Wednesday, February 22, 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

Monday, February 20, 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

Saturday, February 18, 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

Thursday, February 16, 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

Tuesday, February 14, 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

Sunday, February 12, 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

Friday, February 10, 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