22.8.07

Tragic Comic

I thought time heals. I thought time makes you forget...

Then why everything else went fuzzy the moment I saw her glossy smile?

I guess even after all this time, I'm still the same ol' hapless romantic, st-t-tuttering p-poet, and a tragic comic.


19.8.07

A Diplomatic Paradox

What is a diplomat?

According to my Widyaiswara*, a diplomat is someone sent abroad to lie for his/her country.

Needless to say, that was not the politically-correct version. But I’m not going to mull or argue on the definitive term.

In my not-so-humble opinion, here in Indonesia a profession of diplomat has its own, unique definition. In a nutshell, a diplomat is someone who leads a double life in terms of lifestyle and bank saving.

When you’re currently posted at home (that is to say when your status being a PNS/government employee), you struggle to make ends meet with your below-par and ridiculous salary (and 70% budget cut). Even people who drive public transportation for a living (read: busway drivers) earn more salary than you [no offense]. Pathetic that may sounds, that’s the way it is and you need to adapt. To adapt here does not signify or justify any act of fraud. I despise people who commit such thing in the name of their hardship. Every option you take has its own consequences, and you should lie on your own bed. To adapt here does mean that you have to adjust your lifestyle to your paycheck. Of course, it goes without saying with your bank account, too.

Now for the sunny side: when an Indonesian diplomat is posted abroad, he/she leads almost entirely a different life. Fat pa¥ch€¢k$ are guaranteed every month, with many much-welcomed benefits. He/she gets to drive fancy cars (could get away with traffic misdemeanor, sometimes), doesn’t pay taxes, and lives in white-picket fences houses. What’s best, especially for men, being posted abroad provides an excellent reason to skip the monthly compulsory visit to your parents-in-laws.

Obviously, I’m taking things to the extreme. But polarization is sometimes necessary to drive your point home. Talking about home, there’s a local joke in my office about which place is the hardest post. Hardship post is a term used for posting places with not-so-convenient conditions, be them high crime rates, exorbitant price index, or simply dearth of water next to your toilet. Well, it is an accord that “home” is definitely the hardest post. Maybe that explains why I never find any mat emblazoned with the traditional saying “Home Sweet Home”, here in my office.

Having said all the above, it all eventually comes down to making your choices and accepting the consequences. I guess I can finally understand what that Englishman with funny hair really meant when he said “To be or not to be”.

[Disclaimer: This post is drafted, written, and posted by my evil twin a.k.a. BFSR* without my knowledge and consent. He owns his own oil company, earns thousand times more than I do, never pays his taxes, cheats on every woman he encounters, and is incredibly good-looking. If you feel like meeting him, leave your comment here, and I surely will pass it on to him next time we meet in our annual family reunion. ]

Glossary:

* Widyaiswara: a formal term for government employees who teach/lecture in governmental educational and training center

* BFSR: Big Filthy Stinking Rich

16.8.07

An Indonesian, Two Thais, and A Papua New Guinean

I didn’t ask to be born an Indonesian. But I didn’t ask to be born any other national, either. It just happened that I was born from a womb of an Indonesian woman, sired by an Indonesian man, and shed my first teardrop onto Indonesian soil.


Being an Indonesian, I’m acutely aware that I don’t have many things to be proud of. I’m not going to further depress you all by going through an exhaustive list of "Why I am not proud to be an Indonesian", but let me share you a story that happened almost two years ago.

I was doing some sightseeing in Pattaya Park Tower Observation Deck, the tallest building in Pattaya back then, I believed. The sun was shining and the wind was gentle. I was indulging myself by gazing at the beauty of the Jomtien Beach, when the corner of my eyes spotted another homemade beauty: two cute girls with Thai complexion, all smiles and giggles while arguing whether or not they have the courage to board the Tower Jump and slide down 170 meters to the ground.

I hovered in the vicinity, made my move, and casually said hello. To make a long story short (not to I imply that I needed lots of time to woo the girls, mind you), here how the conversation went:

Girl 1: So what’s your name again?
Casanova in-the-making: It’s [censored]
Girl 2: You come here alone?
Casanova in-the-making: Yeah, but now I’m not alone anymore. [Grin]
Girl 1 + Girl 2: [Giggling]
Casanova in-the-making: [Smile nonchalantly]
Girl 2: Where are you from, [censored]?
Casanova: Whoa, and I was supposed to be the aggressive party here! Guess where I come from? [with air of self-assurance]
Girl 2: I know I know, you must be a Malaysian!
Casanova: Wrong…[Laugh], but you’re almost right about the region. Give it another try.
Girl 1: Phillippines?
Disappointed Casanova: [Dismayed] Not even close. Come on, there are not so many possibilities.
Girl 2: Singapore?
Disappointed Casanova: Noo!
Girl 2: Brunei? Cambodia? Laos?
Vexed Casanova: [Annoyed] No, no. Come on, you girls surely could do better than that. I’m not from Mars, you know. [And you surely are not from Venus, mes petites]
Girl 1: [Frowning] I could not think of any other country.
Girl 2: I give up. Why don’t you just tell us?
Confessing Cassanova: [Dumbfounded] Mmm..yeah..I’m from Indonesia
Girl 1: Indonesia? [With why-I-didn't-think-of-that look]
Girl 2: Oh I know that. It’s near Malaysia, right!
Former Casanova: [Rapidly losing interest] Yeah, that’s where I come from. [Awkward silence] So, you two going to jump or what?
Girl 2: I almost forgot about that. Well, I guess we will. And you?
Mortal human: Not me, I’m too old for that. You two go ahead. Have fun, okay?
Girl 2: Okay…bye!
A sullen Indonesian: Byee…

[Disclaimer: Some lines in the conversation above have been exaggerated, as usual. Try copycating my Casanova technique, and you’ll find out that the Tower Jump is not the fastest way to hit the ground.]

Having found out that my great country was not as great as I thought, I board the elevator and took my leave with a disturbed feeling. I kept telling myself that those girls needed to plug themselves into this so-called wired world, or maybe they were in dire need of a mental defibrillation to cure their ignorance. Still, I could not help but feeling sorry for my country for its lack of image and share of mind.

Ah well, ‘tis the inescapable reality and I guess we Indonesians have only ourselves to blame. Actually, I’d almost forgotten about the incident ‘till I read the news about a Papua New Guinean who wrote a song for the aforementioned Forgotten Land. Bewilderment and reminiscence got the best of me as I ponder about two foreigners who hardly knew my country, another foreigner who managed to write a song for it, and yours truly who didn't even have time to sing his own national anthem.

I’ll rest my case there, and for now just let me wish my fellow countrymen/women a Happy Independence Day. May the future be brighter for all of us and may I never write such a patriotism-induced post like this again.