With His Girlfriend, Old Joey Is Young Again

With His Girlfriend, Old Joey Is Young Again

I was disappointed as my recording in the dark turned out so faint, while they were so funny, more excited the day before, but then I wasn’t ready. You can’t want them do what you want. They’re no actors. If I enter from behind the glass window, I might disturb their playing together. And you’re not sure whether they would be funnier the next time. 

Shooting, recording them, a bird, a dragonfly, a butterfly in flight is hard. You can never be well prepared before.

Yet am I happy, listen to a bird’s twitter as I’ve captured that precious moment which  will never come back. Joey and his girlfriend are saved now and will live forever, ever young in You Tube.

So I comfort myself.

March 2012

Musings On A Waterplant

Musings On A Waterplant

And as I remember the many  beautiful water-plants, -weeds that now perhaps are extinct, which I can’t show you anymore while many are nearly extinct. There are almost no marshes now. The lakes, sawahs had them and I planted them in my fishpond. New cities, growing cities real estates, malls, factories, ... now take their place.

But this lovely waterplant I never saw before have I captured - sure no Grand Canyon, Niagara falls sceneries  to offer you – but perhaps you never might find, see the like again. 

Here she is, almost unnoticed and two dragonflies in a water paradise.

The young generation misses nothing. They never had seen a firefly, the sailing cranes, eagles, bats, owls, squirrels, ... except in a museum or pictures.

Who cares? Rulers are too smart, too clever, too educated, too busy, too reluctant, too short-sighted, until someday a wise ruler so far-sighted, rules the land. Instead, he is aiming after smaller growing cities,  smaller growing real estates, less malls, factories, ... back to paradise he insists, so unheard of, by lowering the population through birth control and so give a larger, better living space for all the living on the earth.  It’s just common sense, but it takes a very long, generations long of time, but a very short time, just a moment when we think that it takes hundred thousands of years to reach this high level of the world population of to day, he would say.

“If only you could forbid any man and any woman to have children, within a 100 years the world population would drop till zero, the human race extinct. Ha. Ha.” So opa Johan commented.
 

February 2012

Block The Wind?

Block The Wind?

“You’re mine.”

Even a man who is legally married,  enforcing his will on his wife is raping her.

Instead, a free “I’m yours” a lover says.

And I thought of Monica and Bill Clinton who were inhumanely “stoned”, shamed, humiliated, published in the whole world yet in a so highly civilised land. 

She wasn’t’ a piece of wood or empty air. She surely was, perhaps still is, wanted, desired, cherished by men except he is not a man or a feigner. And when she granted her favors to someone, it’s hers to decide. Every man, woman is fundamentally his/hers to decide about themselves. I believe that they were grateful for their love though damned as illegal, illicit, as though love should, could be legalised, thwarted, blocked, killed, ... 

Block the wind?

Can you love whom you do not love? Can you not love whom you really love?

 “And I imagine, thought of the prosecutor and those that are “save, dry on land, not face a storm at sea” or pride or judge themselves as better, honorable descent citizens” said si Upik,  “they perhaps but haven’t the courage to take the risks. Ha. ha.”

 February 2012

Suffering "Behind The Scene"

Suffering “Behind The Scene”

Most of us don’t realize that enjoyment is invaluable, far more than even the highest price for that enjoyment. Enjoying music is worth far more than the ticket price for the concert. It’s so cheap.

Suffering similarly is so huge. I would readily, gladly pay Rp. 1 juta – one million Rp - or even more, when I could be freed, exempt from what I really hate to do, - it’s so cheap - of going reluctantly to an invitation of a marriage or a reunion, attend a funeral service, listen to a weary speech, dreary sermon, ... then feign to look mournfully, clap your hands, stand up in a standing ovation, keep going clever talk, keep people company and endure the suffering when I don’t feel like it, having nothing to say, nothing to talk about and so waste my time, my life.

It takes a lot of courage to refuse, disappoint people, a good friend or your family, to say “no”.  Suffering to me is Dansen naar andermans pijpen (dancing to other man’s playing the flute) as a Dutch saying goes, meaning to live, behave yourself to the wishes, standards of other people, the society.

“Mr. Chew is a bit stupid” said Opa Johan to his wife after reading this. “As long as my beloved is beside me all those sufferings are nothing at all, instead, a joy to me. I could talk endlessly and even hell is heaven with her until I stop being ... your lover and you become my dutiful wife. Ha.ha.”.

February 2012

What Is That Kind Of Paradise?

What Is That Kind Of Paradise?

There’s no plant, no tree whatever that’s not wonderful. Each branch, any leaf, any flower, any fruit of it, is wonderful, even though without its leaves as a tree in winter. There is no dog, no cat, no bird not wonderful, not lovable, no fish,  no creature, no man, no woman, ...  And I thought of Whitney Houston who won so many Grammy Awards, are they less wonderful?

I see, hear, feel them all around me.

And I thought of those that have their eyes, ears, their senses, heart shut. They would never find, enter paradise. What’s that kind of paradise?

And I thought of the  teachings that the way to heaven is along a difficult, dangerous, narrow, steep path while the road to hell is along an easy, pleasurable  highway.

And of those that lead an ascetic life.

And of Nirwana of Budha of non-attachments as to be freed from suffering, while I, on the contrary am willing, readily to endure it, rather than kill my fondest, dearest attachments, affections to a woman, a dog, a tree, a lake, the woods, the country, ...  and cry, weep, suffer for the loss of them.

February 2012

Who Is Your "Schoner Stern"?

Who Is Your Schoner Stern?

Imagine the Choir Conductor having his choir of old-agers still singing such songs as Mein Schoner Stern, The Man I love, Someday My Prince Will Come, ... which they enjoy as though they were teen-agers and sing it even in a church service. He said these songs are Solomon’s Songs of this age.

No composer composes the Song Of Solomon, which are love songs, into music, no pastor dared to preach it.

“I  now can sing Mein Schoner Stern by heart” said Opa Johan’s wife happily.

“Who is your Schoner Stern?” Opa Johan whispered. Then he offered her his cheeks to be kissed.

“You’re really a scoundrel” she said “indignantly”.

So when you want to know what Schoner Stern means you can find the English version in You Tube and hear the beautiful music of R. Schumann.

February 2012

Something Special In Adelaide I Remember

Something Special In Adelaide I Remember

I wrote my thoughts in a small pocket note book at that time. I thought, instead of a letter I would send a good friend a package, while on the inside of  its wrapping paper I would write my thoughts randomly as decoration and ornaments as a child’s writing and drawing in its drawing book. Besides, thoughts always remain the same, written on wrapping paper or in a book  It would be wonderful whenever he would notice it which would make him more eager to read and see them.

Later have I them written on open places at the back, borders, edges of my concert’s program. That was my way of sharing my thoughts then.

When I once visited Adelaide many years ago, I was surprised when after travelling in a city’s bus I noticed wonderful thoughts on the back of the ticket. I was grateful for the ride, but this was an invaluable gift. Thank you.

February 2012

Were I As Rich As A Rockefeller

Were I As Rich As A Rockefeller

Exasperated, as I couldn’t publish my writings in a magazine, news paper. That was just some fifty years ago. I was then day-dreaning to hang my writings anonymously on gas balloons and have them flowing, flying in the wind for someone to find and read them. 

But to day there’s no need to publish them that way. I have pulished my writings, pictures, recordings through my blogs, Picasa Web albums and You Tube, which are far, far better, visited by readers, viewers in so many countries in the world. I don’t care to publish them in a magazine, newspaper, book  now. 

But the thought dawned on me were I as rich as a Rockefeller, to hang on my balloons ten-dollar notes and cheques of thousand  dollars instead and fly them all over the country. 

Shoot them! What fun. Ha.ha.

February 2012

"Little Fool"

“Little Fool”

Opa Johan never “honey”-ed nor “darling”-ed his wife. It’s so commonplace, sentimental, he said. Instead, he cuddled, fondled his wife with “little fool” which sounds so endearing, so close, so delicately teasing, as sweet as a stolen kiss.

February 2012

Dew Drops

Dew drops

The dew drops were so captivating as thousands of diamonds, of thousands fascinating tiny suns, glittering, shining on small grass patches in the sunlight along a quiet, wide, open, sandy pathway and a rivulet with fish in so clear water, so near beside. That was when I travelled on my bike in Kapuk about 60 years ago.

How fresh, how clean as I washed my hands, cooled, wetted my face with dew after running in the country and delightedly stepped bare foot on it. I remember Chinese families in former times gathered dew from fragrant flowers and treated this water for their special scented tea. 

How I wish I could capture them, so you could see it live in You Tube. But to day you almost don’t see dew anymore in Jakarta, yet am I still happy as I succeeded to capture, though only a few dew drops, not so dazzling in the shade.

February 2012

Dew Drops

Are You Alone?

Are You Alone?

“I met a woman at the Saguling Dam you know” said Opa Johan to his wife. “She asked me:

‘Are you a runner?’ seeing me, a scarecrow wearing my sport’s outfit.

‘Sure, I am, but I never did run this far.’ I said.

‘Are you alone?’  She was surprised, she thought I was single, driving a car that far. That’s the greatest honor when a woman respects, regards you as a man, even though you’re an old scarecrow, you know. A sport’s outfit makes one, me look younger. If  you’d come in a Mercy with a nurse,  she would pity, scorn you as a wealthy, feeble, decrepit old man in rich attire. That’s the worst thing for a man  when a woman regards him as not a man, but as a piece of wood, empty air. Ha. Ha.

 ‘No, there’s someone with me.’  I said.

That’s the nice thing. She didn’t  know who it was. She might think that I’m still able to drive a car and take you with me but it was our son, not you, little fool.

“Aren’t you proud of your husband? So now, kiss me, I deserve it.” 

February 2012

Just As A Little Candle

Just As A Little Candle

“I saw a mother fashionably dressed went out of her house, a mansion with two little children stepping into the Mercedes. I imagined her husband who was driving the car, to be a very wealthy man that he could win her, the children perhaps, were taught in an international school. That certainly was his pride, his success. I picture myself a cold welcome awaiting me if I ever visited her in shorts on a bike, ha, ha. Then another man and another woman some thirty years ago came to my mind.” Opa Johan said to his wife.

“I went in. It was dark in the little room and sat before a desk before the man who was in charge to provide for my new identity card and I filled in our family data as we moved in to another house. He doesn’t seem to be very healthy.”

“After having finished my papers I turned home and was struck as his wife entered, a beautiful angel with a lovely voice. As a little candle her appearance suddenly lit up the room, the life of this man. How happy, how rich he must be with such a good angel beside him as he could never afford to ‘buy’ himself such a lovely creature and provide a mansion for her.”

“How loving she must be to love that man despite such poor living conditions. Which man would you choose?” he whispered.

There was a silence.

“Me! Dear little fool.” So said Opa Johan.

October 2008

February 2012

God Repay You

God Repay You

“Our son sends a huge sum of money as our birthday present,” said his wife, “what should I say?

“God repay you. Ha. Ha. Ha.” So said Opa Johan.

February 2012

An Indonesian Fairy Tale

An Indonesian Fairy Tale

Many princes, so handsome, were showing their incredible achievements, feats, university degrees, PhD’s, riches. They were competing for her hand. No, she wasn’t dazzled, awed, though one would offer her his kingdom, she didn’t care. That was not “him”. She wouldn’t marry a fortune, a great name. Someone said: “She’s a fool to reject, refuse such profitable offers which could support herself for life.”

When she once visited a village – but this could only happen in a fairy tale in Indonesia, in my imagination, in my mind – did she meet a young man who was herding his buffaloes. He was strong, so simple, so frank, so natural, so unsophisticated, so open, so unaffected, as though she saw Adam before her, who was without education, wealth, clothes, instead of a herdsman.

Except himself, he had no chance, nothing to offer, to show off to ever convince this fairy before him of his worth and he never thought of ever trying to charm, enchant her. And I pictured him when he just came out of the river sitting on his buffalo, without a shirt, un-combed hair, barefoot yet even asked whether he might kiss her. There was no prince ever dared to ask it.

She later returned and said: “will you marry me?” Dazzled, stunned, when undreamed of, un-hoped for, he was granted, offered a heavenly bride.

He took her home to his cottage, celebrated the wedding with a meal just of lalap, ikan asin, pepes oncom, (that is uncooked vegetables, dried salted fish, red roasted pie of fermented soy bean) eating together on a banana leaf with their fingers, sitting on a mat and drinking water out of a kendi (earthen water vessel) as there were no chairs, no table, plates, cups, forks and spoons. Cozy, warm they nestled in each others arms on the wooden, worn out bale-bale (bedstead). This was heaven. She was content helping him in the vegetable garden, bathing in the kali (river) or pancuran (water from a spring flowing through a water pipe) or from a well and he taught her how to do it.

“There is no electricity, no TV, telephone, no car, no newspaper, no ... She has to live in want. That’s hell.” So the people exclaimed. “Sure” she thought, “but with him near me, hell doesn’t terrify, scare me.”

And I imagined her waking up with the warble of the birds, cock crow, She saw the dew on the grass and stepped on it, enjoyed the rustle, the coolness of the wind, saw, heard the gurgling, splashing of flowing clear mountain water in winding ditches, brooklets, watched the glorious sun, the moon rise, the golden sun set, she saw the fireflies in the evening, …and her husband coming home. This was paradise. She, a City’s daughter had become a child of Nature.

She never vowed to be faithful before God, she never regretted, sorrowed her choice, though she knew she should work hard, that one day he would grow old. She was so happy just to be Eve, a lovely woman who had Adam in the “guise” of a herdsman as her dear husband for as long as life. But this is as I picture it in my mind.

December 2009

Comment

“Such A Love Happens Only In A Fairy Tale” so they say.

That is to comfort themselves after years of disappointed married life with so petty, almost no love. Ha, ha. They haven’t got a love, large enough that such happiness could still befall them.

I believe I could love almost any woman at long last and almost any woman at long last could love me. Now don’t you be jealous dear little fool.

That’s what Opa Johan told his wife.

February 2012