"Someone To Watch Over Me"

“Someone To Watch Over Me”

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

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

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

September 2008

January 2011

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.

“Whoever 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.”

July 2007

January 2011

A Mother's Cry

A Mother’s Cry

War often causes arbitrary actions, cruelty, suffering, hate, enmity, sadness to the parties involved and tends to weaken our sense of humanity.

I remember an American woman on TV, protesting the gulf war. “I don’t want to lose my son, nor do I want other loving mothers to lose theirs. I don’t want my son to be educated to believe that killing loved sons of other mothers is right.”

This mother’s cry that could soften a stone, couldn’t melt, move the hearts of Kreshna* and all the warring leaders of the world to stop the “Bharata-yudha”** war.

And I asked myself whether there’s a loving wife who ever wants to lose her husband. Even though a father is hailed as a hero, could a child be happy and proud of his father while he knows that his father killed many fathers and is causing sadness to their children and their mothers? There’s no girl who could be happy and proud, realizing that her darling is killing some dearest honey of another girl, wishing her unhappiness, as she never wishes such a fate herself. More over, who ever wants to lose his life in compulsory military service in the event of war?

But not all military personnel behaved badly.
Once during the Japanese occupation, when we were still small children playing, chatting, having fun in the garden, a Japanese man in civil clothing came along and asked politely whether he could join the lively, spirited party, for seeing us gay and happy, he remembered his own children and his wife in Japan. Isn’t he also a victim of war, as he is forced to be separated from his family? How many more, does war divide people from their beloved. And I think of the soldiers who could never return home as happy birds returning to their nests.

* Hindu God
**Hindu war in the Mahabharata

From Jayakarta, 31 July 1992

January 2011

On Reading

On Reading

There’s even a more creative way to reading.
All, that’s surrounding, affecting us, our thoughts, our feelings, our preoccupations, … are nothing but libraries of unprinted subjects.

I don’t suggest one to read less, but to see, to watch, to hear, to listen, feel, breathe, think and live more.

January 2011

A Dear-Mother's Invention

A Dear-Mother’s Invention

“Well, let’s play the three fingers guessing game.” (the thump, forefinger and little finger) said mother to her little girl. “When you lose, you must pay me with a kiss. When I lose, I will kiss you as a penalty.” Oh, how sweet it is playing such a simple game in such a manner.”

“If I’d known it before, I would have played it in a somewhat similar way with my Valentine at that time. Ha, ha, ha.” said Opa Johan.

January 2011

A Mother's Heart

A Mother’s Heart

Ade lost her son. He was stabbed to death.

Oh, she doesn’t care about the sermon of the preacher, as he will never return, even if 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 him 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.”

January 2011

Benjamin Couldn't Say Goodbye

Benjamin Couldn’t Say Goodbye

“Suddenly, unexpected, he went away. Could I know it before, I’d never miss the chance to see his shows on TV” so said Ita, a teenager while her younger brother said, I prefer to be a Benjamin, rather than a minister. He is more loved, remembered by the people”.

“What would you do if you knew that tomorrow is Doomsday?” asked Pak Arif. Ita fancied herself: spend all her money, eat the most delicious food, ice cream, pray for forgiveness, pay off all her debts, and eh, … marry her “prince”.

“When St. Fransciscus was asked the same question, he said that he would just continue to plough his field, and do his daily chores as is his wont.”

“Why doesn’t he want, wish, as other people would if they could know the last day of their life?” asked Ita.

“Then it would be too late.” Said Pak Arif. “I imagine St. Franciscus knowing that he never could know the time to say farewell so every time there’s an opportunity he is doing the best thing he should, could do. He has, does already all what he wants. He wants nothing more.

“He can’t recover, undo, wipe away, what had passed, had happened. He can’t hasten his life, eat more, see more, read more,... Moreover, you can’t “eat up” all your riches except as much as your daily meals, your daily reading, daily joys, … Any day could be his last day. It’s now, today, not tomorrow.

“Everyday he eats the nicest, best food, though it’s just simple fare, the coolest drink, though but plain water, anytime he wants to pray, he prays, he never wasted his time to no purpose. He isn’t resentful, hostile, even birds aren’t afraid of him, so they say. He’d lived well, perhaps poor in the eyes of people, yet never could he have lived a better, “richer” life.

“Well, would you postpone your marriage with your “prince” till a day before your last day? What do you think?” So asked Pak Arif.

Ita kept silent. “True, don’t be a fool, don’t wait, postpone, delay doing, what is best, most likable for you, in order not be too late and be sorry. Benjamin, anyone never has the opportunity to say goodbye.” So she assured herself.

From Jayakarta, September 20, 1995

January 2011