Quo Vadis Democracy?

My mind was perplexed reading about Hillary Clinton’s 20 million USD of personal debt. Now there’s this call from Obama asking his party member to donate their hard earned cash for the already wealthy Clinton family.

Further reading about election, I found out that around 200 trillion IDR from the national budget would be used for 33 Governors and 473 Mayors and Regents Election.

That is an astronomical amount of money by any standard! We can build a lot of schools and hospitals in the entire archipelago for that bewitching sum.

Moreover, the number merely represents the formal cost of election. We can be sure there’s a lot more invisible outlay during the campaign process.

One easy example is; for any candidate to step forward, he or she would have to pocket endorsement from the local parliament and party. These are not free. One article mentions that the going rate is around 75 million IDR per endorsement. That means the candidate would have to provide capital in the range of 1 to 3 billion IDR.

There is no guarantee that after spending that money they would end up victorious. Consequently, they would do 'anything' to maximize their chance of winning.

It’s obvious that as soon as they win, first thing they would do is to make sure the capital they’ve spent will return some handsome profit. That’s not a good news for their constituent.

Usually people who benefit from this scheme are their inner circle. Now that’s why there are plenty of middlemen circling around government projects. Like any good vulture they are.

During our process to learn democracy, we also harbor potential conflict. Any sort of differences will be nurtured and escalated into a weapon for the candidates to win these gullible people’s support.

Almost no parties are able to lose gracefully. Maluku, West Java, and South Sulawesi are some of the cases proving this.

More often than not, the candidates are a collection of sleazy politicians and dodgy religious characters. Hence, for us it feels a lot like choosing the lesser evil.

I wonder what happens in other country. Is there any true democracy around?

From my understanding of American brand of democracy, their policies mostly influenced by lobbyists and wealthy industrialists (weapons and oil). People who back up the politicians financially in the first place.

The difference is most of its citizens are educated enough not too fight in the street during a campaign.

I understand that democracy in Indonesia is only young. I’m not suggesting that we should scrap the system altogether. However, any discourse about an alternative civil society in the end would prove whether democracy is the one and only proper way of nationhood.

After doing some research, we can divide the alternatives into two categories:

Anarchism; this includes Anarchist-communism, Anarcho-capitalism, Anarcho-primitivism, Libertarian socialism, etc.

Authoritarianism; are Autocracy, Aristocracy, Communist state, Corporatism, Despotism, Dictatorship, Monarchy, Theocracy, etc.

None of the above sounds too promising.

How about Pancasila’s type of Democracy, is there such a thing? This is the task for our bureaucrats and technocrats to ponder. When they have finished pondering, I’d hope they enlighten us little people. As, in my observation, very few of us live by the way of Pancasila these days.

Maybe democracy is indeed expensive and we all have to pay for it, at least for now.

In the mean time, we can always muse and blog.

Pomalaa

Two years ago out of boredom, I look up and tag some special places on Google-Earth. Surprisingly the data is still there and wikimapia.org. Seeing all these places from above is like seeing through a porthole into our past. Where did we grow up? What is it like now? How did it shape us as a person?

I was born in this very remote and dusty little town called Pomalaa, south east of Sulawesi. Primarily it is a ferro-nickel mining complex for Aneka Tambang, a state owned company. It’s a rather calm and peaceful little city with around 2000 families.

That’s my old house in the center of the picture. We had a spacious backyard, and we grew a lot of plants. Papaya, mango, rambutan, and bananas are among others. Naughty monkeys from the forest behind our house steal them fruits from time to time. They were pretty smart.

Elementary school was over at 2 pm. I usually shepherd my two goats around the neighborhood looking for leaves of Kembang Sepatu (hibiscus rosa-sinensis) for them to eat. My handsome and sprightly dog always kept me company, keeping those goats on track.

One night all of a sudden a giant snake from the dark forest ate those goats.

We were woken up over some noise from behind the yard. When my dad turned on the flashlight, we were all shocked to see a python the size of a trunk entwined and ruthlessly strangled the poor animals. It injected some sort of poison into the goat’s buttock like a scene in one scary movie.

Oddly, the snake wasn’t injured at all when dad use a regular machete to cut it over and over. Like it’s impervious. Only when our neighbor came with his Toraja machete they can wound and scare the snake away.

The goats were all fried, blackened and dead. It was quite sad really.

Many kinds of snakes had been frequently spotted in the area. Apparently, in the past the housing complex was one large swamp.

Apart from occasional horrors, my childhood in Pomalaa was quite fun. Us little kids, playing Tarzan, dives into the muddy river. Weeks went fishing in the sea with The Wajo people. In addition to many more adventures.

Anyway, it is nice to be able to observe the dusty little town grow. Now there is a lot of golf course opened around the housing complex. It seems that, the good people in Pomalaa found a new hobby in that ‘trendy’ sport.

Well, that is a little bits and pieces of the place where I grew up. Good job Google for the excellent application. Have you tagged your old houses? Here is the URL to do so.

Tangkuban Perahu - Sangkuriang's Forbidden Love

There was this gorgeous babe living in the Citarum’s riverbank. Dayang Sumbi was her name. She has a hobby of knitting beautiful stuff for her father, The Emperor.

One day her tool fell down and rolled outside the house. Out of laziness, she swore to the Almighty that whomever kind enough to bring her that precious tool back, she would give a fantastic reward.

The promise was to marry the person if it was a male. If it turns out it was a female, she'd make a sister out of her.

Anyway, as it happened, a male dog named Tumang came to her aid. She collapsed and fainted out of shock. However, as she is one proud chick with integrity, she kept her promise.

It was quite sketchy on how they consummate their marriages, but some months later a handsome baby boy was born, with five-finger and all. The odd couple decided to give the boy name Sangkuriang.

Sangkuriang grew up into this agile teenager and a pretty good hunter too. He and the dog hunt together all the time. At some point, they met this fat pig and decided to hunt her. It turns out that this fat pig was Sangkuriang’s grandmother and Tumang hesitated.

There’s a rumor circling around animal kingdom that the Emperor dated this pig for a while, back then. I know things are a little weird but please bear with me.

Because Tumang didn’t want to run the pig down, Sangkuriang saw red. Out of rage, he shot his arrow towards Tumang. The brave and loyal dog died instantly. He cut Tumang to pieces and brought back the poor canine for his mother to cook.

Upon learning that the menu of the day was her beloved hubby, Dayang Sumbi fainted again. As soon as she gained consciousness, she yelled at Sangkuriang and banished him, forever.

Sangkuriang limped out of the kingdom and walked all the way to the west. The teenager met many dark wizards and gained plenty of great magical power. He has changed into an awesome and dashing warrior.

Years of traveling around the globe brought him back to the kingdom near Citarum River. He was intrigued to hear about the story of the hottest lass in the village. He then met her and electricity sparked all over the place. The chemistry was apparent as they were instantly attracted to each other.

After some romantic date by the countryside, they decided to get hitched. It was gonna be the biggest wedding of the era.

When they’re about to do it, this woman, who turns out to be Dayang Sumbi, notice the birthmark on Sangkuriang’s neck. She screamed and kicked Sangkuriang out of the bed. A ‘No’ means ‘No’, said the bewildered woman.

Dazed, horny and confused Sangkuriang zip his pants and asked her what he should do to win her heart back. Seeing a way out this, Sumbi smile and said that it would be divine if they could make love inside a large boat roaming a huge lake.

However, the stipulation is both the lake and the boat has to be made in one night and one night only.

The adrenaline rushed towards Sangkuriang’s head and he dashed toward Citarum River. By his great magical power, he summoned thousands of minions to dam up the water stream forming an enormous lake. He summoned another thousand for good measure to build this large and strong wooden boat.

Confounded by the latest development Dayang Sumbi racked her brain for counter measure. The morning has yet to come and both the lake and boat is in near completion. Using her cunning feminine instinct, she decided to take matters into her own hand.

She and some of her sorority sisters made some racket and woke up the village roosters. They also put large orange sheets into the eastside made it look like the dawn has arrived. The roosters cock-a-doodle-doo and all hell broke loose. The thousands minions scrambled to their hidings and left the unfinished tasks in tatters.

Sangkuriang saw red again. Seething out of his lost, he kicked the large boat far away to the sky. With a loud bang it landed up side down.

Thousands of years have passed; the upturned boat was covered in thick layered dirt, trees have grown on top of it, forming a mountain. The locals now called it Gunung Tangkuban Perahu – The Mountain of Upturned Boat.

Whatever happened to Dayang Sumbi and Sangkuriang no one really knows. Some said that Sumbi runs to a cave and turned herself into a rare flower. While Sangkuriang, our very own Oedipus, walked and vanished into the west.

Of Music and Me

I’m a little embarrassed by the fact that my first dabble on music was of NKOTB. To be fair they have the right stuff to make a pimple-faced teenager like me hangin' tough amidst the awkwardness of puberty.

To compensate the lameness factor, I also forced my self to listen to some Sepultura and Metallica. Let’s just say parents and neighbors weren’t that impressed.

As I grew older, Bon Jovi and Guns n’ Roses starting to rule my airtime. The love was and will always be there for these two juggernauts of rock. Everlasting tracks like ‘Living on a Prayer’ and ‘November Rain’ are pure and simply the major ingredients that made life ever so exciting.

In fact, I got so hooked up with Bon Jovi back then. It’s the sole reason I flunked my Mechanical Technical class. I skipped the final exam with my partner in crime, and we ride all the way from Bandung to watch Bon Jovi’s concert in Ancol, Jakarta.

Pity the gods of rock n roll decided that we have to experience flat tire mid way. Baked banana and cheese was the only solace we found in the cold Puncak Bogor. Swell.

College years, Acapella and vocal groups were all the rage. Wooing girls in my class with pale imitation of Boyz II Men and sitting in circle with friends playing guitar to the tune of White Lion and Nirvana. Those were the days.

With the advent of mp3 format, music is getting cheaper and easier to obtain. Now I listen to everything. Well, all except probably dangdut.

A quick glance at my ipod, apparently the most frequent song I’ve played is Corinne Bailey Ray’s ‘Put Your Records On’ and surprisingly the soundtrack of Legends of The Fall by David Foster. Been listening a lot to Take That’s ‘Rule The World’ (haha yeah laugh away), Daughtry, and the breathtaking collaboration of U2 and Mary J Blige in ‘One’.

Let me be honest and admit there are times when I want to be a musician myself. Let the broomsticks and shower-pad be my witness. Every so often out of sheer madness, I think I can pull it off.

We had a rock band in college but only have the guts to perform on one small faculty occasion. It was a blur for me so I don’t remember much abut the performance. All I remember was we played GNR’s ‘Estranged’ and I think I missed some of the lines out of nervousness.

It was horrendously humiliating. Yet it’s worth it, if only to remind us to find another career path far beyond music.

Tana Toraja - The Land of Magic

Photo by Kal Muller

Back in my hometown, our neighbor is from Tana Toraja. Two of their eldest sons are about my age, so we sort of grew up together. They’ve been telling me stories and legend about the magical and mysterious Toraja. Stories that still fascinates me to present day.

How dead people walk themselves to their graves. Buffaloes that keep fighting long after they have been beheaded. Sending death to enemies via magic and enchantment. Their machete’s magical prowess, able to cut even the hardest of material. And many other tales. In all probability, none of it was true. Nevertheless, they have been imprinted in my mind arousing curiosity and interest.

In junior high, some friends and I visited this mystifying land. A trip that’s worth so much for all of us. We didn’t know it back then, but I can safely say now that Tana Toraja is without a doubt one of the most beautiful places this country have to offer.

We spent four days in a small dusty town called Rantepao, slept on top of a wooden floor in my friend’s old relative house. We were clueless back then. Thinking of it now, it’s such a shame digital camera was invented only recently.

The magnificent scenery with layered step of rice fields, buffaloes, river, and blue jagged valleys in the distant is very difficult to illustrate with words. When the sun starts to appear, everything was so delightful.

OK, I will not bore you much with description, because to be honest it was a while back and I have forgotten some of it. Here are some pointers though if you want to visit the place.

Tana Toraja is a region in South Sulawesi, Indonesia. The nearest town is Rantepao and to get there is not effortless. If you have arrived in Makassar (South Sulawesi capital city) with plane or ship, you will need to take one more trip using smaller plane. This will be a rather rough flight so better brace yourself.

If you decided to use buses instead, it will be around 8 to 9 hours including some meal stop. When I say buses, I meant some sort of MPV cars like Toyota Kijang and or Daihatsu Panther. This is also going to be rough, but plenty of good-looking scenery along the road.

For people who do not like the hassle, I suggest using one of those travel packages where all is included. That way you will not have to risk getting lost or loosing your cool. Please be a bit patient though because foreign language communication with us Indonesians could be rather tricky.

You can come to Toraja in any months of the year; the high season is July to August. However, it is better to come off season, as things are cheaper and lots of accommodation available. There are very few good hotels around but there are many budget inns. They usually use the name Wisma.

Toraja’s architecture just as any other Indonesian vernacular is a thing of marvel and worth another different post altogether.

Photo by Kal Muller

This may sound silly, but it’s better if you come when there’s a funeral going on. Toraja people make a festival out of every death. Some even make it into international coverage. Funerary rites will have this elaborated ritual called Ma’badong (Lament for the deceased) complete with buffalo fighting and ceremony to put effigies to a sacred hill.

A magical place, indeed.

For more information about Toraja please read the following links:

• My-Indonesia.info
• New York Times
• TorajaNet

Misplaced Gallantry and Jakarta's Birthday

Fresh out of a semi military school, we were trained to be a bunch of gallant individual. You know the lot that opens the elevator doors for women, not staring at cleavages, and always give our seat to senior citizens, the handicapped, and women in particular pregnant ones.

Jakarta however has this power to change my set of fine etiquettes into one with a more sinister brand. Of course, I still behave rather impeccably in front of colleagues, clients, and particularly the in laws, regardless of the situation. Nevertheless, in public there has been an apparent decline of good manners.

Riding the bus for example, there has been countless time when I chase them bus to their starting point so it was empty. Found me a good chair, and when the bus started rolling there was a lady, sometimes pregnant sometimes the elderly kind, did not get a seat. Almost consistently without fail, no body gives them their place.

Now and again, I wonder why it has to be me most of time all the way from the back to sacrifice my sit and stand during the rough ride of Metro Mini or PPD buses.

Perfectly understandable, knowing that everybody must be very tired, after long and hard labor. I do not blame them at all. I blame the ineffectiveness of our transportation system.

From 2004 to early 2008, I did not use bus a lot. Mainly because we lived nearby the office and all our favorite malls. Pejompongan is such a strategic place, less than twenty thousand Rupiah (around USD 2) by old fare cab to almost every destination we desire.

Since March though, I would have to use the bus to get home. My office is in Mayapada Tower, Sudirman. I could just stand beside the road and pick 17 or 52 to Bekasi. People have already crammed inside like sardines. It is going to be a long ride, more or less 90 minutes in Jakarta’s humid and hot air with male sweats and stinks. It is heavenly.

To get a proper sit I could just wait until 9 pm when it is not that crowded anymore. Alternatively, I could walk a kilometer to Landmark building when the buses are empty.

This is where it gets tricky. After long walk, of course I get tired. I decided I deserve to sit comfortably for the rest of the taxing 90 minutes. Starting a few weeks ago, I have reduced the type of people I hand out my seat to. Not just any women, they would have to be old, unmistakably pregnant, a combination of both, or very pretty and looks frail.

Deep inside, I felt guilty definitely. I am sure time eventually will erode that guilt into oblivion.

For now to minimize them I usually pick a seat by the window or deep in the corner, and just looking outside to avoid the glance and stare of some women who happen to stand in the aisle. Occasionally though, I would have to give in, when the shame turn out to be irrepressible.

Now the annoyed glance and stare though ironically coming from the male passengers who just sit there casually. As if it’s my fault they feel uneasy for looking ignorant. Every so often, I picked up a hint of smile, probably sniggering; hey, we’ve got some gentleman among us.

I felt uneasy too and trying hard to look nonchalant.

This is what Jakarta and probably other metropolises could turn us into; we could feel uncomfortable for doing something good. It’s jolly good for sardonic value.

Uh Oh, Happy birthday Jakarta!

Of Bad Luck, Good Luck

I have always wondered how vast our earth is. A quick search on Google tells me that it's approximately 510,072,000 km². Boy, is that huge.

Imagine my surprise a couple of fine morning ago when I was just so unsuspecting, all smiling, riding on an ojek, a little birdie decided to drop its fecal matter right into my freshly ironed shirt.

We were probably traveling around 20 km/hours and then something squishy splashing into my chest. For that to happen the velocity of the bird and the trajectory of its flight must have been perfectly arranged for the excretory product to drop right into its doomed target.

I have to take a quick detour to change into new set of clothes.

I mean, for pete sake, this bird could have aimed at something else, the Tukeng Ojek helmet perhaps, or the large area of garbage dump around us. But no, it has to land on top of my good self.

Although my friends told me that based on local superstitions it's supposedly a sign of good luck, I spent the whole day feeling victimized.

Well I guess it could have been worse, landed on my face or hair, which means I have to take another shower and risk being late to the office.

Another good thing is, it prompt me to search how big our earth is and learning a thing or two about bird feces along with their synonyms. Although for once I shivered at the thought of bird flue that could come from it. Now if that were to be happened, tough luck indeed.

It's true that behind most silver lining there's a dark cloud.

Note:

• Ojek is a motorcycle taxi used in Indonesia for short distance travel
• Tukang Ojek is the driver of an Ojek
  

Of Losing Family

PS: Friendly advise, if you're not in the mood for anything somber I suggest you skip this, because it's one sad story.

Today would be my late sister's 29th birthday. Yuni passed away seven years ago, just 12 hours before my wedding, after months struggling to battle cancer.

Out of her request, me and my then girlfriend decided to get married earlier in hope that she gets to see her brother tied the knot. Alas it was not to be. 24 hours before, dad called from the hospital saying that she's in critical condition, and that we're losing her. My mum and other sis have to fly back home in a hurry.

We had my uncle be the witness for the wedding. Right away after the reception me and wife flew to Makassar.

Yuni was this very easy going and enthusiastic girl. Quite the opposite of me and my youngest sis, Fitra. She was the light that shone the brightest in our little family. We were so sure she was going places. Winning singing competitions and made good grades in her school. It’s unfortunate, she still had so much to look up to in her future.

Her indomitable spirit and bravery was the reason my father put a lot of hope during the painful chemo treatment. Always be the one with tons of anecdote and jokes to tell. It is quite drab and empty for the rest of us now that she's gone.

The number of friends attending the funeral is a testament of how close she was to her surrounding. Years have passed us by and those dear friends keep visiting her final resting place each Hari Raya. I'm very moved by their loyalty.

I imagine my funeral wouldn't be that crowded, being a very introvert person all my life. Sean Connery said it best in Finding Forrester, "Losing family . . . obliges us to find our family. Not always the family that is our blood, but the family that can become our blood. And should we have the wisdom to open our door to this new family, . . . we will find that the wishes and hopes we once had . . . for the father who once guided us, for the brother who once inspired us, . . . those wishes are there for us once again."

I have my own family now, and in addition, I also have very few close friends who I consider my family, even though being a closed book that I am they might not know it.

Happy birthday Sis.

Of Things to Write

I’ve always been one to weigh my words carefully, as if they’re diamonds. Sometimes it might be tempting to just blurt out any rant and opinion that cross my mind.

Yet I’ve always failed to do so, like there’s a switch that flick to the side of caution every time the urge for expletives is increasing.

That goes double for emails and any other written communications, especially blogs. It's all too easy for someone to misconstrue even the simplest statement and get hot under the collar about it.

Being a consummate Libra, making peace is what comes most easily to me and what I do best. Some friends often criticize me for sitting in the fence far too frequently. Yet until now I haven’t had the temerity to write anything outrageous or controversial.

While it turns out that being outrageous and controversial is one of the recipe to get traffic and comments. Sex does sell and denouncing everyone’s favorite religion are among the current trends for attracting the elusive visitors.

Instead I chose to write about lighter stuff of life and decide to promote the beauty of Indonesia from time to time.

You get to see the hottest and mind boggling reports about my country from the news media and some of the blogs around. They often portray us in the darkest of tinted glass because let’s face it, for them bad news is good news. While I believe quite the opposite.

The truth perhaps lies somewhere in the middle, or it could be that the truth, does not exist at all.

My problem is, I haven’t been around my country that much.

I was born in Sulawesi, in my opinion the least celebrated island in the archipelago. I know the area pretty well. I have written about Bantimurung, and I La Galigo. I’ll probably write about Tana Toraja and Bunaken sometimes in the future.

I have touched about Tangkuban Perahu and Pelabuhan Ratu and will get to Prambanan and Borobudur next.

I studied architecture in Bandung for 6 years but have no fascinating view about the city compared to the other writings around.

That’s just about it really.

Of course I can write about other beautiful places by research (and there are a lot, believe you me), but that would not be from first hand experience. It won’t be fair.

Here I am hoping that someday I get the chance to see more places.

Of Pengamen

A Man with Ukulele singing What a Wonderful World

I’ve got to make this very quickly for there are monsters looming large and their shadows are hovering ominously above us.

In a long and boring commute, people would do anything to occupy their mind. Some are busy reading paper, some are listening to audio player, a few stare vacantly to the window outside, but most prefer sleeping.

One phenomenon that are striving in Jakarta’s shambolic but unique transportation system are a group of street performers called Pengamen.

They are ever present in every big buses and trains traveling to and from the metropolitan area.

During my short experience on buses from Jakarta to Bekasi, I have made some classification over these street smart band.

The best would be a group of men, in an ensemble, using more than one music instruments such as guitar, violin, and even percussions. They range between good and very good. Often times they are enterprising and entertaining with songs selection from the latest Indonesian top forty to rock classics. At one time they performed Vanessa Mae's Toccata & Fugue which blew passengers out of the water.

The second ones is a single adult male performer with a guitar or ukulele. In this group you can sometime stumble upon a select few with very good musicality. They have astonishing voice and several even have this unique ability to communicate with their audience ala radio DJ. These are rare breed though and you wouldn’t hesitate to spare some thousand rupiahs for these street entertainers.

The third ones and they currently make the most frequent appearances, are pure incomprehensible noises. Typically they are tone deaf underage and teenagers. You gave them spare change out of compassion and or primordial preferences, depend on whether they are singing your religion’s song book.

The fourth group are beggars and muggers masquerading as pengamen. From clapping hands and pleading money for their sick friend, or claiming to have just got out prison. They’re in short a disgrace to their kind.

Recent sudden fame of Aris (Januarisman), pengamen turned finalist of Indonesian Idol, shot to stardom from his incredible rendition of ST12 hit, would encourage fellow pengamen alike cracking to improve their fortune.

Like it or not, they will always be there, when the employment field and opportunities in the big city still difficult to find.

As for me, they have been an interesting company in my long and winding road home.

Of Day Job

Been thinking about how to make some extra cash on the side by doing what I love. It's not going to be the first time. I’ve had some moonlighting episodes in the past.

I just stopped doing that these couple of years. I figure quality time for myself is just so priceless, and I didn’t want to waste it merely for a few extra bucks.

Some people have the luxury to do things they love full time. I used to love what I do, it’s just years gone by and it became a bore, a ritual.

First, I have to figure out what it is that would inspire me most and will chase it later. I just don't have the guts to quit my day job to pursue it - not yet.

I've got some ideas. One of them is quite good - it involves making money by turning my hobby into a part-time job. Which will be nice.

The dreadful part is that, since this economic turmoil won’t be stopping anytime soon, I may eventually end up doing the hobby full-time and my 'job' part-time. Not exactly a first-rate scenario.

In the end the hobby will eventually be totally boring and I’ll be back to square one. Vicious cycle really.

Part and parcel of life.

Well, I’ve got to do my homework. Lay down the grounds and doing some networking. In just a few months, I figure I would be ready. I have to stop stalling and decide what to do about it.

Maybe I have to ask someone who knows the ropes for some advice. Problem is, all of my close friends are nine to fivers like me.

Surely there’s somebody else out there, It’s that time to open my year book again.

Bantimurung

Some of Alfred Russel Wallace – The famous British Naturalist – most pleasurable moments in life were spent in Bantimurung. It is no overstatement as the name of the area itself, Bantimurung, loosely translated as a place to overturn sadness.

Notes of his alluring account in “Malay Archipelago” prompt many archeologists and lepidopterists to visit and observe the kingdom of butterflies he mentioned in his writings.

Bantimurung has long been known as a magnet for tourist, local and foreign. It was located about an hour northeast of Makassar, Sulawesi. The area has been stapled as a prime natural reservation but, sadly, that doesn't mean much in Indonesia.

Many wildlife species in Bantimurung are endangered by fervent collectors and locals who treat them as profitable souvenir. It is a popular weekend resort for families and couples who seek cooling in the river under the waterfall.

A lot has changed since Wallace roamed there in 1856-57.

The place once was the habitat of around 250 different types of butterfly. Recent research found only 100 left. It’s a rarity nowadays to see them flying around freely, so if you decided to visit, August and September would be the best season for a trip.

Papilio androcles
The largest and rarest swallow-tiled butterflies, often seen wander around Bantimurung

Back in 1999 was the last time me and friends rove this beautiful waterfall. Butterflies were all over the place at that time especially after the rain stops.

The magnificent view and the relaxing sound of surging water was comparable to the feelings I had when staring Pantheon’s rooftop or the tranquility of Sacre Coeur.

All that has led to Sir Wallace considered it paradise on earth.

I encourage you to come, time and money permits, before all the butterflies have gone.

Of Love and Growing Up

Was having a major crush with someone in my 1994 batch. Three years I think it took me to get over her. During those darker days I am so sure it was love. I was such a hopeless romantic back then. Ah, the level of naivety still have me chuckle and purple until now.

I remember she asked me during one outing, what gets me attracted to a girl. My answer was … “the hair” ! What kind of dimwitted lame answer was that? No wonder she opted to go out with somebody else.

Should have went for something more cerebral you know. Personality, sense of humor, quick wit, and a selection of better answers masking my apparent shallowness.

To be fair though, she actually has gorgeous hair.

During my junior high, I have this feeling with the prettiest girl in school (well, at least according to me and some friends). Three years went by and the only time I was able to really talk to her was when we're on our separate ways after the graduation. We kept being pen mate for several years after.

I think if there’s a book for teenager to overcome the awkwardness of growing up, that will be a best seller.

I’m happy to report I haven’t grown out of it. The awkwardness, the uncontrolled blush, and the brain short circuit is still there.

Here’s a question for those of you who are, or have ever been, in love. If the object of your affection doesn't feel the same way, would you still be in love with them, despite the hopelessness of the situation, or would you rather rid yourself of these feelings?

Back then, I used to linger in those feelings … far too long. Not so much after the new millennia when something turn me into this pragmatic self.

Maybe it’s true that love is overrated, romanticized by those who've never known it and those who manage to profit from it like Hallmark and De Beers.

Growing up and growing old made me realize that care and affection is what matters. Not that glorified bio-chemical reaction called Love.

As you can observe from the picture above. I look happier now albeit slightly wider horizontally :)

Of Sinden and Blue Eyes

I was just toying with the remote control, changing the channels, when something very peculiar shown on the TV. A woman, complete in her authentic Javanese Kebaya, was singing as a sinden. What’s amazing is that, she is not a Javanese, not even Indonesian. She is in fact a leggy Caucasian woman born in Wisconsin, USA.

She was sitting there among the other sindens and belted some pitch perfect Kromo Inggil (Javanese Language of the highest caste - according to my wife who is from Malang). She also dance and mime in a flexibility often attributed to the most veteran of dancers.

My wife and I were just sitting there with our collective jaws hit the floor.

Now being a sinden is not like your run of the mill singing technique. It requires theatrical ability, wide range of pitch control with atypical (pentatonic?) notes, and most importantly the comprehensive grasp of Javanese language and folklore. That made the achievement of one Karen Elizabeth Sekararum all the more remarkable.

The number of professional sinden across the nation has been in a steady decreasing trend for quite sometime now. This is inline with the decreasing number of Wayang Show – Indonesian traditional puppet, confirmed by Tribun Indonesia, a local newspaper.

With young ones like us pursuing careers that would make all of our parents proud. Working as engineer, IT geek, architect, and other field deemed more promising financially. Even those into art, prefer western type of art such as hip-hop, R&B, and break-dance. Traditional heritage has been neglected over the years. It is encouraging to see the attention is now gaining momentum.

After some Google research, I found out that there are other budding foreigner sinden around, apart from Mrs. Sekararum. One Briton by the name of Esther Wilds, a Chinese descendant Meyling Sri Bowo. and another American, Susan Pratt Walton.

Several shows has been a sell out, with people intrigued by the sight of white women singing Babad Tanah Jawa. They could even let slip some English during the show, with the audience all laughing and amused. It was fantastic.

If Karen Elizabeth could fall in love with Indonesian art and culture. Indonesians should be even more proud that our traditional art can be as admirable as that of foreign culture. Hopefully not only our government authority but the private sector able to seize this opportunity to introduce them to broader audience.

With the world having a better appreciation of our cultural history, might as well become a counter balance of all the negative issues that has blighted our nation’s journey.

Note:

• Photo taken and edited from http://www.mangun-dharma.com/

Of Putting from The Rough

Everyday I go to the office using a commute called omprengan. We’ll venture more about omprengan in the coming days. Right now, I’d like to share with you a rather uncomfortable experience in my ride to the office these past few days.

Basically omprengan is a mini van type of car, like Suzuki Carry or Daihatsu Zebra. Two sit in front with the driver, four in the middle, and six in the back. I know, it’s totally crowded. People are bumper to bumper in the most inconvenient way possible. But it’s miles better than running for the buses from my place in Bekasi.

The six persons in the back are sitting face to face, knee to knee, if you please. In one fine day you’ll got a companion of some skinny and pretty ladies, so there’s room to spare. At worst you can end up with 6 rather large men like me with sweats pouring, as more often than not, the omprengan doesn’t have air-condition.

Anyway, there’s only a few cars operating to each direction, mine is Sudirman. So it’s inevitable you’d meet the same people over and over again.

There is this one particular guy, probably around 35, whose being friendly to me, sometimes in the threshold of being too friendly. Previously, we were just nodding to each other, sometimes chat a little bit about the driver being careless and what not.

I was beginning to be suspicious when his hands frequently touching my sitting knee. Too frequent and just landing there far too long for my liking. One time he tried as far as rubbing my thighs. I was in total shock and abruptly move my feet away from him. That was Wednesday.

On Thursday, I got up early and tried to change my habit, exchanging my usual favorite ride. Yet there he was again. This time his hand held my knee, and he tried to make conversation. I was being polite and immediately putting my iPod on to avoid any further contact.

People are stopping off in front of BRI and all of a sudden it was just me and him in the back. Now this is what makes me real mad. When I wanted to get off the car, as I bend there to drop my right foot, he spank me right in my ass. It was totally humiliating and I was just standing there speechless like an idiot.

What would any guy do in a moment like this?

I told my friends and they were just laughing their socks off. It’s not funny guys, well maybe a little bit, but they're not helping. I still don’t know what to do if next time he repeat his act.

I’m a very bashful person. Always trying to shun attention away. I’d be caught dead before I could make a scene, let alone inform a guy to get his hands off me.

Am I homophobic? I guess not. Being branded as a homophobic in these PC days, close many doors for you. But let’s just say this is not the first time for me. However we'll talk abut that some other time.

Of Red and White

You know that unavoidable moment when your wife asks you to be a little more frequent in saying that you love her. I wonder if my country Indonesia could speak, She'd asks the same out of all the people who born, live, breathe, feed, and love in Her bosom.

From now on, I promise to proclaim my love for Indonesia a bit more often. For no particular reason really. I just love this country so much, the people, the beauty of the land, the culture (I mean we have 400 different tribes, and 400 or more languages for God sake), the never ending promise, pride, and joy this land has given to me. To us.

I don't really care what people may say.

This high time is exactly the reason I get so angry to see politicians, time and again, fail to live up to the pride of our flag. Politics have been such a dog eat dog arena, and have drag this great nation to places She isn’t suppose to.

I can’t do anything about that now. We can’t do much more about that now. Nevertheless, there’s nothing wrong in showing your love to your country from time to time.

In this troubled times we might want to remember the old cliché asking about what have you done to your country. I wish in the end I could die and be able to proudly say that I've given everything that I could to serve my country.

( This is for all my high school friends who serve in Lebanon, I envy you guys! )

Ritz Carlton Buffet

Lamb Yum

We dine in Ritz Carlton last week. Ira crave the teppanyaki ice cream and I've been dying for some big delicious prawns.

It was rather empty when we arrived. Packed full not long after, with families and couples alike. Overall, twas an OK meal, I am too easily full nowadays for my liking.

There are quite a few dishes I haven't pillage. The pasta has gone downhill since the last time we visited. Couldn't quite point out what's missing. Maybe they have changed chef.

For around 19 dollar per person, it was definitely worth the price, if only I weren't so fed up. Pity, I used to be such a warrior on buffets.

However I must say the ratio between food quality, quantity and compared prices, Ritz Carlton trumps Four Season and Le Meridien. No surprise there's a lot of tourists and expatriates hobnobbing around us. There were several celebs also but we was too busy munching the lobsters to pay attention.

Ira enjoyed the dessert set, a collection of mouthwatering troufle, tasty tiramisu, and colorful mouse. Perhaps that's the reason she picked Ritz Carlton. It's her favorite place for cookies and sweets.

Here's some of the pictures of my loot. Forgive the quality, as they were taken with an old camera.

Starting with some baby lobsters.

Half eaten Tiramisu and assorted sweets

Ira looking rather happy.

By the time we went home, I was more or less five kilos heavier. Gone all of my hard work in the gym for this last two months.

Of Thugs & Misdirection

I gotta hand it to the current administration. They are very slick in using this whole Ahmadiyah FPI saga as a smokescreen for the 35% rise of fuel price.

Now everyone and their English speaking dog is crying in unison for the banning of these FPI thugs and forgetting already about the petroleum hike.

It's funny and amusing how the local blogdom react to some members of the aptly named National Alliance for Freedom of Religion and Faith (AKKBB) being beaten to pulp by these so called Islamic Defender Front (FPI).

It's like a competition of who could scream foul the loudest and who could come up with the most creative insults to this notorious band of men in robes. Kudos to them. Let them all be the unwitting cogs of SBY's PR machine.

The overreaction will definitely reach its fever pitch in these coming weeks drowning all the issue of inflation and the increase of living cost. As I were saying, more power to SBY's think tank.

The conniving section of the media also working full time for this. I haven't been able to guesstimate what their motive was. To sell papers/slots while staying in the good books of the government perhaps. It's like one clap for two flies at once.

O well, all of this to me is like watching a car crash.

Of I La Galigo

Not a great deal of people aware that the world’s longest literary work is not the Harry Potter series. That title belongs to the unheralded piece of an ancient scribble named I La Galigo. It is a vast epic and stirring saga of heroes, forbidden love, gods versus demons, and the eternal battle between good and evil.

Some sources even mention that it’s around twenty times longer than the Homer’s Odyssey. It’s estimated at 6000 folio pages, related to events from pre-Islamic, 14th century Bugis, South of Sulawesi, Indonesia. Would make a good read during my or anyone's boring commute.

During my study of Bugis Architecture I found myself more fascinated with reading about Sawerigading than the actual concept of local building (not that they're half boring, mind you). Sawerigading is the main protagonist on this giant story arc. Apparently he traveled to places no people ever step on, after falling in love deeply with his twin sister. Of course this incestuous love is strictly prohibited even in the times of the Gods, and he ultimately have to marry another woman.

It was said that this ancient chronicle consists of dozen of episodes, using wide range of storybook technique called flashback and foreshadowing. Now that is interesting. People in South Sulawesi are long known for their tradition of history writing using ‘Lontara’ – some sort of papyrus or fan.

It’s unfortunate the local humidity often times ruin these past writings. Very few have survived and shockingly preserved not in local museum but in European Libraries. Evidently they were quite valuable amongst European scholars back then. I remember one Sherlock Holmes story involving one Bugis manuscript.

When I was a kid, we have this rented villa, we always use during the school holidays. It was on the street named La Galigo in Makassar. I wasn’t aware of the significance until my findings in the Library many years after.

Some time ago there’s several article in national publication regarding an around the world performing art directed by Robert Wilson which featuring a cast of 50 Indonesia's finest performers. Some said it is a hit. Reading about it made me warm and fuzzy because it was about the land where I was born, Sulawesi.

Here are some links with information about I La Galigo:

• Indonesian Article in Sinar Harapan
• PDF about I La Galigo

Update - after doing some follow up research I found one article from The Time Magazine:

• Puttin' on the Myths
  

Of Coming Back

Almost 2 years have past since the last journal. A lot have happened but to be honest I'm not sure they'll make a good reading. The last couple of weeks however, something tickled me to do this time consuming and not necessarily productive blog trawling. My life was sailing along real fine, now I'm starting to miss deadlines and end up arguing some insignificants with strangers over the internet.

Blogging for me is a pretentious habit. Often times I was trying too hard to look cleverer than I really am. Using some big words and pseudo intellectual analysis talking about things beyond my pay grade. There, see i did it again. Looking back to what I've written so far sometimes embarrass me, it's not even funny.

Those were the days huh.

Wish I could just write something for private, for archiving sake. When I get older, as something my kids will read to me in my death bed. But then I argue myself, where's the fun in that? It's a lot nicer to write something that some people, even in small number, could read and relate to.

Mind you, I used to have a journal (ehem diary) in junior high. Putting all the name of girls I fancy inside. My late sis (bless her) stole and read it. I knew I should've wrote it in magic ink. Well, let's just say, paranoia has haunt me since.

Indonesian blogosphere though has changed a lot this few years. Encouraging to see the variety of quality and quantity posts by fellow countrymen. Some prominent names has risen to the fore and maintain quality for years. There are some cliques, elites who hounds off in packs those daring to voice dissenting opinions. There are people making real money out of blog and there are skeptics. A national convention in the name of Indonesian Blogger Party even held successfully a while ago. Things are looking promising.

Along with my trawling madness I found one particular blog which air my exact feeling about a lot of subjects, it's scary, only he put it in a much cooler fashion and far more articulate. I would have give you the link, but I’m afraid you'll just stop there and never return.

Phew, finished my first post. For your information, I wrote this on a non air-conditioned commute. We'll get into that later. Here's hoping for more journal to come.