Homenaway

NYE

2012-01-01T15:29:00.000-08:00

10 November 2011

2012-01-01T15:27:00.001-08:00

2011-03-10T23:35:00.000-08:00

The long awaited event finally arrived. The bride looked radiant, the groom looked dashing, the ceremony went smoothly with small obstacles here and there, but nothing major. But that's for the bride and groom to tell, in their own blogs. This is my blog, so of course I would talk about me.

A few months ago, a very good friend asked me to be her maid of honour. I was very happy for her, but I was also terrified. I had never ever done it before and I don't want to stuff things up for her. All I knew I knew from TV, as usual. I accompanied my friend to choose her wedding gown and veil. Then I received a call from Mom, asking me to come home. She didn't sound like her usual self and her speech was muffled, like somebody with stroke, so I left everything and flew home. Mom's condition was awful. She had a seizure a few days before I came and scared the heck of everybody. When I arrived she was a bit better, but as I mentioned in a previous blog, she hurt her back and ended up bed-bound. It was hard leaving her, but I knew she was in very capable hands.

Back in Sydney, it was very hard to switch from sad mode to happy mode. I didn't think of my mother all the time, of course, but somehow I kept thinking of her when we went out to look for accessories, shoes, and other things. Maybe because of the contrast. There I was preparing for a party while my mother was lying in bed staring at the wall. I tried to tell my friend and the bride's maid about my mother's condition, but I guess they didn't want to spoil the happy mood or had a lot already on their plates so they quickly changed the subject.

While I was Jakarta, Mischa's other good friend, Fifi helped Mischa with the preparation. I was actually very glad because I didn't have to feel very guilty about not helping Mischa. And if indeed I had to go home before the wedding, Mischa would be in good hands. Maybe God heard my mental conflict and it turned out I had a lot of assignments on Monday, so I had good reasons not to come along for other shopping trips.

After we found all that the bride needed for the big day, it was our turn. We started looking for bridesmaid gowns. Those who knew me well probably knew that apart from wearing swimsuits at the swimming pool I never wore anything above my knee since my last PE session in high school. I never wore sleeveless shirts since I turned 10. And I never ever wore tank tops. If you ever shopped for bridesmaid outfits in Sydney you would know that they always have either plunging necklines or bustiers. And I don't have boobs for those dresses to hang on to. I was really hoping we could find something with a short jacket or a shawl. The first day of the hunt was a disaster. I didn't even have to complain. My friends could see for themselves how bad those dresses looked on me, while the other bridesmaid always looked stunning. Somehow we managed to find something not too revealing in the mother-of-the-bride section. That was a relief. I began to feel a bit better.

The following week we continued making the bonbonnier and planned for the hen's party. At this stage I received news that my mom was undergoing radiation therapy and seemed to improve. I had made up my mind to go home after the wedding. I was very depressed. Maybe that was why many of my childhood illnesses returned. It was strange. The palm of my hands were full of small pockets of clear liquid. I used to have this regularly when I was at school. I had a very bad case on ingrown toenail. This was also a problem I had when I was in secondary school. I told my family about my decision, and they immediately went into emergency mode. My brother took all of us out for dinner and lectured me for half an hour. He hardly ever said two words to me these days so it was surprising. Even my niece took me out for a drive to talk to me, because she was worried. But the deciding talk came from my sister. She texted me and asked me to call her. She told me not to worry about Mom; that everybody there was looking after her. My sister said she was okay about driving to and from her home outside the city to take Mom to the hospital and that I should think of myself too. I felt a heavy weight lifted. The bubbles on my hands dried up and faded away.

We had a wonderful time at the hen's night pottery class. I was only a bit worried because my toe was still swollen and I wouldn't be able to wear heels, so my dress, which is a bit too long in heels, would be really very long. I worry about the compulsory dance. But anyway, the morning came. We arrived and started with the make up and hair. I hadn't had make up on my face since 2004. I bit my tongue so I wouldn't complain too much. It started raining. We were a bit concerned, but rain was still better than scorching heat because of our dresses. I googled maid of honour the day before and found out some of the duties that I didn't know before. And with the rainy weather, the bridesmaids were really useful, protecting the bride's gown from mud. We made it to the church. The flower girls marched in. The live music by my nieces was beautiful. Fifi glided down the aisle. I went next. I stumbled a few times because of the darn dress, but at least I didn't fall. The bride and her father went in next. Perfect. The atmosphere solemn, happy and relaxed at the same time.

Time passed quickly and before we know it it was time for the reception. After meal me and Fifi made our way to the cottage to freshen up. On the way back we found the best man, half drunk, rehearsing his speech. Somebody is more worried than I am, I thought, and unembarrassedly I immediately felt better. When it was time to dance, I looked at the bride and the groom's faces. They looked like they were about to jump off a plane without parachutes, but they did well. A big finale where the groom lifted the bride and turned round and round. Big applause. Then our turn. It's just left right left right step. Very easy. I didn't trip. Thank God. I danced with the groom's best friend. He twirled me around a few times. It was fun. I also danced with the bride's father, which was awkward. And he was even more uncomfortable than I was. Hehehe.. Then it was over. Phew..

My toe, which had been bombarded with three sets of antibiotic without success, suddenly started to heal. I thought of writing about the whole experience, but kept putting it off. Most of it would be about me complaining anyway. I hate parties, I hate to socialise among strangers, I hate wearing a dress, I hate make-up, I hate party tantrums, but anyway it's over, I survived. I'm glad I did it. I hope I never have to do it again for other friends or relatives, but of course I will if they ask.

2011-01-22T16:31:00.000-08:00

Some things you see just follow you around in your head. For example a 16 year old ex-prostitute, who ran away from an abusive mother and started selling her body just so she could buy a motorbike. When she returned to her village with the money, the mother was nice to her, and told her, “It's too late now. You’re already in the mud so just continue doing it.” This mother is the same person who beat her up in public because she went out with a classmate. It’s hard to forget this young girl, and even harder to understand her situation.

It’s very hard to look at a middle-aged fisherman in a bright orange prisoner outfit. T-shirt, shorts, a pair of red shoes. He was caught for people smuggling and is looking at 5 to 7 years jail sentence. It was hard looking at him walk out the room, stop to pull up the hem of his shirt to wipe his tears and cover his face. He understands why he is in prison, but he clearly doesn’t understand why he will have to serve 5 to 7 years away from his family, friends and home. And neither do I.

The Promise

2010-12-29T01:49:00.000-08:00

The last time I visited Mom, her condition tore my heart. After an incident, which happened because she was being “creative” or was trying to be “independent”, she couldn’t even walk to the bathroom because it was too painful. Usually my sister and her husband took Mom to the healer’s place during the weekend. Maybe Mom didn’t want to trouble my sister’s hubby, so she hired two men to take her to her usual healer. The men were not trained to help frail old ladies. They were a bit rough during a particularly difficult part of the path towards the healer’s home, and my mother hurt her back. A few days later she couldn’t even get out of bed. She called a masseuse, who rubbed her back for a few minutes. A couple of days later she called another masseuse, who rubbed her back for about an hour. The pain got worse. She called her usual healer to come. His assistant said he was busy, he usually don’t do home visits, etc. etc. She sent the helper to the healer’s place, more than once. She sent my sister-in-law to talk to fetch the healer, several times. In the end the healer gave in an come. Mom was as happy as a little girl, which was scary to watch. But even her favourite healer couldn’t help. We took her to a Chinese herbalist, who stuck some medicine on her back. The pain became so bad that Mom even agreed to wear diapers, something that she fought so hard against in the past. She agreed to have an X-ray, another thing that she also fought against in the past. And this was after the doctor came to our home and told us about her life’s story. The doctor cried, and I cried, and Kak N (a relative who is like an older sister to us) cried. A few days later Mom agreed to have an X-ray. It turned out that she had fractures at a couple of places. She had to stay in bed.

Before I went home, Mom borrowed money from several people. She borrowed money from the helper’s aunt, of all people, even though every month she receives more money than most of my friends in Jakarta who are working full time. She receives more money that the combined money of a friend and her husband. And what did she do with the money? She asked me to count it, and asked me to take a big wad. She got very angry when I refused. I asked her how she was going to pay her debts, she told me my brother was going to give her some money. I took some of the money and left some in her cupboard. When I got back to Sydney, I called her and said that I just got a big order and I would send her some money. She refused. A couple of weeks later she texted me and asked me to call. I called and she asked me to send the money that I offered. So I sent back the money that she gave to me. Crazy..

It is very clear to me that my Mom cannot be trusted to make logical judgements anymore. She has always had her own set of logics, but clearly at present it is very close to a judgement of an 11-year-old school girl. And yet she is still running the show. She is still making the decisions and giving the orders. It's just mad..

I was planning to come home to take care of her. But when she asked me to do the very same thing, I felt very disappointed. Who is this very selfish lady who is asking me to leave my own life behind for her sake? Who is this lady who has such low regards on my efforts and achievements that she thinks I am better off staying home, not working, and play nanny for the rest of her life? Who is this lady who is not concerned at all about my future after she is gone? As I said Mom has always had her own set of logics and with her very good intentions had very often hurt people left right and center and sometimes caused more harm than good. Afterwards she bitterly complained about how ungrateful people were to her. She attributed all the bad things that happened to people she knew to what they had done to hurt her. The things she did to me, either to educate, or to get extra money for the family, or to make me more presentable, scarred me for life. But she’s my mother. She was often an awful mom but I know she did her best.

I promised I would come home. And time is ticking. Days go by in a flash and very soon I have leave my home in Sydney. I have set my advertisements to stop in a couple of month's time. Soon I will have to write and submit a letter of resignation to all the agencies who have been employing me as a panelist. Then I will have to sort out my garbage. I will throw out or give away what I cannot take. I will ask if I could leave some boxes here. Maybe I have to send some. And then it’s time for travel arrangements. And then it’s time to say goodbye to all the things that I love. Another chapter of my life will end, and a new one will start. I am determined to enjoy my time with Mom. I will enjoy the idleness. I will travel, learn to drive, learn new skills, have new adventures. I will paint and draw again. Maybe I could even work and earn some money, hopefully legally. The only shadow that darkens the picture are questions: What will I do when this is over? Can I ever come back? I would be a few years older, but not more experienced, not more skilled. My body would be weaker and my brain would be slower. But who am I to predict what the future holds? Who could say whether I would even be around tomorrow and in what shape? All I could do is hope that I am doing the right thing, and that everything else will take care of itself.

A Wedding

2010-12-26T19:02:00.000-08:00

Registration documents – check, microphone – check, table and table cloth – check, decorations –check. The groom is here. Great. The interpreter is here, too. Wonderful. And the bride and the rest of the family will arrive in fifteen minutes or so.

We are at Blues Point Reserve in Sydney. The weather forecast said that it would be cloudy. As they often do, they got it wrong. Blue sky, sparkling cobalt sea, emerald green grass – a perfect setting for a perfect wedding.

I’m the wedding celebrant today. My job is to solemnise the wedding between Tim and Karin. Karin is a lovely Indonesian girl. Her parents and brothers came all the way from Java for this special day. That’s why we have an interpreter with us today. I’ve never used an interpreter in a wedding before, but it should be okay. I have just briefed her and she seems to have prepared adequately. And look, there comes the bride. It’s show time.

I greeted the family and we are ready to roll. A few words from me, followed by lighting the candle for those who cannot attend (a bit of drama there, cos it’s so windy it takes five minutes to light the candle, a few pesky tourists pass by and stare, a boat passes very close by, we wave at them), followed by exchange of vows, the groom kisses the bride, photos, photos, done. Overall a simple yet beautiful wedding.

More photos. First the bride and the groom. Then with the bride’s family, then with the groom’s family, then both, then with me and the interpreter. The photographer says to me, “Would you like to take off your sunnies for the photo?”

Sunnies?? Sunglasess??? What?? Have I been wearing them throughout the ceremony??
“You’ve been wearing them throughout the ceremony,” the photographer confirms.
My face turns lobster red. I apologise to everybody. They must think that I am very eccentric or very rude. Or maybe they think this is common in Sydney. Anyway, there is nothing I can do now. Tim and Karen will have a celebrant with her sunnies on in their photo album.

Realisation

2010-10-31T17:47:00.000-07:00

If it's your fault and you don't like it, that's your problem, not mine.
If it's my fault and you don't like it, that's your problem, not mine.

If you don't like it, that's your problem, not mine.

Hmm... is this a sign of ... aging?
I am turning into a grumpy old woman, and I LIKE it!!!

Botanical Garden

2010-10-23T20:41:00.000-07:00

Grandma

2010-06-18T05:10:00.000-07:00

The last time I saw her she was wearing a traditional Chinese shirt and trousers, olive coloured and impeccably pressed. Her hair was grayish, and wavy like mine and my mother’s hair. Hers was neatly combed and slightly oiled. Not a strand out of place. She wore a jade bracelet on her wrist. In short, she could have come straight out of a documentary on China.

When she spoke, it was with a very heavy accent, I could hardly understand what she said. We were in the living room one day, on a rare occasion that she visited, and I asked her about her life in China. She said the people in her area were mainly farmers and fishermen. I asked her if there were dragons back then. She said yes. They were huge and scary, with green scales as big as tampahs.

That was over twenty years ago, our last conversation. I had probably seen her around half a dozen times before then. And since then, my family had moved to Jakarta, and then to Sydney. The distance grew and grew. I had managed to visit various parts of Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, Europe, and even the Middle East, but that tiny village in Air Joman had somehow been overlooked. Mom and I were planning to visit her next year, if Mom was healthy enough to travel again. But a few days ago I received news that Grandma had passed away. Logically there was no reason to feel sorrow and regret, since she never played a big role in my life. But her blood runs through my veins, and for a few days I felt a dull throb inside me, as if my blood was mourning the loss. And so I let myself feel the sorrow and regret, knowing I would never see Grandma again.

The Privilege

2010-04-21T20:23:00.000-07:00

We were on a shuttle bus at King Abdul Aziz airport, heading towards the plane. A lady sat next to me. We exchanged small questions, like where are you from, etc. When I told her I came with my mom and my sister she said, “My heart hurts so much whenever I saw an old man being led by his son or daughter. Or when an old lady is being wheeled around by her daughter. My mother died when I was three weeks old, my father followed when I was ten. I never had a chance to take care of my parents.” Then she started to cry. I didn’t know what to say so I just patted her shoulder and let her cry a bit. I tried to change the subject by talking about her children. She seemed to cheer up a bit when she talked about them. Then she went back to the subject of her mother.

She said, “I’m so sad. I don’t even know what my mother looked like.”

So I asked, “There’s no photo of her at all?”

She said, “No, I am seventy now so it was a very long time ago. In the thirties. We didn’t have cameras then.”

That I can help her with. I told her, “Sometimes when I look into the mirror, I see my mother’s face. Maybe you can do that too, Ma’am.”

She was quiet for a while. Maybe she was considering the possibility. Maybe she didn’t believe me. Maybe she didn’t understand. It didn’t matter. I just hoped she would remember what I said the next time she looked at herself in the mirror. I hope she could see the image of her mother.

In her own little way, the old lady had reminded me that it is a privilege to take care of our parents. It may be hard, inconvenient, exhausting sometimes, but it’s not a burden, it’s an honour.

My Own Little Miracle

2010-04-04T22:59:00.000-07:00

Before we left we were barraged with pointers and warnings; do this, don’t do this, do that, don’t do that. Don’t you dare do bla, bla, bla. Remember, you must bla, bla, bla. And there were lots of personal experiences: when I was at so and so, I was such and such. When my friend did bla, bla, bla, and so as she was punished with bla, bla, bla. Lots of magical experiences and small miracles. And tears, lots and lots of tears.
There were so many warnings I began to wonder if people don't just made them all up. It began to annoy me. I didn’t really want to hear those kinds of stories so close to the time we were leaving. Those are your experiences, not mine. So you cried here and here and here and here. That’s you. Now if I don’t cry there I will wonder if something is wrong with me.
And that’s what happened. We arrived at King Abdul Aziz airport at night. An old man next to me on the bus expressed his admiration and wonder at the sight of lights in the distance, or maybe something else that I didn’t see. I smelled the smell of desert and felt the cold night air. I was glad and happy and just a bit excited, but not as moved as the old man.
At the sight of Nabawi Mosque, again I felt glad, happy and just a bit excited, but not moved. We prayed there, and I wondered why my heart is still cold to all these. Where is my miracle?
Every time we went to this or that historical places, my heart was still cold. I saw commercialism everywhere. I saw sacred places turning into a big religious Disneyland. There were voices in my head talking and talking and talking, questioning and questioning and questioning. It got to a point where I thought oh, maybe this whole thing was fabricated, no spiritual value whatsoever in it. The first time I saw the Ka’bah, it looked tiny. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. Outside the mosque, back to back were tall hotels and shopping arcades, and they are still building. There will be monorails in a few years. So that, plus the luxurious hotels and shopping arcades, plus the cute tents, plus the multistory Jum’rah place, plus the stone thing near the Sai place, plus the air conditioner near the Ka’bah. Modern technology. Very convenient, very comfortable. Disneyland. What’s all these praying all about? I’ll do them, just because I’m here. I think I will return as an atheist. At that point another voice began to speak, a tiny one, saying, you are in Holy Land, the devils are stronger here than any other places in the world. Maybe I heard or read that somewhere before, maybe it was a mysterious reminder. I don’t know. I gasped and I started to pray, asking for God’s forgiveness and protection. A few days later, a taxi driver said the exact same thing. The devils are very strong here, and some people here are more evil than beasts. I didn’t say anything, but in my head I said, very true, bro.
So I stopped looking for miracles. One time inside the mosque in Mekkah, I prayed a few people away from my family. I found a tiny spot near the Qur’an shelf. I felt that I had found my own little place and I felt very happy. The ladies behind me smiled kindly and I felt even happier. This is how it should feel like, I thought. It didn’t last very long, of course, because afterwards we quarreled again as before. But for a brief moment I was as happy as I could be.
We were told that around 9 am was the best time to come near the Ka’bah, because it wasn’t very crowded at that time. So my sister and I decided to be adventurous and went together, just the two of us. It was true, there were many people as usual but it looked like it would be possible to get near. We decided a meeting place in case we got separated and in two seconds we did got separated. I found a quiet side where there were only an elderly couple praying near the wall. I touched the black cloth, I felt the texture of the weave. It was textured and thick and strong and shiny. And it touched me back. I was finally moved. The ice inside me melted and I let myself being swept away by the crowd. They pushed me into Hijir Ismail, I went in without trying, and I had a brief peaceful moment to pray. Then I pushed myself out so that other people could have their moment too. I left the crowd and took a drink of Zamzam water. It tasted wonderful to me. Then I sat under the shade on the steps. All I asked for before I left was to feel something, to have my own special moment, and it was finally granted. It felt great. A few minutes later my sister found me. She was a bit breathless but her face was beaming. She managed to touch Hajar Aswad, and she managed to pray in Hijir Ismail, properly, not just standing like I did. I think she found what she was searching for too. We both went back to the hotel feeling very happy, probably for very different reasons. Again I remembered what my friend said. It was a personal journey. And we didn’t quarrel again after that.

Arabia

2010-04-03T03:35:00.001-07:00

Kebun Raya Bogor

2010-04-03T02:37:00.000-07:00

A Personal Experience

2010-04-01T02:24:00.000-07:00

When my mother invited me to do the Umroh with her last year, I immediately said yes. But actually in my heart, I said, I would go if I had enough money to pay the rent while I’m away. There weren’t enough male participant that year, so our plans were cancelled. Come this year and to my surprise, yes, I did have enough money. But I was still unsure. I didn’t think I was ready to go. I didn’t think I was supposed to go, or deserved to go. For goodness sake, there were many people around who are more devout than I am. In fact they would be very easy to find. That weighted heavily on my mind. I searched and searched for an explanation, or a justification, or just an excuse. In the end I said to myself, I’ll go so that somebody can take care of my mother.

There were other dramas before we left, like my mother’s refusal to have the meningitis vaccination. And she was so frail and so stubborn at the same time it was so frustrating. We tried to make up stories at the clinic but I broke down and cried and just told the truth. Actually I cried because I accidentally saw her breast the day before, and there was an open wound there. I cried because she was so much weaker than the last time I saw her. She didn’t even recognise me at the airport. The doctors were very patient but firm. In the end mom agreed to have the vaccination. She hugged one of our relatives like a tree and closed her eyes very tightly and I stood next to her to hold her sleeve up. The doctor took the tiny needle out and injected the vaccine. It took about two seconds. And all my mother said was, “Udah? Ngga sakit ya... Saya kira sakit. Untung engga. Kalo iya saya udah menjerit-jerit tadi.” (That’s it? Oh, it doesn’t hurt. I thought it would. Lucky it didn’t otherwise I would have screamed on top of my voice.”)
Then another drama about my date of birth, but fortunately it didn’t cause any problem.

So that was it. In a few more days, we would go, and I still walked around with this doubt on my mind. Then I had a small reunion with some friends from my old work place. We exchanged stories and just before I left them I told K about my doubts. And she told me, “Religion is a very personal experience. Each person has his own appreciation of the journey.” Something like that. It wasn’t until we were near the end of our Umroh that I realised how right she was. I looked at my self, my sister, my mom, and the other fellow pilgrims. It’s like a banquet where on person said I love the salmon, another person said the desert is superb, another said the cutlery is beautiful, another person said it’s a disappointment, and so on and so forth. I’m glad to say that although the three of us went through different experiences, I think we achieved what we were looking for. What was I looking for? Coming up in the next blog.

Wild Flowers & Clouds

2010-02-03T01:57:00.000-08:00

Three Monkeys

2010-01-30T02:47:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite characters, the see no evil, hear no evil, say no evil monkeys, all dressed up for Christmas.

Linus & Sasha again

2010-01-30T01:51:00.001-08:00

Friday 15th

2010-01-16T21:35:00.000-08:00

The day started with an interpreting session with a woman who overdosed on cleaning liquid and the hospital’s psychiatrist. Overdosed. That’s the word they used. Strange word, I think. It implies that there is a normal dose or safe dose to consume cleaning liquids. I’m not criticizing the users, just noting its strangeness.

What I got out of the interview was, that moving to a developed country does not equal to moving to Utopia. That being alone and isolated most of the time anywhere can make a person a bit crazy. Especially if the only person you have regular contact with, i.e. your husband, treats you like trash. After months and months of that, a (seemingly) small thing—he took home a letter instead of a light bulb—managed to trigger a fight and ended in near tragedy.

That was followed by another interview. This time the clients were newly arrived couple. They looked happy and healthy and were very much together and that lifted the day up a bit.

In the evening, Ghost was on. Yey! An oldie-but-goody. I grabbed the cushion and was ready to curl up on the sofa. Commercial break. Great! Time to get some snack. I stood up and my eye caught a movement outside the glass sliding doors. It looked like somebody’s back. Somebody wearing a white T-shirt, but not clearly defined. Nobody’s supposed to be there. It was a part of our back yard. As I stared at it, quite worried, the person seemed to walk up an invisible staircase and disappeared. My eyes grew wider and wider. I moved towards the door and switch on the outside light, clutching the cushion to my chest. There was nothing there.

I looked around to check it could possibly be a reflection. No, I don’t see anything that could make that kind of effect. Was it me? No, I stood like a statue while the shadow moved. So I sat down again, still clutching the cushion. A few minutes later my nephew came downstairs. And asked me what movie I was watching. “Ghost,” I said. In one of the scenes near the end, some dark shadows appeared from the ground to drag the spirit of the bad guy away. We joked that they looked like cartoons. Then he said, “Aunty, did know that if we look from the corner of our eyes we can see ghosts?” Now, where did that come from?

I asked him, “How do you know that?”

He said, “Didn’t you know? I just know. I often see shadows moving around, sometimes black, sometimes white.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You don’t believe me? There was one moving around outside just now. A girl, like in a white skirt.”

I’m not particularly brave, but if I freaked out, my nephew might freak out too. And I was only house-sitting here for a few weeks. My nephew, he lives here. So I pretended it was perfectly normal to see black shadows and white shadows flying around and we continued watching the movie together. Needless to say, it was very hard to sleep that night. And what will I do if next year my brother asks me to house-sit while they go back to Indo?

A very good friend can see things. Whenever she told me stories of sightings, I secretly thanked God and openly said that I was so glad I couldn't see those things. Gosh, I hope this is the last one.

Doggy Sitting

2009-12-31T16:35:00.000-08:00

Look at the adorable little faces. A friend had to go back to Indo to visit her ill grandma, and these little ones had nowhere to go. So we turned the kitchen-dining room into a nursery. To be honest, I don’t like having animals in the house. Dogs, cats, hamsters, snakes, fish, you name it. Personal beliefs aside, I suppose I’m a bit like an auntie to Sasha and Linus, and I could not turn family members away.

Of course, they are a lot like three year old humans. Whether barking or talking, I don’t understand either one. Tired them out with long walks and they would give you a couple of hours of peace and quiet. And for dogs, that means less pee and wee in the house. Give them enough food and drinks, and a few treats here and there, and keep them (reasonably) clean. Actually, reasonably should be in capital letters. Why? Linus is not toilet trained. I let him into the living room once in a while, and now we have three pee marks on the living room carpet, despite the wee mat that I placed nicely in the corner. The sandal in the background marks the last puddle, so no one would step on it. Yesterday Sasha had a poo stuck on her backside so she sat on the floor and dragged her bottom around a bit to unstuck it. It looked really hilarious, until I realise I had to clean the floor again, and her bottom too. And if you look at their little feet in the photo, you could see that they are not exactly pristine. That’s because we just had a long walk in the field nearby. Yes, we are only REASONABLY clean at the moment, including myself. And by the time Mumum gets home from Indo, the puppies would probably be brown instead of white.

In the photo Sasha is sitting on a small cushion. There is supposed to be a small sofa under it. But Linus had found a small tear and last night he was busy at work all night.This morning I found pieces of foam all over the floor. The poor sofa had been gutted. I had to move it to a safer place.

I have evacuated myself to a quieter place so I could work in peace for a few hours. Walking the dogs twice a day and not being able to sleep in peace for more than a week now has made me lose 7 kilos. Amazing. I don’t know how moms can do it. Or why people have pets. And as I’m writing this, I wonder, gosh, what are they going to do next?

2009-12-18T02:31:00.000-08:00

Halo. Bisa saya bantu Bu?

Iya. Saya cuma mau tau apa sebaiknya saya kasi anak saya tau tentang hasil tesnya.

The lady on the phone was HIV positive. She got it from her husband, who was being treated at the hospital. Her daughter didn’t know. Didn’t even know that Mom already took the test. And so our conversation continued. The hospital wanted to know how she was feeling. She wanted to make sure the hospital didn’t tell her daughter that she already took the test. Not that she didn’t want her to know, but she didn’t want the daughter to think that she lied to her, or tried to keep secrets from her.
Us humans, we’re so illogical and difficult to understand. Here was a lady, carrying a disease for which no cure had been found. And what she worried most was for her daughter to think that Mom lied.

Iya Bu. Kata susternya sudah selesai. Mudah-mudah cepat beres ya... (Oops, this was what I usually said to clients who were applying for visas. It’s sounded so wrong.)

Apa? (*Rising intonation, not comprehending)

Maksud saya mudah-mudahan Tuhan melindungi. (This didn’t sound right either. Kinda too late for God’s protection, don’t you think?)

Iya. Makasih. Saya ketularan dari suami, jadi yah... saya pasrah aja.

Sabar ya Bu.

Iya. Saya kuat kok...

Iya. Bye.

Bye.

2009-12-16T20:59:00.000-08:00

How to live as a an asylum seeker never occurred to me until I met one. He said he was from A***. I know it used to be turbulent region. Mom and Dad used to live there in the beginning of her marriage. From her window my mom saw an old Chinese got beaten up. I vaguely remember her saying somebody got beheaded. She also mentioned some Javanese ladies got raped. Mom believes the tsunami was a punishment from God. Well, everybody is entitled to believe what they want to believe. So, my knowledge of that area is really limited. I know the national heroes from that area. I heard the ladies used to carry a small knife with them wherever they go, just in case. I was told they add a secret recipe to their dishes (the leaves that can make you go high). I tried A*** noodles at the food court. That’s about it.
And this young man, who was polite and a bit shy but chatty and a lot confused, got me confused too. Didn’t seem like somebody who would get involved in politics. Wasn’t cunning with shifty or nervous eyes. Just a nice village boy with some education. Was a member of a traditional dance group. So, how did he end up like this? I really itched to ask him, but I didn’t. Anyway, the CO came and asked us to follow him. Amir (not real name) got more and more confused because the list of questions included do you own a boat, do you invest in shares, and things that he seemed to find ridiculous. He left everything he owned. His wife and kids were in hiding in the forest and he was worried about them.
Amir was an asylum seeker. He didn’t speak English. Is he still a part of our country folk’s society here? Would he be afraid that somebody would report him to the consulate? Would he get into trouble here because of his status? He seemed like such a nice boy. Did he ever kill anyone or was it just politics? Will he get together with his family again? I’d like to think that he will, and that he will learn English and start a new life here.

Linus

2009-12-14T02:47:00.000-08:00

It's not possible to get a clear picture of Linus with my camera, not when he is awake. This was Linus a couple of months ago when he was a few weeks old.

Bathroom Art

2009-12-14T02:43:00.000-08:00

I took this picture in bathroom in the old apartment, just because the lighting was best there.

Too Close to Nature III

2009-12-14T02:37:00.000-08:00

I’m always to tired (lazy) to do the dishes at night. It’s a bad habit, I know. But I just don’t want to end a long day doing the dishes. That morning, as usual, I went to the kitchen to clean whatever was in and on the kitchen sink. I put on my favorite purple gloves and prepared the washing liquid. I picked up the sponge from the plastic container and I saw a piece of mushroom. I don’t remember having mushrooms the day before so I was a bit suspicious. I poked the “mushroom” a bit with my finger. It didn’t move. OK, good. I filled the container with water, still no movement. Wonderful. Just a piece of mushroom from one of the dishes that we bought. I poured the water out, the mushroom landed on the strainer. Two tiny antennas poked out. The mushroom wiggled. A SLUG!!! I dropped everything and did the mysterious tribal dance in the kitchen.

Too Close to Nature II

2009-12-14T02:36:00.000-08:00

Our small back yard could use some weeding, but I didn’t have the proper glove, so I used the kitchen’s plastic glove. After a long sweaty weeding session, the glove was soaked through on the inside. I washed it with water and hung it outside to dry. Later in the evening I took it in. The next day, I got it out to finish the unfinished business with the weeds. There was a hole at the tip of the index finger of the glove. I didn’t remember seeing it when I washed the glove, but maybe I just didn’t pay attention. I slipped my finger in, thinking how could I did not see such a big hole, and through the it, out crawled a huge locust. Of course I freaked out and did an impromptu mysterious tribal dance in the backyard.
I’ve bought a pair of gardening gloves, and I always pat them a bit before slipping my hands in. The $%^@ locust had mentally scarred me for live.

Too Close to Nature I

2009-12-14T02:34:00.000-08:00

I must say, I love the new place (so far). Lots and lots of trees, that I love, and creepy-crawlies, that I hate. Let’s start with those and save the nice parts for later. The first night that we spent there I killed a cockroach, a big hairy spider and a slug. By now, a few weeks later, I’ve seen more species of spider that I care to, and cockroaches of all sizes and colours and stages of development.
One evening, while my niece and I were watching TV, we were startled by a very strange noise. It was like the sound of an alarm of some sort. But it was not regular, so it could be organic, and probably a bug. I hated to think about the size of the bug that made such a loud noise. We couldn’t watch TV with that kind of racket just outside the window, so we checked the small bushes outside. We also checked if there was some kind of alarm system that we didn’t know about. I shook the leaves, the noise stopped. We got in, it started again. We got out again armed with a flashlight, an umbrella and a thong. My niece finally found it. It was huge. And it wasn’t afraid. I shook the branch vigorously, it wouldn’t budge. I didn’t have the heart to spray it, partly because I didn’t think it would kill it immediately and would just cause it a lot of pain, so in the end I took out a pair of scissors and BBQ tongs. I held the branch where it perched and cut the branch off with the scissors. Then very carefully I took the branch to a small flower bed by the roadside, which is quite a distance away, and left it there. Later on my niece googled it and we found out it was a cicada.

Just Fiction

2009-05-25T02:57:00.000-07:00

“It’s because I’m adopted isn’t it??? You don’t love me! You never did!!!” and with that my sister ran out of the house.

She didn’t come home that night. Mom and Dad called all her friends and looked everywhere for her. It was almost morning when a call came. It was Aunt Lynne. Dina just arrived at her home, via night bus.

Two days later Dina came back home. Aunt Lynne came with her. Mom, Dad, Aunt Lynne and Dina had a long talk while I was sent to a friend’s house to ‘play’. To not hear anything was more like it, but of course I didn’t know it then. After that everything went back to normal.

Dina was three years older than me. I thought she was the coolest big sister in the world. She had so many friends; the cool kind, not the geekish kind like me and my friends. She was always top of her class. At the end of every school year she took home a small present from school; I never did that. Not even once. She was a basketball captain at school; I couldn’t run further than 10 meters without stumbling on something and falling on my face. The funny thing was, she hated me.

“Sis, can I borrow your new Tin Tin?”

“No. Get your own. And stop snooping around in my room.”

“But, Sis. I promise I’ll take good care of it. I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“No. N-O. Stop whining. Not going to work. Now, scram. Go. Leave.”

“Mooooooom… Sis wouldn’t let me borrow her storybook.”

“Dina, share your book with your sister.”

Dina throw daggers at me with her eyes and snorted.

“Moooooooooooom…”

Dina stomped out of the room.

Ok, so I played a part in making her hate me. I was a crybaby. I never helped her do the dishes. Or mop the floor. I got easier tasks like cooking rice (with a rice-cooker) and watering the plants.

When I was about seven and we were walking home from school she opened up.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “I was the favorite before you came. Mom and Dad never scolded me, never asked me to do the dishes and stuff. After you, everything changed. That’s why I hate you,” she explained.

I nodded as if I had understood.

“You see, it’s because I’m an adopted child,” she continued.

I gasped. My eyes were big as saucers.

“I was adopted so that another baby would come. It’s an old custom, you know.”
My sister was so wise. I nodded again and imagined babies falling out of the sky one by one, like rain drops, in diapers. I believed that was how babies arrive into this world.

“I thought it’s because I’m the youngest,” I suggested shyly.

“You’re wrong!” Dina growled. “Don’t you know anything?”

“Sis..”

“What, Knucklehead?”

“What does ‘adopted’ mean?”

She mumbled “stupid girl” under her breath and sighed, like she couldn’t believe anybody could be so stupid.

So life went on. Me, following my sister like a shadow. She, trying her best to escape. Me, wanting everything she had. She, wanting to trade place with me, which was very silly, since I was such a geek.

One day, when I was about fourteen, Mom looked very upset.

“Aunty Lynne is ill,” she said.

Aunty Lynne was one of my many aunties. I didn’t really know how we were related, since she wasn’t Mom’s sister or Dad’s sister. I didn’t really care. She was my favorite aunt. We just clicked. I felt close to her even though she lived in another town. So I was really upset about her being sick. It had to be serious because Mom looked so worried.

We planned to visit her, but she passed away before our family could arrange the trip. By the time we arrived, Aunt Lynne had already been buried. Her house was empty. Aunt Lynne never got married and had lived by herself.

The breeze blew gently through the open windows and the curtains danced. The bamboo wind chime sang a lonely song. I could feel my aunt’s presence in the living room and kitchen, in her bedroom, in the orchid garden, among her old books, in her favorite paintings.

How lonely she must have been, and how sad to suffer alone, I thought. I felt so sorry for her I began to cry. Mom and Dina began to cry too, and even Dad sniffled a bit.

When we got home Mom gave a small carton box to me.

“Aunt Lynne left this for you,” she said.

It was full of photos of Aunt Lynne when she was young. She had many friends. She looked happy and carefree. There were photos of my family too, and of me.

Years passed. My sister never ran away again. As I grew bigger my parents gave me more tasks and duties. This seemed to make Dina happy enough. She didn’t treat me like a pest anymore. We always went out together, until she got a boyfriend. After that it’s always Reza this and Reza that. But I’m not a little kid anymore. I have my own friends to go out with.

And now I’m getting ready to go to university. It’s a bit far from our home so I’m going to stay in a boarding home near the campus.

While packing up my things, I find the carton box from Aunt Lynne. I sit down among piles of clothes and junk and look through the photos, all yellowed now. They bring back a lot of happy memories.

There is a close up photo of a teenage Aunt Lynne. She looks so familiar. I look at it for a long time, wondering who she looks like. Frozen hands of realization crept towards my heart and clutch it so hard I couldn’t breathe. I reach for the mirror with trembling hands. I hold the photo and the mirror side by side, and tears rolled down my face.

I run out of the room to find Mom and Dad in the living room.

“Tania, what’s wrong? What is it, dear?”

There are so many things I want to say to my parents but all I can do is hold them very very tightly. I feel very sad that I had such a short time with my real mother. Real? That doesn’t sound right. My parents are very real to me. I have been blessed to have parents who are as loving and kind to me as Mom and Dad.

My sister was wrong. She isn’t the adopted child − I am. She must have overheard some irresponsible relatives talking about me and had misunderstood. Mom and Dad love us both equally. And I was right, I got the easier tasks because I was the youngest.

Our Picnic

2009-03-21T04:04:00.000-07:00

As far back as I can remember, Mom always gets hysterical near dogs. Who could blame her. A lot of dogs in Medan are untrained and mistreated so they are either spoiled rotten or half crazy with distress, not to mention the ones who are raised or stolen to be eaten. So when Sasha came to the house, Mom was polite but not very happy. We all went to the park to have a picnic. Mom was still cold towards Sasha. Afterwards she took a nap while we took Sasha for a walk. We were about a hundred meters from where Mom slept when Sasha decided to play with Mom. Sasha raced towards Mom and and jumped on her. Mom woke up and tried to shoo her away with a shopping bag. Sasha loved the Catch-the-Waving-Shopping-Bag Game. She jumped and circled Mom, who fought valiantly. All the while me and Sasha’s mom were jumping up and down and shouting to distract Sasha like two crazy monkeys. After about a minute we were finally able to subdue both.

After that we went to Leichard for coffee and ice-cream. Sasha was greeted by a fan, as usual. In the end, I guess Mom was charmed too. On the way home she even volunteered to hold Sasha on her lap. A giant leap for Mom. Later on at home she took a shower and washed her hair, but I hope she will remember Sasha and that picnic fondly.

Coffee Pot

2009-03-20T22:00:00.000-07:00

Amazing what happiness simple things can bring to your life. This is my new source of happiness. The good old-fashioned coffee maker.

Kinky Boots

2009-03-20T20:03:00.000-07:00

pic from http://shoes.about.com/od/hot_trends_shoe1...

The white boots were the first things that I saw. It was about 7 in the morning. Newtown was still quiet with a few joggers and passers-bye. They were white, stiletto heeled, sleek boots, about 14 cm high. The kind that The Pussycat Dolls would wear, or drag queens. Problem was, the wearer wasn’t a woman or a drag queen. He was an average and very normal looking guy. I put on my poker face and sat down on a bench near the bus stop. He was already sitting on the next bench. About a minute later he calmly took off the boots and put on a pair of sneakers. He sauntered away from the bus stop, leaving the kinky white boots on the bench, and a heck of lot of unanswered questions in my head.

They're Here!

2009-03-20T20:02:00.000-07:00

After living alone in this big empty house for over a month, the silence was finally broken. My mom arrived with my nephew would return to school very soon. My nieces came to visit almost every day, so suddenly the house came alive. No more wedging the door with a chair.

The second day my mom arrived, my nephew went to school, and I went to work. When I got home, Mom was lying on the sofa. She said she got locked out around lunch time. Before I left home in the morning, I warned her about the door. I showed her how to turn the lock so she wouldn’t get locked out. So of course she did. She opened the door to get the food boxes just outside the door. The wind blew and the door slammed shut. So she sat outside in her pajamas, in the hot afternoon sun, for about three hours. She got hungry but luckily she had the foodboxes with her. She was thirsty but was too proud to ask for water from the convenience store just next door. She was also desperate to pee…

On the third day my nephew called and asked if anybody was at home. I asked him why. He said he fell on the train during the trip home from school. It got quite bad so we took him to the doctor, and the next day to the hospital for an x-ray. His foot had been fractured and he needed a special boot.

Hmm... and to think that just a few weeks before I thought the silence would drive me crazy.

My Favorite Painting

2009-03-17T23:58:00.000-07:00

Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh.

Mbak D's Note

2009-01-20T23:06:00.000-08:00

I read this note on my friend's fb page. It's really touching, so here it is:

Children...the center of my being.
Today at 4:26am

Pagi tadi gedebukan kesana kemari (as usual) after a long weekend gak ke mandiga... Kebetulan musti ngeladenin tamu dari luar Mandiga.

Ehhhh...lihat sesosok manusia kecil lincah kesana kemari bawa makanan minumannya sendiri. Aaaahhhh... the little boy yang kemarin minum air aki ! He is BACK! Daaannn....just like what he was before! Aduh, Tuhan.. Terima Kasih.

He is healed, and (hopefully) with minimal problems in his intestines. Memang benar kayaknya, bahwa anak-anak spesial ini dilindungi malaikat ya?

Gak sempat berhandai-handai (kecuali sangat bersyukur bahwa Allah sekali lagi sudah membuktikan kebesaranNya), sudah harus ngeladenin tamu... Naaahhhh... in the middle of it, anakku sms:

Ikhsan: 'kapan teman belajar'
Aku: 'kamis 22 januari 2009'
I : laki laki perempuan
A: perempuan
I : cantik pintar
HALAAAAAHHHHHH....resek ah!
A: ikhsan tidak pilih teman
I: ikhsan mau pilih
A: tidak boleh pilih.
I: cantik pintar tidak berisik
A: Ikhsan tidak boleh pilih teman. Ibu marah.
I : harus pilih
A: (udah mulai bete) TIDAK HARUS.
I: pintar bahasa indonesia, matematika, fisika, biologi
(LHO? Ini nyari temen belajar atau cari guru, sih???)

A: Tidak pilih teman.
*lagi ngotot juga en lagi mode ngajak berantem anak remaja menyebalkan*

I: rumah cipinang harus pintar

HHhaaallllaaaaahhhhhh..... gak tahu dateng dari mana, rupanya dia punya persepsi bahwa "kalau di Mandiga itu, belajarnya masih yang gampang2, jadi kalau di rumah cipinang, sudah harus pintar".
Blagu banget sih?

Kayaknya dia nguping deh, sewaktu aku malem sebelumnya telpon gurunya untuk diskusi tentang materi belajar teman belajarnya itu. Nyebelin 'kan???
Ibunya diem aja lah mendingan. Puyeng.

On the other hand...terselip juga kebanggaan hati bahwa anakku yang autis ini, yang segera akan 18 tahun ini, punya kriteria:
- cantik saja, gak oke
- pintar saja, masih oke
- yang paling oke, pintar dan cantik
- tidak pintar? aaahhhh...males aaaahhhhhh

Hm.
Bagusnya merasa apa nih?
Bingung, senang, bangga, sebel, kesal, terpesona...

Well, life is full of choices.... I chose to be happy for him.
I'm surely amazed of God's creation....but bottomline, I'm just happy to have him with me.
I'm also very happy that I'm given the chance to be with children, as I love them so much... with all my heart.

Terima kasih Tuhan, atas karuniaMu dalam bentuk Ikhsan Priatama.

I love you, Ikhsan... just the way you are.

Crazy

2009-01-11T20:01:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday I was waiting for the bus at the bus stop and a crazy guy walked by. I don’t mean that he behaved like a crazy person. I mean he really is not sane, judging from the hair and clothing and the way he separates himself from the rest of the world. He walked slowly, step by hesitant step. He stopped. Stood like a statue and stared. Turned around. Walked. Turned around again. He was stick thin, unwashed, uncombed, and barefoot. He looked hungry. He checked out an empty Coca Cola bottle. He went into a bakery and went out empty handed. I felt so sorry for him. But I was also scared of crazy people in general. I wanted to give him some food. But what if he attacked me?

In the end I thought I’d feel very bad for the rest of the day if I didn’t do anything. So I went to the bakery and bought two croissants. I caught up with the guy and squeaked, “Bread?” He took it and I walked away. I felt quite proud of myself. I did something good that day. I got on the bus and we passed that spot again. The man was not there anymore, but there were two croissants and an empty plastic bag scattered on the side-walk. And two street cleaner promptly swept them off and threw them in the bin.

Home Alone

2009-01-11T19:38:00.000-08:00

It’s hard to believe that it’s been four weeks since I started house-sitting in Croydon. It’s a roomy 2-story townhouse. For me, who has all my life been surrounded by siblings, nieces and nephews, relatives near or far, it’s very difficult to be on my own in an empty house. It’s made worse because I work at home. I don’t have workplace friends. There were days when I didn’t see anybody or talk to anybody at all. That’s fine every once in a while, but when it’s on a regular basis on a long period of time, you’d get a bit of cabin fever. So whenever I found I’ve left something at my apartment, I pretended to grumble but then I happily went back to visit the apartment.

The first two weeks I couldn’t sleep soundly. I kept hearing creaks and sqeaks and thumps and I worried that somebody was trying to break in. Then one day while I was mopping the floor, the mop fell and made a loud noise. I thought, if I lean that mop stick on the door, like the old-wives-tale of using a broom to repell burglar, that would make a nice alarm system. But then, there are three doors and three windows downstairs. Which one do I booby-trap? All? Every night? That’s ridiculuous. I wish I were MacGyver. I went upstairs to my room to look for inspiration. A chair, a desk, a bed, a lamp post. Useless. But hey, the chair, the bed, the door. The bed, the chair, the door. That might work! I wedged the chair between the door and the bed. Nobody could enter without waking me up (theoretically) unless they enter from the window. But since the room is on the second floor, it’s rather unlikely (I hope). That night I slept like a baby for the first time in two weeks.

2008-12-24T03:15:00.000-08:00

2008-12-24T03:04:00.000-08:00

Blue Mountain Photos

2008-12-24T00:41:00.001-08:00

h/blue+mountain1.jpg">

pancake face

2008-12-24T00:39:00.001-08:00

My new second-hand furniture, revamped

2008-12-21T02:03:00.000-08:00

The furniture I picked off the sidewalk. The milk crates were stacked together and the chair gets a new dress.

Middle School

2008-12-02T02:11:00.000-08:00

Middle school is probably the most confused time in a person’s life. Well, mine was. As a proof, I never knew when to come back to school after a school holiday. And since we didn’t have a telephone, and I didn’t know my friends’ address, let alone how to get there, I usually just follow my big sister’s schedule, even though she was in high school and I was in middle school. Then there were the homework, uniform, school books, hats, ties, and all those mumbo-jumbo designed to confuse me even more. Did I ever wrote about the time I went to school a day BEFORE the test. The school was empty, of course.

Middle school was hell on Earth. I was so nervous all the time if somebody had shouted Boo! behind me I would have had a heart attack and died. And I couldn’t follow some of the subjects, like math and physics. I just followed the teacher’s movement and all I could hear was bla…bla…bla… Very often we were asked to do long exercises and I was bored, bored, bored. So I started to hum all the 80s top hits from the Billboard Top 40 list to entertain myself. A friend warned me that my humming was audible. What a kill-joy. The teachers never heard what I said when I spoke. How could they hear me hum? So when a teacher paced down the aisles, I stopped humming when he/she is within a meter away, then I continued again.

One day I found I could move my ears. I was highly amused. I showed off to all my family and friends. I thought I could hear better when I moved my ears, so I practiced in class, when the teachers are explaining the lessons. Left ear…right ear… both ears… and again…

My dear IKIP educated teachers, some of them really sucked, like the PE teacher who made me run until I threw up, or the craft teacher who called me monkey for coming late (I wish I had reported her to Mom. I’m sure Mom would have ‘taken care’ of her. Hehehe…). But most of them, I didn’t realize until today, were so kind and well-trained that they tolerated my antiques without so much as a blink.

Shadow

2008-11-22T15:29:00.000-08:00

What a pretty shadow. Especially when the trees outside make the shadow flicker.

Stress Test

2008-11-22T15:27:00.000-08:00

My client has a set of stress-test questions. It had been translated from English to Indonesian. My client has been asking me to try it, free of charge. But I don’t like to be told what to do and I don’t like people telling me about me, so I didn’t. I said no, no, no, like Amy Winehouse (a beautiful album, BTW). One day I had too much time on my hands and I answered the questions, out of curiosity.

The result, my graph, was shocking. There was a band in the middle of the paper to indicate normal. Mine was all below normal, accept aggressiveness (???). One of the score points sat smack bang at the bottom. Then I listened to the counselor, who was very nice and had a kind face and voice. It took about half an hour, more or less. He talked to me the way the nurses talked to me when they know I’ve had all those surgeries. All the things that he said was actually an interpretation of what I thought about myself. Somehow it was turned around and it became an interpretation of how life had been treating me. Ck...ck...ck... Am I really that depressed? So I came normal and left feeling very sorry for myself. Poor little depressed me hehehe...

Council Clean-Up Day

2008-11-22T15:26:00.000-08:00

I went downstairs this morning to throw the garbage out and found what I’ve been searching for since March... a bit old, but with straight back and perfect legs, standing on the footpath waiting just for me. I dropped the garbage and half dragged half carried it upstairs to my apartment before anyone else beat me to it. I went straight to the bathroom and I scrubbed away the dust and cobweb and a fresh bird poo on the seat. (Thank you, bird) Then I rolled it to the balcony and leave it to dry.

In case you haven’t guessed it, I was talking about an office chair with adjustable seat and back. For months I’ve had to be creative with the IKEA dining chair so I could work comfortably in front of the computer for hours. Suddenly somebody left an office chair front of the apartment building!

Later on I went out to go to the supermarket. On the way, I found stacks of empty milk crates. I was struck with an idea. I followed my ant instinct and carried two red crates back home. I scrubbed and dried them. Then I stacked them sideways and secured some parts where the two crates met, et voila! A very modern looking bookshelf!

Don’t you just love council clean-up day. That’s the day when people put things they no longer want or need by the side of the road. Most of the time the items are too broken to be used, but God has been kind today and has given me two things that I really need.

Botanical Garden - Trees

2008-11-19T18:11:00.000-08:00

Botanical Garden - Flowers

2008-11-19T18:09:00.001-08:00

My Neighbour's Roses (((:

2008-11-19T18:05:00.000-08:00

Photoshopped pula!

Power Failure

2008-11-10T22:40:00.000-08:00

It was almost 10 when I arrived at the station. It was a beautiful clear night. The wind was gentle and the air was filled with the fragrance of the star jasmines from the side of the road. Unlike Jakarta, where the lights are on in every house every night to keep burglars away, here it’s mostly dark everywhere, except for the small lights here and there, and from the treet lamps. I was reminded of lights outs in my home town. Some people complained about power failures. Here people make a big fuss if there is a power failure. It would be on the front page of the newspaper and in the news on every channel. But we always had candles at home. And I always enjoyed the few hours without electricity. It was quiet. No hum from the fridge and the neon lights. No noise from the tv and radio. We left our rooms and gathered in the living room and watched the candle burn. We chatted with each other. We told stories. Sometimes I sang to fill the time. I was the only one amongst my sibling who sang (I wasn’t a good singer, but I didn’t care). After an hour or so, the power was back on. The living room was flooded with light and we had to squint to keep from going blind (or so it felt). Everybody cheered. We blew the candles happily, as if blowing birthday candles. Then the tv was turned on again. And the fridge hummed again. The group dispersed and everybody went back to doing their own things, by themselves.
I know that electricity is crucial for hospitals and people at home with life-saving electrical equipment. But maybe, those who can should turn the power off at their homes every once in a while and gather in the living room to chat and watch the candle burn. It’s just one of the best times you could have with your family.

Monday Class

2008-11-10T22:39:00.000-08:00

Every Monday my classmates and I know we are going to face a very grumpy teacher. She’s actually a nice lady, our teacher. She’s very energetic and she teaches us with gusto. But she’s not patient enough for our silly mistakes or our excuses. And since most of the students are over thirty, and some never use a word processor in their lives, sparks always fly around the room as Ms Wong unleashes her inner tigress. To give you a yardstick, some of us type 10 letters per minute, with mistakes. So you can understand if Ms Wong is sometimes frustrated with us.

The situation got worse when her husband fell sick. She’s a brave lady and she continues teaching, but she got grumpier and grumpier every week. And there is one particular student who kept on being scolded. Her name is Flo. She runs and owns a company so there’s no doubt in my mind that she is a very competent person. She’s just hopeless at typing. She almost cried during one of the sessions. Ms Wong almost cried too because she was so frustrated.

Last week was particularly bad, and everybody got scolded for making the smallest mistakes. It was getting almost unbearable. So we talked to each other about it, and on Saturday we talked to another teacher. And during the weekend I kept thinking, how can we talk to Ms Wong about this? Nobody wanted to or dared to report her. Standing up to her was unthinkable. It’s like standing up to a tigress. I thought, if she’s still grumpy, I’ll just walk out of the class.

On Monday, Ms Wong was surprisingly nice. And some time during the lesson she apologised to us. She said, “I was under a lot of pressure to finish the book, and my husband is dying.” It’s pancreatic cancer, stadium four. I felt so sorry for her I had to look away. So we all tried to be nice to her that evening.

But as my friend said, a leopard cannot shed her spots. Ms Wong really tried. We could see it. You know, like when you are just starting to say nasty things then you remember that you have to be nice and you swallow your anger. That was her. Still, it was much better than last week. Unfortunately for poor Flo, her mistakes were beyond Ms Wong’s tolerance. In the beginning Ms Wong tried to be patient with her, but after a while it’s business as usual and sparks flew, unfortunately, at Flo, and almost exclusively at Flo. She left the class early.

Perfect Match

2008-11-03T19:48:00.000-08:00

What do you do if you had a left over lodeh and a left over korean BBQ squid? Put them both on a plate of rice and enjoy, of course ((((: Yum! I think I've just found a perfect match for nasi uduk, all the way from Korea.

2008-11-03T19:44:00.000-08:00

One of the weirdest days of my life. I went to NAATI to cancel my test. I couldn’t cope with the note-taking. It would cost me money so I was trying to see if there was another way. I came in the morning but the PIC wasn’t available. Another staff talked to me and she was very friendly and she was positive they could work something out. When I returned in the afternoon, the PIC greeted me with a kungfu stance. Before she opened her mouth I could tell that she was just looking for somebody to vent her anger and frustration, whatever and whoever had originally caused it. So needless to say, my effort failed and I had to pay the penalty, and had to endure some very illogical rant from the PIC about the admin trouble that she had to go through because of me. Yeah, right. I was an administrator in a language school. Been there, done that.

I took the lift on my way out and met the kungfu lady again just outside the lift. She smiled a little. Maybe she regretted being so mean to a customer. Maybe she was afraid I would file a complaint. Anyway, NAATI, your staff sucks. Let me make that clearer, NAATI, YOUR STAFF SUCKS!!!

From there I went to the org to pick up some documents to be proofread. Surprise, surprise... It wasn’t there. Somebody had sent it to the wrong address. It took them half an hour to get to that conclusion. I left thinking, what a shitty day and started the long walk to my computer class in Central. But outside the org the wind was fresh and I felt a sense of well-being (???). I was alternately happy and upset, like a traffic light. Here was my train of thought: What a wonderful weather! Nasty bitch. I love the feel of the wind against my face and body. Stupid test. I feel great! They’d better deliver the file to me. Etc...etc...

There was another surprise when I arrived at the school. A friend returned to the class. He had been absent for over a month. His brother passed away and he went back to his home country to attend the funeral and stuff. I informed the teacher about this in writing, but apparently she forgot. She greeted my friend with,”Hello, where have you been? You went on a holiday, did you?”............long uncomfortable silence...................as us students looked at each other, not knowing what to say. We’ll just have to explain that later to her.

During the class, a person from the org called and said she would deliver the missing file to Central station. I had never met her. She told me she was Japanese, very tall, and she was wearing a white shirt and trousers. Her name is Hiroko. After class I rushed to the station to meet her. Just outside the station an Asian girl in white shirt and trousers smiled at me and said, “Excuse me...” Without thinking, I blurted out, “Hiroko?” She looked really surprised. “Yes!” and “Would you like to buy a chocolate bar? The money would be used to build a school in the Solomon Island.” Now I am surprised. I looked at her badge. Yes, her name was indeed Hiroko, but not the Hiroko I was looking for. I apologised and said I was in a hurry, and maybe next time. What are the odds that something like that could happen?

Anyway, in the end I found the right Hiroko, got the file, and went home. Yeeeah, some days are like this.

The Bird Feeder

2008-10-23T03:18:00.000-07:00

I received this email a couple of weeks ago. Read it and then compare your opinion with his/hers and with mine.

THE BIRD FEEDER SYNDROME-A SURVIVAL THOUGHT FOR TODAY

I bought a bird feeder. I hung it on my back porch and filled it with seed. What a beauty of a bird feeder it is, as I filled it lovingly with seed. Within a week we had hundreds of birds taking advantage of the continuous flow of free and easily accessible food.

But then the birds started building nests in the boards of the patio, above the table,and next to the barbecue. Then came the poop. It was everywhere: on the patio tile,the chairs, the table .. everywhere! Then some of the birds turned mean. They would dive bomb me and try to peck me even though I had fed them out of my own pocket.

And others birds were boisterous and loud. They sat on the feeder and squawked and screamed at all hours of the day and night and demanded that I fill it when it got low on food.

After a while, I couldn't even sit on my own back porch anymore. So I took down the bird feeder and in three days the birds were gone. I cleaned up their mess and took down the many nests they had built all over the patio. Soon, the back yard was like it used to be.... quiet, serene and no one demanding their rights to a free meal.

Now let's see.

Our government gives out free food, subsidized housing,free medical care, and free education and allows anyone born here to be an automatic citizen.

Then the illegals came by the tens of thousands. Suddenly our taxes went up to pay for free services; small apartments are housing 5 families; you have to wait 6 hours to be seen by an emergency room doctor; your child's 2nd grade class is behind other schools because over half the class doesn't speak English.

Corn Flakes now come in a bilingual box; I have to 'press one' to hear my bank talk to me in English, and people waving flags other than 'Our own' are squawking and screaming in the streets, demanding more rights and free liberties.

Just my opinion, but maybe it's time for the government to take down the bird feeder.

If you agree, pass it on; if not, continue cleaning up the poop!

That’s the writer’s opinion. Here’s mine.

First of all, taking things literally, I think the writer shouldn’t have fed the wild birds anyway. They are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves and feeding them leads to over population and aggressive behaviour, as was what happened in the story.

Great analogy, but I think the writer is wrong about the moral of the story. What makes him think he is feeding the migrants just because he pays tax? Migrants pay tax too. He is just one of the birds, and the country, not HIM, is the owner of the garden, who fed the birds. And for me, the moral of the story is people living together should try to get along, whatever kinds of feather they have. They shouldn’t squabble and blame each other for hardship and problems. They should take care of the place they live in and not shit around in it. They shouldn’t attack people who are kind to them and take care of them. If the birds had done this, they would’ve still enjoyed free food won’t they?

60 kilo mark

2008-10-19T02:19:00.000-07:00

When I was in highschool, a very skinny boy called me ‘living skeleton’. He obviously wasn’t familiar with the pot calling the kettle black proverb, or maybe was delusional. But I’m not going to talk about him. Last week I stepped on the scale and found I’ve passed the 60 k mark. Yeeey! I guess I’m no longer a living skeleton. Unfortunately, my weigh is mainly alocated to my hips and stomach (and maybe my hair). So picture this, long skinny arms and fingers, long neck, big stomach, flat chest, big feet, short forehead, big hair. Who do you see? I see a female ET. Aaaaaaaagh!!!!

And today I put on one of my pair of jeans before I went to buy groceries. It was hard to button. I almost suffocated. Walking was horrible, like in an armour. I’m sure I looked more constipated with every step. Just because I was too lazy to go back to change.

I will have to buy a new pair of jeans.

Bahasaku

2008-10-01T01:49:00.000-07:00

When I was teaching in Jakarta I also moonlighted as a translator. Since nobody ever gave me feedback on my translations, I was pretty confident about my Indonesian language competence. I felt superior when I compared myself to other Medan Chinese Indonesian, languagewise. After all, Indonesian is my mother tongue. And I was born in Medan, the homeland and source of bahasa Melayu (Indonesian, not Malaysian), which is the root of Indonesian language. Moreover, my adoptive relatives from Mom’s side are mostly Malayus. So when I was offered an editing/proofreading job, I quite confidently took it on. My employer happened to be Chinese Indonesian, but she moved to the US when she was 11 and went to school there. She does not speak BI very well, but unfortunately (or fortunately) she consulted KBBI (The Official Indonesian Language Dictionary) a lot. And so she gave me feedback. And from there I realized how little I know of my own language (Hey, it’s MY language, and I AM native, I was born there. I’m not indigenous, and neither are you, unless you come from one of the aboriginal tribes, who are still living in the forests now. Yes, I am, even though the Indonesian government never granted my application for citizenship, for which I’m still feeling hateful, spiteful, vengeful, as you can tell from my tone here.)
Here are some examples:
Which one is correct, dimana or di mana? Kedua or ke dua? 1960an or 1060-an? Mahluk or makhluk? Apapun or apa pun? Bagaimanapun or bagaimana pun?
Did you know that the relative clause with dimana/di mana does not exist in BI? This construction gave me a heck of a headache when I edited the texts.
And then there is a whole bunch of exceptions, such as: mukjizat, but kemujizatan. Where did ‘k’ go? Menyejajarkan, but penjajaran, not penyejajaran. Why??? Mengontrol (‘k’ disapearred), but mengklasifikasikan (‘k’ is kept). ???
There are also the choice between ‘s’ and ‘k’ endings: organis/organik, neurotis/neurotik, somatis/somatik.
My goodness, if there were such a thing as TOIL (Test of Indonesian Language), which I think there is, I don’t know how much I would score. That’s why I’m searching for the holy book of Indonesian grammar: Tata Bahasa Baku Bahasa Indonesia. I found a book here by one of BI expert (Chaer), but it costs about four times the price in Indo, so I refused to buy it. I’ve just borrowed a book from the library: Indonesian Reference Grammar, by James Neil Sneddon, and he’s not even Indonesian! So far, I’m up to Chapter 1, and I might as well be learning Martian grammar. I understand the examples, but the rules are completely alien to me (not Mr. Sneddon’s fault, I’m just completely ignorant). So, hat’s up to all the BI experts out there, native and non-native speakers. I hope you will write more BI grammar books, so I could buy a cheaper one.

My Rambling

2008-10-01T01:37:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago there was another shocking case of student shooting in Finland. The photo of the shooter was posted in the media. I looked at his face, his clothes, his hair and I couldn’t find anything to distinguish him from the boy next door. Normal hair cut, average looking face, no missing or crippled limb, he didn’t have a stutter or a funny voice. Nothing. He didn’t look dirt poor either. What was his problem? Why did he hate the world and Mankind?
Just now there was a news report about the return of Aussie’s Paralympic team. Each and every one of them has a disability. Yet they all looked happy, confident, proud to have contributed something to their country, and most importantly they are not homicidal-suicidal.
I’ve read somewhere that a person’s disposition isn’t determined by what they had gone through in life. A Tigger would be a Tigger in a hardship. An Eeyore would still be an Eeyore after winning Lotto. This seems true.
Then there is a strange social-role phenomenon. Look around a room full of people and you can always find somebody that you like the least, even if you basically liked everyone. Look at Big Brother’s House. After they get rid of the most annoying person of the week, they always find somebody else to take the place as the next most annoying person. When a leader of a group goes away, another person would naturally take the place. Whether he/she is a good leader or not is a different thing. But there is always a particular role in a group and somebody is always assigned that role, willing or not. Have you ever seen the girls in America’s Next Top Model and choose one as the ugliest? Isn’t that crazy? My point is, the normal looking shooter guy may have been assigned as something by his group, or himself. We don’t know what role his environment or himself assigns him. We just know he must be very unhappy about it.
And then there is the law of relativity. What is hardship, bliss? According to whom? What makes a person happy, angry, sad? When I was in the third grade, a friend gave me a marble. Then my friend lost a game and she asked me to give the marble back. When I got home I went to my room and cried my eyes out. Does it make sense to you? My brother heard my sobs and asked me why I cried. I told him a friend gave me a marble and then took it back. He didn’t understand either. You see, I had moved from two schools before, four houses, moved to Malaysia and back again. I never stayed in one place long enough to develop friendship. To me the marble was a token of friendship, so I was really touched by the gift. It wasn’t just a round glass thing to play with for me. It was so much more. That’s relativity. Next time you see kids fighting over a toy, remember, it’s not just a car, a dinousaurus or a red spade or a blue spade. There’s always something else.
Going back to the shooter, who knows what his marble was. There was an Aussie actor who committed suicide recently. He was young, good looking, starred in a popular TV drama, popular among his friends. What’s his marble? I wouldn’t understand even if they explained it. I don’t have any sympathy towards the shooter, or the actor. They had their own reason and reasoning. Hitler had his reasons and reasoning. Genocide must have been very logical to him. I’m beginning to ramble here so I will stop. I guess what I’m trying to say is, if there is a person at the office or in the family circle that you find annoying, maybe they’re not really annoying. Maybe you just assign them the role of VIP (Very Annoying Person). If that person moves away, most probably you will find another person to hate. Lastly, there is always a reason, even in madness. What is logical to you may not be logical to other people. If you sometimes think, “Why is he so unreasonable?” think again. And if you’ve said “I understand,” most probably, you don’t. You’re just saying that to make them feel better. And if you're feeling miserable, and you’re blaming your fate, your job, your boyfriend, your mother-in-law, your pet, they may not be the reason at all. Maybe you are miserable by nature (harharharhar!-Pirate laugh).

Stingy

2008-09-11T03:25:00.000-07:00

Mom always says that I’m stingy. Her actual word is thrifty, but I know she means stingy. Sometimes she calls me stingy without even saying the word. Well, whose fault is it anyway? When I was in elementary school, who gave me a meagre pocket money? Who never allowed me to buy anything from the school canteen? Who, every month or so, said that she needed money and would be very happy if I could help her? (Like a good little moron that I was, I gave my savings to her. Shame on you, Mom. Tsk...tsk...tsk...)
She was right, though. I am thrifty. Borderline stingy. More and more so. My motto on books is, Never buy what you can borrow. If you can’t borrow, buy second hand. And since I came to Sydney, I’ve grown from books to many other second hand things. The first one was a reading lamp ($6). Then a CPU tower ($ a hundred something). Then a hat ($3). Yes, I was worried about lice, so I soaked it for several hours in detergent. And more books (Adrian Moles Diary (60 cents)). But my biggest testament of stinginess is a coffee table that I picked up from the side of the road nearby. Hey, it was in good condition and the owner didn’t want it anymore (I asked, hehehe…). It is now sitting proudly in the living room, with the $6 reading lamp perched on in. Hmm… I think the lamp is a bit overpriced.

For Yani

2008-09-04T00:03:00.000-07:00

(Image from Wikipedia)

Before I knew Yani better, there was an incident about her that I remember. We had a very strict new coordinator. Yani was working in admin downstairs. One day she made a mistake, and our boss went down to reprimand her. I must admit, our boss could be a dragon lady at times. I don’t know what was said to Yani, but upstairs we heard that she fainted during or after the encounter. Later we found out that she was born with a heart defect.

When Yani moved upstairs, I got to see the real Yani. She was always cheerful. Always had a big smile on her face. When she spoke it was always with a childlike expression and enthusiasm.

Yani shared a story with us. She and her husband had been trying to have a child for several years. Since the office consisted of moms and grandmoms, they eagerly gave her all kinds of advice. Some serious ones and some very funny ones which I can’t repeat here for the adult content of the advice. I was actually a little worried because of her heart problem, but she surprised us all. A few months later she declared that she was pregnant. I don’t know which advice was accountable for that. But the mommies teased her endlessly about it.

The pregnancy went smoothly and months later we visited Yani at hospital where she gave birth to a healthy, cute baby.

That was the last thing I remember about her. She moved to another branch, and I moved to Sydney. More than three years passed. Then a friend told me that Yani had cancer. That it had already reached stage three. That she was skin and bone and hollow cheeks. And today Yani passed away. I remember her as young and full of life and courageous and that’s the way I will always remember her.

Religion

2008-08-23T23:06:00.000-07:00

Men and women of religion. I’m afraid I haven’t had much luck with them. From the nun who slapped my kindergarten friend around and out of the class (I wonder how many of us in the class had been traumatized by that incident), to another nun who neglected to record the school fee that I gave to her (during high school, while my father was suffering from stroke), to my accounting teacher (same school) who made me make a name sign for his church (aluminium and plywood, he said. I was a high school kid, how on earth was I supposed to do that?), to the headmaster who slapped my friend in the face with a bible, for skipping mass. My friend was a very nice girl, a star student, for goodness sake.

If that wasn’t enough, add some hate sermon at the mosque. Add a charity group who refused to help a family because they were not Moslems. Add the priest who molested school children, and is now still free. The church has not even acknowledged the problem (one of the girls committed suicide. The parents came all the way from England to talk to the Pope, while he was in Sydney, but they didn’t get to talk to him). Add terrorist groups. Add the Spanish Inquisition. Add witch hunts. You’d think religion is definitely worse than an asylum.

Unfortunately for me, I am now working for a religious organization. This is a more contemporary religion compared to Islam or Christian or Hinduism or Buddhism. So you’d expect something different, right? Wrong. It seems that there is something about faith that makes people a bit nuts, no matter which God they serve. I realized this when my employer called me and used all the manipulation technique in the book to make me accept something that I didn’t want to accept, and when I complained the next day, she denied saying what she said. I never expected to deal with Mother Theresa. But really, I was expecting something much better than that.

I’d like to think of myself as a peaceful person. I don’t like to quarrel, and I don’t like to see people quarrel. Whenever my hot-headed family members fight each other, I usually grabbed my shoes and walked out of the house. When I return, normally the fight is over. But some people just get on my nerves. They could not open their mouth without offending me. Unfortunately for me, some of these people are my bosses. I was still angry at my current employer for bullying me into accepting something that I didn’t want. I was also still angry because she didn’t keep her word. In our initial agreement, she told me that there is no time limit, and I could take my time to finish the project. Then suddenly she started counting the pages that I finished, and started sending me emails that said you have to finish this much pages per day. I was maaad. On the day I submitted the work she called again and complained about something that we had agreed on before anyway. I was reaaally maaaad. So my grumpiest bear-voice came out and I didn’t let her finish one sentence.

Later on I calmed down and it dawned on me that I was rude to a client. And that’s not good for business. What to do? Apologize, of course. For being rude only, because it’s wrong to be rude. Her memory loss is her own problem, not mine. Guess what, she said it’s ok and she blamed it on my reactive mind (this is a religious term, meaning I was reacting based on a bad experience in my past, so I wasn’t actually responsible). I don’t know about that. But I know I felt much better after my grump-fest. Venting felt wonderful and I felt ready to go on with the next project.

Computer Class 3

2008-08-23T23:02:00.000-07:00

On the third day of the program, another interesting person turned up. He was wearing a dark suit, a trendy, light one. The kind guys wear to go to the clubs on Saturday night. His hair was slick with gel, and he was wearing sunglasses, in the classroom. The glasses looked more like goggles because they covered the eyes completely, even from the sides of his face. The teacher told us his eyes were sore.

This new student, let’s just say his name is John, was very enthusiastic in class. He responded to almost all of the teacher’s statements. then there was a part about workplace safety, and the teacher showed a picture of a monkey throwing a banana peel on the floor. John piped in, “My wife was a monkey. She was stupid. That’s why we got a divorce.” The teacher looked at her notes and said, ”We didn’t need to hear that, John.” Then she added jokingly, “It could be harmful to our psychological health.” The class laughed.

During the break we went down the elevator together. “I’m a computer genius,” said John. “Really?” I asked. “Yes, but not the usual kind. I’m a code-breaker.” I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I kept my mouth shut and smiled politely.

After the break we returned to class. A few minutes later John went out and leaned his forehead against the wall. We could all see him, by the way. The teacher pretended not to notice and continued with the lesson. After about ten minutes, John returned to his seat.

I know people came to the class for different reasons. Most of us want to improve our computer skills. Other people, like John and the guy-with-the-dog-in-the-shopping-bag, who knows what they are looking for. Attention? Friends? Sympathy? Escape? The teacher may seem cold and uncaring, but these guys are looking for help in the wrong place. And if the teacher listened to the stories of their lives, the rest of us will get nothing in the end. Still, I feel sorry for these guys. Aliens would probably fit in more easily than them.

The Computer Class 2

2008-08-23T22:48:00.000-07:00

Back to the first day, about an hour after the class started a man came to the class. He apologized for being late, and was explaining that he couldn’t find the building. The teacher sensed that it was going to be a long one, so she asked him to take a seat. The man was carrying a green supermarket shopping bag. The kind you carry whenever you go to the super market, if you can remember to. We were surprised to see the content of the bag. It was a little dog! The dog was sitting calmly and patiently. The man said that he had permission to bring the dog to class. The class continued.

At some point during the class, the man could not follow the lesson. He tried to explain why to the teacher. Again the teacher said “It’s ok” and continued the lesson. The man showed up a few times after that, and then stopped coming at all.

My Computer Class 1

2008-08-23T22:44:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I started going to a computer course at a government supported school. The first person that I noticed before we went into the class was an Indian lady. She’s middle-aged and has short hair. She didn’t look very friendly. A few sessions later we net in the elevator. I asked her where she is from. She gave me three guesses. Three guesses? Ok.. That means India is obviously out of the question. She doesn’t look Pakistani, so that’s out of the question too. So I asked, “Sri Lanka?”
“No.”
Not Sri Lanka. I tried to remember what other Indian-ish are there out there. I remember my friend Michelle, so I asked, “Goa?”
She looked really surprised. “How do you know? Most people have never even heard of Goa! Is it my name?”
I have no idea what Goa’s people’s names are supposed to be. Lucky guess, but she was really impressed hehehe…

Blank

2008-07-30T03:05:00.000-07:00

Do you believe in karma, fate, destiny, signs, etc. etc.?
This morning I woke up thinking, “I’m sure Maggie’s boss will call me today.” Just because I wouldn’t be able to teach. I have a job interview. Guess what? She did call.

This was the third time she called, and the third time I had to say no. The first time, I was in Melbourne. The second time, my cell phone was in silent mode. I blamed it on my TAFE typing instructor who asked us to turn off our phones the night before. (Of course it’s my fault that I forgot to turn the sound back on, but I’d rather blame her.) The third time was as I mentioned before.

I was at the station when she called. I told her the truth. I had a job interview. Then I thought, “Why on earth did I tell her that? Why didn’t I just lie, for goodness sake.” Now she would think that I was bragging, or that I didn’t want the job and she would never call me again. I continued walking and cursing myself until I realized that I didn’t know where I was. The police station that I was supposed to go to was nowhere in sight. (I went there just last night) I tried to remember the turns that I took after the train station but I couldn’t. the last thing I remembered was pushing the crossing button. There was a blank space from there to the poster of Andy Lau on a shop’s window several minutes later. What happened during those blank space?

There was another incident a couple of weeks ago. I was on my way home from the train station. A girl asked me for directions to Bunnings Warehouse. I ouldn’t help her because, as you know, I have no sense of direction. I was deep in thought, trying to figure out where it was (I’ve passed it a million times). I crossed the small street. Out of nowhere there was a loud honk. I almost got hit by a car. I usually make sure the road is clear when I crossed. How come I didn’t see the car? Where was I during the blank seconds? I’ve been forgetful and absent minded all my life. This is why I can’t work with lists of numbers. Why I refuse to drive. I usually laughed my absent-mindedness away, but maybe it’s more serious than I thought. These incidents are signs to me. Snapshots of years to come. In a way I’m glad I have this blog. It’s for, you know, just in case those blank spaces expand and took over. At least my family and friends have this to remember me.

So, what’s all this got to do with the phone calls? I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.

Croissant

2008-07-30T03:04:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, Maggie asked me to stand in for her at the language school. When I got there, there were two students. One was Thai, the other was Vietnamese. The Vietnamese was a brand new student, fresh from his home country, with almost no English. I found myself repeating lots of words and trying to make sense of what he said. Then I noticed he was saying something familiar. Qu’es que c’est a dire? He spoke French! From then on I began to understand what he was trying to say or ask. That was the first time that my elementary French was put into use.

During the break he asked me to have coffee with him, so I did. I refused his offer to buy me coffee but he bought me a croissant and a custard cake anyway. He puts them on the table, placed two fingers on the croissant and said, ”Hot. Eat. Hot.” I was eating my scone, so I said, “Thank you. Yes, after this.” He touched the croissant again and repeated, “Hot. Eat.” ((((((:

There was a short period in my life when I refused to eat the chicken-congee-on-bicycle, because I saw the seller break the krupuk and sprinkle the fried shallot with his bare hands. The same hands he used to handle money and gripped the handle bars of his bike. After a while, gluttony took over and I said to myself, “Heck, I didn’t get sick eating the congee all this time. Why should I stop now?”

It’s the same case with the croissant. If I didn’t eat it, I might offend the kind student. I didn’t know what the fingers had touched since morning. But what’s the worst that could happen? I put away my scone (so he wouldn’t touch the croissant again) and ate the nice, warm, crispy croissant. Yum!

Melbourne, Tuesday

2008-07-11T17:42:00.001-07:00

This was our last day in Melbourne. We thanked our hosts and left. The girls decided to visit Melbourne University. It had been the only sunny day so far so I went to the Botanical Gardens instead. I must have been crazy because I had my Bandung suitcase with me. I dragged it around the garden. One hand on the handle, the other on a map and the camera. The garden looked so much better than it was a few days ago, when it was cloudy and miserably cold. I stopped to look around me (and to catch my breath, the footpaths were not suitcase-wheel friendly) and thought of a friend who also love trees and plants in general, and a few minutes later she called me!

From the gardens I went to Melbourne Museum to meet the girls. I thought history repeated itself when we got to the counter and saw a children everywhere (a few months ago I went to Sea World Jakarta and found the place crawling with children. It turned out there was a Jakarta-wide competition for kindergarten students. I think me and my friends were quite traumatised by the experience). It was a huge relieve to find the parents were there with the children, and everybody was well-behaved. It was an even bigger relieve to find out that there was a dinosaurus exhibition and that was where most of those kids were heading. We left out suitcases at the bag counter and started to look around. In one section of the museum there was a Body and Mind exhibition. No photos should be taken in this section. First, there was a plaster cast of the remains of two girls from Pompeii. This is how they got the cast. When the volcano erupted, the moist dust encased the bodies of people who died. This moist dust hardened like a shell around the body. The body withered away but the shell remained intact. When archeologist found these empty shells they filled the shells with plaster. When the plaster dried, we got the statue like shapes.
Going back to why no photos should be taken, there were big posters on naked people of many ages and races. There were life-like statues of naked people too. They weren't in provocative poses so it was't pornographic. Then there was a section of disection. Body tissue, brain, internal organs, bones, ... began to feel queezy so I went out. I don't know how people could hang around in there. Those things came from PEOPLE, people!!! I took a photo of a dinosaurus' skeleton instead.

Melbourne, Monday

2008-07-11T17:39:00.001-07:00

Next on the agenda was Sovereign Hill in Ballarat. Sovereign Hill is a replica of a gold-mining town. It had one real ex-gold mine underground, which we explored, with a guide. Outside there was a small stream where children tried panning gold.

Melbourne, Sunday

2008-07-11T17:37:00.000-07:00

Next was Brighton and the colourful bath houses.

Then the graffitty alleys.

Mebourne, Saturday

2008-07-07T04:19:00.000-07:00

On Saturday each of us had our own activities. I preferred to explore the city so I did. I went through Chinatown and visited the Chinese Museum.

Found a wonderful little cake shop and bought a slice of mudcake. Took trams arcoss the city and ended the day in a Japanese resto. That wasn't really the end, though. Dhena joined me at the resto and before heading back we took some photo of the Yarra River at night.

Melbourne, Thursday and Friday

2008-07-06T04:29:00.000-07:00

We bought a weekly ticket at Seven Eleven and walked to a tram stop. My made-in-Bandung suitcase was as unsteady as ever and it turned over everytime I tried to walk faster, and gave me a lot of problems when crossing the street. At one point my hat got blown away by a monster gust of wind. Ira ran after it half-way across the street. A truck came and the wheels ran over my poor hat, twice. Don't worry. The hat survived. Ira was also unharmed. After that I only put it on when it wasn't too windy.

We took a tram to Ira's relative's apartment and spent the day exploring the city.

The next day Dhena arrived. We packed some lunch and took a train to the Dandenong Ranges. Most people come to Dandenong in private cars or tour coaches. They usually take Puffing Billy (a steam train) to see the forest reserves. We, on the other hand, decided to leg it. So we asked around and then took a bus. We got of, had lunch in a small resto and asked for directions again. We found a guy with long hair (never trust a guy with long hair (I'm being racist here)) and he was very helpful with a lot of hand gestures. I wondered if he knew we didn't travel by car, so I told him. He was stunned. "Anyway", he said, "just follow the road and be careful of the cars."
We continued walking, turned around after a few meters, found a map ("Hey, we're not very far from the reserve!"), asked somebody again ("Sorry, I don't live around here. I live at the foot of the mountain. But there's a path just behind this school. I'm quite sure it leads to a bush-walking trail.") We followed his directions and found a picnic area full of tame birds.

From there we found a small gate where the bush-walking trail started. We walked through fern gullies, crossed small bridges, uphill, downhill. I'm really a big fan of workout. Lucky for me, Ira and Dhena often stopped to take photos. Still, I huffed and puffed and sweated waterfalls. It was very green and peacefull in the reserves but I was very glad when we finally finished.

I was really surprised that Ira and Dhena planned to go to Hard Rock Cafe to buy some souvenirs afterward. I definitely declined and went straight back to the apartment.

Melbourne, Thursday

2008-07-06T03:55:00.000-07:00

The five-day-trip started at 5:10 a.m. with a call from my sis. I haven't taken a shower so I just changed clothes and carried my suitcase down to the car. We picked Ira up and arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare. We got on the plane and found our seats. Ira continued her sleep. As the plane took off the air pressure increased and a toddler behind us started to cry. (I'm just guessing that it was the air pressure.) She cried on and off, depending on the parents' techniques to get her to quiet down. Then another tolddler a few seats in front of us fell off the seat and started crying too. When I said 'cry' I meant the high pitched, maximum power, straight-from-the-diaphragm wails. These wails upset a baby somewhere and it started to cry too. The cabin was like a childcare center on a bad day. Thank God it was only 75 minutes. We arrived safely to a cloudy, windy and chilly Melbourne. That was how it would continue for the rest of the trip, except the last day.

Koala

2008-07-04T02:20:00.001-07:00

Reckless

2008-06-23T21:38:00.000-07:00

Another reason why I haven’t written for a while was a job that I did. I did some proofreading a while back and the next step was updating the documents. Updating means making sure that the comments during proofreading has been entered. It took me two weeks to do the update check. I finished last week and I was very happy. During the two weeks I also went for and interview and took a translation test. It was crazy. The interview was done by a panel of three. It was nerve-wrecking. I didn’t do very well but not very badly either. They promised to contact me in couple of weeks. The interview was on June 10th . It’s been a little over two weeks so I have very little hope at this point.

Two days after the interview I took the translation test. It started at 9:30 in the morning and finished at 12:00. I started to feel hungry at 11:00. My tummy growled and grunted and made all kinds of very scary and very loud noises. Good thing I was alone in the room and there was no one to supervise me. The walls were pretty thin, though. I think the people the next room was probably wondering what kind of wild animal was in the room with me. The next day I woke up with a horrible tummy pain. The late lunches and stress had taken their toll. I took some Mylantas and bought a packet of digestive biscuits. I actually love digestive biscuits, I demolished several packets in a matter of days, just as snacks, with the excuse, “I shouldn’t leave my stomach empty for too long.” The pain had gone, but I stocked up on the biscuits anyway just in case.

Then I went for a very dodgy interview. Dodgy because I don’t even know when the job is going to start. Maybe in two-months time, maybe never. The story is that somebody is starting a new language school. He is Pakistani and funnily reminded me of my old boss in terms of looks, except that he has a very nice set of white teeth. He needs a teacher/coordinator as part of the requirement to get accreditation for the school. My friend introduced me to the boss of his friend who then introduced me to this guy. To make the story short, the owner (the Pakistani guy) will continue completing the requirements and I can pull out or continue anytime I want. The problem is, of course, there are no students yet, no books, no accreditation, nothing. But hey, it’s not like I’m swamped with work at the moment, so I said yes to something that may of may not happen.

Stubborness

2008-06-23T20:42:00.000-07:00

A friend complained recently that she kept seeing the indoor pool entry when she visited this blog; that means I haven’t written a new entry for a long, long time (: The reason for this was that my old computer had crashed again, for the millionth time. My niece is fed up with reformatting and reinstalling the programs so the poor old thing has been left in the comatic state for about a month.

I had been hunting for a cheap CPU tower for weeks, when I finally found the cheapest so far, $110 for a second hand Acer, a few days ago. The seller lives in South Coogee. That means a train ride to the city, a bus ride, and a 700 m walk to his house. I considered taking a suitcase to carry the tower back, but the only one in the apartment is so big I could fit in it comfortably. I considered the small shopping trolley that we have, but after a careful look, I found it too small. I rummaged around and found a doona bag. The size seemed perfect, so I chose the doona bag to take with me.

The address was easy enough to find. I arrived without much drama. The seller showed me the tower. I paid. He put the tower in the bag - it fit perfectly - wished me luck, and I started the journey home. Of course I expected a CPU tower to be heavy. I also expected myself to be as strong as Xena. I was right about the weigh. And I was wrong about Xena. I carried the bag for about twenty meters and had to put it down. I thought about taking a taxi. Then I thought, I’ll take a taxi at Central to save money. I took a deep breath and continued. I stopped again after twenty meters and changed the way I carried the bag. I continued again for twenty meters, stopped, continued, stopped to answer a phone call, continued and so on until I reached the bus stop. I thanked God because it was a downhill trip instead of uphill. Then I remembered that the walk home from the train station would definitely be uphill and I was more determined to take a taxi. I suddenly also appreciated the shopping trolleys that people took from the supermarket and left in the streets. If I couldn’t get a taxi, I prayed I would find one of these trolleys that I used to mentally complain about.

I got on the bus. It was so comfortable after lugging that bag that I didn’t want to get off. I finally got off, crossed the street and put the bag down, picked it up again, and cursed the long tunnel towards the ticket gate. I finally made it to the train. On the train I thought of all kinds of method to avoid carrying the bag again. I could leave it at the station while I went home to get a trolley or the suitcase, I could call my niece and asked her to help me carry the bag, I could call my sister-in-law and asked her pick me up at the station and drive me home. But I didn’t want to ask for help. I was really grumpy when I reached the station. My sister-in-law called just when I was looking around for a stray trolley. She offered to pick me up. I gave up and said yes.

I weighed the CPU tower this morning. It weighs about 11 kg. That’s not too heavy, isn’t it? I’m just definitely not Xena (((: but I am stubborn as a mule.

Indoor Pool

2008-05-23T02:48:00.000-07:00

Something happened during my childhood that I vaguely remember. We had an open water basin (bak air) near the kitchen. Like most old water basins, it was huge and quite deep (for a 5 or 6 year old), and the kitchen area was a popular place to sit together and chat. I remember perching on the side of the basin. An older person was sitting next to me, but I forgot who. I remember thinking, "If I lean backward, I would fall into the basin. I wonder what it would feel like? The water looks very cool and nice." I can't be sure if these next things really happened because I find it so bizarre. I think I really leaned backward and rolled myself into the basin. My whole body and head was under water. It really felt cool and nice. It was a bit dark and I heard underwater sounds around me. There were a lot of commotion above the water. And I guess I was immediately pulled out, but I don't remember this, or anything else that happened after that. Was it real? Was it a dream?

Sugar Diet

2008-05-16T02:06:00.000-07:00

I mean I'm trying to cut down on my sugar intake, not the other way around. The frostbite set of warning bells in my head. Why? Because the doctor's first question (the one at the emergency ward) was, "Are you diabetic?" Now, that's scary. My father had it.
So today I started the sugar diet. I started to fail in the morning, when I dipped my toast in honey. But honey is good sugar, right? Things went well for a while. Mid aftenoon I began to feel a craving for sweet, sugary things. I craved for bubble tea, chocolate bar, marshmellow filled cookies. I managed to stay away from those temptations, until after lunch. The pineapple cookie was too tempting. I only took one, though. I just had lunch but I still felt empty inside. I pottered around the apartment feeling bored and hungry, even though I know my stomach was still full. I surrendered at around 4. I had my second lunch, and topped it with a scoop of very sweet cookies and cream ice-cream. Gosh, I'm a sugar junkie!

Bondi

2008-05-16T02:03:00.000-07:00

A very pretty day at Bondi.

The Proofreading Job

2008-05-16T01:48:00.000-07:00

It has been interesting, this job. I really enjoyed being busy, doing something that I do well. I learned a lot too. Not just about the subject matter, but a lot of other things. First of all, I got to know a new friend. She's a friend's sister. I also got to visit a new suburb, Dundas. I went there with Ira, armed with a map. We were confused at the station, so we asked two local golden girls for directions. They were very nice. In fact, one of them drove us to the address. There I got to see the headquarter of scientology. It used to be a monastery. My employer lives and works there, seven days a week, from nine a.m. to nine p.m. Phew! I also got to see the church of scientology in the city. I was offered to watch a process they call auditing. Too bad I had to leave early (actually I was just famished, and I really craved nasi lemak at a Malay resto nearby). Don't worry, I'm not planning to join Tom Cruise anytime soon. It's just a job, and I finished the lot a couple of days ago.

Poor Toes

2008-05-16T01:10:00.000-07:00

My big toes have been troublesome for some time. That's why I have been avoiding shoes, or even socks. I walk around the city in flip-flops, or thongs, as locals call them. One day the big toe of my left foot looked a bit swollen. So I soak my feet in salt water, as a doctor once adviced me. It didn't work. So I went to Bondi to get the "real" purifying, therapeutic sea water. Didn't work. I stayed over at my bro's house. There I gave the salt water bucket another try. The water was a bit cold, but it was in the middle of the afternoon, so I thought it was okay. In the evening my other toes looked a bit swollen. By around ten the swelling had spread to a larger area. I thought this must be some kind of infection. How big would my foot be in the morning? What if I got gangrene somehow? (I saw an anti-smoking campaign on tv, with a green leg as the main actor. Not cute.) I called a nearby clinic. They're closed. I called a hospital. Their emergency ward is open. So my bro and my sis-in-law drove me to the hospital. The doctor looked, poked, squeezed, and asked a lot of questions and said there's nothing wrong, and sent me home. So I went home, rather embarassed. A week later my toes were still swollen, red, and really painful at night. Pockets of water that looked like hot oil had landed on the skin appeared. I passed by a clinic on my way home from the supermarket. I went in, just like that, on impulse. After waiting for almost an hour, my turn came. The doctor had one look, smiled, and said, "You've got frostbite." Whattt??????????? I thought you only get that in very cold places, like Canada, or the Himalayas. Scary stories told about climers who got frostbitten and had to have amputations. Thank God I only needed a steroid cream and socks. Anyway, I bought lots of thick gigantic socks and a pair of fuzzy slippers, got the portable heater out and put it in front of me when I watch tv, and no more flip-flops for a while, not until summer next year.

Update

2008-04-23T21:35:00.000-07:00

It seemed that God heard my Raphsody of a Job Seeker. I'm working on a translation project. The pay isn't fantastic, but I'm just greatful that at the moment.

I guess when you have a job and it's taking so much of your time, you might wish for a holiday. When you have had such an extended holiday as I have, you wish for a steady job.

It is actually nice to be jobless. You don't have to wake up at dawn, you don't have to squeeze yourself into a crowded train, full of people who wish they could stay home and watch Oprah. You can have a slow and leisurely breakfast while you watch the morning show on tv, you take a shower when you feel like it. Then you go to the supermarket to buy something to cook. You can take as long as you like at the supermarket, stop by at any shop and think to yourself, I'll buy that when I get a job. You get home, cook, clean the kitchen spotless, sweep the floor, and then you have a wonderful lunch all by yourself, in front of the tv. After that you browse the internet for job vacancy. That usually depresses you so that you would need something sweet to comfort you, like chocolate or ice-cream, which you would eat in front of the tv (again). After that you would become bored and sick of your tv addiction, so you take a nap. When you wake up, you reheat your food and have dinner, wash the plates aaaaand ... sit in front of the tv until it's time to go to bed. Then you would think, "I had a really nice day today. I'm living the live that many people could only dream of having. So why am I so depressed??"

That, my friends, is the paradox of unemployment.

Jakarta

2008-04-13T00:15:00.001-07:00

2008-04-10T22:19:00.000-07:00

Theme From Mahagony (OR Raphsody of the Job Seeker)

Do you know where you're going to (Nope)
Do you like the things that live's been showing you (Some of them yes, some no)
Where are you going to (I don't know)
Do you know (No, I don't)

Do you gain what you're hoping for (Not yet)
When you look behind you there's no open door (Hiks..hiks..)
What are you hoping for (A miracle, or just a job, pleeease...)
Do you know

Once we were standing still in time (We were? Why did we do that?)
Chasing the fantasies that filled our mind (How silly we were)
You knew how I loved you but my spirit was free (Like Free Willy)
Laughing at the questions that you once asked of me (Only because I didn't know the answer)

Reff

Now lookin' back on all we planned
We let so many dreams just slip through our hands (Slippery, they were)
Why must we wait so long before we see
How sad the answers to our those questions can be (Crying my eyes out)

Do you know where you're going to (I told you, I don't know)
Do you like the things that live's been showing you (I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but...)
Where are you going to (Wish I knew)
Do you know (Hey, Lady... Stop asking me the same questions and just give me the job!)

Bondi

2008-02-20T01:25:00.001-08:00

Photos from the new place

2008-02-20T01:20:00.000-08:00

2008-02-11T15:02:00.000-08:00

I had so many questions about the circumstances surrounding Mr. Lee's death, so I called my DOS to fish for more information. I asked for a Letter of Reference. She said OK. I asked again how Mr. Lee died. All she could tell me was that Mr. Lee was found dead at the school. Mrs. Lee arranged and attended the funeral, and then went straight home to Korea. She was quoted to say she would never set foot on Australia ever again. I asked if the staff would get paid for the last working period, my DOS said no. None of us would get paid, herself included. I didn't ask if students would get their money back. Probably not. Certficates? Don't think so. I think the certificates are very important to the students. Most of them would use the certificates to apply for jobs back home. They've spent a lot of money coming to Oz, they do some of the crappiest jobs to pay the school fee, they dragged themselves to school day after day, and this thing happened. I think I would be very pissed if I were one of them.

Mr Lee

2008-02-07T15:02:00.001-08:00

Mr. Lee was the owner of our language school. He looked like a typical middle aged Asian guy. He never said much to the teachers. Most of the time, if you greet him, you would get half a smile and a grunt. Sometimes the teachers made fun of these grunts, when he wasn't around, of course.

I don't know much about Mr. Lee. The last and only time I talked to him, he asked me where I lived. So I asked him the same question too. Kingsford, he said. Oh! I said, Many Indonesian restaurant there.. Hrmf.. he grunted. Many Chinese and Thai restaurants. I suspected that Mr Lee (like many of my students, and other people) doesn't know the difference between India and Indonesia.

The last few days before I took a week off work, he was always busy. Standing or sitting near the front desk, watching Claire (our super receptionist, admin, accountant, etc.) like a hawk. He was often in a meeting with some businessman looking people. There was no sign that he was about to leave us.

My DOS called me yesterday afternoon, to inform me that Mr. Lee had passed away. She couldn't give me any details. She said the school is closed, maybe for a while, or for good.

Last week I felt that my days at work were numbered. It never crossed my mind that this would be the reason. Mr. Lee's death would affect the lives of so many people: his family, the teachers and other staff, the students.

As for myself, as of today, I am officially jobless.

Very Long Weekend

2008-01-28T23:14:00.000-08:00

I couldn't wait for Tuesday, so I could ask my DOS why I was suddenly observed. Tuesday came and it was very difficult not to come to the school by daybreak. Anyway, I arrived at the station at around ten, pretended that I needed something at the supermarket and wandered around the aisles for ten minutes, I took some money from the ATM, and then I was ready to walk to school.
I went straight to the DOS. She didn't know anything about the observation. But she promised to find out.
She called me half an hour later to tell me that the marketing guy wished to be able to explain to prospective students how the class is taught. So he meant exactly what he said. He just didn't mention the purpose! *@%#&@% Oh, well. At least my worst fear was ungrounded.

Long Weekend

2008-01-26T00:39:00.000-08:00

I had been looking forward to this long weekend. I was still a bit tired from the ordeal of moving. I had plans. I was going to set up the computer, finish unpacking and sorting out my stuff, sew a curtain for my bedroom window and just relax. My student cancelled our session so I had some free time in the afternoon. I arrived feeling full of energy. The class started. A student went out to get some coffee and didn't come back. I went out to check and she was talking to one of the marketing guys. I was a bit annoyed. I went back to class and after ten minutes she came back, with the marketing guy in tow. He suddenly said, Would you mind if I observe your class? I just want to know how the class is taught.
I said sure. He sat near a Japanese student, with a very serious look on his face. The class became more and more tense. In the end, the students all burried their noses in the handouts. They were too tense to even understand my joke (or maybe I was tense). The guy left after half an hour. The class was much happier after that.
That was just rude! Barging into somebody's class, sitting without smilling, speaking in Japanese to a student while I was teaching, and then left. What's going on? Did I do something wrong? Did a student complain about my way of teaching? There goes my wonderful long weekend.

I felt like quitting ):

Basil Beef

2008-01-26T00:22:00.000-08:00

I was very happy to note that there are big, leafy trees along the way to the station. That means I wouldn't need to carry an umbrella with me all the time anymore.
I saw a little Thai resto near the station and thought, Great! I don't have to cook everyday. (:
The next day I packed some rice in a lunchbox and bought Chicken Cashew Nut from that resto. I took half and saved the rest for lunch tomorrow. But at school a student told me that he was very hungry and that his boss 'forgot' to pay him that day. I asked him if he wanted some food, he said yes, and I said goodbye to my chicken.
The chicken was delicious, so the next day I went to the resto again on my way to work. This time I ordered take away Basil Beef. The chef was very generous with the garlic, so I was basically enveloped in garlic perfume (and I hadn't eaten the dish yet). If garlic were flourescent, I would have glowed. A boy in the elevator covered his nose with his jumper to keep from fainting. When I arrived at the teacher's room, it was suddenly filled with garlic smell. I ate a little and put the rest in the fridge. Then I brushed my teeth and prayed my students wouldn't notice.

How to get to the train station (if u don't know the way)

2008-01-26T00:17:00.000-08:00

I didn't really know how to get to the station from our apartment. I walked down the road and tried to remember the location. I saw a young Buddhist monk walking in the opposite direction. I turned around and followed him. Sure enough. Very soon I could see the station. I wouldn't reccomend this method to anyone, though.

The Apartment & Neighbours

2008-01-24T22:41:00.000-08:00

Our apartment is not ultra new or ultra modern, but it's ok. The floor is made of wooden parquet, so no more carpet dust (((: We have a really nice view of the nextdoor neighbour's mansion. Their house is about the same size as our apartment block.

My room is still full of unpacked boxes. I don't know where I would put all the contents. I bought a bookshelf from IKEA and I managed to put it together all by myself. I'm quite proud of myself.

I haven't really seen my human neighbours from our block. But there are lots of fat pigeons flying and sitting about. A few mynahs, a few crows. Yesterday I saw a black rabbit in the front yard. It looked at me suspiciously, but since I didn't try to come closer, it continued grazing. I saw it again this morning. It's probably a resident.

Pindah (lagi)

2008-01-24T22:35:00.000-08:00

We've just moved again. This time to a neighboring suburb of Ashfield. Just me, and my two nieces. Seems like it was just yesterday that they perched on a special seat on my bike and I took them to school. Now they are sharing the rent with me. Yona sometimes picked me up from the station. I guess the role has reversed.

We moved with the help of two big guys from the removalist. We had to help them because they were paid by the hour. So there we were, carrying boxes after boxes. (Mine was labelled Maya's Junk, Maya's More Junk, etc.) It was drizzling too. We finished moving everything in half an hour.

Another Grumpy Old Woman

2008-01-04T19:22:00.000-08:00

A couple of days ago I went to the mall to buy some food supplies. Soon my hands and shoulders were occupied with shopping bags. I could hardly walk. After re-fueling with a huge plate of noodle, I headed for the ladies. My mind was wandering above and beyond my head, as usual, and I ended up in an unfamiliar place. I looked around and saw a long room full of males of all ages. It was the gents'!

Thanks to my short hair, jeans and boyish looks nobody seemed to notice that there was an 'alien' amongst them. I beamed myself out from there as fast as I could and rematerialized safely in the ladies', where I looked into the mirror and cursed myself.

After a few seconds, I forgave myself. That was when I realized that I am now more tolerant to my own faults and stupidities. I cherish my peculiar and not so peculiar tastes and habits. Sadly, my tolerance for other people have gone in the opposite direction.

The smallest things annoy me. Just the other day while I was sitting on the train, a man behind me kept whispering to himself. It wasn't anything offensive. He was just thinking out loud. But his voice grated on my nerves like sandpaper, so I moved to a different seat, far-far away.

Things are not much better at home. Other people's stuff lying on the floor and on the sofa give me a mild headache, while my own stuff are pilling higher and higher on the computer desk. I cringe whenever my bro eats something soupy. The slurp-slurp and smack-smack sounds could be heard loud and clear from the dining room and seem to rise above sounds from the TV. It made me feel rather queasy. I think soups should be banned from the house.

But the worst offenders are obsessive caressers. I hate people who constantly and persistently caress their own hair, or face, or hands, or thighs in public. Why don't you look away? you might ask. Well, I don't care about things I can't see. But these people sometimes sit next to me in public places, and I can see what they are doing even if I don't look. What's wrong with doing what they do? you might also ask. What's wrong with picking your nose in public? I ask back.

The only thing worse than this is seeing people (usually women) who constantly and persistently touch other people (usually the husband or boyfriend). They seemed to have super-glued their hands on the men's head, or back, or shoulders. These guys very often wear a quietly suffering look on their faces, much like Sasha's face (the little dog), when her Mom gives her a bath.

When I went to see Summer Days with Coo, a middle aged couple sat in front of me. As soon as her bottom touched the seat, the woman streched out an arm an started caressing the back of the man's neck and hair. The hand stayed that way for about fifteen minutes without stopping. Didn't she get tired? I got very tired just having to watch. It was like watching the dentist drilled deep into a cavity. I was very relieved when the lights went out and the movie started. At least I couldn't see the hand anymore, even though it was still there. Really, Lady, you're obsessed.

I wonder if this is another sign of ageing. I am now a member of The Grumpy Old Woman Club.

2007-12-31T21:48:00.000-08:00

It's Jaaanuaryy!! Two thousand ...EEEIIGT!!!!! *gasp, choke, splutter* Somebody get me a drink!

Happy New Year!!

Holiday

2007-12-26T16:29:00.000-08:00

I haven't posted anything for a while. There was simply nothing to write. I tried to remember interesting things from Prmk, but I can't remember much. They just seem meaningless and small.
I've actually got a lot of time in my hands. I've got two weeks off, with nothing much to do and nowhere in particular to go. I'm already fed up with Christmas movies, concerts, Santa (I can't believe the extent of the effort people took to deceive children. It's so wrong.), Rudolf, Jingle Bells and all the commercialism and consumerism (I'm not anti Christmas. It's just getting more and more Hollywood). I'm watching tv, switching channels, trying to dodge Christmas-flavored programs. I've just watched a King Cobra swallow a smaller snake. Next would be the history of the British Monarchy. I'm such a geek.
Since the start of the holidays, I've filled my days with housework, tv, dvd, grocery shopping and craftwork. I am happily domesticated. Some of my handywork were beef stew, smoked trout macaroni cheese bake, burritos, and mie goreng. I've embroidered a couple of sleeves, lengthened a pair of jeans (which I previously made too short), and crocheted a pencil case cover. And I'm running out of ideas.
A few days ago I met somebody at the train station. He commented on my two big bags, and we continued to chat. We took the same train. He told me about his work. He said he would give me more information about his organization if I gave him my email address. He got off at Central. A few days later I got an email. Just a friendly one, not about the organization. I didn't reply. On Christmas Day, I sent him a greeting. A few minutes later I got a reply, asking to meet up. That freaked me out. This may be a trivial and ordinary occassion for other people. Not for me. I deleted the email and hope that that would be the end of it.
Since I arrived here I've been hit on by an Italian (60 y/o), a girl (????????) and a ... well, he was quite an ordinary guy (who could also be a psycho, for all I know). Is that an improvement?
The History of the British Monarchy has just ended. Now I know who Oliver Cromwell is. I learned a new word too 'regicide'. What important new knowledge (I'm being sarcastic here, ok).

Summer Days with Coo

2007-12-08T15:44:00.000-08:00

Director : Keiichi Hara Producer : Yoshihiro Iwasaki Original Story : Masao Kogure, Yuichi Watanabe Screenplay : Keiichi Hara Cast : Futo Tomizawa, Naoki Tanaka, Naomi Nishida, Kenichi Nagira

Nice movie.

2007-11-25T02:03:00.000-08:00

Another person I remember was also a teacher unionist. (What is it with these rebels?) He was about my age. Smiled a lot. At first I thought, " Politician's smile." But after a while I could tell whice ones are genuine (w/ friends) and which ones are political (when dealling w/ management). I didn't know him very well, but he was just nice and friendly, so I thought he was an OK kind of guy. He sometimes visited us at the Materials Department (I worked there for a while). One day he told us he was going to Spain. I collected coins, so I asked him if he could set aside some coins from Spain for me. I didn't expect him to care enough to remember, so I was surprised that he did. That was nice of him, I thought.
Then one day we heard that he was ill and was hospitalized. We went to visit him. I brought a Kahlil Gibran book to cheer him up. It must have been really boring to be in bed for days and days. He couldn't get out of bed, but he was his own cheerful self. He said the doctor didn't know what was wrong with him, but they had heard of similar cases and would try a series of treatment. He was so positive that I felt sure he was going to get through it and would walk and work again. We didn't hear from him again for more than a year. Then there was a formal news that he had passed away. He was so young. It was really sad. I couldn't help thinking that the doctor might have misdiagnosed his illness. The medical system had failed him. I just hope that he was finally free from his pain and suffering, and he is now walking about and in peace on the other side.

2007-11-22T23:58:00.000-08:00

Every end-of-term, the staff gathered at the hall for class assignment. Normally, this included nice food and some kind of entertainment. At one particular class assignment, some of the teachers did a music gig for us. Somebody gave flowers to one of the singers. There was a huge applause. Then another singer came up. He sang a love song, but I don't remember what song. He kept looking at my direction and I began to feel warm around the collar. What's going on? I thought. We were just friends. I had never been serenaded like that. How flattering... Didn't last long, though. I turned around to find a beautiful, hot, new teacher. Hahaha! *blush* *blush* A bit disappointed, but relieved too.

2007-11-22T23:56:00.000-08:00

I don't really know why I still remember this. One afternoon in the teacher's room, sitting near the corner with two friends, chatting about nothing. I mostly just listened to the jokes and smiled at appropriate times. One friend was singing STYX's Babe (I don't know why he did this). The other friend looked really happy and relaxed. That's what I remember most. He was happy. His eyes sparkled whenever he laughed. A few months later this friend got into trouble with the school management because of his activities as a teacher unionist. There were heated arguments. He resigned. I never saw him or heard about him again. But I remember that afternoon in the teacher's room, and thinking 'What a nice day. What a friendly, happy guy.'

2007-11-21T20:29:00.000-08:00

Another interesting character was a gentleman in his fifties. He was actually very trim and very fit for his age. And he liked to show this off by wearing a very tight-fitting safari suit (looked like something from the 70s). With slick black hair and the outfit, he could've been young Elvis (even though he wasn't young). We used to have a giggle about him because whenever he dyed his hair, the dye would mix with his hair cream and would smudge his forehead, near the hairline. He didn't seem to care one bit.
Recently I've started to dye my hair too, to cover the greys. One day I found brown streaks in a white shirt collar. And I thought, Gosh! I haven't changed my hairstyle in about a decade, and I've got hair dye where it shouldn't be. Look who's laughing now.

Interesting Characters

2007-11-21T20:03:00.000-08:00

There was a big dining table in the pantry of LIA Prm. It was big enough for about fourteen people. Funny thing, to see the seat at the head of the table empty, or used by one person only. It was as if it had a 'Reserved' sign on it. This was a favorite seat of one of the teachers. She was middle aged, a bit heavy, always wore a skirt/dress, hair streaked with gray, always in a coiffure. Not a stylish coiffure, but a simple round bun near the top of her head. I don't know how long she had taught. Judging from the way other staff treated her, probably from the beginning of the previous century. Maybe it was because of the stern look on her face. Maybe because she always spoke her mind (with thundreous, booming voice). Whatever it was, everybody was always very careful when talking to her. And we usually kept the 'throne' empty, just in case she came around to the pantry and would like to sit there. Some years ago I read a newspaper article about her. I don't remember exactly, but I think she was awarded a very prestigeous degree in Indonesian Literature or something like that.

Sasha's Footwear Fetish

2007-11-21T14:18:00.000-08:00

Boots, fuzzy slippers, thongs, ballerina flats, sandals, dirty socks, sock covered toes ... Gimme gimme ... gimme... mooooore... (Britney's song).