to the virgins, to make much of time

this post will be started with the word: penetration.

well, whatever association you may have about that word, just wait and read until the end of this post why i start this post with “penetration”.

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i came to university this morning swollen eyes and carrying the trace of a whole night sobbing.

someone’s died this week. yes michael jackson has passed away, but it was not his death which prompted me to cry. someone’s mother died this week. she is a somebody’s wife and the grandmother of ten cute little garrulous children. the dead lady was the mother of a senior lady lecturer and the wife of that lady’s father who has also been  lecturing at my department for the last fifty years. for your information, they’ve been married for almost a half century. when we came to his house  to pay our last respect to the deceased, he looked so distraught. what a gentlemen! he cried while telling us and re-telling us how he has passed so many ups and downs with the wife.

it was really a mourning morning.

i was mourning myself: not for her death but for my shattered dream.

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no. not yet. the penetration part will not appear in lines to come. please be patient.

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i’ve been waiting for this chance to come for months. i’ve bought my ticket, two ways. i was supposed to fly to KL yesterday  but for one thing i will not disclose in this post i am still in padang now, choked with tears.

crying for six days in a row is apparently the way how i express this biggest disappointment of the semester. up to this very time i am typing my post, i still refuse to pick up any call from just anybody sending a sheer panic to my family back home in bukittinggi. i know they will ask me to stop mourning. some kid sisters called me “stupid” to cry over things which have made me cry. one of them simply asked “where is my jagoan sister?” a friend heartlessly commanded me to “forget it”.

i, delvi wahyuni, am still powerless to stop these tears drops from rolling on my cheeks. i am broken. nelangsa, that’s how my national tongue term it.

Ancient Horace said carpe diem quam minimum credula postero. yes, i am afraid tomorrow will betray me. that’s way i had to fly to KL yesterday. but i didn’t. now i become more afraid that tomorrow will betray me.

this sadness eats me up inside. i even cried when watching our final presidential debate. feeling sober.

i’ve come to few funeral this weeks. so many deaths. that’s why i had to fly to KL yesterday but i didn’t. i pray hard tomorrows will have no slightest idea to betray me. my heavily made up eyes can never hide my sorrow.

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so, why does this post start with penetration?

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yesterday, when we were preparing to go to the just-being-left-by-life-wife senior lecturer, four of us were busy chatting in front of the office pantry. so, this boy, a teaching assistant had been missing for sometimes and appeared again yesterday to join us to the mourning house (is it the calling?) that day. he told us he did not turn out for almost two weeks because his doc diagnosed him with  dengue symptom. in short, he had to get some rest to recover.

inevitably, my wretchedness (for missing my flight to KL) did not deter my mischievous speech.

“so boy, the mosquito was successful to penetrate your skin huh?!!” i said coolly.

i felt cool but, the two ladies, one’s married and the other used to be so, jumped to the ceiling hearing me pronouncing pen-i-treyt.

“ah delvi! what a word u use! penetration is the ending act in making love”, she said whispering.

the other lady looked at me with amazement how a delvi, an anak perawan (i mean, unmarried) could mouth such a taboo word.

the boy also looked a bit frazzled with the word i’d just uttered.

for those who could not imagine how amazed they were with the word i used, here is the best physical description i could present”

the three of them stared at me. of course their eyes were widely open as did their mouth. this physical condition lasted for at least ten seconds and only after that a lady broke the ice by whispering to me the sexual association of that word. she then sat in one of the chair near the pantry and gulped her iced water.

i stayed cool and defended my choice of word. i reasoned that penetration does not have to be  necessarily associated with the act of sexual intercourse (again they looked at me with amazement upon hearing another taboo- should-be-pronounced-in-whispering-mode word). i told them to listen to the football commentators when they give their skillful comments on how the first half-time of the match is. “they will shamelessly say: Kaka did a lot of penetration attempts into the heavily guarded centre field of Internaziole bla bla bla..see…..there is nothing wrong with my choice of word”, i showed them my wry ear to ear grin.

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ah! but i don’t see the word penetration fit anywhere  in your long winded, emotionally laced post of how sorrowful you are!

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yes! the fact that i m not going to KL has  shrouded me with agony. look at my swollen eyes. have some mercy on me please! could not eat. going thru sleepless nights six days in a row! gosh billy bob joe!! i’ll be dead soon if not plotting to beat tomorrow so it could never betray me! i need to win or i’ll die.

i badly need some supports to stand up but the whole world seems not to understand me. or is it me who cannot emulate well on what i want?

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oh ja? but what does it has to do with penetration?

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okay. because robert herrick has just risen from his grave and created so many impersonates in my facebook or yahoo messenger account and in my kampung. they, in unison, spit this line:

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying :
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer ;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may go marry :
For having lost but once your prime
You may for ever tarry.

what i hate about this is they take the poem literally. what more? being a perawan, a maiden, limits my space and freedom.  i cannot wear certain color of lipstick coz only married ladies are culturally allowed to used it (i never bring my red classic lipstick to bukittinggi “or else” mom said); i even may not say “penetration”!

hope now you get it why i start this post with  penetration!

i will marry poets

poetry is like a bird, it ignores all frontiers (Evgeny Yevtushenko)

well, the clause of the day is “i love poetry”

I always love poetry and the same clause goes to poets (yes this is confession # 1)

Saleh ben Joned, a malaysian poet whose work i studied when i was at UKM once stated that  poetry is the most private from all genre of literary work. to put it in other words, sometimes it’s only the poets who know the meanings of the piece they’ve just penned.

in my words, this private aspect makes poetry “mysterious” to most people.  yes it is mysterious in any sense of the word.

as a person trained in literary criticism, i confess that reading poetry is the most challenging task i’ve ever faced. let alone analyzing it! wah, it’s like doing my hard regime of work out before participating in a martial art competition (it was years ago and i got Silver). yeah, its mysterious; hard to unveil; and difficult to comprehend.

however, naturally it challenges me and i naturally love challenges.  yah, what to say, i am my parents’ daughter. it’s in the blood.

yes, challenge is another aspect which makes me smitten with poetry. quoting the great russian poet i’ve mention above that poetry ignores all frontiers. my understanding of his words is poetry challenges rules. in other words, it’s rebellious.

aih, i have this penchant to instantly in love with rebels.  (for your information, my Ibu  told me i m a rebel).

mmmm…..i contemplate that if i have this  intention to marry, i’ll marry poets. to me poets (writers in general) are sexy (confession # 2).

nah, do you know  why i ramble about marrying a poet today. because the semester break will start next week and it’s likely i’ll spend much time at home in bukittinggi. it means, i’ll spend more time with my family.

then?

it means during the two months course of the semester break, somebody will raise this question when i m gonna get married.

so?

it means i need to invent answers for that typical question which will hit me blow after blow.

hah?

and they will not stop despite my battered, black and blue with shame and humiliation psyche.

god!

they will only stop ambushing me with those annoying questions when they succeed to make me sit next to a bride groom on a pelaminan, a  marriage altar.

worse, the more pressing matter is my family’s  home is right next to a mosque, where couple solemnize their marriage, and right dead in front of KUA office, where couples register their marriage.

what more?

not far my my back yard is a the village’s  communal bath where girls and ladies bath, do the laundry or dishes, in short, gather and gossip. and the hottest gossip feed is “the unmarried maidens  in the village”.

yes, m dead. definitely finished. i envision my mom will nag me whenever she she has chances (she is as persistent as i am you know). cepat kawin!!!!!!

anyone please help me!  give me a poet!

soon.

semalam di malaysia: one day off will wraith my maid away

i used to be skeptical when told by some of my malaysian friends that their maids are stupid, naive, and spoil. but reading the article from the Star below, i begin to believe in their stories.

Employers against mandatory days off

PETALING JAYA: Employers are against the proposal to grant a mandatory day off in a week for their maids.

Some of them expressed concern that their maids would mix with bad hats if they were allowed to roam freely on their days off.

They felt that off days should be on a mutual basis between the employer and the maid and not be dictated by law.

A housewife from here who wished to be known only as Puan Azizah said her Indonesian maid of 13 years had never asked for a day off and she seemed happy to be working for the family on a full-time basis.

“Where will they go on their own if they get an off day?” she asked.

Another employer W.H. Khoo, 44, expressed concern that the maids would be distracted and there was a danger of them mixing with the wrong company.

“I take my maid to the cinema and shopping. But I will discourage the proposal of a mandatory day off for maids,” she said.

Jim, 62, who works with a trading company said he did not mind taking his maid along on family outings but he was worried about his maid’s safety if she was to be on her own.

Asean Federation for Psychiatry and Mental Health president Prof Dr Mohamad Hussain Habil said one day off was inadequate and maids should be treated equally like any worker under labour laws.

He added that a guideline should also be set for employers on the do’s and don’ts in treating their maids.

(http://thestar.com.my/news/story.asp?file=/2009/6/18/nation/4139629&sec=nation)

imagine folk! according to…“some of them their maids would mix with bad hats if they were allowed to roam freely on their days off”. this excerpt shows us that those maids are really ignorant if not idiotic so they can never judge who to befriend and who do avoid. ah, poor kind employer. it has become a burden for them to protect maids with child-like quality they have hired. the slogan is “the white man’s malaysian employers’ burden”. (thanks Rudyard Kipling!).

Moreover, this Puan Azizah said [that] her Indonesian maid of 13 years had never asked for a day off and she seemed happy to be working for the family on a full-time basis. see…..working for 13 years without a single day off and SEEMED happy about it. i think her maid is really stupid. i believe the maid has no single knowledge on articles in labor law about rights of workers, so she never asks for a day off. OR, she loves her master so much that she will never leave her master’s side. Or, the master is simply exploitating her maid’s dilligent nature and naivity. If I were the maid, i would ask for some days off. i m no robots and i need sometimes to have fun (of course nobody will hire me as maid there he he he he).

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stupid maids. no, i will soften my language. un-learned maids. ah no. it must be naive maids. not too.

bah, whatever!!!! but one true thing. those less-lucky-less-powerful-less-educated human are being exploited by their more bla bla bla human fellow because of their so many less-ness.

my words: it’s colonialism in its new face.

birthday wish

yes, today is my b’day. no celebration: nothing to celebrate.

my students have been ringing me since last nite greeting me: “happy birthday miss”. and i’ve been dully answered them: “thank you dear”.

yeah, i am a year older. some people i’ve met told me that your birthday is  a reminder that you have lost another  year of your predestined time allotment  to live.  in a sense they are correct. I, however, do not see my birthday in the same pessimistic manner.

i will never look forward to dying. I will never look  gloomy on my birthday ( for bigger numbers when asked about my age , more wrinkles, more crow feet, more cellulite, sagging breasts, shrinking cheeks, missing teeth, arthritis, thinning hair, losing the seduction power of my lips, losing my curve, cloudy eyes and the list is on and on). I feel beautiful: it means I am beautiful. I feel young: definitely I am young. No question on that.

this day is my winning day. yes Death will ultimately come. But living my birthday today means i’ve won the negotiation with the Death. in other words, this year i have succeeded to make it agree to delay its ultimate visit.

yes  i do not want to die (now) . Quoting Chairil Anwar, “I want to live for another thousand year”.

there are lots of projects i have in mind. there is this grand dream looming in my imagination. i have this obsession to make this world a better place.

all in all, happy birthday to me. see you again next birthday.

delvi’s take on the demilitarized palestine

nah, this good mr. benjamin netanyahu has agreed on the notion of two-state solution to resolve the israeli-palestine conflict. we cheer him for that. yet, the idea of a demilitarized palestine scripted in his late speech is a no brainer jotting.

it is like telling me:

“delvi you are free now. but, you cannot speak up your mind. you are not allowed to leave your compound without our permission. you cannot build your home on your rightful land. you cannot claim things belong to you. you cannot defend you self when we violate your honor. you are free but both of your hands and feet must be amputated. oh yeah, you are free but we take your tongue away.”

it is not freedom my boy. it is new form of oppression. i do think the prime minister is not serious about ending the bloody conflict between these two nations. in his speech, he did not offer peace to the palestinians. he offered them death instead. a country without military force is a body without immunity system. it will die soon it’s born.

diary rakyat: when god descended to earth

nah, for you who are not familiar with presidential election in my country, this is a diary of a wong cilik or small people/poor people reflecting a dark glimpse hidden behind the massive curtain  bordering sweet promises laced political speeches and the real world where i live in

well, the naked fact amidst these whirlpool of political manifestos revolving around presidential election in my country, indonesia is the heavy politicization of poor people.

yup, without the existence of poor people,  my class, those presidential hopefuls do not really have many things to elaborate in their fiery political speeches ( i began to doubt whether poor people is a bless of a bliss)

so this is the diary. happy reading!

market day,

i always think that it is a bless to be born in or part of this class of people  in indonesia. why? we are so lucky since every powerful people or those who aspire to be powerful put so much concern to our measly and messy life.

some of them even bother to descend from their mud free exquisite balcony to our mire- ridden-fly-and-maggot-infested- smelly wet market deep in the untouchble part of the town. they care to ask how’s life with us. it is a luxury you know: those godly like personalities (why? you know they come to our market with this large entourage comprised of umbrella bearers, bodyguards, hand bag bearers. in short, so many people serving one person) in shiny extravagant car, which i will never be able to afford, are saying: “how’s business today”? ah, i want nothing more before i die. what more we small people want?

the other day, a soon-to-be powerful man endorsed my uncle’s shoes collections bearing the initial of his name. it was an honor. he insisted that the brand of his product will be the same from that day on. he believed those initial would bring luck. you know what, a pair of shoes bequethed to that man took him a full month to finish it. he prayed hard the man bestowed with his craft will create a better day for his small business and future. “hopefully”, my uncle told me, “the man, the next owner of this pair of shoes, will make tomorrow brighter for you dear niece”.

yesterday, a-soon-to-be powerful lady bought a blouse from my aunty’s tiny cardboard shop. i heard that my aunty never uses the money she received from that grand lady to buy rice and vegetable. that note is a charm.  a symbol of hope that  one  day, a person as powerful as that lady will do some magic and transform my aunty’s liliput shop into a better one. it means, there will be a better future for her metally disable daughter. one more thing, a scavenger whom i befriend since the day i know that i am a girl and he is a boy related that the same grand old lady with her running mate visited the waste land where he scratches  for his life everyday. lots of promises mentioned there he informed me.

and only just now, a big good looking man with his equally good looking wife visited my father’s stall and had an earthly chat with him. i could see it that my father was beaming. his face was so radiant with hope. yes, he was hoping all pledges mouthed my those-smiling-all-the-way powerful people will materialize soon. my father wants me to be a doctor, so i can attend him when he gets sick. but, we are just small trader who seem to be avoided by luck. mom died when she tried to bring me to the world. father never answers me whenever i ask where my mother is. a prostitute living in a slimy quarter next to my father’s tiny stall i call mami (she is not my mom yet she used to comb my hair before i go to school which i had left three months ago for my father’s inability to pay my tuition) broke the secret that mom died because of dangerous bleeding during the course of laboring. father simply was unable to afford to secure some packs of blood.expensive.

expensive! yes, expensive is the word my father always uses to silence me whenever i nag him to buy me my childhood fantasy. whenever this word uttered, i know i will never get what i want.

but the day those soon-to-be-powerful people visited us, everybody saw hopes. they dared to dream. i hope those dreams and hopes will come true. they have promised us, haven’t they. they even signed a contract with us, poor people.

everybody, but an old leper beggar stationing himself before a musholla’s gate, believed that things will change.

“but why, grandfather?” my young mind questioned his scepticism. “five years ago, there were also powerful gods man and woman descended to this market. yes, five years ago. they brought many promises and blew this wind coming from nirvana. at that time i believed in what they were saying whole heartedly. i am still waiting for one of the gods to revisit me and fulfill their promises to me. it’s been five years my child and nothing happens”

ah, probably it is written. probably it is the destiny of small people like us to live this difficult life. yes, it must have been written.

nearly ten, after helping my father packing his merchandise for tomorrow.

semalam di malaysia: the beginning of selfhood and nationalism

well, apart from my three years studying there and a boy had stolen my heart, malaysia really means a lot to me.

it is the first foreign country i stepped my feet into. everything was so foreign and not so foreign: the face of an air asia stewardess was so foreign but at the same time i could trace the resemblance between the two of us, our same brown skin color. it made her not so foreign anymore. when she announced something in malay, i was startled. this wave of foreign sound somehow blocked the flow of oxygen to my brain. i felt strangled. yet at the same time, the language sounded familiar as well. they were the same syllables, the same vowels, the same consonants yet different tones. minutes before landing, the captain announced in english that we were about to land. i looked out the window and saw a never ending vista of palm oil plantations. it looked foreign and i knew this land was not my home anymore. but, after the second look, i no longer thought it looked alien: the same grass, the same bush, the same greenery.

however, when i entered the KLIA terminal and queued for immigration inspection, i learned fast that i was a foreigner: not one of them. these immigration officers really looked distant: i did not know them; i could not understand their language; i did not feel secure.

i always think that all of the procedures i needed to go through in the immigration booth at that time was an ordeal. it somehow rooted me from my pride, the notion which defines my self. the gaze i got from the immigration officers destory my confidence. that single look bore thousands meanings: differences between me and them. in short, it denied me the feeling of being home; the feeling of being with people i know and know me.

it was horribly traumatic since i know that the world beyond the immigration section of KLIA was a dangerous zone for me, a foreigner. there, i was an alien who would only be legible to stay there for a limited time. yes. that was the first thing the serving malaysian immigration officer told me:

“you are only permitted to stay in west and east malaysia for one year. after that permit expires, you need to re-new your student visa otherwise your stay would be deemed illegal.”

i was agitated. at home i could stay as long as i wish. no need for visa. no need for multiple entry. no need to carry my passport to a sundry shop just to buy female sanitary napkin of which brand i never heard before. ah, one lesson, i am not home. it was different.

i was different. everything is different. even my english is different from that spoken around me. they knew it that i was not one of them from my english:

“where are you from?”

“down south”. i answered proudly.

soon i learned that being different was deadly, especially to my sense of pride.

“you do not look like local girl. are you indon*? which kilang** you are working at?

it was a common and everyday insult to my pride, an indonesian in malaysia.

“i came to malaysia to study burning my parents money not to work as factory worker or construction worker or cleaner”, it was what my pride self told me over and over again.

yes, i was a student there not a worker. our visa was different even the booth we go into to process our permit at the indonesia embassy was different. it was a matter of class. i felt i was higher, nobler that those coarse, uneducated, naive workers.

yes, we were different, but wait! i felt i know them. i felt secure when one of them was near me. i thought i understood their different tongue. i imagined we were one people. i felt my home manifested in their greeting, smile and stories. i am them.

yes! we were one people. apart from our differing class, i mean our differing fortune (i was born in a family of dedicated parents who will break their back to send me to school, so hopefully i don’t have to end up as “worker”), different mother tongue (minangkabaunese, javanese, sundanese, timorese,…….), different look, we are one nation.

finally, the pain from the traumatic event of leaving home, where you have this notion of security, and coming to a foreign terrain somehow dissappeared but not completely. insults from un-learned malaysians who were not aware that not all of indonesians are menial workers or poor people were still there. i went thru this ordeal almost every day during my three years living there.

however, leaving home has given me one most important thing in life: the sense of selfhood, identity. i am delvi, an indonesian.

*indon: derogatory term. at first it was not derogatory.the usage of this was the same as paki for pakistani or bangla for bangladeshi. it was purely for the reason of convenience and practicability. yet, at a later development, this term was deemed as derogatory, especially by an indonesian of my tipe. we always preach to those people that no nation called indon in this world. indonesian? yes that’s what we are. so encik-encik and puan-puan please mind your term.

**kilang: factory in malay. most of malaysians i met, excluded my lecturers and class mates, would think that we were factory workers.

politic-anal: politicizing the head

because this is just an amateur political analysis, please forgive my shallowness.

BEFORE

then comes this news (not news actually but concern) about the heads of her husband’s political opponents who vie for the president post next july.

then, look at this AFTER picture

well, i never know why ms. ani yudhoyono cover her head. is it purely religious reason? is it about fashion? is it political reason, so she could boost her husband’s electability amongst the muslim voters?

to be honest, i never know the answer. i have no right to be judgmental either. however, i know for sure that you can politicize everything…everything… including your wive’s  head.

ah so anal this politics is.

ps: again please forgive my shallowness, i have no time to searh for better picture of the covered ms. ani. in the second picture: ms. ani is the lady in light blue blouse and white head cover.

politic-anal: Discourse of Mega-Pro on Cultures and Presidency*

well, well, now i am serious into politics. i mean i am serious into being an amateur political commentator.

nah, my very first comment will be launched against this political statement made by president and vice president hopeful, megawati-prabowo on the effect of foreign culture on indonesian culture. at first, i would applaud these two for their concern about indonesian national culture, butt….eh but……

Indonesian too open to foreign culture: Mega – Pro

The Jakarta Post ,  Jakarta   |  Sun, 05/24/2009 4:24 PM  |  Election 2009

Culture and art experts applauded Megawati Soekarnoputri and Prabowo Subianto on Sunday after the two pledged to tackle the foreign culture invasion, which they considered the main reason for Indonesians’ poor awareness of local culture and heritage. (how? concrete plans please! not rhetoric ya. but,  is every foreign culture, like free and fair judiciary and good public service  evil? or is every local culture, like corruption, collution and nepotism holy?)

“Our elites now are too ‘polite’ to foreigners; they are too welcome. Without realization, foreigners have slowly occupied Indonesians,” Prabowo of the Greater Indonesia Movement (Gerindra) Party said on a talk show “Cultures and Presidency” held at The Jakarta Playhouse (Gedung Kesenian Jakarta). (isn’t politness the core characteristic of indonesian culture? )

“This nation has been too naive, accepting every country and believing that they always have good intentions,” he added. (first, i am an indonesia and m not too naive. it’s you who is too naive to think that there rest of us are too naive to think in the same manner as you do)

Four panelists, Thamrin Amal Tomagola, Budi Dharma, Radhar Panca Dahana, and Sapardi Djoko Damono, along with an audience of hundreds crowding the hall, applauded Prabowo who attended the show with his running mate, Megawati of the Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle (PDI-P).

During the one-hour show, Megawati and Prabowo repeatedly cited the negative effects of the foreign invasion when answering every question from the panelists. (mmm? are we being invaded? the way iraq isbeing  invaded by U.S.A or the way fundamentalist Taliban wrecked havoc  Swat Valley?)

“Your statements are substantially good, but still a bit too general,” Rhadar responded to Prabowo.

“I need concrete solutions from you, when facing the fact that the Western lifestyle has influenced our poor neighborhoods under bridges and slum areas along riverbanks. I noticed that a farmer in a remote area sold his farm because his child had been asking him to buy a Tamiya [a toy car made in Japan],” he added. (oh boy, he is too naive on this. listen mister guardian of indonesian culture, the old farmer buying a tamiya car for his son is not about the farmer getting westernized but about to please his son so that he can play along with or stand out amongs his rich boys friends. it has nothing to do with nationalism at all. it’s about class, i repeat class…eerrr Japan is West now?)

“I would say that this is because of our elites, whose lifestyles are too Western. They have idolized [Western culture],” Prabowo said. (mmm…can’t agree more, including you. you are an elite, aren’t you. are you too westernized too? )

Megawati added that mixing culture and tourism could be bad for Indonesian culture. “Selling culture for tourism may be good economically, but not for the culture itself,” she said. (mmm good good, by the way what do you mean by culture? tradition or ways of life?)

“I have seen it in Bali, where Western culture has slowly influenced local traditions. Balinese artists have become inconsistent because of financial concerns,” she added. (nah, it’s your job, provided you win in the next presidential race, to provide them with “good job” which will make them stay consistent with their idea)

“I see that many culture and art practitioners are reluctant to be inside the political ring. That is an obstacle too,” Megawati said, a statement followed by applause. (arts is political you know……it’s laden with ideology say…nationalism. haven’t you read Anak Semua Bangsa by Pramoedya or Anthills of the Savannah by Chinua Achebe or poems written by Jose Rizal)

Budi Dharma acknowledged that the two had given hope for the future of Indonesia’s culture. “Good answers, still too general though. However, their concepts have given us a good insight,” he told reporters after the show.

“However, Megawati and Prabowo will definitely face a lot of challenges in applying what they have said if they are elected. Because, any president, whoever they are, will be greatly involved with political interests during their tenure,” Budi said. (bbs)

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well, this is what i hate about indonesian politicians: they tend to think that we are stupid,  NAIVE lot, victim of the ideology or platform of their political opponents. it’s proved by this kind of apocalyptic discourse on indonesian culture. moreover,  i am also irked with this remark that indonesian culture is invaded by foreign culture whereby what these politician mean by foreign is always western.

now i am wondering does every foreign mean western? now who is too naive?

most importantly, we need to remember that culture does not exist in a vacuum. it is just normal that a culture is influencing other or influenced which does not necessarily mean negative. what is not right is when you think that yours is the best and reducing other people culture to caricatures: that is chauvinism to boot.

yes, of course, i support any effort to preserve national culture. however, we need to be cautious here since Frants Fanon has predicted “the Pitfall of National Culture” when the native intellectuals turn to be neo-colonizers colonizing their fellow  less successful-powerful-socially mobile country men.

moreover, we need to remember that nationalist discourse is a masculine discourse. in its logic, woman is the bearer and preserver of the national culture. that’s what really bothers me about this business of preserving our national culture. those elites, with the political power they have, can raise a discourse on  how Indonesian women should dress or behave in order to preserve the national culture, without taking into consideration the view and the want of the women themselves. as a result, they can just point our nose women who do not adhere to their set of rules (of what they think as national culture)  as un-nationalistic or unpatriotic. Worse, we woman have no say about what is best for our interest. IT IS DOUBLE COLONIZATION.

most importantly, this blind nativistic discourse raised by the Mega-Pro Duo is feared to be an early omen on the premature death  of our hard fought freedom of expression. Supposed they come into power, it is likely they will curb any expression in the form of arts as un-nationalist or un-patriotic if they do not follow their prescription of what a national culture should be. as a result, we again will see the bloody ideological war between artists who inserted that art is for art’s sake versus those who believe that art is for society. to put it on other words, whoever in power either the art is for the art’s sake proponents or the art of society supporters will repress their opponents. so, WHERE IS FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION?

*the title is inspired by the talk show at the PlayHouse mentioned in the above news clip.

** i am no supporter of other presidential candidates, mind you. I am still undecided or swing voter or whatever you call me. yet i am all for pluralist candidates who are not sexist, chauvinist, and racist.

kodrat ini membunuhku: the disavantages of hiring a woman

well, yesterday i had this conversation with the superior. we were chatting about the absence of another lesser superior due to her pregnancy. then promptly this superior of mine launched this sexist remark which sounds:

“this is the disadvantage of hiring a woman. they need too many days off. look at this so and so, she just asked for a month leave because she is getting married. what’s next? i believe she will ask for another leave due to pregnancy just like miss so and so. then i believe that there will be more then one pregnancy leave she will be asking after this. ah, susah….susaah (too bad….too bad)”

and my answer for this sexist reasoning is this:

“aih sir! you sound so bloodily funny. don’t you remember that day in and day out you are naging and naging us the un-married young chaps and chicks around to get married soon. kapan kawin? kapan kawin, that’s your constant questioning. nah, now she has decided to abide your demand and gotten married, but why you complain when she asks for a leave?”

my superior was at loss of words. and i knew i’d won the battle.