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Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
My new second-hand furniture, revamped
The furniture I picked off the sidewalk. The milk crates were stacked together and the chair gets a new dress.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Middle School
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.
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.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Stress Test
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...
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
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Power Failure
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.
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
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.
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.
Monday, November 03, 2008
Perfect Match
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
The Bird Feeder
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?
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?
Sunday, October 19, 2008
60 kilo mark
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Bahasaku
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.
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
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).
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).
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Stingy
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.
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.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
For Yani
(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.
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