My Chosen Poem

In the middle of my French lesson yesterday, a group of advanced students suddenly entered our classroom, and one of them started reading a poem. Of course, as stupid beginners, we didn’t understand a word. We grinned and smirked at one another, then politely clapped as the reading ended.

But after that, another female student went around the classroom. She was carrying a wooden basket full of beautiful and vibrant pouches. It is the month of poetry she said, to celebrate “couleur femme” or the color of women. And so she offered each of us to take a pouch. Each pouch, apparently, had a poem in it, written on a carefully rolled colored paper. A poem… that we weren’t supposed to read until we got home.

Fine. So without thinking, I chose a bright green pouch and stuck it in my bag.

And when I got home last night, I opened the pouch, unrolled the blue paper, and started reading (and consulting my dictionary for translations). The poem I chose was surprisingly… errr… should I say… “accurate”? Yes, it accurately (and amazingly) describes the confusing emotions I’ve been experiencing this year… and the tiny speck of faith that I still have left. Tiny, almost non-existent… but it’s still there.

So, here’s my chosen poem, which I had translated into both English and Bahasa Indonesia.

*****************

Autour de moi, solitudes éteintes by Marie-Claire Bancquart

O brûlantes, arrachées
à elles-mêmes
par l’ordre ancien !
Mais je pense surtout à celle
de siècle plus lointain
qui écrivit :
Bel ami ainsi est de nous
Ni vous sans moi ni moi sans vous.
Au-delà de la différence
je choisis le grand héritage indivis :
bonheur de rues et de nuages
d’une musique, d’un seul mot peut-être,
parcourant la précarité de toute cette partition
qu’un jour nous cesserons de lire, vous et moi. 
Que demeure du moins, peut-être infime, le 
« Bel ami ainsi est de nous », 
cette voix d’union parmi la dissonance universelle !

*****************

Around me, loneliness is weakening by Marie-Claire Bancquart

O burned, torn off from themselves by the ancient order!

But I think especially of that

who centuries ago wrote:

Beautiful friend thus is us

Neither you without me nor me without you

Beyond the difference

I choose the large undivided heritage:

happiness of streets, and clouds

a piece of music, perhaps only a word,

traversing the instability of all this partition

and one day we will cease reading, you and me.

What remains at least, perhaps negligible

« Beautiful friend thus is us »,

This solid voice among the universal dissonance!

*****************

Di sekitarku, kesendirian meredup oleh Marie-Claire Bancquart

Oh terbakar, tercabik dari diri mereka sendiri oleh rezim kuno!

Tetapi pikiranku terutama tertuju pada dia

yang berabad lampau menulis:

Sahabat karib adalah berasal dari kami

Tak ada engkau tanpa aku atau aku tanpa engkau

Di atas semua perbedaan

Aku pilih warisan besar milik bersama:

kebahagiaan di jalanan, di awan

sepotong musik, mungkin hanya sebuah kata

menelusuri kerapuhan semua partisi ini

dan pada suatu hari kita akan berhenti membaca, engkau dan aku.

Yang tertinggal, mungkin hanya sedikit

« Sahabat karib adalah berasal dari kami »,

Suara yang teguh di antara disonansi universal!

no more KITKAT for me!

Have a break? from Greenpeace UK on Vimeo.

Nestlé tertangkap basah menggunakan minyak kelapa sawit dari Indonesia yang berasal dari penghancuran hutan dan lahan gambut, dalam produk seperti Kit Kat. Dengan begitu Nestlé ikut mendorong kepunahan orangutan dan mempercepat perubahan iklim.


Laporan GREENPEACE memaparkan bagaimana Nestlé membeli minyak kelapa sawit dari pemasok yang menghancurkan hutan seperti Sinar Mas. Sinar Mas, Produsen minyak kelapa sawit terbesar, yang terus membabat hutan dan lahan gambut yang kaya akan karbon dan rumah orangutan. Download laporannya di situs GREENPEACE!


Berikan pula suara Anda untuk hutan dan orangutan di sini.


Thank you so much and much love from the orangutan families!

Just Call Me Rini, Thanks!

Lately, more and more of my blog readers and twitter friends turn out to be a lot younger than me. And as they realize that, more and more of them call me “Tante”, which means “Aunt” in Indonesian. And of course, more and more of them got scolded (by me… HAHA), for calling me that.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I’m one of those people who are ashamed of growing old. I’m not. I’m 40 years old. And in two months, I will turn 41. I’m not afraid to say it, I’m not ashamed to admit it, nor am I ever going to deny it. I cherish everything I’ve experienced in my nearly-41-years of life, good or bad. Well, ok, I cursed many times about the bad things that happened to me, but still, I’m not ashamed of my age, at all. This is NOT the reason why I don’t like to be called “Tante” or “Mbak” (sister) or anything. Unless you are related to me by blood, I’d prefer, very much, to be called… Rini. That’s my name. That’s what you should call me.

Moreover, I am fully aware that calling someone “Tante”, “Om” (uncle), “Mbak”, “Mas” (brother), “Ibu” (ma’am), “Bapak” (sir) and so on, are considered good manners out of respect for anyone older than us. At least, that’s what the Indonesian culture dictates. Every Indonesian kid had been taught this type of courtesy since they were very young. Culture is always good and must be persistently preserved. Right? Well, let’s talk about this, shall we?

An Eye-Opener 

Let me share a story first. When I was 17, I went to the United States of America for the first time. It was also the first time I traveled alone. I was going to finish my last year of high school there, and then I was going to continue my college education, also in the States. The first year in the States, I stayed with a wonderful American couple, Earl and Barbra Copfer. They had 3 children, but the first 2 kids had all grown up and left the house. The youngest was the only one who still lived at home. Her name was Tracy and she was my age. I was really grateful to be placed with the Copfers, because I instantly had a friend my age. Someone to watch MTV with, go shopping with, and discuss boys with. Hahaha!

When I first arrived, I didn’t quite know what to call them. My Indonesian upbringing had taught me to call them Uncle Earl and Aunt Barbra. But I knew I would be laughed at if I did that. So I used “ma’am” and “sir” instead. “Yes, ma’am.” “No thank you, sir.” But they laughed at me anyway! Then Barbra said, “Just call us Earl and Barbra.” Tracy also said so. Of course I felt uncomfortable, and for a while I still stubbornly called them “ma’am” and “sir”. Until a few days later, Tracy introduced me to her best friend, Jane.

Jane was two years younger than us. She had this doll-like, very pretty face, with long blonde hair. She was very cute. As she came in the house, Barbra was in the kitchen preparing dinner. “Hi, Jane!” Barbra said, smiling to Jane. Jane replied, “Hi Barbra! What’s cooking?” WHAT? This was a girl, younger than me and Tracy, and yet she called Barbra… just Barbra!

For a while, I just sat quietly listening to their conversations. Barbra asked Jane about school, boyfriend, music, etcetera, etcetera. The point is, they chatted just like a normal adult talking to a normal kid, using normal manners, discussing normal stuff that anyone normal in the whole world would discuss about. But they called each other BY NAME.

That day, I came to a realization. We don’t have to show RESPECT by addressing someone with a certain title. We show respect by the way we ACT.

Such an eye-opener!

Western Culture?

From then on, not only that I felt more and more comfortable calling anyone that I met in the States by name, making lots of wonderful friends, having such good times, I also promised myself that THIS was the CULTURE that I must apply back home in Indonesia.

“But that’s WESTERN culture,” you would say in protest.

Yes. It is Western culture. But so is MTV and V-Channel that you watch religiously every day. So is the way you dress sometimes. So is the way you talk sometimes. So is driving. So is smoking. So is drinking. So is hanging out at cafés, sipping iced coffee while enjoying an afternoon with good friends. There are SO MANY things from the Western culture that WE as Indonesians embrace whole-heartedly. Can you deny it? Just count how many things that you do, own, say, and listen to, actually came from the West.

And many of the things we embrace are not necessarily good, such as drugs and casual sex. Oh come on! Let’s not be hypocrites and just admit that. Some are not necessarily bad, but they are also… not necessarily necessary. Such as consumptive habits or shopping. Is that our culture? NO. This is also a Western culture. In our culture, in the old days, shopping only happened once a week. We used to have “hari pasar” or market day. It was the only day we could go shopping and we only shopped for things that we needed. Necessity only. But look at our country. Malls are appearing everywhere, more than schools and hospitals. Is that our culture? NO. Is it bad? Not necessarily. Is it good? Not necessarily.

The Seatbelt Story 

This leads me to another story. After 10 years living overseas (U.S.A. and New Zealand), I came home to Indonesia for good. It was a weekend, and I immediately got in touch with a few good friends for a get-together. My husband, Boy, was still alive then. So our friends picked us up to hang out and have a few drinks. (Western culture? Yes.)

A friend was driving, and two other was waiting in the backseat. Boy got in the back with them, while I sat in the front, next to the driver. Out of habit, I looked for the seatbelt and immediately buckled up. This was 1997, looooong before Indonesia formalized the seatbelt law. And just like that, everyone in the car, except my husband of course, suddenly stared at me with their jaws dropped to the floor, as if I was completely insane. And a few seconds later, they broke into uncontrollable laughter.

“Hello!!! You’re back in Indonesia, Rin. No need for seatbelt. We’re all brave drivers here!” they said.

Did I listen to them and unbuckle my seatbelt? OF COURSE NOT!!! I glared at them and started a long speech about the importance of seatbelts. But they laughed even more. *Sigh* Yet I kept my seatbelt on. And I still do, every time I’m in a car, without fail, and without hesitance.

Is wearing seatbelts a Western culture? Yes. Is it good? YES, DAMN IT, YES!!!!! So why don’t we readily adopt such good culture instead of bad ones or needless ones?

A Culture by Heart 

So back to my original point of this long article, calling someone by name is ALSO a good culture. It is a culture that teaches us not to be pretentious. It teaches us to respect EACH OTHER, no matter how old or how young we are, by the way we act, by the tones we choose, by our gestures, by our expressions… by heart.

Remember, a culture is something that is created by humans. As part of the human race, it is therefore OUR RESPONSIBILITY to keep evaluating our culture, preserving the good ones and throwing away the bad ones, adopting other cultures that may enrich or improve our own.

And to all of you, the young people, our next generation, it is YOUR shoulders that I put my hopes on. My generation is getting old. I’m getting old. There’s no use in fighting their way of thinking anymore. Let them be. Let us be. We’ll be gone in the next couple decades anyway. Maybe sooner.

Do you remember all those years in junior high and high school when you were intimidated by your seniors? Do you remember “ospek” or this ridiculous “orientation and initiation period” as you entered college? Do you NOW experience pointless seniority in your office or school?

ALL OF THAT is a DIRECT RESULT of our so-called culture to “respect” older people. As if the young ones do need to be respected. As if they only exist to be bullied, stepped on, bashed, smashed, whacked, and thumped all over.

CHANGE IT! Let’s respect each other. Let’s start by calling each other by first names, no matter how old we are. Trust me, it is an effective method to change the “dogma” that was instilled in your brain. It is a method to change your behavior, your way of thinking, and your way of perceiving others. Very effective, and… VERY NECESSARY!

Don’t repeat our mistakes. Break the chain. Evaluate our culture and decide: which one worth keeping and which one is obsolete and has totally screwed us up.

So, my dear blog readers and twitter friends. Let’s start over. Allow me to introduce myself again.

My name is Meirini Sucahyo. I’m 40 years old. And you can just call me… Rini.

Thanks.

* Especially dedicated to:

·         Dwi            - a.k.a. @ruckuus

·         Ajeng        - a.k.a. @misskepik_

* And also dedicated to:

·         Lalla           - a.k.a. @LallaPratami

·         Feby          - a.k.a. @FebyMusbar

·         Farah         - a.k.a. @FarahMaulia

·         Eryka         - a.k.a. @erykayla

* And special thanks to Yuni a.k.a. @geeky_unee for “paving the way”

   HAHAHA *kisses Yuni in the mouth then spits*

The Anniversary of Death

“Nothing hurts more than meaning nothing to the person who means everything to you.” - Unknown.

It’s been a year.

Since I’ve died.

That’s right. Dead.

It’s been a year.

Since my soul has not functioned.

My body still moves, my mind still works.

My lips still smile.

But deep down, there’s only…

Emptiness.

It’s been a year…

even looking up at the blue sky hurts.

As all I see are visions of you.

Brimmed with so many confusions,

I can only speak in silence.

The pain is so real.

The hurt I feel could never be imagined.

It’s been a year.

Trying to destroy what has taken me over.

And I’ve failed, again… and again…

So I end up dead.

For a year.

You probably can’t tell.

You’re probably moving on.

Oh wait… you are moving on.

I know that for sure.

But I can’t.

I know you can’t tell.

But I can’t move on.

(yet?)

I still hope, you’d find me again.

Or at least stumble across again.

Stumble across me and my emptiness.

Before I drift too far.

And fades out. Forever.

Happy fuckin’ anniversary!

Mount Bromo & Sempu Island - A Poetic Journey

nov 27 - 30, 2009. good morning, my beloved bromo. you know why i'm here. everything started here. that was a time when hope was bound to be realized and dreams were bound to come true. just a moment. just a part of life that's gone forever.

and what remains in memories, stays only in memories. as dreaming has become too much to afford. that was a time now broken, shattered, and forgotten. so here i am, in the mighty bromo-tengger-semeru, putting my fate in your hand. i surrender. lead me through this journey and let me be reborn.

lead me through this journey, from the mountain to the sea. from bromo to sempu. let my soul spiral once again through the grids of creation. entering one or more points on the grids of experiences. happy experiences, please.. as i can no longer afford sadness, loss or tragedy.

let me see beauty again and let me dance in the rain. i know my fate is in your hands and destiny is written beneath the sand. as raging southern waves crash onto the shore, please let the sounds of the rude world fade away. and help me feel the glorious sensation that i have long forgotten.

let me enjoy the comforting melody of the universe that i have lost in a stream of pain. let all the clouds of sorrow depart. so in turn, i can let the eagle fly. please awake unto me, the spirits of sempu island.

here, even when it's cloudy, everything seems alight. the flames of the sun, even as it's setting, always envelop the sky. this is just what i need. to be one with those crashing waves and rolling clouds. here i am, being one with the constant screams of my heart.

i know your signs, all too well. they still sit stubbornly in the sky and i don't know why. but for now, just promise me that star lights and dew drops are waiting for me. and let me rest my weary head on your sand tonight, lulled by moonlight upon the clear shades of sea.

so when morning comes, my heart will never thirst again. the mighty spirits of the universe, from the mountain to the sea, awake unto me. and beam on my heart with the brightest morning sunlight. make me whole again, as i return home..

unresolved

*Sigh*

Alright. Here we go.

A lot of people have been asking, urging, and nagging me to update my blog. But you see, at the end of last year, I promised myself I would never again post such depressing, whining, moaning, complaining, whimpering writings anymore. In other words, I wanna start writing about happy, joyful, cheery, blissful and jovial stuff in my life. I put high hopes on 2010. The wheels MUST turn. Lady Luck MUST be on my side again. I MUST be happy.

But now… after almost a month (my last post, as you can see, was on Dec 30), I realize that I don’t have anything to write about.

There is nothing happy, joyful, cheery, blissful and jovial in my life (yet).

And so, I abandoned my blog…

“Really? But you’ve been traveling everywhere!” you’d ask.

Yes, true. Since that fateful and heart-breaking decision I made on Nov 17 last year, I’ve been on this crazy mountain-to-ocean trip to Mt. Bromo and Sempu Island. I went rafting on flooding Cicatih River, not once, but twice! I spent a week in Vietnam, from Ho Chi Minh City to Hanoi. Then I closed that sucking year of 2009 with two marvelous dives in West Bali. Yup, I’ve certainly been traveling.

But while I did love my trips and had lots of fun when I was on these trips, my heart remains empty. In fact, the only reason why I traveled so much in the past 2 months (and emptied nearly all my savings and messed up my cash flow) was because I wanted to “fill” that emptiness.

Which didn’t quite work.

Every day while I was on those trips, I woke up thinking only about one thing. And every day while I was on those trips, I went to bed thinking only about one thing. The one thing I shouldn’t be thinking about anymore…

But I couldn’t help it. I STILL can’t help it.

So then I realized, if I updated my blog, even though I’d be talking about my crazy adventures, it would sound… FAKE.

Because my heart remains empty and I don’t feel that there’s anything happy, joyful, cheery, blissful and jovial in my life (yet).

Then I’d be breaking my promise.

Which I just did.

Here I am… posting yet ANOTHER depressing, whining, moaning, complaining, whimpering article.

I guess I didn’t realize the extent of the damage here. He had broken me to pieces. Tiny little pieces. But the worst thing about all this is: I still love him. Very much. I love him with every single tiny broken piece. So now there are more pieces of my heart to love him with. Imagine that.

I’m pathetic. I know.

I tried to turn this emotion into hatred. Pure loathing disgust. After all, people say love and hate are only separated by a very thin line. I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY want to cross that line. Maybe then things would become easy(er) to handle.

So I listed all the things I don’t like about him. Things that could and would trigger huge arguments if we were together. Such as:

1.   He’s a morning person. I (normally) hate morning people. They’re annoying. They get all hunky-dory very early. And then they get tired and want to go to bed very early too. In my eyes, these people basically have NO LIFE.

2.   He works. And works. And works. He doesn’t really “get” the idea of a holiday. He hates just lazying around doing nothing (something that I happen to LOVE, which is DO NOTHING).

3.    He’s so anti-social. I can be anti-social too. But I definitely have more friends than he does. And I enjoy being among my very few selected friends, while he doesn’t.

4.   He doesn’t eat junk food. Once, I asked him if we could call Pizza Hut Delivery for dinner, and he looked at me as if I had lost my mind. We ended up cooking. He’s definitely TOO “healthy” for me.

5.   He loves mountains and forests more than he loves the sea (or anything with too much “water” in it). He nearly drowned once on a rafting trip and he’s been traumatized ever since. While I LOVE water. I love the oceans a million times better than mountains and forests.

6.   He doesn’t like music of the 80s or any trend from that era. Just like him, I actually like music and trends from the 60s and 70s, but still… the 80s was MY era. I’m crazy about the 80s! I’d cut my right hand if I could go back to that era!

7.    He gets too intense on everything he’s passionate about. Sometimes I just wanted to say, “Chill out, man! Geez…” And yet, after all that tiring intensity, once I challenged him to “GO FOR IT”, he’d become hesitant. Then he’d find reasons NOT to “go for it”. He’d discouraged himself by saying, “Ah, I’m too old for that.” Or “It’s not that simple.” Etcetera. He is indecisive. Obviously. Otherwise I wouldn’t have had to make that heart-breaking decision. I had to be decisive because he couldn’t. I had to “go for it” because he didn’t.

That’s all I got so far. And that list didn’t help a bit. Not even a tiny bit. I love him still. I love him DESPITE of all that. It’s absurd. It’s ridiculous. It’s incredibly nonsensical. But that’s the fact. And that’s the truth.

And every day, I still wake up thinking only about one thing. And I still go to bed thinking only about one thing. The one thing I shouldn’t be thinking about anymore… him.

So here I am… posting yet ANOTHER depressing, whining, moaning, complaining, whimpering article.

Because… this feeling… is still… unresolved.

Sorry.