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