would you marry me? duh!!!

it seems (to me) that the marriage of the indonesian singer/actress bunga citra lestari and a malaysian heartthrob ashraf sinclair impinges a tinge of anxiety into the psyche of malaysian girls. it’s like you know oh god those indonesian bitches are stealing our boys….(the stereotype used to be indonesians stealing money…or kidnapping kids…or…robbing powerless poor malaysians….ah the list is on and on…just read kosmo and you will find something like “indon pecah rumah” or indon curi tanah” which i find them very amusing).

i personally don’t give a heck to this issue. but i am happy for the newly weds and say “selamat menempuh hidup baru”. you know, people regardless their color, nation, and faith meet, fall in and out of love, get married, divorce, reconcile till death do them apart, or kill each other. it’s just natural. a malaysian marries an indonesian supposed to be not a big deal, i surmise. but, considering a love hate,-a benci tapi rindu-, relationship maintained by these two countries, this marriage, i think, may spark a new antagonism between ehm ehm (clear throat) the ladies of the two countries. probably i am exaggerating but i just read in the news portal that tamara blezinsky, another indonesian beauty, is now dating a so and so entrepreneur malaysian datuk (we have a pattern now).  if we go back the memory lane, the beautiful dian  sastro,the ada apa dengan cinta star, once dated one of too phat’s personnel. and now i am in love head over heels with a malaysian (god must have cursed me since i once arrogantly said that falling in love with a malaysian is the last thing on earth i would want).

yes, this morning when i collected my friend’s certificate to her faculty i was confronted by this issue. i told the setia usaha girls that we indonesian students who study abroad need to send our overseas earned certificates to our ministry of education office in jakarta to get them verified. it’s only after that, we can use the certificates to apply for any civil service jobs. but before sending them to jakarta we need to get them verified first by our embassy in the respective country we are studying. yeah it’s such a long and convoluted process. upon hearing this, she promptly said “oh pelik sangat, kenapa tak cari keje kat sini je atau kawin je dengan orang sini macam bunga citra lestari tu” (oh if things are so complicated regarding your certificates why don’t u just look for jobs here or marrying a malaysian like what bunga citra lestari did)

her first suggestion sounded so sweet. she gave it with a smile. but when it comes to her second suggestion, it did not sound like a suggestion anymore but an exhortation. i saw anguish in her and her colleage’s eyes. of course it prompted me to launch a cheeky laughter. immediately i told them that my mom won’t give her restu (blessing) if i am to marry a foreigner. he must be an indonesian, mom ultimated. so i said, “don’t worry lah kak there will be no another bunga citra lestari marrying your country men, not in my case”. ah, they looked relieved. then i got out of the room bringing with me my friend’s certificate with a very wide and saucy smile promising myself that i will never touch anything about bunga citra lestari when i am talking with any lady over here.

i am serious u know my mom has made it clear in the last lebaran that i can never marry anyone but an indonesian. but that’s not a problem right now. the real “problem” is, we minangkabau girls are culturally trained to express what we think. we are schooled to get what we want. it is us who propose. it is our family which will come to the boy’s home to propose. has someone got my point? what i am trying to say is, if i want a man i will soldier on  to get him. i see nothing wrong in admitting first that i like him. if he happens to like me as well, then let’s walk the talk. if he doesn’t, i will cry for a week and then be ready to launch another hunt in the same week. come on, love just like life is like a battle. so, grab chances before you or cry your heart to your grave. probably some quarters think this act is ”too” aggressive for a girl but hey there is nothing wrong with it, is it? the tag line is, ” i get what i want” (now girls you have to worry if  i happen to desire your man, hi hi hi hi hi).

but don’t worry ibuk-ibuk, i don’t plan to marry anyone in the near future.  not until i complete my Ph.D and earn my professorship and circumnavigate the world and write my first book and….so many ands………then,  a man has to be very very very special (to me) to get my attention (in other words, to be hunted and haunted by me). boy, u don’t have to be handsome but make sure you’ve got some brain and guts and of course balls-that’s compulsory.

but if my mom finally succeeds to get me marry someone i will wear something like this:

and this and oh….god (help me) this

I know what you are thinking. the female headdress weighs like hell. and i have no idea who this boy and gal are. i just found their picture on the net.

if you want to see the so many versions of attire i will likely to wear during the wedding just watch this video

and yeah, the dominating color is red, red and more red. you are right, we have such a raunchy and sexy culture. agree?

ps. bunga citra lestari has minangkabau blood runs in her vein. now u know what i am trying to say, right?

Moi, a bloggaholic

Oh dear, I caught a new disease. (Shall I call it a disease?)

I have spent the last five months reading people’s blogs. Yes, my research is about blogs if you care to know. I spend twelve hours a day to read blogs. God gracious, I’ve become a bloggaholic.

Sometimes this research drives me crazy.

Some blogger are generous enough to state about their age, gender and where they are based. But some bloggers are so mysterious. You know, this mysteriousness is killing me.

For bloggers who put their contact, I know how to get to them. But e-mailing bloggers asking about their age or telephoning them asking where they are hailing from can be a messy business. Most of them reply my e-mail and demand me to elaborate what my research is about. I am so thankful to them. I love you guys.

But there are bloggers who never bother to reply me. Okay, I won’t bother to include them into my research sample either.

But there are some mysterious bloggers who maintain bloody groovy blogs. I mean their blogs are so interesting that I won’t miss them. These ’mysterious bloggers’ are really killing me. They force me to read  their whole entries hoping to find hints about their age or gender, or where they live. Sometimes, I also need to read blogs in their blogroll wishing to find clues about them from what their blogging friends write about these mysterious bloggers. As a result, I spend my days (n nights) staring at my computer screen readings blogs.

This research has taken its toll already. I am down with insomnia. I lost weight (hu hu hu My Mom will kill me). I got fairer complexion (shall I call it paler skin) for lack of sun exposure. I lost contact with my friends since I spend most of my time with my computer.

However, this research also gives me so much fun. To me it is even addictive. I just can’t stop reading. There are some funny bloggers to laugh at. There are some wise knowledgeable  bloggers to learn from. There are some bloggers with magnificent creativity to admire.

I really like to write more, but my Prof just called me to submit my report. Got to go.

Crying over him yet enlightened by another him

Folks, on Sunday I ventured to KL which was soaked by heavy rain. I need to go to Air Asia’s counter at KL Central to settle some problems. I was so dummy since I totally forgot to save my transaction after I book a ticket to fly home. I tried to call them and once I reached them what I heard is a repeated sugary sentence like this: Sila tunggu sekejap lagi anda akan segera dilayan. I waited for more than ten minutes wasting my precious phone credit but nothing happened. Finally, I jumped out of my bed, got dressed and grudgingly found my way to KL.

Actually I was too lazy to go out since on Monday I have to submit my writing report to my lovely Prof and I haven’t type a word of it.  Moreover I just won a fiery fight from my runny nose (thanks to Uncle Wee’s coke for cold recipe). I am such a lazy supervisee and a chronic procrastinator at that.  I can’t help thinking how my Prof can be so patient to deal with me.

Worse, the night before I spent hours sobbing over my state of being romantically ‘ignored’. I have waited for more than two weeks to see him. But this weekend he had to take his nephew out. What a loving uncle he is. I was OK with this excuse and decided to call him later. Oh my bad luck, when I tried to ring him several times  around 10 pm. He did not respond at all. A little bit later I received his sms which I reproduce here verbatim: cant talk, baby asleep. I lost my cool and began to sob crazily. What a lame excuse he offers me. He could just go out side and receive my call over there. If you see me when I cry you’d better be prepared. I can be nasty. I will show you all kinds of punches and kicks I have learned from my silat master Grandpa. I hate to admit this but love is simply too mighty even for a jagoan like me. It reduces me, a jagoan I remind u, into a pathetic state of sentimentality. Huh, what a loss. Crying even does no good to your beauty. In the morning, I had two swollen eyes and coarse voice.

Funnily, amidst my sometimes uncontrolled sobs  I managed to finish  Farish Noor’s From Majapahit to Putrajaya Searching for another Malaysia. The reading process was such a tragy-comedy scene.

Despite my teary eyes that the letters printed on the paper seem to ascend from their place,  I finished the first chapter entitled Pre and Early Islamic Period. I learned that our predecessors were better than us  in terms of religious tolerance. In his analysis of Hikayat Indera Jaya, Dr. Farish shows us Nusantara in its pre-colonial period was such a heaven for a multicultural society as epitomized by the saga of a Muslim Raja Shah Mardan and his tutor cum bosom friend, a Hindu Berahman.

This  new knowledge reminds me of the sad state in my own country. Our law makers in Senayan are now busy constituting the hotly debated Porn Bill despite loud outcry from some segment of the society who can see that this chauvinist bill is potential to disintegrate the country. Under the disguise of morality, those moronic yet holier-than-thou laws makers seem to overlook that such law is a downright betrayal to my country’s very essence, bhineka tunggal ika. Yes we have one homeland.  We are one people, one nation. Yes we proudly tell the world that Bahasa Indonesia is our unifying language. However this nation comprises of hundreds of ethnicity, speaks different vernaculars and cherishes different culture. This law pays no respect to those differences. For example, Chapter II article 4 point h of the bill criminalizes ketelanjangan or nudity and appearances that impress nudity. How to define nudity then in Indonesian context? For us  (mostly) Muslim Sumaterans, the men of Papua whose traditional outfit is only koteka ( a tube from a particular plant donned to cover penis) are nude or even uncivilized. But, who are we to deem them as uncivilized? That is their culture. That is the value they live by. Are we going to criminalize them because they live by their culture? It is for us they are telanjang but for them they are as decently dressed as we are. This law is never about morality. It is just another face of the state’s totalitarianism. Who are they to meddle with our morality? It’s purely private you know. Should they enact this bill, my country is in danger of becoming a crude mimicry of a Taliban state.

At this point, my sobs had receded but anger over this accursed  porn bill conquered me. I looked at my hp’s screen to look at the time and it was 12 am.  Looking at the screen,  I realized he had not text-ed me back or tried to call me. Gosh, I wept bitterly for eternity wasting my energy punching my innocent pillow. I miss him I tell you.

Romantically wretched,  I took my book and continued my reading in the hope in another ten minutes he will call me.Reading  the chapter of Islam at the Crossroads, I learn the danger of politicizing religion like what happens in Malaysia and my country. In Indonesia, we have several ‘Islamic’ political parties. Despite being born as a Muslim, I am not interested in voting for any ‘Islamic’ party or any political party which sells religion as their brand. I simply don’t believe it when they campaign that they are championing the interest of Muslims as the majority of Indonesia. They don’t care about us or  Islam. To me, they care more about using Islam as their vehicle to gain power. These people are busy talking about morality and the after life. Yet they forget that in this life many Indonesians are still trapped in the grip of poverty. Lots of them can’t go to school. Thousands of them can’t afford good health care. Gender inequality is still rampant to death. What do the MPs from these “Islamic’ parties do? They push to pass funny and sexist bill like syariah law. Like in the capital city of my province, all the female civil servants and female school students are obliged to wear jilbab, scarf.   I am not against wearing Jilbab you know.I wear one. But to force us, woman, to wear it via such law is breaching our right to choose. What rights those (mostly male) MPs have to meddle with our [woman] religiosity.

See, I am a feminist since I was born. But still I love him.  3 am already. No sign heard from him. I still faithfully waited for his call. If I could not see him in flesh at least I could hear his voice. That’s enough to make my day. It was so quiet. The only voice heard is the melody of Sarah Connor’s From Sarah with Love. Damn it. I began to whimper again. But I resumed my reading. I still hoped he will call me. He used to do that. Calling me in the wee hour of the morning. Usually when he is doused. I laughed when I remember that moment.

Yeah, the chapter I was reading is entitled Malaysia: Politics as usual. Wiping my tears with the back of my hand, I laughed reading this line. Since March I have watched funny political circus in this country. I don’t need to tell u, do I? We all know how funny Malaysia’s political scene is since the last GE. Lots of   telenovelas.

My country is waiting its turn to be the next biggest political circus. We will have our Pemilihan Umum next year. It will be a Great Musim Kawin, a great mating season. Of course, we have countless political parties participating in the election. I even don’t know which one to choose. Surely, there will be no single party which is able to secure a big win. To win major votes, these parties have to form a coalition. It means they have to court another party to ‘marry’ them despite that party has a  completely different ideology from them. Another funny stuff on the scene is newly emerging yet well-funded parties will tend to lure members of the already established party to join them with the promise to make them their number one candidate to be fielded. Most importantly, our next GE will be more ‘entertaining’ since lots of artists or celebrities are turning to be politician. So, don’t miss it.

It was 4.30 am. pouting and holding my tears, I continued flipping thru the pages of the book reading the ASEAN chapter. I learned that Malaysia and Indonesia shared  some history. Some Indonesian rendered a good service in Malaysia’s Independence and vice versa. I learned names like Ibrahim Yacoob and Osman Abdullah, Malaysians who fought alongside Indonesia’s nationalist fighting the uprising Dutch. I also found out that a man from West Sumatra, my kampung, named Bachtiar Djamily became a strong supporter of PAS and a celebrated Malaysian novelist. So, our founding fathers were friends. Why can’t we, I contemplated.

Almost 6 in the morning. I finished reading the whole book. I took a long deep breath hoping to cease the remaining sobs. It was apparent he would not call me. I cared no more. But I still miss him.

It was my longest record or crying over a man. Yet that night another man, the author of the book, enlightened me. Sigh. I can never hate man after all. On top of that, I will not hate him for ignoring me. He must have reasons like he simply does’t want to be bothered that night or he ceases to feel for me or he already has someone new. Only God knows.

See, I am still a jagoan. Broken yet enlightened.

A foreigner in a foreign country with the not so foreign illness

October 8, 2008.

I miss Ibu

Almost midnight. The cold has gunned me down. I’ve got a terrible runny nose which causes me to sneeze over and over again. I even look horrible.  I have emptied half of the content of a big tissue box. I have no idea how many hectare of wood I have cut down with this excessive usage of tissue. It’s even difficult to get some sleep. I always boast to my friends that I am a jagoan, a tough girl.You know what a jagoan means, don’t you. Nothing on earth can scare her out. Crying is only for babies. But it is easy to know who I really am when I am sick. I will call my Mom telling her about my predicament with this illness with torrent of tears coming out from my eyes completed with heart-breaking sobs. Those who are quite close to me know this behaviour too well. My sisters will call me a jagoan manja, a pampered tough girl. This cold really mares my reputation as a jagoan.

You may have grown up yet you are still a daughter of someone. You must know too well who a daughter will miss if she gets sick like this. I miss my Ibu, my Mom. I flew earlier than planned to KL just to avoid her nagging about when I am going to present her a son-in-law but now I miss her so much.

When I was still studying in Padang when I ringed her telling her that I am sick she would immediatelly task one of my younger sisters to go to Padang and take me home. At home she or Abak, my father, will prepare the  time-honored homemade medication which comprises of the mixture of various herbs, sugar cane juice, lump sugar, and other stuffs. Of course this poition does not always work since diseases are getting complicated these days. But the tradition in my house is we have to take this medication first before my parents take me to see a doctor.

Being in a negeri seberang like this despite with the not so foreign illness is killing me. If this cold continues for another week I will consider fly back to my kampung. To heck with the nagging and the bisik-bisik tetangga about delvi who isn’t married yet at 26. No big deal. I am a jagoan, aren’t I. On top of that, I miss Ibu and her rendang that I missed to pack since I left for KL in such a hurry. Sigh.

Thoughts Inspired by Lebaran

October 7, 2008

Jakarta: the Three Corners Romance of  Mudik, Arus Balik and Operasi Yustisi

Ramadan has gone a few days ago. Its departure makes some to shed tears since they have to wait for another eleven months, if God still grants them life, to feel the blessing of the holy month. However, these tears also mark the victory of the believer and faithful. They have passed the trial of Ramadan, conquering hunger and thirst during the day.  They have learned to triumph over desire, lust, and anger for almost thirty days. No furor but peace. No grudge but patience. The first ray of light of the day after the farewell of Ramadan is the day where Muslims celebrate Idul Fitri, Lebaran, Victory.

In Indonesia, mudik or pulang kampung or homeward bound is a part of parcel of Lebaran. By hook or by crook, Muslims in big cities will travel to their home towns or kampongs. Mudik tells how important Lebaran is for Indonesians. Lebaran is not just a religious festival yet there is a touch of culture over there ranging from the sacrosanct family reunion up to the proud display of what the pemudiks have gained in big cities like Jakarta. Mudik is more to sociological phenomenon rather than a mere human movement.

The atmosphere during this family reunion is no different from an opera where the pemudiks are the performing actors and their families are the audiences. The parents will start their monolog on the nooks and crannies of living in big cities. Some monologues are happy stories. As sweet as the romance of a beautiful princess who gets kissed by a charm prince which usually ends with the infamous line: ‘and they live happily ever after’. Some are disheartening tales, as tragic as the Greek tragedies. But of course, the pemudiks seldom relate these tragic stories out of shame or other motivations. They prefer decorating their monologue with beautiful stuffs that the audience will leave the amphitheater with one thing in mind: I have to go to Jakarta to make a better living.  Things get more aggravated when children actors take the stage. They will narrate wondrous things they have experienced in the city bewitching the imagination of the kampong kids sparkling the urge to persuade their own parents to move to the city. When the curtain is down and the pemudiks have taken a bow, the audience will go home with the psychological images of Jakarta’s Ancol Theme Park or brightly lit and air-conned shopping malls.

After spending few days with their family, these pemudiks will travel back to the city. Arus balik (literally means the current from the ocean which hits the beach) is the name for this phenomenon. However, apart from packages of rendang or other homemade culinary prepared by the loving mothers, the pemudiks will usually bring with them one or two cousins or nephews or nieces or distant relatives. These extra ‘luggages’ usually beg to the pemudiks to take them along so that they can see Jakarta and make their own fortune there. In other words, the beach (Jakarta) will receive more rolls of wave than what it has released before Lebaran. As the result, the over-populated and polluted Jakarta will see more people. Arus balik means more souls coming to Jakarta’s embrace hoping to feel its alluring warmth and fall asleep into syrupy dreams.

However, Arus Balik also means more problems like ghettos. Most of these new migrants have no capital to rent a decent shelter so they crowd the already crowded squatters which are homes to people with the same story as theirs. Arus Baliks also means more disappointment since Jakarta, like other big cities, is not a Kolam Susu (milk fountain) where you can make fortune as easily as Aladdin’s wishes to his genie. It is not unknown that many return back to their kampong out of failures to seek a better life voluntarily or by force. The latter is done through the so-called Operasi Yustisi. Through this law enforcement, those who have no proper identification card or Jakarta KTP (ID card issued by Jakarta’s authority) will be deported back to their kampong by the Jakarta’s authority.

Many have been said about this operation. Some loud it since they think it can help Jakarta from many of its problems. Some criticize it since it braces human basic rights. I go with the latter. Jakarta is the capital of Indonesia so any Indonesian soul has the right to go to Jakarta, to live there, to breed and earn money over there.  Indonesia is a free country so are Indonesians. They are free to be wherever they want in Indonesia. It is disheartening to see Indonesians banish other fellow Indonesians. The scene will be like foreign country’s immigration officers chasing and cursing at Indonesians who enter their country illegally. The paradox is Jakarta is no foreign land and the new migrants are no foreigners. They are at their own home land yet they are not welcome.

Operasi Yustisi is not the answer to the problems of Jakarta. It is not the magic position which can heal Jakarta. It just does not work. It must stop.

If the Indonesian government does not want to see more flow of urbanization at every  few days after Lebaran, they need to develop the rural area. Why don’t they build more infrastructures like excellent schools, better road, improved transportation system, enhanced health care centers, more organized market square and educative entertainment venues and advanced telecommunication system to support the economic growth of the rural area? Booming economy will create more job opportunities though. It will save Jakarta from the desperate job hunters. Moreover, prosperity in kampongs will surely abate the desire to move permanently to cities.

But if the government still focuses on spoiling Jakarta and other big cities with various developments and neglect the rural areas you can do nothing to end the tragic-comedy of three corners love story of Mudik, Arus Balik and Operasi Yustisi staged in Jakarta.

________________________________________________________________________________

Epilogue: So who is the antagonist of the story? The lazy government who is more interested in sorting problems with instant measure like Operasi Yustisi. Who is the antagonist of the story? Most of the holier-than-thou Anggota Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat yang Terhormat (Indonesia’s Member of Parliament)  who are more interested in meddling with the people carnal desire through bill like the hotly debated Porn Bill rather than passing bills which can help to eradicate poverty. Who to blame? It is us. We are the people who are made stupid by the system that we choose stupid people to lead us. We are to blame for being stupid to vote for stupid people to represent us.