sebuah percakapan di malam hari:
+ dek, cermin ini bikin orang jadi lebar ya?
- engga ma. klo pinggirannya iya.
+ ah masak? kok mama jadi ndut banget gitu? emang mama kayak gitu?
- lah, mama emang begitu.
+ ah? coba kamu sini dek, berdiri deket mama.
(mama berdiri dengan si adek di sampingnya. tidak tampak ada 'efek khusus' dengan bayangan adek di cermin)
+ hm...
+ jadi mama emang gendut begitu ya dek?
- ya iya sih. tapi aku seneng mama begitu. asal jangan makin ajah.
+ .....
Tuesday, April 30
Tuesday, April 23
djegardah
sunny afternoon,
in a city full of dust.
wonder how they dance,
those people suffocating with dirt?
(sore cerah di jakarta, april 23 tahun 2013)
in a city full of dust.
wonder how they dance,
those people suffocating with dirt?
(sore cerah di jakarta, april 23 tahun 2013)
a room between your heartbeats
there's a room
between your heartbeats
where my soul resides
and as you die
it dies
(thinking so deeply about my dearest hubby)
(Jakarta, in my own space and time, AD 2013 on the twenty-third day of April)
between your heartbeats
where my soul resides
and as you die
it dies
(thinking so deeply about my dearest hubby)
(Jakarta, in my own space and time, AD 2013 on the twenty-third day of April)
(un)burning bridges
when i walked away from the things in the past, i thot that whatever connection i had with it is severed.
like burning bridges. you can no longer reach the place, though it's still there.
this is what my thinking was, about 15 years ago when i left my first job.
it's finished. the book is closed. people will forget me as i forget them.
my life was moving forward, and they would not be part of it.
how so wrong i was.
past is not something you can ditch, even when the bridge is no longer there.
it is very much still there.
some people don't simply forget you, as when your life and their live collided, you made yourself part of their life. whether you are a significant part of it or not, it's irrelevant. you were there, being a part of their vast reference of life.
this is a realization that came to me just recently, when someone from the past was looking for me.
i thot first, something is happening to him. something not quite good. why else would he be looking for me.
turned out, it was for the memory's sake. for the past. that i made it part of his life.
and that i should not run away but be part of his present too, albeit in a very dim way.
so now i'm unburning my bridges. trying to reach those distant place.
because what was there made me what i am today.
what i met there is part of my life reference today.
and you know what? it always made my day to know that people remember me.
so perhaps it would make their day if i remember them, too.
like burning bridges. you can no longer reach the place, though it's still there.
this is what my thinking was, about 15 years ago when i left my first job.
it's finished. the book is closed. people will forget me as i forget them.
my life was moving forward, and they would not be part of it.
how so wrong i was.
past is not something you can ditch, even when the bridge is no longer there.
it is very much still there.
some people don't simply forget you, as when your life and their live collided, you made yourself part of their life. whether you are a significant part of it or not, it's irrelevant. you were there, being a part of their vast reference of life.
this is a realization that came to me just recently, when someone from the past was looking for me.
i thot first, something is happening to him. something not quite good. why else would he be looking for me.
turned out, it was for the memory's sake. for the past. that i made it part of his life.
and that i should not run away but be part of his present too, albeit in a very dim way.
so now i'm unburning my bridges. trying to reach those distant place.
because what was there made me what i am today.
what i met there is part of my life reference today.
and you know what? it always made my day to know that people remember me.
so perhaps it would make their day if i remember them, too.
everyday brutality
living in jakarta, you are bound to face brutality.
have an open mind when referring to the word 'brutality' or 'brutal' in this entry, dear readers.
it's a brutal city, jakarta is.
picture this:
if you are a driver or passenger of a personal car, in the peak hours, you'd need 1 hour to cover a mere 4 km. that's the speed of regular healthy people walking. WALKING!
that's one brutality
if you are a rider or passenger of motorcycle, you are bound to have to compete with busses spewing deadly and poisonous smoke. you'd slowly have your brained fried and your lungs toasted.
that's another brutality.
if you are a passenger of a public transport modes, your list of brutality would just be awesome.
it starts with the brutality of walking on the non-existent side-walk, or trotoir.
even when it exists, the space that should be used by pedestrian is taken by either street vendors, or motorcyclists.
even when it exists and NOT taken over by street vendors nor motorcyclists, i bet more often than not, you still cannot walk on it due to: holes, uneven surface, pots of plants, trees, or what have you.
and once you actually lodge your butt on the seat of the public transport, it's yet another brutality: either the seat is too small, the one next to you is too big or sits with legs apart, or if it's not both then at least it would be grimy beyond help.
and i just start with the seat. lemme walk you through the interior of our public buses (non-trans jakarta, mind you). it would either be plagued by rusts, or decorated with holes. and it would definitely adorned with rubbish. the driver of this fascinating ride machine would be a reckless, harsh brute who has no concern with passengers what-so-ever. all he's after is the meager 2000 rupiahs that we hand over to another brute, the conductor. riding in a public bus in jakarta is bound to make you more spiritual, what with all the prayer you send to heaven to keep you arriving safely at home, or at least to not contact any contagious illness in the bus, or not the be rained down when it's raining out there due to the many holes on the roof. put simply: brutal.
and let's move on the only mass transport available for commuters: the TRAIN. THE train. commuter train. my experience with that beast is somewhat limited, but i've got my share of brutality alright. the fact that it's always jammed packed beyond its maximum capacity is common knowledge. the fact that despite THAT fact it is still favored by people commuting from depok/bogor is also a common knowledge. the fact that you may get your feet crushed, your head banged, your arms twisted, and whatever belongings you have in your bag squashed is, perhaps, not so common knowledge. and the ultimate fact that trying to get into a carriage in rush hour is a brutality similar to gladiator's arena is, well, you just gotta have to try it to know it.
the above are only a tiny examples of how brutal jakarta is.
i am clueless on what life would be for those without money or means. forget about getting into a train. they don't have even enough money even to eat.
so let's stop at just that. and be thankful that on every and each single day, we survive brutality with more or less our sanity intact.
live long and prosper!
have an open mind when referring to the word 'brutality' or 'brutal' in this entry, dear readers.
it's a brutal city, jakarta is.
picture this:
if you are a driver or passenger of a personal car, in the peak hours, you'd need 1 hour to cover a mere 4 km. that's the speed of regular healthy people walking. WALKING!
that's one brutality
if you are a rider or passenger of motorcycle, you are bound to have to compete with busses spewing deadly and poisonous smoke. you'd slowly have your brained fried and your lungs toasted.
that's another brutality.
if you are a passenger of a public transport modes, your list of brutality would just be awesome.
it starts with the brutality of walking on the non-existent side-walk, or trotoir.
even when it exists, the space that should be used by pedestrian is taken by either street vendors, or motorcyclists.
even when it exists and NOT taken over by street vendors nor motorcyclists, i bet more often than not, you still cannot walk on it due to: holes, uneven surface, pots of plants, trees, or what have you.
and once you actually lodge your butt on the seat of the public transport, it's yet another brutality: either the seat is too small, the one next to you is too big or sits with legs apart, or if it's not both then at least it would be grimy beyond help.
and i just start with the seat. lemme walk you through the interior of our public buses (non-trans jakarta, mind you). it would either be plagued by rusts, or decorated with holes. and it would definitely adorned with rubbish. the driver of this fascinating ride machine would be a reckless, harsh brute who has no concern with passengers what-so-ever. all he's after is the meager 2000 rupiahs that we hand over to another brute, the conductor. riding in a public bus in jakarta is bound to make you more spiritual, what with all the prayer you send to heaven to keep you arriving safely at home, or at least to not contact any contagious illness in the bus, or not the be rained down when it's raining out there due to the many holes on the roof. put simply: brutal.
and let's move on the only mass transport available for commuters: the TRAIN. THE train. commuter train. my experience with that beast is somewhat limited, but i've got my share of brutality alright. the fact that it's always jammed packed beyond its maximum capacity is common knowledge. the fact that despite THAT fact it is still favored by people commuting from depok/bogor is also a common knowledge. the fact that you may get your feet crushed, your head banged, your arms twisted, and whatever belongings you have in your bag squashed is, perhaps, not so common knowledge. and the ultimate fact that trying to get into a carriage in rush hour is a brutality similar to gladiator's arena is, well, you just gotta have to try it to know it.
the above are only a tiny examples of how brutal jakarta is.
i am clueless on what life would be for those without money or means. forget about getting into a train. they don't have even enough money even to eat.
so let's stop at just that. and be thankful that on every and each single day, we survive brutality with more or less our sanity intact.
live long and prosper!
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