Frankly Speaking

On Debunking Equality

2010-12-05T11:51:00.000-08:00

What angered me most about the euthanasia debate is the tendency that the arguments against it relied on the possibility of miraculous healing or restoration of health. It is as if we take for granted that our lives exist merely for the enjoyment and consolation of those around us, and not, in and of itself, valuable. Which brings us to the question, are lives truly, inherently, valuable? Or is it what we do with it that makes it so?

Everything else in the world seems to hold value because of the effect and impact it has on others. A work of art is only as valuable as the effect it has on people. An act of kindness is only as valuable as the credit people allow it to have. A product is only valuable if people see it as beneficial, helpful, or in any way heighten their sense of security and/or self-worth. Is anything, at all, valuable simply for being? Because if nothing is, then there is something very wrong with what the world considers as an ideal world view.

In this day and age, the epitome of civilization is encapsulated in the ideals of western liberal democracy and what they stand for: freedom of individuals, representative leadership, private ownership, meritocracy, and above all, the assumption of equality. I used the word assumption because most of us, by this time, seem to have already taken for granted the notion of equality.

Are we really equal? The knee-jerk reaction to that question is usually yes, or well, perhaps we aren’t, but we should be, and thus individuals should be treated equally. Of course, equality should not be confused with uniformity, i.e. a system that endorses equality does not necessarily give everyone the same salary, but it gives the same access to everyone to work and develop themselves before they are then allocated rewards or incentives based on a system of meritocracy which becomes the basis of fairness.

Even so, taking into account this inherent limitation in the idea of equality, should we really see ourselves as equal? Or should we tell the truth and get on with it: some people are clearly more valuable than others. As I’ve discussed earlier, values are not innate attributes owned by individuals by merit of birth, they are socially-prescribed attributes tied to actions, beliefs, emotions, and other values. Some people, through their actions or thoughts can cause or induce certain benefits to others, and thus hold more value than others lacking such a capacity. Hence, it follows that some lives are clearly more valuable than others.

It’s nothing new. In fact, there’s a word for it. Power is the currency of value. It’s a problematic concept, granted, no one can ever agree of what constitutes power - it could be anything from economic resources to personal charisma, or what kids these days like to call, dreadfully, the X-factor. But lacking a clear epistemology notwithstanding, I think it still serves as a better lens through which one can, and should, view the world.

I’m not saying we should start considering eugenics, scrap health care for senior citizens or education for people with disabilities, or even streaming students into classes early in school. But I am saying that it should come as no surprise - if anything, it should be expected - that countries with greater military and economic resources get the most say in international forums than their counterparts with lesser resources, that better-off households get better access to better facilities, or that the brightest and most socially adept individuals get paid the most.

Because at the end of the day, a system that promotes freedom means people are at liberty to construct their own value system, and while it gives them full access to rise to their potential and pursue happiness, be the best they can be, touch the sky, catch the fire and I’m running out of campaign slogans, it also means people will get left out.

While believing in an optimistic world view of equality and a we’re-all-winners mentality might give you a warm, fuzzy feeling and helps you sleep better at night, it doesn’t help much when there’s only a limited amount of resources and a disproportionately large number of people vying for them.

In a game of musical chairs, and in life, you don’t throw the game because you believe the person next to you is just as valuable as you and therefore just as deserving, you run like hell, grab the opportunity, sit on it and not let go because deep down, you know instinctively that each and every person in the game equally thinks that he or she is the most valuable person. The only uniform variable is the selfish objective to win. And before you frown at that last bit, selfishness is not so much an evil capitalist-bred nature as it is a self-preservation mechanism, much like the chameleon's ability to blend in, thorns on roses, or botox on aging actors.

What determines one’s value is not as important a query as who determines one’s value. The two possible answers to the question will be yourself and others, and clearly the two don’t match but the two inevitably interact. Moreover, “others” is hardly a single, unified lump - people form contradictory opinions about you all the time; your grandmother may feel very differently about you than your ex-spouse, for instance.

In conclusion, people - and their lives - are not equal, some, or we may argue, all, are superior and inferior to others. This hierarchy is determined by a value system. While there is a generalized system prescribing values in every society, everyone holds their own personal, constructed set of ideals and beliefs that make up their own value systems. Every individual holds a position or has a place in each of these individual and societal value systems. So, feel free to indulge yourself in feeling superior/inferior to others. Because, as much as everyone tries to deny it, you obviously are.

The world's so small it's scary.

2009-11-01T11:07:00.000-08:00

Baru tahu kalau speaker pertama Oxford yang menang EUDC tahun ini ternyata senior debat di JC waktu dilatih sama Mrs. C. Dia baru lulus bulan lalu dengan nilai tertinggi di collegenya. Nanti dia juga ikut di KoC. Waktu dengar beritanya pikiran jadi melalui beberapa tahap: kaget-perplexed-kagum-ngiri-kesel sendiri karena merasa underperform-terinspirasi-termotivasi-eerily calm-strangely purposeful. Dulu pernah debat bareng dan sekarang saya lihat video dia untuk training?!? Lumayan merasa tertampar... humph. Lihat ke depan saja lah, tapi sekarang mulai diingatkan perlunya memegang sejarah sebagai bahan pembelajaran. Refleksi untuk mendorong, bukan untuk bikin down. Hmmm. *shakes head out of stupor* There you go.

PPact 2012 Revisited

2009-08-21T02:21:00.000-07:00

Trust me when I say I (sort of) get it why Kyoto Protocol founders might be a bit ambitious when they first formulated the scheme and how now, 3 years before it expires, they're rushing up to do their part because time is running out.

Today it's 3 years before PPact2012 expires and I'm still nowhere near what I vowed to be. I got distracted. A change is timely, if that summer I still plan to meet the other 8 and be able to hold my own. An engineer, a concert pianist, an artist, three businesswomen, a fashion designer, and... Me. In our twenties in Paris. Toasting our successes with a triumphant reunion. Ka-chink.

6 years ago, sitting around in our Crescent Girls' uniforms with Hershey pies in Orchard Burger King, it sounded carpe diem-ish and inspirational and glamorously romantic. Now it makes me feel like screaming, "Yes, I'm seizing the day! Seizing the bloody day I tell you! Seizing!" Tempus fugit indeed. Well I've got about a thousand days to prepare myself for D-Day and the clock is ticking.

Bemused

2009-08-16T07:22:00.000-07:00

Came across a quote yesterday, "on peut rire de tout mais pas avec tout le monde", i.e. we can laugh at everything but not with everyone. Some days I find that very true.

Things that I initially find amusing, ridiculous, or out-of-this-world are, well, the only reality for others. The butt of these jokes are, more often than not, real life subjects, which makes me feel rather guilty and unfeeling sometimes. I wouldn't be laughing if I was in their shoes, or even just standing next to them. I know, I know, I sound like a goody two-shoes, but I'll say what I want here and the world be damned. Particularly when it comes to unflattering rumours concerning people I know, I hate being in a position where I get pulled in and curiosity gets the better of me. I'd look back at the memory and find myself repulsive.

But then I normally swallow the lump in my throat and shrug it off. Then go back to being (or trying to be) a good sport. You can't seem too sensitive about things, I suppose. A sense of humor is an essential must-have in most dinners/lunches/brunches, much like a pair of socks when a guy's wearing loafers. You don't really pay much attention to them but if someone has none you'd realize that something's a bit off. Like an alarm would go off somewhere indicating the unwelcomed presence of a spoilsport. Breakfasts are much more forgiving, you can always feign drowsiness or attribute your disinterest to lack of sleep.

I don't know why I care about such things, really. Sometimes I can be disgustingly self-conscious. Oh well. *yawn* I've successfully bored myself to drowsiness. Over and out.

5-7, 7-6 (6), 7-6 (5), 3-6, 16-14.

2009-07-05T12:34:00.000-07:00

http://www.wimbledon.org/en_GB/news/interviews/2009-07-05/200907051246792697500.html

No word for it. Roddick's going to win this thing someday! I wish I could say hang in there. He was nothing but aces at today's finals, and I truly hope we haven't seen the last of him at centre court. Go Andy!

17 Again on Fall/Winter 2009

2009-07-02T22:50:00.000-07:00

J texted to check out his "show" on youtube. He was wearing an apron that looked more like a kilt and a floral jacket. It was the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen on a guy. I didn't even know the designer does male clothings. I thought she only specialized on bridal which, judging from the glorified apron, is probably what she should do. I watched 17 Again with T and F last friday. Zac Efron was terrific. I bet he wouldn't look ridiculous in kilt and floral.

Everyone's going to Europe. My ex-roommate is doing a semester abroad near Paris, and D and M have started Paris IV. I can't wait to graduate and move there. Take a BGF, move into the Latin Quarter, I'd even stay in a dorm if it comes to that. Focus, Ry. A year more, a year and a half at most, and (fingers crossed) I'm off to old rive gauche.

So, last week I came back from WLC in Singapore. Every night of the conference we had to work on the position paper until late, so I didn't get to do a lot of things I planned to do, like visit my old schools and hostels and have dinner with the girls. I only got a chance to meet Y, and that was only because she had a long lunch break one day and I skipped a banner-making session to run off to citylink. I helped her shop for office shoes. Fine, I bought a pair, too, but only because she picked it for me and she had vouchers. One should not waste vouchers. It's rude. The conference was awe-some. I loved every minute. And the cool thing is that I got to stay in the vice-ambassador's place. The post is empty so a friend and I had the entire house to ourselves, with two maids and a chauffeur-driven black lexus. The entire manse and car had tinted windows - very secret service-ish.

Grandma M died last week. She's not really my grandmother, more like my grandmother's cousin, but she's always been a dear. Mother went to her wake and ran into my editor, who excitedly offered more work to finish this summer, interviewing another ambassador. It's probably a necessary part of the long and winding road towards becoming the next anderson cooper/christiane amanpour. Anderson cooper's gay, by the way. Just like J. Every single person I'm into these days turns out to be gay. (Sorry J. Don't worry, you know I'm over it.) Maybe I am turning into a fag hag. Oh bugger.

I took down the samurai from my room's wall. I'm afraid it gives people the wrong impression. Okay, it's actually because I'm reading Anne Rice and the specter makes things on the wall tremble at night and horrifies the poor suckers into paranoia. And last night was kinda windy. And the samurai was quivering a bit. Who needs samurais on walls anyway? I should probably go to sleep. I only blog when I can't sleep. I'm probably going to have a very disturbing nightmare about a kilt-wearing earthquake-inducing ghost who is also, chances are, gay. Oh well.

A Musical Makeover

2009-05-26T10:08:00.001-07:00

I've been listening a lot to Eels, Weezer, Ben Folds, Smashmouth, Cake and similar music lately.

It's a bit of a jump from the usual suspects on my iPod. Sweet friends who'd had enough, albeit baseless, faith in my musical taste were almost always disappointed when they borrowed it. The initial content was archaic, and that's putting it mildly. The youngest musician was Frank Sinatra, and he's been dead for a while. The rest were mostly nether-century composers, when music involved very little singing or none at all and most of the cover art were paintings of the composer because photography then was probably advance technology.

So I decided to botox it since a. it's getting a bit depressing because I'm leaving my house to places this summer (starting from a fortnight from now) which means I'll be leaving the piano behind which means I would miss playing and listening to classical would be like salting the wound, b. my socially adept sister (more than I can say about myself) says you are what you listen to these days and from that principle I would be a boring sixty-year-old snob. I wouldn't say that's inaccurate, but I'm not sixty, and c. I've started listening to contemporary music and hey, they're not half bad, and they'd probably help me in future karaokes.

So, my mp3 player now holds an eclectic repertoire of everything new from Black Eyed Peas' Boom Boom Pow (I still giggle when I see the title) to Lenka, Katy Perry, Kings of Convenience, One Republic, All American Rejects, The Ting Tings (what's in a name anyway), Jason Mraz, Lady Gaga (she can actually sing), Kris Allen (gasp) and the abovementioned maestros on the first line. I still keep some selected classical pieces on a separate folder, though, as collateral. Save it for a rainy (summer) day. My sister's pretty proud of my updated taste, even when I pointed out that if I'm what I listen to now I'd probably be a very confused fifteen-year-old chart-hopper. Give it two weeks and I'd probably start reading romance novels. Err... or not. I'd take Flo Rida over Nicholas Sparks any day.

Feeling Frosty

2009-05-22T11:01:00.000-07:00

Somehow I was left feeling rather Robert Frost-y. I really can't tell if it's just me or because of the movie. Here's one of my favorite Frost poem my high school literature teacher made me read in practical criticism class once.

After Apple Picking

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still.
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.

But I am done with apple-picking now.

Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.
I cannot shake the shimmer from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the water-trough,
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.

But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and reappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.

My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
And I keep hearing from the cellar-bin
That rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.

For I have had too much
Of apple-picking; I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall,
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised, or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.

One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.

Robert Frost

Shadowlands

2009-05-22T10:53:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I've seen anything that can move me on TV. I used to crave epiphanies from Hollywood flicks; Disney cartoons were to me what Aesop’s fables were to Greek children. I've learned to believe in dreams from little nemo, to seize the day from dead poets' society, to have faith in love from Romeo and Juliet, and so on.

And then at some point I grew sceptical.

It's a lot easier to be sceptical in this world, I assume, as a laugh and a scoff can turn even the sourest of disappointments into a forgivable joke. I heard once that clowns wear a permanent smile to mask their sorrows from the world because there's no room for sad clowns in the world.

I suppose at one point we all turn into clowns.

At some point inevitability abandons us all and we suddenly stop running around and the questions start coming. All of a sudden we needed a purpose, a role, an identity. All of a sudden we wanted to map a track and build a yellow brick road leading to our own personal Oz.

And thus with it comes the need to find a niche that fits you, but most of the time you don't bother creating a new one (the idea seems rather self-indulgent in itself), you simply try to fit within the mould that existed. Sure, certain variations are acceptable, but the general idea is to follow certain ground rules. Being secure and confident and happy is one of them. When you meet a person for the first time, you set your countenance into default mode, and this usually includes a polite smile, a calm composure, and a welcoming tone of voice (assuming, of course, that you, like most people, still believe in the value of civility). You might have woken up on the wrong side of the bed, fell down a flight of stairs, got bitten by a dog, and fell into a puddle, but when you meet someone for the first time, you try to smile and shake their hands and not make a fuss. Because it's not really their fault, is it? They didn't know you had a rough day. They had nothing to do with it, so why rain on their parade?

Of course, if everyone was like that then we'd have a very happy society made up of very unhappy individuals.

So then you factor in pride (or you can call it an innate, instinctive sense of self-preservation, if it makes you feel better).

You see, you know that these people exist, the people who are unhappy and yet still put on a smile. But it would be a shame if you were one of them, wouldn't it?

So you look for a remedy. You anticipate sadness by constantly hunting the reverse. You try to codify happiness. You subconsciously construct within yourself through your own values and through your observation of the world through your eyes what you believe to be the source of happiness. A successful career, a good health, a comfortable life, a room with a view, a promise of heaven and salvation, a gold medal, a word of praise or thanks, a sense of social and financial security, whatever it is you choose to include, in the end you end up with a customised framework of happiness and then, be it subconsciously or deliberately, you begin to pursue it. And you start walking purposefully.

But you're not the only one walking, are you? That yellow brick road is not a one-way freeway; it is an overlapping, bottlenecked, jammed up maze filled with people trying to get to their Promised Land. And although they say you shouldn't measure yourself with others as yardsticks, sometimes you can't help but compare yourself, can you? I mean, these people are right there in front of you, on your left, and on your right, and, since you're blessed with peripheral vision, you can't help but compare.

Because nothing makes your glass feel fuller than an emptier glass beside it and nothing makes your glass feel emptier than a fuller one next to it.

And sometimes you can't help but think that it's not even about how much you put into the glass anymore; some simply start the journey with a gallon while other were given teacups. But a part of you (that self-preserving morsel) refuse to believe that. You must at least carry enough to get to your destination, and if it turns out you don't, you're simply not walking fast enough or you're wasting your water along the way. You cling to the idea that although the world might seem to be unfair, in the end you'll get your fair share if you keep at it (whatever 'it' is according to you). If it works, great but if it doesn't, surely it's not the end of the world.

If you get to the end without reaching your destination, you change tactics. Perhaps the end is not the end. Perhaps there's something better beyond the end. And then you try less and pray more.

If you get to the end before reaching your destination, if somehow along the way you genuinely felt that you've found happiness and contentment and a sense of fulfilment, you also change tactics. Perhaps there is more. Perhaps the end will give me more so I should want more. And then you lose that contentment and look for what you've already found because you simply believe that something better must be waiting around the bend.

In the end we all just keep going until it finally occurred to us that all this sprung from that set of ideas we constructed ourselves a long time ago, and that when all is stripped away, really, the point is the journey you've been walking on all along, not the destination (here come the clichés - but I'm taking off that mask now anyway so screw conventions and hail clichés).

The point of all this rambling is that the movie made me realise that I need to keep in mind that the pursuit of happiness is a huge part of happiness itself. The toil, the pain, the waiting, the wondering, the ebb and flow will all culminate to form your own personal happy ending. And understanding that will let you appreciate your journey in all its colours, not just the pastels. It all comes down to perception in the end. I think so anyway.

- drying my tears after "Shadowlands".

What I Did Last Summer

2007-11-20T06:09:00.000-08:00

After spending 14 hours on the plane, I was too cross and jetlagged to drag my horribly heavy luggage to the metro, on top of the very likely possibility of getting lost, therefore I wasted no time (I wish I can say the same for money) and flagged the first taxi I saw. I was to spend the first night in an HI Hostel at the edge of Paris since my flight arrived a day early. Despite the borderline cheapskate fare of 17 Euros per night and the tiny 4-bedded dorms, it was spotless and the breakfast was as hearty as any. The crowd was eclectic and the people were very helpful and informative. The next morning I found my way to the rendezvous spot at the Latin Quarter BVJ on the left bank of the river Seine, where I’d be staying in for three nights during the pre-session. It was much more decent than the hostel (for 10 Euros more) and I shared a two bedded room with Raysha, a participant from India. By the end of the session she was the closest friend I’ve had among the group. She told me she didn’t get to choose her session; India sent the 1st, 2nd and 3rd place winners to France for separate sessions and this session was the 1st prize. So I guess I made the right choice. Our room had a stunning view from the balcony overlooking a small Church and chic apartments with red flowers lining their ornamented windows, and if you look to the far right you’d see the domed top of the Pantheon and to your right was the Seine and with a little squint you can make out the gargoyles perching perpetually over Notre-Dame’s ancient crevices. No wonder in French movies people were so fussy when their bosses gave them offices “sans fenêtre”. As Virginia Woolf had put it, one could always use a room with a view. When I stepped out of my balcony, listening to the sound of flute playing from the apartment across the street, I thought to myself, I am so in Paris.
I went around the area with Raysha on the first day and snapped pictures at every corner. I actually saw a travel souvenir shop selling bits and pieces from Indonesia just around the corner. The guide, Cécile (très jolie, looked like a Parisian version of Jennifer Aniston), gave us coupons for travels, lunch coupons and allowance for three days so we could buy ourselves nice meals during the free nights and a sandwich for the long train ride to the South at the end of the pre-session. I went to lunch on the first day at Flunch (short for French Lunch, perhaps?), a restaurant next to the Centre Pompidou that looked a lot like Marchё Mövenpick, with Raysha and three participants from Brazil: Deborah, Cristina and Émilie. All of my four companions were apparently French teachers and have been speaking French half if not their entire lives. I cowered slightly thinking that my six-month old acquaintance with the French language will never be on par. J’étais vraiment nerveuse. But soon another participant arrived from Japan, Yukari, who spoke very little French and no English, and my (wicked) spirit was lifted a little. One by one the participants arrived and the entire group of twelve (eleven girls and one guy, le pauvre…) comprised of: Raysha, Deborah, Cristina, Émilie, Yukari, Natasha (Bosnia), Maria (Lebanon), Marwa (Egypt), Léon (Latvia), Dulce (Mexico), Sandra (German) and yours truly. In the afternoon Cécile gave us a guided tour around the Latin Quarter: Ile de la Cité, Notre-Dame, Hotel Du Ville (the town hall), Pantheon, some Museums, Paris Plages, Place St. Michel, and I couldn’t believe that just behind the hotel was Sorbonne! I took it as good karma. The first night I went to Place St. Michel with Raysha to have dinner at some Italian restaurant and we got to see street performers, artists, a row of Greek joints with heaps of broken white plates at their entrances, and the whole bustling night scene at St. Michel that kept me coming back again and again during my stay in Paris. We were back at the hotel at almost midnight, but it felt early since in Paris it doesn’t get dark until ten.
The reason we couldn’t stay up late the first night was that because the next day we would be leaving for Montmartre bright and early. By seven a.m. I was taking breakfast downstairs and had, for the first time in my life, a bowl of chocolate for breakfast. I was astonished at the size of the serving, I mean, a bowl! Not a cup, not a glass, but an entire bowl! I thought they were pranking tourists or something. Apparently, explained my German friend understandingly with just the right dose of pity, it was perfectly normal in Europe to drink hot beverages from bowls. I guess it was simply one more thing citizens of third world countries are missing out on besides food, healthcare, educated politicians and proper internet access. We took a metro to Montmartre where I went souvenir shopping like crazy. Seriously, I entered shops saying things like, “Can you pack me fifty of those key chains?” If I knew I had a long climb ahead of me I would have shopped after I visited the Sacré-Coeur. We got to the foot of the church and climbed the stairs – pilgrim style and all, and reached the entrance drenched in rain. When I entered the church, a certain sentiment overcame me and it was not just the high ceilings or the dimly lit interiors, but the entire atmosphere of the place was purely enchanting. I thought I’d feel the same way, or even more, when I enter Notre-Dame or other famous cathedrals they certainly had in store for us, but it was in the modest sagacity of ancient Sacré-Coeur where I felt most humbled. In the words of my lit teacher: it was a pathos-evoking, cathartic episode.
After another lunch at Flunch (where we sat in a bunch to munch and had a bar of Crunch) we went to the Louvre. There were so many paintings to appreciate, sculptures to marvel at, ceilings to crane upon, and frankly, as much as I tried to timely ponder the important ones or the ones I liked, it was not easy with only a few hours and the gazillion tourists swarming inside. La Joconde, otherwise known as the Mona Lisa, kind of reminded me of my last Sum 41 concert (back in my groupie days…) where people line up to ask the band members’ autographs and there were bodyguards with earpieces all around. They actually put up lines for people to queue to stare at the chubby face for a rationed time. You stare too long; the guard will shove you aside unceremoniously as though you, les tourists, unlike the Mona Lisa, are dispensable trivialities. I did see, however, some wicked sculptures like the goddess Victory, Venus di Milo, Hermes and Eros, the opulent Galerie d’Apollon and ancient Titian paintings so old that you can see the contrast between their standards of beauty and the contemporary ones. I mean if Kate Moss and Rosie O’Donnell walked into a party in the year 1532, no one would even talk, let alone dance, with Kate while bachelors would rest at nothing to get Rosie’s attention. At night I went with Raysha, Émilie and Natasha to the Champs-Élysées avenue which was the shopping hub in Paris, if not the world. Orchard Road felt like a poser-ish tiny alley, and the MRT network looked amateur compared to the convoluted flower-shaped metro network. I lost the girls when I was shopping for perfumes at Marrionaud and ended up having to find my way back alone. The girls wouldn’t worry since I already got lost that morning at Sacré-Coeur, when I lost track of time and everyone had exited the church long before I realized that I got lost. But I managed fine, surprisingly, as I did at Champs-Élysées. My only worry was that the girls might be looking for me and I would trouble them plenty. Fortunately they had learned of my tendencies to wander off and gone straight home. That day I had my first ever Nutella crepe in a sandwich shop around the corner of the nearest metro station from the hotel, which would later lead to a Nutella crepe addiction that led me to do the craziest, and yet also the most unforgettable, things over the summer.

“Paris Je T’aime” My Foot: eight days in the so-called city of love

2007-11-20T05:58:00.000-08:00

In a city where one can lock eyes for three seconds with a passerby and easily mistake it for love at first sight, my journey was amazingly anti-romantic. After the passionate Riviera and the serene Alps, I was hoping to get my own version of Paris, Je T’aime by returning to the city of lights for eight more, hopefully lovely, days. I was staying in the Latin Quarter (it’s in the movie in the “Quartier Latin” part with Gerard Depardieu and the old couple who were getting a divorce) in a youth hostel called BVJ. Unfortunately, the closest I’ve had to a Parisian encounter was when I was dared by F, my Mexican roommate, to scream “voulez vous-couchez avec moi ce soir” in Italian outside the balcony of the youth hostel. I thought, what the heck, I would be saying it in Italian therefore no one would understand me anyway, and I wanted that Crepes au Nutella she promised me. So I screamed out the balcony, and two seconds later a window across the street opened and a guy came out the balcony and said something in rapid Italian and started blowing kisses. I couldn’t understand what he was saying but my other roommate, N, who was from Naples, was in a fit of laughter. She told me then that the guy said he wouldn’t mind and it would be his pleasure. The next morning we went for breakfast and the same Italian guy was there, said his name was E from Torino and I fortunately had the chance to explain myself.

The lengths I would go for a Nutella crepe.

I don’t know how others do it. Like F, she didn’t come back to the room until 4 am one night because she got lost around Les Halles and met a guy, S, who helped her find her way, after she let him buy her dinner. Apparently he worked just around the corner of the hostel in a bar. She took me to meet him the next day and he turned out to be the owner of the joint and looked like Olivier Martinez. I mean, of all the guys in Paris, she has to get one who guaranteed her free liquors and looked like a model? The injustice.

Another night I went to the bustling night scene at Place St. Michel with two Irish girls from Belfast (they said it was no longer like in Angela’s Ashes but it’s still the most boring place on earth) where they have all these restaurants, bars, gelato vendors, street performers, artists and an entire row of Greek bistros where you can pay to break plates. It was their last night in Paris so we went to get Sangrias in a place where they hang money all over the ceiling. We met two other Irish girls there (one was wearing a T-shirt that said “I wish I spoke French”) and decided that the five of us should go some place to dance. So we went to “Ze Bar” (we thought the name was funny) to dance and ordered the package (2 shots per person) and after getting our tongues burnt by a drink called “license to kill” (the waiter told us later that the mysterious “???” in the content menu was actually Tabasco) we went to the Haagen-Dazs near Notre-Dame and one of the girls, E, was apparently drunk and started asking homeless people on the streets whether or not they have some weeds to spare for her. I told her to stop because these people were cold and they needed the weed for themselves. She shrugged me off and started belting out Spice Girls songs and A Whole New World. We sat by the Notre-Dame side entrance and watched the fire-eaters, the Spanish guitarist, the skaters and the bateaux-mouches sliding along the river Seine. It was one of those moments when you feel like you have to congratulate yourself for being alive.

I went to Versailles with F the next day. It was raining cats and dogs and I swear to whoever’s listening that it was colder than the summits of the Alps. It was not that pretty because they were doing a lot of restoration work here and there. We went back to the hostel and there were two other girls in our room from South Korea. I spent the afternoon showing them around the area, to Notre-Dame, Hotel du Ville (the Mairie), Paris Plages, Centre George Pompidou, Les Halles, Rivoli, Place St. Michel, Sorbonne, Pantheon, and had pasta for dinner in a place where they serve pasta in Chinese take-out containers. They told me to call them Unni because they’re older than me, and we talked about everything from Won Bin movies to the potential for reunification with North Korea.

The morning after I went with F and N to the Church of the Sacred Heart (Sacre-Coeur) and Montmartre to look at the artist district and check out Pigalle where the Moulin Rouge is (and countless other shops they will never allow in Indonesia). Pretty Parisian girls in skimpy costumes were standing along the sidewalks, fawningly inviting male passersby in and glaring condescendingly to female passersby, giving us a what-do-you-think-you’re-doing-here look. I felt like a free cat going to a cat circus watching other members of my species in cages, forced to wear and do silly things. Then we passed the Sexodrome (I cringed at the lack of subtlety in the name) and the Museum of Erotica where in the display they put up this wooden chair that had a hole with a rotating giant tongue in the middle of the seat. And to think that this scene was juxtaposed right next to the Sacred Heart church. Oh well.

"Sven Kommt!" a.k.a. birds do it, bees do it, even polygamous bouncing sheep do it.

2007-03-12T10:45:00.000-07:00

Okay. If you know German and, perhaps, the use of puns, you can probably guess from the name of the German video game "Sven Kommt!" (it means "Sven Comes!" in English) what the game is about. If that wasn't clear enough: there were splatters of white, I can only assume, paint, in the background of the animated cartoon title "Sven Kommt!"

People can have a very, very sick imagination.

At first I thought it was this harmless game (my friend's brother's friend brought him a copy from Germany) since the display was completely in animated cartoon - much like Super Mario Bros or Crash Bandicoot. My first impression was, SO CUTE! The main character was this black male sheep who always looked happy (a better word might be "contented") and he didn't walk but instead he bounced around with a proud, alpha male gait and a huge smile - ready to charm the white female sheep placed all around him, picking flowers, lying on grass, etc. Turns out he was ready to do a lot more than "charming" those white sheep.

I wondered, what does he have to do to get to the next level? Then, defying all moral standards, my friend grabbed the mouse and did the most unthinkable thing, she made the black sheep approach one of those helpless white sheep and bounced on it over and over until the white sheep EXPLODED! (Please remember that these are cartoon animated SHEEP) And then Sven (the black sheep) approached another white sheep and did it again with a different style (throwing it up and down), and then it approached another, and another, and another, until it got to the next level, where there were even MORE white sheep to, um, bounce on.

Moreover, in the game Sven can use something that looked like a candywrapper to assist him in his bouncing. But if he used the candywrapper, it would take a longer time for the white sheep to explode, meaning, a lower score. Hence, it is better not to use the candy wrapper.

I thought, Whoa. Do they not censor their video games in Germany?!? Whatever happened to the importance of a pure childhood of innocence, where kids only watch Disney cartoons or play Sonic the Hedgehog? And what kind of message are they trying to send? The more the merrier? Candies are bad for you? You need to score to score?

My friend, S, who was a guy, asked my other friend, T, who was a girl, when she was playing the game, "Don't you feel offended by the game?" T replied, "No, I actually feel empowered!" My other friend thought the game "frees you from stress".

I told them, I think it's an interesting - certainly unique - game, but in order to make it educational - or at least morally justified, the end of the game should be changed. I think in the end Sven should be shown meeting a sheep doctor who showed him his sheep blood test result and told him that he has positively been infected by HIV and will soon suffer from AIDS. And after he comes out of the clinic, there should be hoards of white pregnant female sheep asking for him to take care of them and be responsible.

And then Sven should never be able to bounce again. Ever.

Hurray!!!

The Slow and Excruciatingly Painful Death of My Stressball

2007-03-08T08:00:00.000-08:00

The story began around two very long years ago in another lifetime across the strait of Malacca, in a teeny-weeny little island surrounded by the ocean. There was a school populated by very stressful (arts) students about to face the most important trial so far in their eventful, albeit short-lived, lives: the dreadful, horrible, monstrous A-Levels. Okay, enough intro.

When I was about to face the exams period in junior college, the head of my faculty gave each of us in the arts faculty a bouncy ball. Before we were given the ball they (the faculty) made us watch a movie on a sheep who felt really sad every time after he was shaved but then met a frog (I think it was a frog if I recall correctly) who told him that every time he feels sad he can feel happy again by BOUNCING around. So the sheep started to bounce around following the frog’s lead (ignore for a moment the fact that sheep can’t actually bounce up and down in reality, except in cartoons like this and games like Sven Kommt - but that’s another story altogether), and guess what? The sheep felt HAPPY again!!! So the moral of the story was, you can actually control your state of mind – you can be happy if you want to. Like that famous quote: “If you want to be happy, be”. So every time you feel sad, just remember that you can just BOUNCE BACK and be happy again. Then they gave us the ball to remind us of the message. The ball could bounce around and every time I felt stressed out I used to squeeze it. It was coloured in different shades of orange and it was bouncy and squishy and I couldn’t leave home without it; I carried it everywhere. It was, as they say in the Lord of the Rings, “my precious”. We were supposed to be together forever (sounds like a boyband song lyric).

Even after I returned back across the borders to continue my studies in my shanty little village town, so that I can take care of my family and help support my two little sisters (okay it’s going a bit far...), I still carry my orange stressball around in my pencilcase. It went bounce, bounce, bounce... when I failed a french test... bounce, bounce... when my car got stolen... bounce, bounce... when my grandma passed away... bounce, bounce... when Spain and the Netherlands lost in the World Cup... bounce, bounce... bounce, bounce, bounce it went all the time, helping me recover. I thought we would bounce forever, me and my orange stressball. But, alas, nothing in this world lasts forever (I learned that a long time ago when I lost thousands of mp3s that took years for me to collect because of a single computer virus), and the same thing goes for my poor, poor stressball.

A few days ago, I came back from campus and, as usual, put my bag on the living room table and went to the kitchen to fix myself some supper. It was a tote bag and as it had no zippers in the first place, it was always open. Inside was my black pencilcase and as I was rushing out of my International Relations 101 class to catch the elevator, the pencilcase was unzipped. My orange stressball was inside.

My sister, who is in fifth grade, came into the living room and started to rummage through my bag and my pencilcase, all the time making very serious accusations about how I’ve ruined her life by borrowing her correction pen (tip-x) without asking her first (she does that all the time, she’s totally dramatic; gifted, I’d say). In the process, she managed to pour the entire content of my pencilcase on the living room floor. And the stressball rolled across the living room floor (I can only imagine this happening as I was in the kitchen during this whole episode so this part is a hypothesis) and out the open entrance to the patio, and eventually reached the garden. By this I mean it had entered, how shall I put it, the Sovereign Territory of the Killer Puppies. My half-siberian wolverine, Nero, and my recently adopted beagle (that actually looks like a hamster because of his brown-and-white fur), Bruno, are notorious – despite their young age – for tearing down any interloper who dares enter the garden (they attacked everything from old sandals to my three-year-old cousin). Their powerful and persistent bites are known to destroy everything from elastic rubber bones to sturdy plastic bones to garden rocks and stones, and even, once, bricks.

Hence, the inevitable happened. When I came out of the kitchen, curious of the unusual silent at this hour (the puppies usually make a lot of noise around that time because it was time for their afternoon wallk), I saw it. The Remains a.k.a. whatever was left of my orange stressball a.k.a. shreds of orange plastic scattered across the green grass. Nero and Bruno were already on to their next conquest, a green sponge that we use to clean the cars. I can only imagine the slow and excruciatingly painful death my stressball had to endure; the silent torture as the beasts tore away its skin, little by little, bit by bit, like they did in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I can only imagine it calling at me silently, asking for my help, asking for me to give it salvation, to take it away from the agonizing torment. And I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there when it needs me most, while it’s been with me through my hardest times, bouncing hard up and down, making me bounce back too. And what was I doing when it was dying?

I was drinking bloody Swiss Miss. With Marshmallows.

I didn’t know what to say. I can’t yell at the puppies, can I? There is no way I can possibly make them understand the extent of moral and psychological damage they have caused me, the history behind the stressball, or how they have taken the most pragmatic tool that provides me instant moral support. And it was ORANGE. My favourite colour. I was shattered.

First, I wanted revenge; I thought (foolishly), maybe I should feed them fish food or something, or tie them for days and bring other dogs (their friends) to watch them being grounded to embarass them (I know, it’s ridiculous, but obviously I wasn’t thinking clearly). But later I came to my senses and realized that indeed, nothing lasts forever. My stressball had had a full life, it had served its creational purpose which is to help keep people happy – and it has, indeed, kept me happy.

Wherever you are now, stressball, I hope you are still bouncing happily... bounce... bounce... bounce.

On Vampires

2007-02-27T06:11:00.000-08:00

After reading Kostova's "The Historian" about a month ago, I've been thinking, wondering - more likely, about the matter. It's such a tempting subject to ponder. I've always been enthralled by vampire tales, by this I refer to those Stoker-like tales not like those jumping-jacks-like oriental ones. I find it rather glamorous and classy, I suppose. In the book there's been no mention of how one can be transformed into another. Is it inherited from parent to child? Or can it be given deliberately, like in that movie "Interview with the Vampire".

Sometimes, when I'm being very liberal and thus allow all sorts of ideas to hatch and grow in my head, I wonder if it's that bad to be one. A vampire, I mean. As I've said, it's very tempting. I've never been that fond of daylight anyway. I always prefer night to day. And I am still ambivalent of the supposed "appeals" of heaven. I only wish to go to heaven because the alternative is hell, and I can't stand places without air conditioners. But the idea of an eternity of worship, without challenges, without the threat of failure, without competition or developments or possibilities of change, that doesn't sound much like a paradise for me. I'd rather stay alive for good. Or at least for a long, long, long time. How I wish vampires were real and I can be one of them.

Haha. Okay perhaps this is just me being crazy. Nevermind.

An Inconvenient Truth: A Commentary

2007-01-07T10:38:00.000-08:00

Note : An Inconvenient Truth is a film documenting the environmental campaigns of the former presidential candidate of the 2000 U.S. Election, Al Gore. Most of the movie shows him giving a slideshow on the dangers and threats of global warming.

Simply said, after watching this movie, I became a newborn environmentalist.

It is simply appalling how ignorant I could have been. But there are, you see, moments of epiphanies and truths that open your eyes and realized that simply, you have been mistaken. I had decided long ago to never hold my decisions and perceptions in the past against me since it will not do me any good but instead only leave me with guilt; but again, I was mistaken. I did not realize that this guilt is so paramount in giving me the ability, the motivation, and basic sense of responsibility to change and develop and to learn from those mistakes.

In the movie, Al Gore quoted Churchill when the late prime minister was explaining his irritation to the British citizens on their ignorance and lackadaisical reaction to his warning of an unprecedented storm about to hit the nation. Churchill said that we are passed the age of procrastination and have entered the period of consequences.

The damage is done. I am left with the tsunamis, earthquakes, tornados, hurricanes, diseases, and the rest of the remains of the apocalyptical warnings previewed in the Book of Revelation. This movie is more terrifying than if there was a movie written by both Alfred Hitchcock and Stephen King, directed by Tim Burton, and starred by Bela Lugosi and the woman who played Sadako in the Ring. It is pure, unadulterated horror like something that would haunt me for years to come.

It hit me when Gore said, “our ability to live is what is at stake.” And then he showed us a picture of the universe taken by the Galileo a few years ago, and the Earth is just this tiny little dot, a speck of light amidst a huge void, a white pixel on a screen of dark colors. And he said, “(earth) is our only home”. At first it might sound cliché to you, but ultimately, we have to admit it, we have nowhere else to go.

But there is no way I can make anyone understand the amount of understanding that I have gained from watching the movie, I mean, if you are a skeptic and you are reading this, you would probably just think that I am temporarily disillusioned. But take a challenge and watch the movie. If you don’t get the point of the movie, never mind, it’s just another movie, but if you do get the point of the movie and become as startled as I have, then it will be a rare eye-opener. But in any case, you have to experience it for yourself to understand it. So just watch the movie. And watch it till the end or you will miss the point.

I am glad I learned about this ‘inconvenient truth’ happening around me now, and not later. It’s always better to find out about things sooner, rather than later. And people can change their perception. You might think that there are two kinds of people: people who care about the environment (them tree-hugging hippies) and people who care about themselves (normal people). But the problem about this idea, and the paradox inherent in it neglected by so many is that caring for ourselves is exactly the same thing as caring for the environment.

And what is scary is that for many people, in order to realize this, something bad has to happen to them first (that is why there are eco-terrorists). For instance, I used to think that animals are simply that, animals; they have no brains and feelings and hence it is ridiculous to protect and help them. I used to think of the term ‘animal rights’ as an amusing oxymoron. But everything changed after I had to adopt my late uncle’s dog and cared for it. Last week when she died, I can’t help but cry. If someone had told me a few years ago that I will actually shed a tear for an animal, I would have laughed at his face.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? Regret always comes last.

In the end, An Inconvenient Truth serves as a much-needed reminder to humanity that the earth is starting to grow wary of our nonsense. We need, like that frog in the movie who did not realize that he is sitting inside a gradually boiling container, to be rescued. But this time around, the salvation must come from ourselves.

The Aftermath

2006-12-10T01:10:00.000-08:00

So after planting trees in cengkareng and seeing monkeys in ragunan, the next morning (Sunday) I went back to puncak. We had a break night party on Sunday night and it reminded me a lot of Asean Dance. It was pretty much like it, actually. Except I didn’t have to sell flowers while couples were slow-dancing like I had to during the 2004 Asean Dance. All the “big shots” in indo debating world were there and gosh I felt like the rookie in that Vietnam war movie who didn’t know shit and died the second the Vietcong started firing. But all in all it was fun, we (the Los) got to blow the confetti and there was this really nice band calld nunungcs (they’re a college band but I hope they’d go pro soon... v.v. entertaining) and I took photos with lots of people I probably won’t see again for a very long time (very few of them stay in Jakarta). I’m definitely gg 2 miss them.

I’ll particularly miss all the LOs... especially rain and teddy and rosaline and joe who’d helped me sell all the EDS T-shirts on Sunday and Monday (we managed to sell around 70 of them and there were only like 3 tshirts left...). My money-hungry senior made a public announcement, “People, please remember to buy the T-shirt in Banteng 3 (my room) thru SPG astari”, once during the break night party and another time the next morning. And feeling that the publication was still inadequate, the LOs patrol around the area in the elephant-shaped safari car announcing to any debater we passed, “come and buy the tshirts at banteng3...” So you can imagine how my living room was turned into a makeshift retail store with swarms of high school students looking to buy T-Shirts, stickers, and whatever it is we’re selling. It was like Mangga Dua in Jakarta, or Lucky Plaza in Singapore, or Petaling Street in KL, what with Teddy selling in Singlish and Joe selling in his Indian-English accent and Rosaline busy calling her “children” to come and buy the tees... it was practically a flea market.

(Hmmh. I just got a disturbing call but nevermind...)

On Monday morning, before I was selling tees I was finishing up my political science homework and trying really hard to concentrate while many disturbances occurred in the premises (not that I’m not happy... even though my roommate told me afterwards that he’s v.v.religious, and that’s not good since we’re on different wavelengths). Later on during the day, my senior-cum-IVED coach dhika told me that whatever happens in the debating world stays in the debating world (creepy green-mile-sounding statement) and she warned me (as iil repeated yesterday too – and added that debating “memandulkan hidup”) that eventually I would be the same, too – having one life in HI, and another separate one in EDS. I wonder if that’ll happen. I don’t mind if I do, others seem to be managing fine.

Although I hope I’ll stay being “a good person”, like someone said I was (I couldn’t stop grinning moronically when he said that, so much that he must’ve changed his opinion – problem is, I don’t think I am a good person. He’d be v. disappointed, that’s why I now feel uneasy around him). I guess we’ll see.

I went back home Monday night, anxious to finish pending homework leading up to exams and cleaning all the shit that’d been piling up grace a mon absence. Things like FISIP UI in High School, One-Stop Section, OIS, KK, CCF (still haven’t prepared the country presentation – where am I supposed to learn a traditional dance?!?), GIC (I finally started Book 3, meaning less hiragana/katakana and MORE kanji... arrrrghhh), my sociology presentation, TKHI (It finished last night, after three months it’s finally over!!! We got yelled at and everything but after I reached home I was very happy. I wonder why? heehee), my film review, my mpkt homework, my anthropology review, and other things making my life the insane labyrinth it is now.

That’s why the last two weeks were dead hectic. Tomorrow after the political science exam am going to a few high schools in Jakarta to inform and prep them on our event (fisip ui in high school) and then on Thursday (tentatively) will look for extra funding for OSS (one stop section, it’s an event-organizing workshop that we’re organizing) by going on this tv show called celebrity jam. Then next Sunday am going to help out in the christmas celebration organized by my faculty. But the main gig this week is EXAMS.

To thwart stress and fellow anxieties we must therefore try to focus on brighter things in life. Like, for example, someone’s coming back this december. Yay...

Trip to Puncak (Loving It)

2006-12-02T09:10:00.000-08:00

Karena request dari jek entry ini pake bahasa indooo (T_T) (ntar brad pitt kalo baca gak ngerti dong???)

Akhirnya gw bisa OL lagi... Setelah 2 hari terdampar di Hotel Safari, Cisarua, Puncak yang warnetnya pake tarif luar negri (20,000 per jam (T_T) ), dan kamar mandinya banyak siput. Tapi seru siy... lumayan sambil liburan nambah2 pengalaman dan sekaligus mengorek informasi tentang upcoming IVED n other debating comps.

Kamis gue dateng siang2 (udah pake bolos sosio.. ternyata tirza telpon dan bilang "eh datengnya ga jadi harus pagi2, jam 4 sore juga gapapa") dan ngebantuin ngurusin registrasi peserta (sampe jam stengah 6 malem... dan smua orang ngira gue angkatan 2003 - do I look that old???) trus dinner n icebreaking. Gw sekamar sama icha (dya tim indonesia tahun 2001 yg dikirim dbat ke south africa), rain, yunita, n rosaline. Mereka semua alumni ISDC taun lalu. Pertama kali gw ngerasa blur banget karena ga tau apa2 tentang ISDC - gue bahkan gak disini taun lalu.. mana tau sih - tapi after a while seru juga. The pple r nice. Ada Icha yg rame bgt (kmaren kita nonton film di HBO yg maen Liam Neeson n Frances McDormand ttg ilmuwan yg mukanya kebakar - cheesy dan ga jelas banget, awalnya kita seru nge-"rebutt" dan ngomentarin dengan sadis tiap adegan, tapi lama-lama cuma bisa geleng-geleng kepala, literally cape d), Teddy yg waktu ke WSDC di Inggris taun lalu sempet dikalahin sama tim Singapur yang isinya junior2 gw di AC arts fac. (ada gayle goh dari ahblue... dunia ini begitu kecil... mungkin pas astrid WSDC lawannya howard yah???), Nick Long yang jadi instructor (ada yang nyesel tuh gak dateng :P), Franz yang sumpah gue gak tahan (spidol gw abis digigitin... ewww), Fajri yg ternyata alumni labs dan telah menyuplai gue dengan gosip2 tentang anak2 labs, orang2 dari ACT, dan anak2 SMA yg lucu2 dari 33 propinsi di sluruh Indonesia... (temen gw ada yg ngefans sama salah satu delegasi dari Papua... sayangnya jarak umur yang menghambat membuatnya harus cukup puas dengan mengelus2 nametagnya saja...)

Tempatnya enak. Udaranya seger adem banget. Tapi tempat2 eventnya saling berjauhan dan berbentuk bungalow2 dan pendopo2 jadi mesti olahraga jalan bolak-balik dari satu tempat ke tempat laennya.. capek.. but still, seru jg sih. Stelah gue ngeliat ISDC gw ngerasa kalo Founders' Trophy kmaren SANGAT AMATIR. Huhuhuhu it's my fault. Next year harus lebi profesional!

Hari ini bangun pagi-pagi buta jam lima (dingin gila) stelah malemnya nonton film gak penting di HBO bareng my roomies di hotel. Karena hari ini harus TKHI (opspek gw.. tinggal 2 minggu lagi... akhir perjuangan sudah dekattt) jam stengah enam brangkat ke FISIP... trus naik bus ke cengkareng nanem2 pohon gitu... then langsung ke ragunan ngeliatin monyet2. Opspek paling hura2 d. Then CCF... Besok pagi2 jam lima ke cisarua lagi. Untungnya Teddy mau nge-cover tugas gw hari ini... my life's saved! Kalo hari ini gw gak dateng TKHI maka sia-sialah perjuangan gw selama 12 minggu nongkrong2 di SBAL dengan gak jelasnya minta tandatangan senior sambil wawancara alias ngomong ngalor ngidul yang sok2an basa-basi demi ngisi data senior... "pohonnya rindang ya... kak , IP pertamanya berapa?" ato pake jurusnya TB yang sok2an nebak2 zodiak demi tau tanggal lahir senior (T_T).

Tapi salut deh sama HI n FISIP yang TKHI dan Sarasehannya (opspek2 itu smua lah) "memanusiawikan manusia" (istilahnya pak komar waktu sarasehan) dan gak pake omel2an gak jelas sama sekali... dan gw seneng bisa kenal sama senior2 yang ajaib2 (mengandung konotasi baik maupun buruk). Ada yang nanyanya sok serius "apa arti nasionalisme bagi kalian?" (???) ato senior 96 yg ngasi pertanyaan aneh kaya' "coba kaitkan teori relativitas einstein dgn teori dialektik historiknya marx" (whuddahell) tapi tetep ada juga yang pantang jaim dan langsung nanya dengan lugas "eh 2006 gosipnya apa aja nih?" (baru tau ternyata anak HI UI banci gosip smuahhh - gw jg ikut ktularan... huehuehue).

Besok pasti capek banget d... dan rasanya miris kalo mengingat menur lagi jadi fashionista blanja2 di bandung (menemukan panggilan hidup tuh) atau cikon yg kata msn messagenya abis "a small dose of retail therapy" (R u sure it's SMALL???). Yah gue sih ngarepin oleh2nya aja... Gw pgn liburan jugaaa. I want to SHOPPPPP. Tasia kapan jadinya kita go on our As-If-We-Were-In-Singapore Shopping Trip???

Trus, jumat kmaren tiba2 ada telpon "mbak, kami dari GIC, ada kelas baru buka, jadi nerusin buku 3 nggak?" Karena 10% tertarik dan 90% rasa bersalah tidak menyelesaikan les jepang akhirnya gw stuju utk nerusin blajar jpang... hiks hiks. Untungnya temen sekamar di kosan gw is practically japanese (snacknya aja kue beras jepang bukan tango atau timtam like normal people... hehehe :P)jadi bisa latian2 ngomong lah... yasudalah ya.

Udah jam stengah 2 pagi. Must sleeppp. Buh Byee.

Trip to Puncak (DONE)

2006-11-29T15:20:00.000-08:00

In the end I have to go. They can't find any replacement (Intan can't go) and the notice is too last minute. I won't be staying throughout the entire course (9 days) of the competition. I'll go home on Sunday. Gaah... I hate this. Maybe I can clear my mind in Puncak, though, the weather is much cleaner there and it has a cooler climate so I can probably think of it as a short holiday. I'll be staying in a safari hotel anyway...

I'm trying to look on the bright side of life, and convince myself that it's not so bad.

Okay. Must pack. Ciao.

(Gaah... can someone just punch me already... *sob *sob)

X-(

Trip to Puncak (FAILED)

2006-11-29T08:16:00.001-08:00

Argh Argh Argh tomorrow I'm supposed to go to Puncak to LO the ISDC thingy WHY DID I AGREE TO THIS? It sounds really fun actually... I read the itinerary for the week of the competition... They've got a lot of interesting things planned... And I DO want to watch high school debaters fight among themselves. I want to go... IF things had not suddenly turned against me.

The status quo right now is: My head is burning with a fever (probably cause of 3 consecutive sleepless nights), my tooth aches, my ear is ringing (I think it's a follow-up of the SORE THROAT that I'm also sporting), and my heart is broken (Boohoohoo). Not to mention the TESTS we have next week that I would skip if I go to Puncak, the Anthropology extra credit due next Tuesday (which a. I really really need and b. I would not be able to complete and deliver if I go to Puncak), the french class that I would skip (yet again) if I go and the 2 days of TKHI is bound to tire me out even more. Aaaarghh... why do I like to make life difficult?

Everything will work out though... I hope. I told Tirza I couldn't LO. She'd probably NEVER forgive me. But I have no choice. If I leave for Puncak tomorrow, there would be NO life waiting for me when I return, only doom awaits.

That's why I'm certain that I made the right decision to not go to Puncak. My biggest mistake was to agree to it in the first place. Stupid me.

O h w e l l

G o o d n i g h t

In Healing

2006-11-29T01:25:00.000-08:00

Another session of MPKT. I was strangely on time. There were nothing to do, as usual, so we ended up discussing our sociology assignment that’s due tomorrow. Me, Dyana and Arum were discussing whether the method used in the given intervention and research on a certain village is a qualitative or a quantitative one. Oh well. Still during MPKT, there was definitely PDA. Someone was Publicly Displaying his Affection to someone else, complete, uncut, uncensored. Aaaw. How sweet... It’s just a matter of time before it’s official, I’m sure. Honestly, why wait? Hmmm? Then we practised some moves for TKHI (my major’s orientation). The moves were so funny... and the songs... ah well let’s just say that on the 9th of December (TKHI day) I’m up for a Major Self Humiliation. At least it’ll be fun to watch. ;-D

The night before yesterday I was conferencing in MSN with some of my old friends from junior college. It was not as difficult as I thought it would be. I thought I’d feel like a complete loser if I ever talk to them again. But apparently I was just being paranoid. And... it’s definitely time to bury the hatchet, move on, get over it, or whatever you call it. Yanice said I haven’t tried my best. Yan and Jaq were really sweet about it and they helped me “orchestrated” the whole conference thingy but it was pretty much a failure coz of stupid technology getting in the way (computers should NEVER disconnect by themselves!). Anyway, I was just kidding myself, after that I immediately felt STUPID for sticking out for so long. Must have been overdue temporary insanity.

SO

Start a new clean slate. C’est la vie. I won’t fall into a mood as described in the song “Sympathie” that my french teacher used to play for us: “Je ne veux pas travailler; Je ne veux pas dejeuner; Je veux seulement oublier; et puis je fume...” (I don’t want to work, I don’t want to eat, I only want to forget, and then I’ll smoke... – SO DEPRESSING).

I’ll be just fineee

I think.

HI 2006

2006-11-28T22:57:00.000-08:00

Missing Sing...

2006-11-27T05:26:00.000-08:00

Beloved Hostel...

Today's debate training was cancelled. I am torn between a "Yay!" (coz I don't feel like arguing I just feel like sleeping) and a "But I've done so much research..." (coz I've burnt my head trying to remember the Arabic names of the people involved in Saddam Hussein's trial - they all sound similar...) But the point is, I can stay in my room and blog instead so I'm quite happy right now.

PIP was okay. Big lecture group today coz I think Wasabi didn’t feel like teaching and so he left us to combine with another lecture group. MPKT was fun. I was late. As usual. Gossip session. We were talking about how the saying "the grass is always greener on the other side" really applies to people in HI (my major, International Relations) and Politik (Political Science major). And Tyas was doing some kind of "research" to find out who are the most popular guy and girl in HI.

People in HI are, well, unique, I guess (another way of saying they're weird), although I love all of them... There's Tyas, for example, who can write seven pages of essay in MPKT and score full marks for sociology (damn smart right?) and yet she has an incurable addiction to taking photos (she's the worst camera addict ever) and hallucinates of having millions of fans (4,297,435 if I'm not mistaken) worshipping her. And then there's Keshia who has an absurd number of beaded necklaces in all shapes, sizes and colors, and has lately begun to wear matching bracelets as well. There's Syarip and Mario who base their friendship on insulting each other's physical shortcomings constantly (isn't it sweet?). There's Dyana who is really not a college student but an underground mob leader from Priok, she's just escaping from the authorities coz the police would never suspect a HI student to be a criminal. There's Sonie who takes pride in his polka dotted lungs (he's probably a natural born smoker). There's TB who is always deep in thoughts on how to divide his time between homework, playing playstation and saving the world as Spiderman. There's Deky who looks like Doraemon and brings Onigiri to school everyday and call me a "pampered, spoiled, rich kid" (So Not True). There's Dira who's been all over the world and has finally come to the conclusion that Yemen carrots are the best (I want to try one!). There's Freida who looks like a Malaysian, speaks like an American and yet share the same strong appetite for gossips as Indonesians. There's WillY who's just really bitchY and loves a Shanghai BabY. There's Fira who is like Time, meaning she can never stop moving. There's Della who might be seaweed (ganggang) in her previous life coz she plays one so well. There's Menwa who believes sincerely from the bottom of his heart that men are absolutely superior and women are absolutely inferior (wonderful character, yes?). There's Mutti who is really very quiet and never makes funny comments or questions or any disturbance whatsoever (this is an example of sarcasm). There's Anthony who never asks any questions in class, especially when the class is almost over and everyone just want to get out (another example of sarcasm). There's Jenny who seems quiet in class and yet unleashes her true, loud personality outside (kind of like in Drew Barrymore’s movie Doppelganger, just not that creepy). There's Agung who seems calm and quiet and yet causes many hearts outside HI to throb (heehee). There's Lovely (the name itself is strange enough) who has left her home and become a permanent resident of SBAL. There's Yere whose favorite pastime is making summaries (and sharing it with us before each quiz). There's Iam who was the richest man in Semarang and now he's here to conquer Jakarta. There's Moren who pranks people (miscalls their phones, touches their hair, screams in a funny accent etc.) during class. There's StevIE who brings Amanda's BrownIE and aspires to be a celebritIE. And twenty more interesting characters... (I'll write about it some other time...)

Lanxiu called today. It was 1 am in the US. She told me how people there are very ethnocentric, and they feel that they are truly THE superpower and the rest of the world owes them, hence they are entitled to do whatever they want. Sounds pretty fabulous to be an American then. I forgot to tell her how recently this week Bush came to Jakarta, and he was making such a fuss with all the protocols and preparations for his arrival (to the extent of destroying endangered lotuses in order to make room to build a new helipad for his landing), hence there were all sorts of protests going on and college students were marching on the streets in protest and there were all sorts of anti-Bush movements going on. Some say he was just being careful and taking all the necessary precautions in order to ensure his safety, but others think he was paranoid or was just being such a diva (like JLo when she absolutely must have her eyebrow shaper fly from New York to LA because her eyebrows desperately need trimming).

...the dogs won't stop barking downstairs for some reason or other. I have three dogs. It used to be two, then one of them got raped by a sleazy conniving little dachshund and gave birth to four puppies, then we gave two of the puppies and their mother to my neighbor and my sister's friend. So now there are only three dogs left. Nero, Baby, and Fluffy. I know, the names are cliché... Baby is a nickname by the way her real name is Banana. Okay never mind this is starting to sound weird. Oooh they've finally stopped barking. Peace and quiet. Maybe my sister's taking them for a walk. Nice.

What else did we talk about on the phone? Oh we were talking about Singapore and how we miss it a lot. At least in Jakarta we still have NYDC, Pastamania and La Mian Xiao Long Bao. She has to eat yucky western food everyday. She said American pastas suck. Talking to Lanxiu made me miss Singapore even more... I want to go to FarEast LevelOne and buy Shihlin Taiwanese Street Snack, I want a BurgerKing breakfast with hash browns, I want to shop at Wisma Atria TopShop, I want to browse for books at Borders, I want to watch choir concerts at Esplanade, I want to walk around in Clarke Quay, I want to shop at Cold Storage, I want to study at starbucks with a tall rhumba frapp (they don't make rhumbas anymore), I want to go to Body Shop sales at Suntec City, I want to eat the crepes and waffles at Marche in Heeren, I want IKEA meatballs... Gosh I'm such a drama queen.

Back to reality. Exams in twelve days!!! MUST STUDY in order to get a 4.0 (is that even remotely possible?) Oookay. TTFN.

Online

2006-11-26T06:26:00.000-08:00

my friend's farewell party! I just downloaded the photo online... :)

New Internet Connection! FINALLY!!!

What to write? What to write? It's been a while since I actually OWN an internet connection... let's see... I think the last time was in 1997, when microsoft black-and-white comic chat was still cool. I used to e-mail this guy from Turkey who ended up working at NASA or something. He was my first friend online. The point is, I'm really psyched now that my internet connection is up and running and more importantly, it's MINE!! Mwahahahahaha... After years of sharing boarding school/ hostel internet I'm finally liberated!

They used to censor the internet at my boarding school so we can't really visit that many sites coz the MOE (Ministry of Education) were always sort of watching us. No, seriously. Once my friend S sent me, AS A PRANK, a picture of a certain tool that samantha from sex and the city liked to use (can't even say the name of the tool in case my little sister reads this... anyway it looked like a vacuum cleaner but not really), that were being sold on ebay or yahoo auction. It was a JOKE. But apparently the next day there were new flyers posted all over the notice boards in my boarding school saying, " Your Internet Connection is Being Monitored, please do not visit or access sites with.... blah blah blah etc etc". It's so embarassing that it's hilarious.

Anyway, enough reminiscing. Back to the topic. SO now I can research stuff, email people, use messenger (not right away really haven't downloaded it yet, tomorrow perhaps), blog, download programs, auction stuff, buy stuff, and do whatever I want online... Mwahahahahaha the sky is the limit!!!

Okay Enuff already. Must do research on Saddam Hussein's execution. Why? Tomorrow's IVED training debate motion is "This House Believes in the Execution of Saddam Hussein". Don't know yet whether I'm the affirmative or the negative. Capital punishment debate. Arrgh. I want to watch DVD or feed my fish or play suikoden or redecorate my room or whatever. Anything but work.

Okay JUST one more story. My weekend! So yesterday I finally went to CCF after skipping french classes for over a month (cause I've sold my soul to debating this month... :_-( oh well) and thankfully I can still understand what people were saying (although I stumbled and stuttered most of the time). After class I went to "le kioske", the french bookshop in kemang to trade my book prize voucher and bought myself (well not really coz I didn't pay) four french books (yippee) and one of them is called "Destination: Paris" HEEHEE so happy. Can't wait to go and try the stupid escargot.

I've decided on a tour. Among the sixteen packages they are offering for the prize there is one that appeal to me most... I've consulted J since she goes to her husband's country a few times each year so she must know France very well. There's this one package that offers a few days in Paris, and then I get to visit the Alps and the Cote d'Azur and stay at a holiday lodging/a homestay for a few days at the mountains and after that I would go down to the mediterranean cities and beaches and visit Monaco and Nice and all that. Waaaa can't wait can't wait. I hope the apocalypse won't come before July 22, my departure date. I can't die before I see Europe.

Gosh I sound so lame. Heehee. Back to my story. So after I went to the bookshop on Saturday we went for dinner at KemangFoodFest and I think I overinhaled a grape-flavored shisha coz my throat felt funny afterwards. But the food were nice. Watched "Scoop", the new Hugh Jackman movie - I swooned.

CONCLUSION : Initial plan to STUDY for end-of-semester exams FAILED MISERABLY.

I am going to study tonight, though. And tomorrow night. And the night after that. AMEN.

Wasted

2006-11-25T20:46:00.000-08:00

It is done,
It is lost; and now there is none.
Reason returns from her walk in her park,
Abandons daydreams and castles in the sky.

Rubies of the past and strange pearls in corals,
Chains of chances and fates unmet,
Grim thoughts of tomorrow and yesterday's luck,
Forever now are treasures of the past.

Arriving quietly, my train stops at last.
And with the violent energy of martyrs and cowards
Welcomes the point of no return and sighs
The fuming hoards of this century's angst.

For it is done; it is lost; it has ended and now the curtain falls
And through the empty roads strange forms shall appear
Shadows eclipsed from the lost, distant years;
Missed chances and failed ideals shall roam the rivers
and bleak countenance in every man's freight.

Will they ever know?
Will they ever notice?
Will they see the signs?
When it is too late when it is lost when all is done
And the only thing that is coming is
The lingering regret of one's wasted time.