what or how to eat. But after a surgical operation, the sight of the golden sweet-smelling fruits within makes one say “mmmmmmmm”.

Durian is as awesome to the touch as a heavy spiked mace-head. Those who don’t know how to handle it will make a mess by hacking it to pieces and so spoiling it. The fruit “stinks” enormously, but lovers have only praise for its creamy flavor and particular aroma.

Then have a look at the Rawit, which is as small as a match-head, so innocent and harmless looking. But even a tiny bite is enough to give you a shock of blazing hell in mouth, lips, throat, ears, eyes and makes you scream for help and water. Nonetheless, it can’t be lessened or extinguished even by buckets and tanks full of water. Though most wouldn’t like to miss Rawit at dinner time.

Pare is as bitter as gall or perhaps as bitter as when you ever have tasted any forbidden fruit. But cooked in proper ways, it is for many people still a very appetizing food and delicacy.

Don’t mistake eating the fruit of the Kenari for its kernel and say it’s tasty. Its stone is nearly as hard as stone. You’d have to get a big stone to hammer it open and see to it you don’t crush its kernel or hammer on your finger as a “souvenir”. Lovely souvenirs are cut out of the fruit’s seed. In the golden days of childhood, Kenari picking, cracking, eating is such a delightful occupation, one couldn’t stop until all the Kenari gathered have been eaten.

Then there is the Harum Manis. People say that stolen fruit tastes sweeter. But after tasting the Harum Manis, you would swear, avow, they never could excel the sweetness of this sweet-smelling mango-fruit.

And there is the Manggistan: open its chamber carefully and decently with your knife and behold nature’s sweet queen of beauty slumbering on her dark-brown couch.

And you should manage to stay some time in the country and see the Mango or the Kemang tree during their bridal festivities, draped and veiled with the richest of blossoms.

Then watch the colorful Buni berries or the Rambutan or any other fruits ripen, luring, stirring God’s creatures and man alike.

Still, there are so many fruits I haven’t told you: the Puan, Pala, Jambu, Blimbing, Salak, Duku, Lengkeng, Lontar, Ketapang, Gandaria, ... but that is for you to take a try and enjoy them as memorable souvenirs from Nature’s hand.

The Jakarta Post, February 10, 1986

An Interview With Hoyer Larsen

An Interview With Hoyer Larsen

I dreamt I was in Atlanta and interviewed Hoyer Larsen, the Danish badminton champion who became a finalist in the Olympic Games.

“Suppose God asks you what you would like He should do for you in this final.”

“Choose your opponent you like,” God said. “Which. Rasyid, Joko, Alan, Arbi, Gunalan, Yang Yang, Han Jian?"

“I take Rudy Hartono” answered Larsen.

“Why Rudy?”

“Rudy is one of the greatest, one of the very best badminton players in the world. It is an honor to play against him. “

“I will help you and make the supporters side with you? said the Lord.

“I don’t care of supporter’s support."

”Do you want Rudy to lose in this match?” God said.

“I never prayed You for failures or bad luck of my adversaries, opponents, I never prayed You to give me the victory, although I would be very proud if I could win, defeat him, the best, strongest player in the world.”

“Well, What is your dearest wish, which I will grant you in this final?” God asked.

“I, Larsen don’t want to be backed up by supporters, the referee, linesmen. If I ever may wish – then, if it isn’t too insolent – wish You don’t interfere, meddle with who shall be winning or losing this match. Hartono and I both want to be proud of winning, without any one, or God aiding in this match as far as we still have our self respect."

From Suara Karya, 11 Juli 1996

Find A Paradise Almost Anywhere

Find A Paradise Almost Anywhere

Our paradise is forever lost since Adam, laments someone.

Just eating simple fare together with our fingers on a banana leaf, drinking together out of a used bottle of aqua and sleeping in her/my arms in my cart - yet, is there a warmer, cozier bridal couch? -, celebrating our marriage with heavenly light of stars and moon. Right there is my palace, my kingdom, my queen, my treasure, my paradise. So sings a vagrant young man.

Well, a paradise is in our national park Cibodas, said Si Upik.

A paradise is in Roxy’s food-stalls, breathing the delicious foods being prepared, rousing my appetite, said Si Buyung.

A paradise is in an armchair, when tired after keeping myself awake, I fall asleep, said Pak Johan.

Drinking and nestling in my warm mother’s bosom, that’s paradise, says baby.

A paradise is in her eyes or is it in her smile, ponders her lover.

A paradise is in a song when the listener suddenly cannot speak and becomes silent. In a book when the reader suddenly cannot read getting tears in his eyes, says another.

What is an oasis in a paradise? An oasis is a paradise in a desert, comments someone.

I can find a paradise almost anywhere. I saw a paradise in a waste-water basin when a pigeon pair happily was bathing without being ashamed together. In a broken wall with a happy plant, though it had but roots instead of legs, cannot fly as the butterfly nor sing as the nightingale and forever mute, was fixed, bound to the same place for life.

Happy and grateful to the Creator after being granted, seen so many paradises and still many more to come, here on earth. I wouldn’t be sorry even if I wouldn’t have a place in heaven after all. Would you still crave after it? I asked pak Arif. “Well, at least I’ll have seen heaven in a wild flower. That’s what I remember William Blake has said,” he answered.

April 1999

Genuine Or Fake?

Genuine Or Fake?

Works of art remain the same;

People’s valuation fall and rise.

A painting of Monet was sold for U.S.$ 1.400.000, TV reported. If - for the sake of preserving its message -, one should own, see the genuine painting, or watch, hear a live performance in a theatre or concert hall, to be able to enjoy art, then, shouldn’t we also have to read the genuine hand- or type-written script of an author to enjoy a novel? We even read translations with hardly any suspicions.

I’d just be as happy and grateful with copies or call them fakes. To have a nice printed copy of a painting on a calendar, an opera on a disc or video, the cheapest edition of a translated novel, a good imitation of beautiful antique ceramics, the Venus of Milo in miniature, … I can still hear Mozart on a tape recorder or performed through artists other than Mozart himself as well.

Fakes are nothing but kinds of replicas, such as copies, editions, imitations, translations, transpositions, recordings. Why not produce replicas of the works of art in a way people publish books or issue records? Then art will come down within the purse of all for anyone to enjoy and be familiar rather than be a scare. So one can afford to have his own private gallery of art without having to spend a fortune to buy or see the genuine works abroad.

It doesn’t belittle Tolstoy or his novel if one can have a translated version for just 50 U.S. cents, nor does it make Monet or his painting a bit greater, because people honored him with such a huge sum for a piece of his works.

The difference between the genuine and a fake will become less. Some day we won’t be able to distinguish between them anymore. Such as a book, which is as genuine as its original script except for misprints, or as music transposed into another key.

Aren’t so called fakes art too? And they help us to overcome the barriers of time, of place, of language and our limited means.

The Jakarta Post, October 4, 1986

Souvenir From The Olympics In Barcelona And Seoul

Souvenir From The Olympics In Barcelona And Seoul

Sweet little girls as though ballerinas were facing their “trial” with anxiety. But once they started to “dance”, with shining eyes, they forgot all about the jury and spectators.

Yet, one of them, failed twice to land safely on the “earth”. Her heart was crying as she remembered the hundreds of times she landed safely during her gymnastic sessions before. As a little angel with a broken wing, downcast eyes, she went away to mourn her misfortune.

Her coach went to her. He did not blame, reproach her. He felt the soreness, pain in her heart and knowing that misfortune could overcome everyone, even champions, he held his arm around her shoulders. I don’t know what he whispered to her, then a lovely smile as a budding flower lit up her face. That was the gold medal which her coach awarded her in the Olympic Games in Barcelona as seen on TV.

What I still remember from the Olympics in Seoul are not the speeches during the opening ceremony, nor the incredible feats of Kristin Otto, Flo-jo, neither the fairness of the tennis queens Steffi Graf and Sabatini, but a brief report about Mariana Ysrael, who participated in the marathon. She wasn’t who finished first, instead, arrived last, yet, ….

Lonely, she was very far behind the others. Tired, very thirsty, while the officials who had to take care of the water supply for the athletes along the road, were already returning to their office. and still she had to run this hellish never ending road.

Others would have given up, but she refused to surrender and succeeded to reach the finish. Yet, the spectators didn’t forget her. They were still there. And it was no jeering, mocking crowd that awaited her, on the contrary, a cheering, warm hearty welcome, for her who came in last. That was like raining flowers from heaven or the coolest drink among the coolest drinks, for this was the gold medal the public awarded her for her courage in overcoming “hell” during the Olympic Games in Seoul.

From Jayakarta, August 19, 1992

Found A Heaven In My Bed

Found A Heaven In My Bed

Pak Arif told me his dream,

“I dreamt I was in heaven. Some heaven dwellers welcomed me and asked whether I still remembered them. Certainly, I said. You are Foxy who has died. You are Benji and Chicko, my dogs who are still alive.”

“Yes, We were fated to be born as dogs.”

“And you are the Cerukcuk bird, who was despairing, as your nest fell down, since a part of the waringin branches had to be cut off.”

“And I’m the waringin tree my branches you wound.” Said another heavenly being. “Why didn’you have the nerve to protect me and ignore his claims that my fallen leaves would block his rain-drain?”

“I met my wife who eloped with another husband and many people who had deceived, cheated me, even the man who had murdered me. Strange as dreams are, how easy it was to forgive them. And as I met my many wives I had married,- I didn’t remember I had married so many women - I wondered, they aren’t jealous and didn’t quarrel.

“Conscious (in heaven) that we were just puppets in the hands of the great Dalang (puppeteer), we were unconscious, didn’t realize (on earth) that we were just puppets, but convinced, certain that we were not acting our roles or dreaming, but really living our lives.

“They welcomed me without hate, jealousy, without loving, feeling, since in heaven there is no difference between man and woman anymore, no relation of parents and children,, no difference between man, animal, plant, there’s no time and space, no night and day. In His eyes, we were all equal, alike.

“Then I awoke. How happy I was, I wasn’t murdered and still alive. I reached, touched beside me. Oh what a relief, my wife was still sleeping at my side peacefully. How nice and happy it was to be still living on earth. And I was grateful that I found a heaven in my bed at that time.

“Since that dream I’m more kind, more loving towards Benji, Chicko, to trees, plants, weeds and bibi our house-maid – ‘I sincerely hate her’ said my wife in jest, play – and the petroleum vendor, and all those people who are regarded as of the lower-class, in the opinion, eyes of the public.

“Sure, however easy it is to live for those who have freed, liberated themselves of desires, wishes, as those that are in heaven, I’m still thirsting after all human wants, needs, desires with all its joys, pleasures, pain, sorrow and sadness. I’m still drawn to ‘forbidden fruits’. Yet do I not want to exchange this life, so brief, yet so precious, with an eternal, peaceful, blissful life in heaven.”

So, pak Arif told me his thoughts.

August 1999

Avoid War Instead Of Saving Its Victims

Avoid War Instead Of Saving Its Victims

Touched by the sight of a haggard Sudan girl dropping down by hunger and a preying bird waiting, watching her die, Kevin Carter did take the photo first, then chased the bird away. Suppose the bird attacked the girl, would he have left the girl unprotected, for the sake of creating a first rate photo and get a Prize, or, on the contrary, save the girl and lose his chance?

Indeed, his photo was awarded the Pulitzer Prize. But what was much more, was that with this photo he succeeded to stir the public towards the agonies, cruelty war inflicts, rather than having a big honorarium or a special Prize.

But to me, who hardly ever experienced, saw an actual war at close quarters, the cry and the sight of a very dirty, stinking, hungry, sick puppy left neglected by its owner on a garbage heap at the roadside in the rain was even more touching and stirring.

Whoever wants to take care of such a puppy. Its death would perhaps be welcomed. Yet there was still someone, a young girl who took care of it and saved her life. How happy she was. She could hardly sleep. She certainly couldn’t shoot a special picture as Kevin Carter did for the world to know, or get a Nobel Prize as Mother Theresa.

The puppy grew into a healthy, nice looking, happy doggy and she readily was accepted as a very dear family member.

I hoped, wished for the girl on the photograph of Kevin Carter that she might have the same happy fate as this puppy, and also for all the children, people, soldiers who were victims of war, which wasn’t photo-ed and published, not only those in Rwanda, Bosnia, Iraq, Palestine but also those in America, England, Argentine, Israel and all over the world.

Though it’s far better that we, the world, would or could avoid war, instead of saving the wounded, rescue the victims, forcing families to be separated from fathers, husbands, sons, fiancé‘s, loved ones and might lose them; and owners do not leave their puppies, their baby pets neglected on a garbage heap at the roadside.

From Jayakarta, August 12, 1994

The Torture Of Choosing

The Torture Of Choosing

To be compelled to take only one out of many of our favorite dishes on offer, to be forced to choose only one out of two or three of our favorite television programs broadcast at the same time. How can one enjoy what one has with the thought of missing out on all the other ones?

A mother would say: “It would be a cruel God that asked me to choose only one of my children to be saved or to choose only one to be sacrificed. How could I? All of them are of the very best. All my children must be saved, if it can’t be that way I’d rather die.”

How wretched to marry only one person when one has more than one Valentine. And I think of Bill Clinton. Why? Blame the Creator who made him, us that way. We are all capable of loving more than one person.

There’s no worse punishment to him and his faithful wife than for him to be forced to confess his very private affairs publicly before the whole world. And I must add, who can claim, pride himself to be without a stain and be a better man than he is? Most of us harbor secret thoughts and commit similar acts in the imagination where even Kenneth Starr wouldn’t be able to catch us.

Then I remember Pak Arif’s way of thinking. Every time I see a waringin (banyan tree), I remember he used to say, that tree is the best among trees. When I look at the sirih (betel vine), that plant is the most beautiful among plants. When I eat durian, that fruit is number one and jambu, nangka (jack fruit), mangosteen and rambutan … all of them. There’s no one fruit that’s number two since I so very much like them all.

“What if I were chosen to be a member of the jury at a beauty contest?” Pak Arif teased his wife.

“Well I suppose you would have to proclaim each one of them your queen.” She retorted, adding, “He certainly is very faithful, for I have never been able to catch him “wet”. Happily for him and his wife, since Pak Arif could never be considered jury material for a beauty contest.

We should be grateful that there’s not only one best in the world. Our Creator certainly didn’t make any mistakes or errors.

The elephant, the deer, the fox, the squirrel, the bat, just name any creature. Each one of them is of the very best, the most extraordinary creation. So is the melati, the kenanga blossoms, the lotus, the rose, the orchid and any other flower or blossom.

Bill Clinton, though in love with Hillary, couldn’t resist Monica Levinsky, and neither could she resist him. Choose your mother? Choose your father? “Take Monica. Ha, ha, ha.” Si Upik suggested.

Ah, how nice, how fine, how happy, when we are not trapped by being compelled and obliged too choose only one of the many we most like, cherish or love. To be freed of the torture of choosing, loving the best out of the very best. Men and women and creatures and things alike.

That’s what I remember Pak Arif told me.

Having One’s Cake And Eating It, The Jakarta Post, September 20, 1998

The Vagrant's Song

The Vagrant’s Song

A vagrant singing, carrying his precious cartload, a sleeping girl:

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.

The Golden Days In Childhood

The Golden Days In Childhood

How nice it would be if going to school is just to learn arithmetic, to read, to write, without being obliged, forced to learn so many other dreary subjects.

But it’s not his parents, the community that should study so hard, to be examined and be ashamed of, when he fails.

With a plus curriculum, extra private lessons and a lot of home-work, chasing after favorite schools, do they want to make him something of a champion, prepare for his career and be the pride of his parents or the nation?

How nice, how free it is to perch as a bird on a tree or on a boulder, instead of sitting “caged”, “imprisoned” in a class room, yet, he feels it as softer, more comfortable than sitting on a bench, a chair or even a sofa.

Every time he fishes in a creek, a river or a lake, just catching the smallest fish, that’s more fascinating than the biggest fish catch but was written in a book or published in the news papers.

Eating unripe or any other fruits which he has shot with his catapult, does taste much sweeter than the sweetest fruits from the market served by his mother on the dining table.

Seeing the living breathing light of a firefly perching or flying as a shooting star is more enchanting, wonderful than seeing hundreds colorful flickering lights on a Christmas tree.

Hearing the chirping seriringan cricket in a box is sweeter than even an angel’s song.

“Touring round the world” with just one cent, watching, following a squirrel, a wood pigeon, a circling hawk, a chameleon, a fresh water turtle, catch a tree-spider, a scorpion, to chase after butterflies, dragonflies, yu-yu or fresh water crabs, to climb and see a nest with baby birds, watching cricket fights, … That’s more exciting, amazing, fun than seeing them in a zoological garden. Then have es cincao, iced jelly-like pudding from cincau leaves or es gantung, snowballed ice with syrup on a stick, for the nicest, coolest drink on the earth in the shade of a tree to close his “journey”.

Then fly kites, play gasing, a spinning toy that’s whipped with a cord, congklak, a canoe-like playing board of wood with two times seven holes filled with seashells, having a camp fire out of collected waste of dry leafs, then roasting ground nuts or ketela (cassava) in its ashes, or keep, take care of chickens, fishes, a rabbit, a squirrel, … and a thousand and one other niceties.

It’s not just children that should learn. Some one said (and he whispered):: “grown-ups too should have much to learn from children: from their frankness, artlessness, imagination, joy and happiness, without having to pay or being forced to go to school.”

Such are the golden days, the golden hours in childhood which will never return.

From Jayakarta, June 1, 1992

Delicious Foods, Heavenly Drinks

Delicious Foods, Heavenly Drinks

There is another way to very delicious eating and drinking, by far more delicious than what is served, offered in restaurants and eateries. I insist that the most delicious foods and freshest drinks can be the most ordinary, even bitter foods and drinks as well.

Eating warm ketela (cassava), ubi (yam) or ground nuts roasted in the ashes of a campfire can be very delicious eating. Or one should walk or cycle leisurely in the evening and drop by somewhere to buy tahu pong (Soybean-cake) while hearing its gentle sizzle, the peaceful buzz of the burner and eat it warm from the frying pan. Or you should also buy roasted corn, watch the glowing cinders, breathe the appetizing roasted flavor, hear the lively spluttering and popping in the fire, then eat the corn slowly, sitting or squatting in the flickering surroundings of vendors, on the side walk.

Hear the lonely whistle of the kue putu vendor at night, eat the “rice-cake” warm on a leaf, or drink warm sekoteng (ginger-like drink). Perhaps you wouldn’t hear the kecapi (harp-like instrument) sounds today. Hearing its soft plucked strings, the sounds of chirping crickets, the hooting owl in the open air at night would be even a greater delight than listening stiffly in concert halls. Sitting at ease, eating or drinking at ease, accompanied by nature’s sounds, a fire-fly, undisturbed by debts, guests, appointments, glaring city-lights, beneath a starry sky, one would forget all the arts, philosophy and dinners.

Drink cool water from the kendi (earthen water vessel). Call the mbok pecel, the middle-aged woman -vendor, who carries a broad tray of cooked vegetables on her head like a sombrero. Eat pecel served on banana-leaf with your fingers sitting on the steps - never sit on chairs, unless you can nestle yourself comfortably by drawing your feet up on to the seat -, sit on the floor as children, kampong (village) and Japanese people do, or sit on the grass or perch on a boulder on the bank of a stream when you’re picnicking.

The nicest. freshest, strongest drink you could get at the roadside in the shade of a tree from a charming jamu vendor. She is as fresh as a mountain-breeze and carries her basket in a slendang (shawl) on her back, with bottles of bitter-sweet-hot drinks, serving her customer on her knees with a grace, no geisha or stewardess could ever rival.

An artist painted the most delicious food and coolest drink just as common folk-food served on a leaf and a cool squirted drink from the kendi (earthen vessel). It is served to a squatting man by a lovely Bali-woman sitting behind her low table as food-stand on the sidewalk.

Omar Khayam, the Persian poet, needed a loaf of bread and a jug of wine when his lover was with him. Though in a wilderness, he’d dine as in paradise.

Such are the delicacies that far surpass the most delicious, expensive foods and drinks offered in the most famous restaurants, the grandest feasts and I’d say even the banquets of kings.

Rich flavors of eating in the open air, the foretaste of watching, attending, breathing, hearing the food being prepared and cooked. Tastes of eating at leisure, ease and privacy, free from worries and sickness. There’s sweetness in sharing one’s food with a lover.

Subtle tastes, rich flavors, exquisite sweetness no cook, no appetizer or ingredient ever could add, turning the most ordinary foods and drinks into the most delicious foods and heavenly drinks.

They are within the purse of all and for anyone to enjoy. Yet, money can’t buy them, for each one of us would have to depend upon his, her own “recipe”.

The Jakarta Post, May 27, 1986

Bagatelles

Bagatelles


Unpardonable Blundering
The Jakarta Post April 8, 1986

There was a picture of a beautiful necklace that won an international award at Milan, (J.P. March 29, 1986), but I’d vote for the lovely wearer. Seeing her dazzling eyes would be much more fascinating than a world-awarded necklace, the glittering fire in the biggest diamonds, the most precious stones and fire-works, as the radiant sun is to an electric bulb.

The jury should be fired for unpardonable blundering.

Funny Sights
The Jakarta Post December 31, 1986

A father taking three children for a ride on a scooter, two sitting behind and one standing in front of him, isn’t an uncommon sight. Four passengers on a scooter. But when they even took along their “ugly” dog into the bargain, sitting – with eight legs – crammed on the narrow board of the old two wheeler through the bustling roads to share their fun and danger, it must have been an adventures ride, perhaps better than in a comfortable motorcar.

The other day I also saw a couple beneath a tree as I wandered through a park. They were foreigners. The young man was peeling a pine-apple. He worked at it conscientiously. At last he hardly had anything left except its tasteless “spine” to offer his sweetheart. Yet I guess that it must have tasted sweeter than had they had the fruit served well in the Hilton Hotel.

Here is an occasion for foreigners to learn from us, not from our professors, but from our fruit vendors.

Bali And The World
The Jakarta Post May 12, 1986

“If he has peace within him, Bali deepens it. If he has beauty within him, Bali enriches it. If he does not carry both within him, he will not recognize them here and he will go away unhappy, as he came.” (The Jakarta Post, April 29, 1986).

Well, I don’t want to be blessed with what is called peace and beauty, if they keep other people that haven’t, doomed from sharing in the happiness. I’d rather stay doomed to be unhappy with the people.

Having had my say to the “world”, I’ll be happy and regain my peace of mind.

On Jakarta's Weather Forecast

On Jakarta’s Weather Forecast

Well, tomorrow I’ve got to water my garden. According to the Weather Forecast on TV, Jakarta would be clouded. The forecast was wrong. Thank you, as an unexpected reward, surprise, it was raining, so me and the Public City’s Park Service of Jakarta was free, on holiday from watering the gardens.

Jakarta by this time had grown so vast as to cause the forecast in certain areas of Jakarta to be incorrect, but I had to water my garden more often as according to forecast it should be raining, on the contrary did not rain.

Only in the rainy- and warm-season the weather forecast of whole Jakarta was accurate. But what’s the use of a weather forecast as everyone knows that it’s going to rain or to be sunny according to the season. Except perhaps when there would occur the opposite, contrary to what is the season.

Not just Jakarta as a whole, the whole island of Java might be raining, for days, causing floods. More over, all the water of rivers, lakes, wells has the rain as their origin.

How easy it is for Nature to water, wet the earth. Without any effort, without means of transport, water-tanks: cubic measures of water is transported so high, higher than sky-scrapers, even high mountains, without any apparatus for distilling water, yet so clear and purer than PAM drinking water. And it did so with such ease as easy and as light as blowing just cigarette smoke, then returns it as rain like a kind of blessing, so free for all the living on the earth.

From Business Indonesia, May 19, 1993

Int'l Gamelan Festival

Int’l Gamelan Festival

English Version by the Jakarta Post February 7, 1996

Watching western women in sarong kebaya and men in blangkon, (traditional dress) playing gamelan, (traditional “orchestra”) in the International Gamelan Festival at Prambanan temple in Yogyakarta recently on television, I felt myself transported to the future.

“Where is Indonesia?” asks a tourist.
I reply: This is Indonesia.”
“Is it? These are skyscrapers like in Tokyo. That is the Hollywood Inn, the Thousand And One Night Amusement Center. I eat sukiyaki, pizza, hotdogs, pears, apples, grapes. I drink Coke, root beer. I listen to disco music. Where are the rice fields, the tropical forests prided by Indonesia? This is certainly not Indonesia but another country.”

“It is true, I am not joking. The authentic Indonesia with its forests is extinct. Now it is westernized. The blond hair you see is just dyed. If you want to see the real Indonesia you must go to …” and I show him a dot on a map, close to the equator. “There you will find Indonesia in miniature where the original culture is respected and conserved.”

I wake up from my dream with a jolt. What if some day we have to learn our own culture from foreign experts, if the authentic Indonesian tropical forest is no longer but somewhere abroad.

Somebody says: “We have no self respect.”