What’s So Praiseworthy Of Our Indonesian People

Imagine our people travelling in overcrowded trains for almost two hours when there’s no toilet.

The Weak Especially Should Be Respected

The old, the weak, even the child have dignity.

They should be respected, honored, more so as they can’t fight back.

It’s the president who should honor, respect, protect them if he is honorable, civilized.

A Kiss Of Farewell

Gretel was so listless as she vomited, discharged blood on her way to the doctor. Her doctor said:

“There’s almost no hope she would recover.”

Then she wept silently, watching the doctor giving, providing the last, best possible treatment.

Gretel still breathed back home.

Si Upik didn’t cry anymore. She pressed a silent kiss so long on Gretel’s face as though to say farewell, as    though she wished to retrieve her back to life.              

And I thought of Princess Diana who was so loved by the whole world. But there’s no one so close, so loved as Gretel - just a former unwanted doggy - by si Upik.

Mother Teresa

She would still be as great, were she not winning the Nobel Prize. 

Were there no suffering any more in the world she would even be happier than winning the Nobel Prize.

Dance Of The Eagles

I’m lucky to watch an eagle pair, sailing high up in the air in Pantai  Indah Kapuk.

       

                           

How wonderful as they dance, sailing and vanish into the clouds and appear again, gliding upwards and downwards or in circles …

My Little General

There he lies on the battlefield, my little general.

He doesn’t ride a horse in a bright uniform with stars on his shoulders, without an army and commanding orders, but panting, soiled, wet with his sweat in his shirt, crying,

He, who is the pivot, the backbone of his team is wounded. He, who is so needed to aid his team mates under the heavy pressure of the “enemy” in the final battle.

Now his younger, weaker Benjamin should take his place, he who would need his protection.

Crying, not of the pain, he almost didn’t feel it, but powerless, to see his comrades fight an unequal battle without him.

With tears and among his sobs he cried, called aloud to his friends his command “hajar” (fight) and they heartened him in return not to worry.

And that command in crying, broken language by their invalidated leader was heard and whoever heard it shuddered in awe.

They fought, I watched in breathtaking suspense as though watching a coin rolling (not spinning) not knowing which side it would turn, or as a rope dancer walking on a cable which is stretched taut between two high buildings.

And they won the battle while it would be more reasonable that they would be defeated.

A command of a real general couldn’t do it better, no courage, no words more inspiring an army.

And I remember Beethoven’s 9th Symphony “… laufet Bruder eure Bahn, wie ein Held zum siegen.”

It was as though they couldn’t surrender, it was impossible to surrender, they would rather drop, “die”.

“He’s my little general” said his Volley Ball coach as he remembered it more than forty years ago