Update

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

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

Photos from the new place

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

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

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

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

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)

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

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)

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

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.

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

Happy New Year!!

Holiday

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

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.

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.

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.

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.'