Bersahutan azan.
KRL masuk pelan.
Antara Tuhan
atau tujuan.
Berdesakan,
berdesahan.
Syukurku ini pilihan.
Bukan kenyataan harian.
Sungguh kasihan.
Mereka rutin dibeginikan.
-----
Depok, 26 September 2012
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Of Chennai, India
When I was ordered to go to Chennai, India, I had no clue that I
will have to haggle with a senile, got baked while sleeping, and use
neighbor’s cloth line without permission. I won’t get you too far to
those now because I haven’t told you why I should go to India in the
first place.
One of my many bosses told me that I have to go India to train in a fertility clinic. Fertility training in India? How come the second most overpopulated nation in the universe could be a major player in fertility training?
Infertility is about 10-15% of all couples anywhere in the world. Now run those numbers with India’s sheer population, and you have more than a handful of cases. The large number means you will have ample experience in whatever training you conduct. That's how you have the opportunity not easily found elsewhere.
So, on a Saturday at dawn, three ladies and I boarded the plane from our hometown to a place we only knew in map; Chennai, a.k.a. Madras, India. It took us almost 7 hours of air travel, 8 hours of waiting at airports, and 3 times of transits to get to the city. Having arrived at 2 a.m. in Chennai, we found out that we were poorly informed about accommodation. The hospital apartment that was supposed to be our place in Chennai couldn’t be found. Luckily, with the help of a fellow Indonesian we contacted earlier, we managed to stay in an affordable inn, R.J. Residence in North Boag Road near Singapore Consulate (according to the inn’s leaflet). We took a single standard room (2000 rupees) for me and a double standard room (Rs. 2200) for the three ladies. All costs added with 19% “luxury” charge. That makes about Rs. 5000 (almost USD 100) which is quite inexpensive.
I woke up in late the morning and curious about my companion. They were placed in room 306 but no one answered my knocks. I asked the receptionist and he told me that my friends were in 204. I checked 204 after the bellboy opened it with a master key but the room was already emptied. There are no bags and bed sheets were untidy. I got out the inn and horrifyingly, a very large crowd of crows rocketed, flocked and croaked everywhere. No one was in the street and this was 8 a.m. already. I checked my cellphone and there was no balance left. My SIM card is an Indonesian one, but when I wanted to buy a local one, nobody sold one. All those adversaries made me realize the fact: I was in the movie “Unknown” where a foreigner wake up and inexplicably lost his travelling mates. What do I do now? How can I communicate with someone familiar without any cellphone? What if my friends decided to left me? Those questions scattered in my head they made those chaotic crows looked like the cute Tweety.
I tried to digest the fact while wandering and observing the neighborhood. Apparently God was only testing me because a burst of calamity suddenly hit me. I somehow felt that my colleagues are fine and all of these were just misunderstanding. The locals I met later explained everything: it was Sunday so no one wake up early; the normal working hour started at 10 a.m. so nobody sells anything yet; my friends were actually in room 309 instead of 204 or 306. I eventually met them; they were safe and sound. When I told them how wild my imagination had taken me, that room was shaken with laughter.
Once we arrived at the actual apartment which we are going to call home for the next two weeks, we found out that it was far from ready. Wires were dangling all over the places; nothing can be found in the kitchen; air conditioner still inside the box; you got the picture. One handy man from the hospital who we’ll befriend (read: commandeer) in so many days later told us that the apartment will be ready at night. He suggested us to spend a little time in the nearby mall while he got things arranged. It turned out that it took three more days until we could live comfortable enough in the apartment.
The four of us Indonesians plus one native Indian from New Delhi occupied the three bedroom apartment. Since our apartment was barely furnished, we needed to go to department store almost every day. I am so glad that my travel mates are all comedians. Otherwise we’d all be driven insane by the over-usage of curry, the scorching heat of summer peak, and the general madness of Indian motorists.
The main problem was the very hot environment of Chennai combined with electrical cut. The blackout unfortunately was more frequent at nights when air cooling was needed the most. The locals sleep on their balcony; I saw this one morning while observing our neighborhood for good photographing angle from the rooftop. While the heat at daytimes wasn’t too bad as we remained inside the air-conditioned-hospital, it was excruciating at nights when hot air from the day trapped inside the ceiling and couldn’t be cooled because of the electrical cut. On the second night which was the worst, I slept on the floor at the kitchen doorstep with the door remained open all along the night. That was the only place I didn’t feel like being baked alive.
The heat has its own benefit. We washed our clothes quite regularly so the heat ensured that we have something to wear on the next day. This was the time when a dispute over cloth lines happened with a local who live downstairs. Our balcony might be for sharing with the whole tenants in the building, but apparently that was not the case with cloth line. So when this neighbor found out that we had been using her cloth lines and clips without permission, we were met with ramble in Tamil language which none of us understand (the Indian lady in our apartment speaks Hindi instead of Tamil) and crossed, fiery eyes which every living beings understand. We never found ropes for sell to make our own cloth lines, so we still use hers :D
The other concern was that South Indian food are not palatable to us. They’re either too bland, like idly, or too spicy, like curry. Even the North Indian lady had to resort to cook her own meal. We had in our bags some Indonesian foods like instant noodles, chili sauce, etc., but eventually we would have to cook anyway. We didn’t have any refrigerator so groceries needed to be bought in small amount suffice for one or two days only, otherwise they will get rotten and wasted. Personally I would buy a refrigerator but the other thought it wasn’t necessary. That’s another reason for keep coming to the mall. We suspected that the mall guard would remember our faces many years from now since we got there so regularly.
Nevertheless, on the third day we decided that we needed a break with the mall visits. Our days were usually ended with journey back from the mall to the apartment by the Indian motorized tricycle (“auto”). We temporarily ceased the visits because one of us got too stressed out by auto drivers whom all aspiring to become the Lewis Hamilton of India. If you’ve seen the “bajaj” drivers of Jakarta, you’d know what I’m talking about. They sway their way like a snake and they trust their brakes too much; your nose would literally touch the other vehicle at lightning speed before those mad drivers brake! The only ones who drove less violently were the elderlies. Thanks to the financially-aware Indian lady who shared the apartment and transportation with us, on one evening we all managed to fit ourselves inside an auto driven by a senile male after heavily haggling him. For your information, an auto is designed for two passengers sitting comfortably; three would show cheapness and five would be a total chaos. By the end of that five minutes journey, we couldn’t decide which one of our behavior is more disgusting, haggling with a senile or overloading his auto that way….
Those hilarious stories may last in our memories longer than the training itself. Our training usually started at 10 a.m. with a couple of lectures that finished before lunch and continued with laboratory work until the end of the day. I found the lab session was slightly competitive due to unmatched amount of lab equipment and participant. But at the fourth day, I finally seized control of a microscope before anybody else did. Thanks to the two lab staffs whom have been assisting us always, I was finally able to dissolve my frustration at finding and manipulating sheep egg cells in petri dishes.
At one point, I realized why our training costs USD 2500 for each person. We were using actual laboratory equipment used every day in helping couples with fertility problems; trained by very competent people in the field; and the fertility topic itself is using state-of-the-art technologies. One of my friends who previously had a similar training in Malaysia told me that this Indian center uses more expensive protocols to maintain their high pregnancy rate. While working in lab, the staffs would be more than willing to help whenever I failed to have desired results. We could ask for everything to hone our laboratory skill.
Of the fourteen participants, only four were foreigners; us Indonesians. The rest were native Indians from all over the country. Compared to us, the natives are seemed to be very serious about this training. That’s not shocking; for them this is a personal investment. But for us Indonesians, since every cost had been covered by our university, this institutional investment didn’t prevent us from laughing at every mishap we faced, whether it was crystalized egg cells due to lack of preserving media, or a silly dispute with fellow Indonesians over limited electricity for powering air conditioners in different rooms. We also have a feeling that the clinic’s staffs liked us more. Actually, one staff mentioned that Indonesian people are radiant. Well, maybe we were overconfident about this, but the other staff befriended us in a way that she let herself to pinch one of my friend’s cheeks out of joy.
Now that we are entering the second half of the training, I start to feel that our time in this Land of Spice is way too short. Yet within only a week of time, we have been having experiences worthy of telling to our families and descendants in many years to come; not only of the educational part but mainly because of the life-teaching moments we’ve had. The path of our lives have been crossing with some inspiring souls; helpful and seasoned laboratory staffs, grateful maid who wash all of our clothes for only a quarter of dollar per day; hospital driver who were preparing for railway factory labor entrance test while escorting us; and so many more in this humble country. It made us realize that our debt is not to the university only, but also to all couples in our country in need of help at having child, at having hope for the better world.
Chennai, 11 Juni 2012
One of my many bosses told me that I have to go India to train in a fertility clinic. Fertility training in India? How come the second most overpopulated nation in the universe could be a major player in fertility training?
Infertility is about 10-15% of all couples anywhere in the world. Now run those numbers with India’s sheer population, and you have more than a handful of cases. The large number means you will have ample experience in whatever training you conduct. That's how you have the opportunity not easily found elsewhere.
So, on a Saturday at dawn, three ladies and I boarded the plane from our hometown to a place we only knew in map; Chennai, a.k.a. Madras, India. It took us almost 7 hours of air travel, 8 hours of waiting at airports, and 3 times of transits to get to the city. Having arrived at 2 a.m. in Chennai, we found out that we were poorly informed about accommodation. The hospital apartment that was supposed to be our place in Chennai couldn’t be found. Luckily, with the help of a fellow Indonesian we contacted earlier, we managed to stay in an affordable inn, R.J. Residence in North Boag Road near Singapore Consulate (according to the inn’s leaflet). We took a single standard room (2000 rupees) for me and a double standard room (Rs. 2200) for the three ladies. All costs added with 19% “luxury” charge. That makes about Rs. 5000 (almost USD 100) which is quite inexpensive.
I woke up in late the morning and curious about my companion. They were placed in room 306 but no one answered my knocks. I asked the receptionist and he told me that my friends were in 204. I checked 204 after the bellboy opened it with a master key but the room was already emptied. There are no bags and bed sheets were untidy. I got out the inn and horrifyingly, a very large crowd of crows rocketed, flocked and croaked everywhere. No one was in the street and this was 8 a.m. already. I checked my cellphone and there was no balance left. My SIM card is an Indonesian one, but when I wanted to buy a local one, nobody sold one. All those adversaries made me realize the fact: I was in the movie “Unknown” where a foreigner wake up and inexplicably lost his travelling mates. What do I do now? How can I communicate with someone familiar without any cellphone? What if my friends decided to left me? Those questions scattered in my head they made those chaotic crows looked like the cute Tweety.
I tried to digest the fact while wandering and observing the neighborhood. Apparently God was only testing me because a burst of calamity suddenly hit me. I somehow felt that my colleagues are fine and all of these were just misunderstanding. The locals I met later explained everything: it was Sunday so no one wake up early; the normal working hour started at 10 a.m. so nobody sells anything yet; my friends were actually in room 309 instead of 204 or 306. I eventually met them; they were safe and sound. When I told them how wild my imagination had taken me, that room was shaken with laughter.
Once we arrived at the actual apartment which we are going to call home for the next two weeks, we found out that it was far from ready. Wires were dangling all over the places; nothing can be found in the kitchen; air conditioner still inside the box; you got the picture. One handy man from the hospital who we’ll befriend (read: commandeer) in so many days later told us that the apartment will be ready at night. He suggested us to spend a little time in the nearby mall while he got things arranged. It turned out that it took three more days until we could live comfortable enough in the apartment.
The four of us Indonesians plus one native Indian from New Delhi occupied the three bedroom apartment. Since our apartment was barely furnished, we needed to go to department store almost every day. I am so glad that my travel mates are all comedians. Otherwise we’d all be driven insane by the over-usage of curry, the scorching heat of summer peak, and the general madness of Indian motorists.
The main problem was the very hot environment of Chennai combined with electrical cut. The blackout unfortunately was more frequent at nights when air cooling was needed the most. The locals sleep on their balcony; I saw this one morning while observing our neighborhood for good photographing angle from the rooftop. While the heat at daytimes wasn’t too bad as we remained inside the air-conditioned-hospital, it was excruciating at nights when hot air from the day trapped inside the ceiling and couldn’t be cooled because of the electrical cut. On the second night which was the worst, I slept on the floor at the kitchen doorstep with the door remained open all along the night. That was the only place I didn’t feel like being baked alive.
The heat has its own benefit. We washed our clothes quite regularly so the heat ensured that we have something to wear on the next day. This was the time when a dispute over cloth lines happened with a local who live downstairs. Our balcony might be for sharing with the whole tenants in the building, but apparently that was not the case with cloth line. So when this neighbor found out that we had been using her cloth lines and clips without permission, we were met with ramble in Tamil language which none of us understand (the Indian lady in our apartment speaks Hindi instead of Tamil) and crossed, fiery eyes which every living beings understand. We never found ropes for sell to make our own cloth lines, so we still use hers :D
The other concern was that South Indian food are not palatable to us. They’re either too bland, like idly, or too spicy, like curry. Even the North Indian lady had to resort to cook her own meal. We had in our bags some Indonesian foods like instant noodles, chili sauce, etc., but eventually we would have to cook anyway. We didn’t have any refrigerator so groceries needed to be bought in small amount suffice for one or two days only, otherwise they will get rotten and wasted. Personally I would buy a refrigerator but the other thought it wasn’t necessary. That’s another reason for keep coming to the mall. We suspected that the mall guard would remember our faces many years from now since we got there so regularly.
Nevertheless, on the third day we decided that we needed a break with the mall visits. Our days were usually ended with journey back from the mall to the apartment by the Indian motorized tricycle (“auto”). We temporarily ceased the visits because one of us got too stressed out by auto drivers whom all aspiring to become the Lewis Hamilton of India. If you’ve seen the “bajaj” drivers of Jakarta, you’d know what I’m talking about. They sway their way like a snake and they trust their brakes too much; your nose would literally touch the other vehicle at lightning speed before those mad drivers brake! The only ones who drove less violently were the elderlies. Thanks to the financially-aware Indian lady who shared the apartment and transportation with us, on one evening we all managed to fit ourselves inside an auto driven by a senile male after heavily haggling him. For your information, an auto is designed for two passengers sitting comfortably; three would show cheapness and five would be a total chaos. By the end of that five minutes journey, we couldn’t decide which one of our behavior is more disgusting, haggling with a senile or overloading his auto that way….
Those hilarious stories may last in our memories longer than the training itself. Our training usually started at 10 a.m. with a couple of lectures that finished before lunch and continued with laboratory work until the end of the day. I found the lab session was slightly competitive due to unmatched amount of lab equipment and participant. But at the fourth day, I finally seized control of a microscope before anybody else did. Thanks to the two lab staffs whom have been assisting us always, I was finally able to dissolve my frustration at finding and manipulating sheep egg cells in petri dishes.
At one point, I realized why our training costs USD 2500 for each person. We were using actual laboratory equipment used every day in helping couples with fertility problems; trained by very competent people in the field; and the fertility topic itself is using state-of-the-art technologies. One of my friends who previously had a similar training in Malaysia told me that this Indian center uses more expensive protocols to maintain their high pregnancy rate. While working in lab, the staffs would be more than willing to help whenever I failed to have desired results. We could ask for everything to hone our laboratory skill.
Of the fourteen participants, only four were foreigners; us Indonesians. The rest were native Indians from all over the country. Compared to us, the natives are seemed to be very serious about this training. That’s not shocking; for them this is a personal investment. But for us Indonesians, since every cost had been covered by our university, this institutional investment didn’t prevent us from laughing at every mishap we faced, whether it was crystalized egg cells due to lack of preserving media, or a silly dispute with fellow Indonesians over limited electricity for powering air conditioners in different rooms. We also have a feeling that the clinic’s staffs liked us more. Actually, one staff mentioned that Indonesian people are radiant. Well, maybe we were overconfident about this, but the other staff befriended us in a way that she let herself to pinch one of my friend’s cheeks out of joy.
Now that we are entering the second half of the training, I start to feel that our time in this Land of Spice is way too short. Yet within only a week of time, we have been having experiences worthy of telling to our families and descendants in many years to come; not only of the educational part but mainly because of the life-teaching moments we’ve had. The path of our lives have been crossing with some inspiring souls; helpful and seasoned laboratory staffs, grateful maid who wash all of our clothes for only a quarter of dollar per day; hospital driver who were preparing for railway factory labor entrance test while escorting us; and so many more in this humble country. It made us realize that our debt is not to the university only, but also to all couples in our country in need of help at having child, at having hope for the better world.
Chennai, 11 Juni 2012
Kutukan Chairil
Waktu awal masuk SMA, saya iri sama teman-teman SMP yang ramai-ramai lanjut ke SMA favorit di kota sementara saya masuk SMA di dusun, di antara dua jurang dan dua sungai.
Waktu awal masuk kuliah, saya cemburu sama teman-teman SMA yang seru-seruan berbagi pengalaman jadi MABA di universitas yang sama & di kota yang sama sementara saya cuma sendiri kampus saya, di kota tempat saya merantau.
Pas lulus kuliah, saya ngiler melihat teman-teman kuliah mulai bekerja atau sekolah lagi di almamater kami, di kota megapolitan tempat semuanya ada, yang baik-baik apalagi yang buruk-buruk. Garis tangan saya malah memulangkan kembali ke kampung halaman di saat teman-teman lama sudah pindah satu-persatu dari tempat ini. Sepi lagi, sepi lagi.
Entah karena kebetulan atau memang "hasil intipan masa depan", puisi berjudul Aku (di beberapa buku judulnya Semangat) karangan Chairil Anwar yang dari kecil saya hapal memang menceritakan si Chairil yang mengambil jalan "sepi". Dia penyair yang satu-satunya bermodel "begitu" pada zamannya. Tidak ada yang menyerupai dia atau mengikuti jalan yang dia tempuh dalam dunia kepenyairan. Intinya, Chairil Anwar adalah orang yang jalan hidupnya selalu sepi, tidak ikut mainstream.
Saya hapal puisi itu pada usia kira-kira 5 tahun. Pada saat itu saya belum tahu jalan hidup saya akan sepi juga. Mungkin saat itu saya bisa menghapalnya karena jalan hidup saya ternyata selaras dengan puisi itu. Mungkin juga sih cuma kebetulan. Bagaimanapun, tiap kali saya melihat ke belakang, mau tak mau puisi Aku itu yang menjadi realitas dalam kehidupan saya.
Makassar, 22 Oktober 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Dead-night words
It's been a long time, a very long time, since the last time I had this urge to write something about nothing.
Yes, this is a familiar feeling. I remember those good times when words just easily came out of mind with appreciable depth, meaning and impact on others' lives. Now those words just sunk in daily routines, exactly like hands of a clock that are bound forever in the same dot can never touch anything beyond the 12 numbers.
Where are those times go? Where is the muse that drove me enlightened? Am I actually become a bored and boring adult now? I'm longing for those salad days; fresh and easily rotten, short-minded and adventurous.
Nowadays, I go for work for 10-12 hours. Get home and too tired for anything but facebook and sleep. Weekends without sparks and excitement.
I once dreamed to become a pilot; to be completely free and defy even gravity; to sip the drops of cloud, to see beyond the horizon. That dream, even in it's most vaguest form, light something in my bones.
But dream is the other side of the coin of reality, right? The fact that I'm now a full member of society, an adult with a permanent job, is the reality. The one who flies beyond sky is in the parallel universe.
Its 2 a.m. now. I need to start my aircraft and take-off from this world.
Yes, this is a familiar feeling. I remember those good times when words just easily came out of mind with appreciable depth, meaning and impact on others' lives. Now those words just sunk in daily routines, exactly like hands of a clock that are bound forever in the same dot can never touch anything beyond the 12 numbers.
Where are those times go? Where is the muse that drove me enlightened? Am I actually become a bored and boring adult now? I'm longing for those salad days; fresh and easily rotten, short-minded and adventurous.
Nowadays, I go for work for 10-12 hours. Get home and too tired for anything but facebook and sleep. Weekends without sparks and excitement.
I once dreamed to become a pilot; to be completely free and defy even gravity; to sip the drops of cloud, to see beyond the horizon. That dream, even in it's most vaguest form, light something in my bones.
But dream is the other side of the coin of reality, right? The fact that I'm now a full member of society, an adult with a permanent job, is the reality. The one who flies beyond sky is in the parallel universe.
Its 2 a.m. now. I need to start my aircraft and take-off from this world.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Internet Saya, (Bukan) Hidup Saya
Saya seumuran dengan internet. Kami berdua sama-sama lahir tahun 1985. Meskipun sama tuanya (atau sama mudanya), kami baru berkenalan pada usia kira-kira 13 tahun. Sampai sekarang, kami masih terus berhubungan akrab. Bahkan, tidak pernah sedekat ini.
Ya, saya sangat dekat dengan internet. Di ranjang saya yang untuk dua orang, saya tidur di sisi kiri, dan internet tidur di sisi kanan. Sebelum tidur, di tangan saya ada internet. Baru buka mata, saya sudah melihat internet. Hampir sepanjang hari, saya terus berhubungan dengan internet. Tidak peduli melalui apa saya mengalami kehidupan internet; mau itu ponsel, laptop, komputer rumah, warnet; apapun itu, eksistensi saya bersama internet hanya dipisahkan oleh sesuatu yang sangat halus dan kasat mata.
Telah separuh hidup saya berlalu bersama internet. Di fase pra-internet, begitu saya menyebut 13 tahun pertama kehidupan saya, lebih banyak jenis indera saya yang tercetus oleh kondisi sekeliling. Begitu internet hadir, penglihatan dan perabaan saya jauh lebih meningkat aktivitasnya daripada indera-indera lain. Gaya hidup saya menjadi lebih visual, lebih tekstual, lebih berfokus pada kata. Di dunia saya, pesan audio dan video di internet masih berupa barang mewah, bahkan hingga detik ini. Tentu saja internet tidak sekedar huruf, gambar dan gerakan tetikus; kini lalu lintas audio dan video bahkan lebih ramai daripada Jakarta Pusat di hari Senin pagi. Tapi sekali lagi, mari kita kenyataannya: layanan-layanan jejaring sosial paling aktif di muka bumi seperti Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, dan segala rupa, masih mengutamakan penyampaian pesan melalui teks.
Lantas apa pentingnya ini? Memangnya kenapa kalau bentuk komunikasi yang paling jamak antara manusia-manusia internet sejagat raya, seperti saya, menjadi sangat tekstual? Yang penting ’kan pesannya sampai, ya tidak?
Ehm, tidak….
Lama kelamaan, setelah belasan tahun hidup bersama internet, yang lebih memanjakan mata dan jari saya ketimbang indera lain, saya sadar bahwa internet sebagai gaya hidup saya tidak lagi memadai dalam menjalankan fungsi komunikasi yang saya butuhkan. Contohnya begini. Dengan internet, saya sangat senang bisa membeli headphone idaman saya tanpa harus keluar rumah. Saya bisa membaca penilaian orang atas suatu merek dan jenis yang spesifik; saya bisa membandingkan harga di beberapa toko internet; saya bisa membayar hanya dengan mengetikkan beberapa angka yang tertera di kartu kredit saya; semua tanpa melangkahkan kaki. Dengan internet dalam genggaman saya, semua itu proses di atas bisa selesai lebih cepat daripada waktu mandi pagi saya.
Masalahnya, apa yang terjadi dengan kemampuan komunikasi nonverbal saya jika begini terus? Masihkah saya rela meluangkan waktu pergi ke toko, berbasa-basi dengan pemilik toko sambil menawar barangnya? Akankah saya bisa membaca raut mukanya saat dia memberi saya harga? Dapatkah saya merasakan sentuhan personal dari segelas air minum kemasan yang disuguhkan saat dia melihat saya datang ke tokonya dengan berpeluh-peluh akibat naik bis kota yang sangat padat?
Dengan internet? Sulit….
Katanya pesan verbal hanya menyampaikan sekitar 30% dari seluruh pesan yang dapat diterima manusia. Pesan verbal masih lagi terbagi dalam bentuk tekstual (kata) dan non tekstual (intonasi). Maka dari itulah, dengan ilmu komunikasi yang comot dari sana sini sekenanya, saya berkesimpulan bahwa komunikasi internet yang mayoritas sangat tekstual hanya dapat menyampaikan pesan saya paling banyak 15% dibandingkan dengan komunikasi tatap muka.
Lima belas persen saja? Bahkan dengan semua kemudahan-yang-mengubah-gaya-hidup ini? Maaf-maaf saja, saya enggan mengalokasikan waktu saya untuk berhubungan dengan orang lain dengan metode yang efektivitasnya cuma sebegitu kecil. Mulai saat ini, saya akan dan harus bisa menyapih diri saya dari internet. Saya akan dan harus bisa berlelah-lelah dan meminimalkan intervensi internet dalam hidup saya dan cara saya berkomunikasi.
Tapi saya juga tidak mau bercerai dengan internet sih….
----------------------------
( ditulis dalam rangka Bhinneka Blog Competition di http://www.bhinneka.com )
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Cahaya 'nari-nari
Cahaya 'nari-nari
Di satin coklat muda
Penutup kepalamu
Kitari sudut benak
Senyummu lari-lari
Di mana-mana jejak
O, manakah Puan?
Pembawa detak napas
Asaku masa depan
Siksa hati meradang
Kapalmu b'lum tiba
Rinduku sesak dada
Pulanglah,...
Pasir putih menunggu.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Myself or my earth: a selfish perspective
It's 2 a.m now and the insomnia kicks in already. The tipsy will attack me first thing in the morning and will continue to a severe migraine if I don't have a proper breakfast or brunch. To hell with those, anyway. As long as I can enjoy this fast and free campus wi-fi in this dead night, I wouldn't mind.
I went to a bookstore, a major one, this morning and I bought a book on radiology and a magazine on popular computer technology. So I paid for them, and packed the items in my backpack without any plastic bag. So what's the big deal? The big deal is what struck me right in the head only minutes afterward.
I've been buying stuff without taking the plastic bag with one exception: when I bought my monthly food supply at the nearest hypermarket. I've been carrying my personal trash when I couldn't find any disposal bin. I been using the same mineral bottle in my fridge and in my backpack for months. I walked for a distance my friend wouldn't.
I've been doing those stuff long before the DVD "An Inconvenient Truth" released by Mr. Al Gore. And I've been doing so silently, without talking to anyone about it, without telling anyone to do so 'cause I didn't know that I should.
It was a coward act, of course, doing those things silently. I was afraid that during the earlier time when I built the habit' cause there were only me. I didn't see anyone doing so. I was affraid of being different. The final result was that I've been creating a habit for myself but the effect of my habit has been canceled by MILLIONS of other people doing contrary to it.
Now I see the DVD has been released worldwide and won the Oscar for best documentary. Mr. Al Gore himself won the Nobel Prize. The money spent on campaign by Mr. Al Gore and his team has reached millions, if not billions, of dollars. And I still see garbage piling up next to my door, at the corners of my campus, along the sidewalks of the street i walk everyday; none has changed in my surrounding. It's because I remained silent.
I'm writing this as the end of my silence. My fear that I might be seen as a pompous smart-ass has vanished outside the bookstore I mentioned earlier. I will speak now with my mouth, my hands, my actions, and my writings. I will speak this:
-Watch the "An Incovenient Truth", if you haven't. It won an Oscar, for God's sake.
-Write the "things to do" at the end of the movie, and do some of it you are able to. Only some, not all.
-Convince your closest ones to watch it.
-Don't take plastic bags unless it's necessary to pack your own garbage later.
-Walk farther.
-Buy bicycle, not more motorbikes, or even more cars, or even more SUV's.
-Put some oxygen tank in your bicycle, or use the N95 respirator while going around if you live in smoky city like Mexico City, Bangkok, or Jakarta.
-Take the public transportation.
-Don't buy SUV if you don't need the power or the torque from such engine.
-Convince your superiors to approve duplex printing for official documents, and a 50% scaled down printing for drafts.
-Again, watch the end of the movie because they have more things there and it's arranged better than this nocturnal note.
So, start it from yourself. Be selfish. Our Earth is still salvable.
Monday, February 16, 2009
It’s the 8th of February and it hit me again: the restlessness. Crap!
First, I just need to look at myself and my surroundings as I type this word. A decent notebook on my lap, a set of gaming PC in front of me, a refrigerator to lean my back, a shelf full of brick-thick medical textbooks…, the list can be very long. The point is I have luxuries. I’m lucky enough to taste those luxuries.
Second, I look at my ID card: 23 years old and no job. No financial independence whatsoever. Plus, I will still be a student for the next 20 months. I’m a massively-big spender of someone else’s money. My roommate at high school has already earned decent money for himself, his beautiful wife and his lovely 3 years old daughter.
You see, life rotates like a cart wheel. I’ve been regarding all these years as upturns. My artificial luxuries are not really downturns, are they? And what’s waiting for me all along the downturns? Will I be prepared for that?
I was trying to enjoy the last hours of this weekend by watching some movie and what’s left in my PC was “Slumdog Millionaire,” a Bollywood movie. An almost typical movie about congenital hardships of life: you know, that kind of movie which shows main character’s various hardships throughout his / her lifetime until eventually they gain the ultimate prize for all those hardships.
First, I just need to look at myself and my surroundings as I type this word. A decent notebook on my lap, a set of gaming PC in front of me, a refrigerator to lean my back, a shelf full of brick-thick medical textbooks…, the list can be very long. The point is I have luxuries. I’m lucky enough to taste those luxuries.
Second, I look at my ID card: 23 years old and no job. No financial independence whatsoever. Plus, I will still be a student for the next 20 months. I’m a massively-big spender of someone else’s money. My roommate at high school has already earned decent money for himself, his beautiful wife and his lovely 3 years old daughter.
Conclusion: I’m not very far from the term “spoiled brat”.
You see, life rotates like a cart wheel. I’ve been regarding all these years as upturns. My artificial luxuries are not really downturns, are they? And what’s waiting for me all along the downturns? Will I be prepared for that?
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Makassar: My culinary tradition
Saya perantau. Saya tinggal di Jakarta dalam 5 tahun terakhir dalam rangka kuliah (dan hal-hal lain yang lebih menyenangkan, tentu :D). Maka saya "terpaksa" menjadi bagian dari sebuah tradisi Indonesia yang dalam sudut pandang tertentu agak irasional: mudik.
Saat mudik, ibu saya selalu bertanya, "Hari ini kamu mau makan apa, Nak?" Ibu saya bukannya jago masak, malah jarang terjun langsung ke dapur. Yang dimaksud dengan pertanyaan itu adalah makanan khas Makassar apa yang belum saya makan selama mudik kali itu. Apa sajakah itu? Mari kita telaah satu persatu.
Coto Makassar
Ini makanan khas utama, isinya seperti soto dengan kombinasi jeroan sapi yang dimakan bersama ketupat. Di Makassar, ada sangat banyak tempat yang menjual coto, tapi tradisi kuliner saya, Coto Gagak, berada di persimpangan Jl. Gagak-Jl. Kakatua. Saya cukup beruntung karena rumah saya di Jl. Kakatua jadi cukup dekat dari penjual coto itu. Ada juga Coto Sunggu, di kota Sungguminasa, kota tetangga Makassar, yang pasti selalu saya singgahi setelah ziarah ke kuburan kakek di Sungguminasa.
Bakso/Nyuknyang
Di Makassar juga banyak tempat yang menyediakan bakso yang enak. Yang paling terkenal Kios Ati Raja di Jl. Gn. Merapi. Ini juga tidak terlalu jauh dari rumah saya, cukup dengan 10 menit naik angkot disambung naik becak 5 menit (jalan kaki juga bisa, tapi pas pulangnya pasti lapar lagi :D).
Lumpia
Otak saya (dan banyak penduduk kota Makasar) selalu mengasosiasikan kata "lumpia" dan kata "Sulawesi". Lumpia buatan Lumpia Sulawesi di Jl. Lasinrang bagi saya paling enak karena renyahnya dan sambelnya yang khas. Di Jl. Lasinrang yang pendek dan sempit berjajar banyak toko yang menjadi "tradisi" yang sudah dikenal penduduk Makasar bertahun-tahun; selain Lumpia Sulawesi, ada toko mainan Sanrio, toko pernak-pernik remaja wanita CityOne, dll.
Es Pisang Ijo
Es pisang ijo yang menjadi tradisi kuliner saya bersumber dari sebuah restoran di Jl. Andalas, dekat Masjid Raya Makassar, namanya Warung Bravo. Waktu saya kecil, kami sekeluarga kadang makan bersama restoran ini dan menu favorit saya nasi campur. Saus campuran pisang ijo berupa kuah putih kental yang manis, sirup pisang ambon berwarna merah, dan kadang-kadang susu kental manis putih. Banyak yang mengatakan es pisang ijo bukan es pisang ijo tanpa sirup merah merek DHT yang hanya dijual di Makassar. Tidak mengherankan jika yang membangun mitos ini adalah staf pemasaran pabrik sirup DHT :D
Makanan laut
Warung makanan laut favorit keluarga saya ada di dekat Pantai Losari, pantai kebanggaan masyarakat Makassar. Namanya Restoran Lae-lae. Disana, pengunjung bisa memilih ikan/udang/cumi/dll segar yang ada di dekat pembakaran ikan yang harum berasap, dan menentukan pesanannya diolah seperti apa (rebus, goreng, bakar, dll). Setelah itu baru mencari tempat duduk.
Kue-kue
Yang selalu ada dalam bekal makanan saya saat kembali ke Jakarta adalah kue bolu. Toko kue langganan ayah saya adalah toko kue Adi Jaya, berada persis di sebelah Coto Sunggu, di Sungguminasa. Kadang-kadang saya juga membawa kue bolu dari toko ini ke Jakarta untuk paman saya yang tinggal di Bintaro.
Ssalah satu sahabat baik ibu saya sejak SMP jago masak. Kadang ibu saya cuma bilang ke sahabatnya itu bahwa saya sedang berada di Makassar, lalu 2-3 hari setelahnya saya pun disuruh mengambil kue di rumah sahabatnya itu. Rasanya seperti punya toko kue sendiri :D
Tentu saja, tidak ada yang lebih mendarah daging daripada masakan rumah; ikan rebus kuning dengan asam dicampur kecap manis, ikan bakar asin, sop kentang dan kacang merah, sop telur berkuah santan; terung bakar siram santan, tumis kangkung, soto Banjar a la ibu, dan apapun yang bisa ditemukan di kulkas pada jam 11 malam.
Sudah beberapa kali orangtua saya bertanya kapan saya akan membawa teman dari Jakarta untuk berlibur di rumah beberapa hari dan melanglang buana dalam tradisi kuliner Makassar. Tertarik?
Saat mudik, ibu saya selalu bertanya, "Hari ini kamu mau makan apa, Nak?" Ibu saya bukannya jago masak, malah jarang terjun langsung ke dapur. Yang dimaksud dengan pertanyaan itu adalah makanan khas Makassar apa yang belum saya makan selama mudik kali itu. Apa sajakah itu? Mari kita telaah satu persatu.
Coto Makassar
Ini makanan khas utama, isinya seperti soto dengan kombinasi jeroan sapi yang dimakan bersama ketupat. Di Makassar, ada sangat banyak tempat yang menjual coto, tapi tradisi kuliner saya, Coto Gagak, berada di persimpangan Jl. Gagak-Jl. Kakatua. Saya cukup beruntung karena rumah saya di Jl. Kakatua jadi cukup dekat dari penjual coto itu. Ada juga Coto Sunggu, di kota Sungguminasa, kota tetangga Makassar, yang pasti selalu saya singgahi setelah ziarah ke kuburan kakek di Sungguminasa.
Bakso/Nyuknyang
Di Makassar juga banyak tempat yang menyediakan bakso yang enak. Yang paling terkenal Kios Ati Raja di Jl. Gn. Merapi. Ini juga tidak terlalu jauh dari rumah saya, cukup dengan 10 menit naik angkot disambung naik becak 5 menit (jalan kaki juga bisa, tapi pas pulangnya pasti lapar lagi :D).
Lumpia
Otak saya (dan banyak penduduk kota Makasar) selalu mengasosiasikan kata "lumpia" dan kata "Sulawesi". Lumpia buatan Lumpia Sulawesi di Jl. Lasinrang bagi saya paling enak karena renyahnya dan sambelnya yang khas. Di Jl. Lasinrang yang pendek dan sempit berjajar banyak toko yang menjadi "tradisi" yang sudah dikenal penduduk Makasar bertahun-tahun; selain Lumpia Sulawesi, ada toko mainan Sanrio, toko pernak-pernik remaja wanita CityOne, dll.
Es Pisang Ijo
Es pisang ijo yang menjadi tradisi kuliner saya bersumber dari sebuah restoran di Jl. Andalas, dekat Masjid Raya Makassar, namanya Warung Bravo. Waktu saya kecil, kami sekeluarga kadang makan bersama restoran ini dan menu favorit saya nasi campur. Saus campuran pisang ijo berupa kuah putih kental yang manis, sirup pisang ambon berwarna merah, dan kadang-kadang susu kental manis putih. Banyak yang mengatakan es pisang ijo bukan es pisang ijo tanpa sirup merah merek DHT yang hanya dijual di Makassar. Tidak mengherankan jika yang membangun mitos ini adalah staf pemasaran pabrik sirup DHT :D
Makanan laut
Warung makanan laut favorit keluarga saya ada di dekat Pantai Losari, pantai kebanggaan masyarakat Makassar. Namanya Restoran Lae-lae. Disana, pengunjung bisa memilih ikan/udang/cumi/dll segar yang ada di dekat pembakaran ikan yang harum berasap, dan menentukan pesanannya diolah seperti apa (rebus, goreng, bakar, dll). Setelah itu baru mencari tempat duduk.
Kue-kue
Yang selalu ada dalam bekal makanan saya saat kembali ke Jakarta adalah kue bolu. Toko kue langganan ayah saya adalah toko kue Adi Jaya, berada persis di sebelah Coto Sunggu, di Sungguminasa. Kadang-kadang saya juga membawa kue bolu dari toko ini ke Jakarta untuk paman saya yang tinggal di Bintaro.
Ssalah satu sahabat baik ibu saya sejak SMP jago masak. Kadang ibu saya cuma bilang ke sahabatnya itu bahwa saya sedang berada di Makassar, lalu 2-3 hari setelahnya saya pun disuruh mengambil kue di rumah sahabatnya itu. Rasanya seperti punya toko kue sendiri :D
Tentu saja, tidak ada yang lebih mendarah daging daripada masakan rumah; ikan rebus kuning dengan asam dicampur kecap manis, ikan bakar asin, sop kentang dan kacang merah, sop telur berkuah santan; terung bakar siram santan, tumis kangkung, soto Banjar a la ibu, dan apapun yang bisa ditemukan di kulkas pada jam 11 malam.
Sudah beberapa kali orangtua saya bertanya kapan saya akan membawa teman dari Jakarta untuk berlibur di rumah beberapa hari dan melanglang buana dalam tradisi kuliner Makassar. Tertarik?
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Saturday
What do you do in a Saturday afternoon? Change your bed sheet. Get your laundry done. Just stay in bed. Listen to some chilled-out music. Hang out with friends in some overcrowded malls. Go somewhere with your families. Planning your perfect first date. Go to gallery. Try a new restaurant in town.
My Saturday afternoon is my gift and my curse. It’s a non allocated time in the perpetual cycle of weeks. Sometimes I miss Saturday very much like a boy waiting for his favorite toy. Sometimes I just can’t figure out what to do that I might stay in bed, swinging my pillow one side to another, try to maintain my 12 hours sleep.
I used to love Saturdays. When I was in elementary school, my parents used to take us to this renowned family diner every Saturday afternoon. They have a great fried chicken there. Even now I can taste the chicken sauce in my lips and my sister’s laughter. And then came high school. Saturdays are the most anticipated day because my high scool is a boarding school isolated in valleys, rivers, creeks, and endless dried rice fields. Saturday means a permission to leave the school until Sunday evening; permission to take a breath from harsh live of high school, pressure from seniors and academically demanding teachers.
My uncle said whatever things we do in our present times are investment to what we are in the future. Supposedly he is right, then so far I gain zero interest for my Saturdays. I don’t know what is the best thing to do in Saturdays. I don’t know what is the best thing to do with my later life. I see people do something from a single-numbered age until they reach more-numbered age and they become very good in that ”something”, they live in that ”something”. I sometimes find myself asking, ”What is my something, what is the thing that I’ve done for so long and become very good at it?” Well, to be honest, there is one thing: sleeping. I’m a famous classroom sleeper from high school until college. None of my classmates will disagree. But sleeping is not actually living, isn’t it?
Don’t get me wrong. I do have some nice Saturdays. Mostly it happen when I buy new video game title to play in my PC. Or some new DVD movie. Or go camping with some fellow in college. Or feel a bit adventurous and go to some new place alone. But that’s not the point. The point is if I can’t decide anything about one single day from seven days, how am I going to decide my times in life?
Friday, August 29, 2008
There's always a first time for everything...
...atau begitulah kata orang.
Bagi saya, kalimat di atas itu bermakna luas sekali di medio 2008 ini. Waktu liburan kemarin, ada banyak hal yang baru pertama saya lakukan, dimulai dari naik taksi tengah malam dari bandara ke rumah (biasanya ortu memaksa menjemput meskipun saya bilang tidak usah; thanx Mom, Dad :D). Kemudian, saya juga mencoba pertamakali naik kendaraan air yang namanya jetski. Riding that thing feels like riding boom-boom car on water, except there's no cage or other vehicles to limit my speed. Pertamakali naik gokart di venue gokart pertama yang ada di Makassar. Pertamakali naik becak bersama ibu jam 10 malam hanya untuk beli gorengan di ujung jalan.
Juga, di medio 2008 ini, ada "pertamakali" lain yang terjadi dalam hidup saya. Saya sudah jadi siswa, sudah jadi bagian dari institusi pendidikan, selama 19 tahun dan ini pertamakalinya saya tinggal kelas.
Awalnya cukup berat bagi saya untuk mengakui bahwa saya sekarang seorang "veteran", istilah di kampus saya untuk orang yang tinggal kelas. Dulunya saya berpikir bahwa tinggal kelas adalah suatu aib. "Kalau bisa lulus lebih cepat, kenapa harus berlama-lama?" kata orang. Sampai beberapa tahun lalu, saya tidak menentang anggapan itu. Namun dalam beberapa tahun belakangan, sebelum saya sendiri yang mengalami tinggal kelas, apa yang saya lihat di kehidupan akademik mahasiswa menunjukkan bahwa anggapan itu salah. Dengan tinggal kelas, mengulang program, mengulang mata kuliah, atau apapun namanya, tidak berarti bahwa seseorang itu bodoh, tidak mau belajar, dan semacamnya. Mereka hanya gagal di kesempatan pertama dan sedang mencoba kesempatan lain. Apa salahnya itu?
Yang sekarang saya rasakan adalah rasa malu karena pernah sepakat dengan anggapan bahwa tinggal kelas itu aib. Saya kini seorang veteran, seorang yang tinggal kelas, dan saya bangga dengan status itu karena saya diberikan kesempatan untuk mempelajari suatu hal lebih lama, bertemu dengan teman-teman baru, dan lebih memaknai kesempatan kedua yang saya nikmati sekarang.
Karena tidak selalu ada kesempatan kedua..., atau begitulah kata orang.
Bagi saya, kalimat di atas itu bermakna luas sekali di medio 2008 ini. Waktu liburan kemarin, ada banyak hal yang baru pertama saya lakukan, dimulai dari naik taksi tengah malam dari bandara ke rumah (biasanya ortu memaksa menjemput meskipun saya bilang tidak usah; thanx Mom, Dad :D). Kemudian, saya juga mencoba pertamakali naik kendaraan air yang namanya jetski. Riding that thing feels like riding boom-boom car on water, except there's no cage or other vehicles to limit my speed. Pertamakali naik gokart di venue gokart pertama yang ada di Makassar. Pertamakali naik becak bersama ibu jam 10 malam hanya untuk beli gorengan di ujung jalan.
Juga, di medio 2008 ini, ada "pertamakali" lain yang terjadi dalam hidup saya. Saya sudah jadi siswa, sudah jadi bagian dari institusi pendidikan, selama 19 tahun dan ini pertamakalinya saya tinggal kelas.
Awalnya cukup berat bagi saya untuk mengakui bahwa saya sekarang seorang "veteran", istilah di kampus saya untuk orang yang tinggal kelas. Dulunya saya berpikir bahwa tinggal kelas adalah suatu aib. "Kalau bisa lulus lebih cepat, kenapa harus berlama-lama?" kata orang. Sampai beberapa tahun lalu, saya tidak menentang anggapan itu. Namun dalam beberapa tahun belakangan, sebelum saya sendiri yang mengalami tinggal kelas, apa yang saya lihat di kehidupan akademik mahasiswa menunjukkan bahwa anggapan itu salah. Dengan tinggal kelas, mengulang program, mengulang mata kuliah, atau apapun namanya, tidak berarti bahwa seseorang itu bodoh, tidak mau belajar, dan semacamnya. Mereka hanya gagal di kesempatan pertama dan sedang mencoba kesempatan lain. Apa salahnya itu?
Yang sekarang saya rasakan adalah rasa malu karena pernah sepakat dengan anggapan bahwa tinggal kelas itu aib. Saya kini seorang veteran, seorang yang tinggal kelas, dan saya bangga dengan status itu karena saya diberikan kesempatan untuk mempelajari suatu hal lebih lama, bertemu dengan teman-teman baru, dan lebih memaknai kesempatan kedua yang saya nikmati sekarang.
Karena tidak selalu ada kesempatan kedua..., atau begitulah kata orang.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)