On Old Age

On Old Age

Being old or being invalid doesn’t prevent, hinder, block one to live a healthy, happy life. While being young doesn’t prevent one from illness, calamity, disaster, misfortune.

Tooth-ache, stomach-ache, is as hurting in young and old and so is a sore, heavy heart as painful and sad. Death is so terrible. There’s no one who would sacrifice his life for another, for a child however old he is, is there? “Yes there is”, says the Bible.

There was the toothless, wrinkled, old fruit vendor carrying his pikulan (two baskets on a bamboo stick on his shoulder), wearing a kopiah (Indonesian cap) looking as “ugly” and funny as Mang Cepot, the folk’s jester, living in Ciputat. Everyday he traveled as far as 25 km to Jakarta Pusat selling his fruits. His voice was still strong, his face cheerful, didn’t complain. He still danced the joget, a folk’s dance, crying out humorous pantun (spontaneous improvised verses) about his fruits along the way and teased, ran after the house maid in fun. Though he just ate very simple faire, he didn’t feel himself poor, or old. Remember, he too certainly was a lovely child on his mother’s lap before.

I had read the story of Helen Keller who was blind, deaf and mute, yet she could still obtain a doctor’s degree. Perhaps she’s “seeing” even more without eyes than many people who could see with their eyes open. If she could be granted to see even though just for a week, how grateful she would be.

Yet, invalids, so handicapped, don’t despair, aren’t distressed, feeling uneasy among people.

Young, old, or invalids, who can escape the road to old age? However, they all have the opportunity to a thousand and one joys and happiness:

Of celebrating the grandness of each day with all the living, to feast, enjoy the morn, the glorious rising sun. To be grateful for the rain, the coolness of the wind. To see the waving trees, the grandness of a starry sky, of sailing clouds, the charm of a rippling lake, the peaceful moon. To breathe the soft, delicious scent of Mahoni blossoms, or hear the sad plucking sounds of the kecapi (Indonesian harp) accompany a bamboo flute. And dine, drink, create, write, play, dance, sing, love … and have a sound sleep. Even baby is happy, nestling in its mother’s bosom.

And tired after life’s traveling, how peaceful to rest in Mother Earth.

From Media Indonesia January 16, 1991

A Mother's Heart

A Mother’s Heart

Dea lost her son, Theo. He was stabbed to death.

Oh, she doesn’t care about the sermon of the preacher, as Theo will never return. Even though she would be given an island, a house like a palace and an income for life. That wouldn’t comfort her, even whether she was granted the whole world.

Suppose God should console giving her, her youth again, beauty, good health and another child in his place, she would say:

“Gladly am I prepared to grow old, bald, toothless and ugly if that could bring me Theo back.”

“What, if I take another son from you instead of him. You decide which one.” said God.

“If You have the heart to force a mother to decide the blackest destiny for her children, You should take me first.”

This Is Heaven

This Is Heaven

“This is Heaven, said father while tapping on his pocket” said mother then, hinting at a full purse and dreams of delicious foods, heavenly drinks, a Mercy, a mansion and perhaps, a lovely angel.

Yet, the more we possess of what is displayed, shown on TV, advertisements, billboards as heaven,- who isn’t attracted? – the more we become satiate.

I remember when on my birthday I received, was surrounded with chicken soup, beef-steak, barbecue, cakes, pudding, ice cream, grapes, …. My eyes said “this is Heaven” but my stomach said: “No, this is Hell.”

I certainly do appreciate my family’s gifts to me - God forgive me – but it’s better to share it with others. They will enjoy it and I will be free from the torture to eat all of them or see them thrown away as garbage.

I never troubled myself to find heaven, yet unexpected did I find it, not just once but many times, even though on an almost empty purse.

As I couldn’t afford to buy my children Peters or Campina ice cream, yet when my little daughter bought herself “es Nong-nong” (so sounds the vendor’s gong), just ice cream of thin coconut milk in a cone as small as her little thump, then spend all her riches of Rp 10.-, feeding me this ice which she held in her little fist licking it by turns, sitting secretly in a corner, till today almost 25 years ago I still remember the sweetness of enjoying that ice together.

Thus be wise to buy yourself a heaven. Taste doesn’t’ care about prices, the luxury of foods. Being hungry, happy, healthy would turn just a simple meal as some rice, “tempe” or fermented soy beans, “sambal” or concocted chili, “lalap” or fresh vegetables into a heavenly dinner. The opposite would turn the most delicious food into something of a bitter pill. Heaven is in a deep sleep and it doesn’t care about a straw-mat, a “bale-bale” or a wooden couch, a bed in a five-star hotel. Heaven is where our loved ones are.

From Media Indonesia, February 21, 1992

A Worse Punishment

A Worse Punishment

“Well, what’s the use of mere apologizing and condemning. The violator should be punished by seeing the same, if the same fate befalls to his loved ones before his very eyes.” said a woman after watching the victim’s shocking, inhuman experience before the Human Rights Committee as shown on TV mid-May 1998. Perhaps, this is a worse punishment than having him flogged severely in public.

For many days, her words preoccupied my thoughts said Pak Arif. And I dreamed I was in the court of the just and wise Judge Bao with the violator and the woman accuser who wanted the violator to be punished in the same way as what he did to his victims. Contrary to his wont, Judge Bao granted the suit. “Take his wife, his daughters, his sisters, his mother before the court and have the executioners ready.” he ordered to the officials of the court. The court was dumbfounded, silent.

As in the tale of Draupadi* who was dishonored by Dursasana* and his brothers in front of her husband, aunts, uncles, grand sires and royal visitors, they also were stripped off, of their clothes.

They kneeled in fear and sobbed: “Please have mercy on us, help, save us Judge Bao. Oh, God. What have we done that we deserve such a cruel punishment?”

Seeing such a fate befall to women as she herself is, without any wrong, so helpless, so pitiful, she forgot her charge. “Stoooop! Judge Bao. Don’t continue this torture, insult, affront, outrage. They are innocent! Thousand years of prison wouldn’t be enough to wash away these wrongs, their suffering or dry their tears.!” So did she cry aloud and I awoke, breathing freely.

How lucky that it was just a dream, said Pak Arif. Whoever wants to be an executioner of helpless women … “more over, what’s wrong with them? - Except he, who has lost or traded his sense of humanity.” Si Upik interrupted.

*From the Mahabharata

From Sinar Pagi, August 8, 1998

Our Universe The Only One?

Our Universe The Only One?
I imagined, pictured myself to have reached the outer most part of our universe and I fancied that outside this ball there could be many more universes and that our universe is not just the only one.

Could that “outside” of our universe not exist? Our most brilliant human brains couldn’t discover, prove that. Does it mean that that “beyond” doesn’t exist?

But for beings on other solar systems with a higher intelligence equipped far superior to those of us, isn’t it impossible for them to discover many more universes?

Is it impossible that life and beings could exist on other solar systems on planets very similar to ours, except on our planet and within our solar system?

When I Was Downhearted

When I Was Downhearted

I just finished reading a novel which got the Pulitzer Prize. Hailed by critics, news papers, translated into many foreign languages, filmed and supervised by a famous stage manager, … Meanwhile my book was rejected by publishers. I’m not “deaf” nor “blind” to hear, to read, about what is said, commented about the book and the writer, which makes one feel bad, sad, to bear a heavy heart as “the Ugly Duckling” in the story of H. Andersen.

These thoughts then dawned on me. I don’t remember who said it:

On what merits could I pride myself above others? Suppose it were so, it certainly was not because of my own efforts, except through what was given me by God.

Perhaps being the better of someone was because I‘ve got a bit more talent, a keener nose/eye on beauty, or it might be that I was better equipped with patience, discipline, diligence, perseverance, …

And if someone surpassed me, be more lucky than I was, why should I envy him? That too was what the Creator had granted him.

If people regarded me, as a good, honest man, what is there to be proud of? Perhaps my “thirst”, “hunger” after rank, official duties, wealth, “forbidden fruits” wasn’t so severe. This too wasn’t because of my own exertion.

The earth-worm, “naked”, without physical members, without voice, wings, it certainly is grateful and happy. Busy grubbing, living in the soil, it doesn’t envy the nightingale who warbles so sweetly, nor does it envy the butterfly with its delightful, colorful wings and drinks honey. All of them busy and happy with what was inborn in them.

That’s what I remember he said. Now am I happy as I have regained my peace of mind.

From Pelita, November 12, 199

When Life Was Tight

When Life Was Tight

Did you know it?

Yet, how sweet life was, when I, a married University student even though without work and living in tight circumstances.

To celebrate our honey moon, tandem riding, hitch-hiking on a truck, traveling by bus, a sado (two-wheeled horse-cart), staying for the night at country inns and in an old, somewhat scary “palace” for free, touring Bali.

Feeling comfortable in a small wooden food-stall waiting for the rain to stop at a village road-side, while eating on a plate just warm ketoprak (cheap cooked vegetable folk-food) together until the plate was very clean.

How cozy it was sleeping together with just a one person’s mosquito net.

Having no money while pressing money difficulties were in sight with the coming birth of our baby, what a god-send relief it was when I luckily got my first salary so direly needed.

To count all the money within closed doors and windows in our bed as an unexpected gift from heaven, a rich reward for the efforts, trouble of my woman to sell some-one’s jewelry as a go between.

To take home but some little money yet so precious, small earnings, by selling my woman’s self-made snacks was even sweeter than taking home my salary.

Milk isn’t drunk anymore, but spooned, enjoyed like ice cream.

Seeing our youngest daughter joyfully strewing her first honorarium as flowers falling, to her mother.

Seeing our eldest son so proud and happy to be able to buy an old motor-cycle with all his savings in his savings-box and the readiness of all the family-members to support, supply him with the shortage.

Well, I’m not feeling poor at all, why sigh, be sad, blame, hate life when it was hard, tight. When we were happy, sharing our gains, joys and happiness and bore to lessen, soften our burdens and suffering together.
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Thus grandpa Johan related this to me.
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From Harian Ekonomi Neraca, Januari 17, 1997