Dear Grandma

Dear Grandma,

I dreamt of you today.

In my dream, you exclaimed with joy and had that childish but toothless grin when you saw me. How I miss your smile…

You were hugging me, and your first words were “You are alive!” What an odd thing to hear from you, Grandma.

I staggered on my knees and stammered as I returned your embrace. I glanced above your bony shoulder and realized that we were in a room littered with boys’ toys. Were they mine?

I picked up an old photo album from the floor and started to show you the pictures inside. I wanted to explain why I felt odd to see you. I wanted to show you your last picture, where you had an eternal smile etched on your face but everyone else was crying.

Instead, I found pictures of me from the past. Old pictures of myself when I was still young and naïve, and pictures of me when I grew older and still naïve. You flipped through them, smiled affectionately at most and knowingly at few.

I was happy and I could tell that you were, too. But the pictures came to an end, and so did you. You were gone, and I was left standing in a dark room, clutching an old photo album.

I woke up, and tears rolled down on my cheeks. These were ones of sadness, happiness, and apology. How real surreal things could be. And how odd it was when the dead had to come to comfort the living.

A Killing Field in Burma

Picking up where I left off, Burma has become the center of attention again. Only this time, it’s on the silver screen with the launching of Rambo IV: Rambo.

I went to the movie harboring no great expectations, only a mood for nostalgia. I am part of the generation that grew up fixated in front of the TV screen (and VCR), watching the half-naked, M60-wielding killing machine that was Rambo. His name had become an eponym for heroism by means of extreme violence against overwhelming number of adversaries, or downright foolish murderous rampage. Along with the persona, his killing tools also gained immortality, like the notorious expression “Rambo Knifes” which people had used back then to dub any wickedly sharp or big knife.

This time around, the only man on earth capable to turn anything into “weapons of mass destruction” packs his faithful longbow and a large heavy blade with a thick spine. I could not tell for sure, but I believe the latter was the weapon he used in the movie to relieve Major Tint - the main antagonist - from his chronic constipation. J. Rambo also used his bare hands to rip off the throat of an unlucky rapist-to-be, and borrowed the Burmese 50 cal machine gun to give them a taste of their own medicine. Overall, his choice of weapons tends to be cruder in this supposedly last Rambo installment.

Rambo IV is also the most intense Rambo movie, as far as I can remember. It holds the record with the most kills out of the entire Rambo series, with 236 kills and an average of 2.59 kills per minute. Check out this Rambo kill chart if you feel like having a good laugh. The violence in the movie was very graphic, but what I found more disturbing was a guy sitting behind me who laughed hysterically every time J. Rambo embarked on yet another brutal frenzy. I don't know why, maybe he got his kicks seeing blood and was having an orgasm, or he just found the movie outrageously hilarious.

I have no idea whether the Burmese will appreciate watching this movie with so many Burmese body counts - if they ever get the chance to see it at all, that is. In any case, Sly had the decency to keep his shirt on throughout the movie. Maybe he didn’t want his aging muscles to be seen, or maybe it’s just the mosquitoes. Bites me.

Crimson Courage

In support of our incredibly brave friends in Burma, may all people around the world wear a red shirt on Friday, 28 September 2007...

NYC: Close Encounter of the Second Kind

Like thousands other people from around the world at this time of the year, I was in New York for the United Nations General Assembly. As usual, world leaders flocked to the city to share their views on everything and nothing at the same time. The security was omnipresent, roadblocks were set up around the UN complex, and helicopters were hovering above the East River.


Although my interactions in the UN complex were for the most part confined to the basement, I was thrilled by being in an indeed multi-cultural environment; mingled in a crowd buzzing with numerous languages I did not decipher but found fascinating nonetheless. In the middle of that Babel-basement cacophony, I recalled that the seventeenth century New York was inhabited by a population below one thousand speaking eighteen separate languages.


As the city where the UN Headquarter sits, New York had its abundant share of quagmires when it came down to welcoming leaders who were not particularly liked by the US Government (or People). This year’s firebrand was not a fresh contender, as the Iranian President continued his 3-year ritual on visiting New York for the UNGA. This time, however, he had a new agenda: delivering a speech at the prestigious Columbia University.

New Yorkers soon found themselves in a new dilemma: whether or not they should let Ahmadinejad say what he had to say in the name of free speech. As it turned out, the President was personally invited by the university president, and eventually delivered his speech in front of a full-packed crowd. From what I read about the event, there were two quotes which were of great interest to me:

“Mr. President, you exhibit all the signs of a petty and cruel dictator.”
(President of Columbia University, on introducing the controversial guest speaker to the audience)

“In Iran, we don't have homosexuals like in your country.”
(President of Iran, on responding to allegations that homosexuals are being persecuted in Iran)

The President (the latter, mind you) surely knew how to pull strings, even in a hostile environment. He stirred the water further when he reportedly asked NYC administration for a permission to visit Ground Zero. The request was flatly denied by NY Administration, and solidly backed up by the Secretary of State who claimed, “It would have been a travesty for Ahmadinejad to visit Ground Zero."

Travesty or not, it was a great shame that he missed the 50% sale on Century 21 nearby.

NYC: Close Encounter of the First Kind

Yeah! I’m in New York, baby!!

I once read that life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the places and moments that take our breath away. Such was the feeling when I had my first glimpse of the Big Apple.

As my plane descended steadily from one of the world's longest non-stop flight routes, I peered through my window and indulged my 19-hour-flight-weary eyes on the vast expanse of lights that is New York at night. The glittering sea was glorious, albeit devoid of its arresting close-ups which heretofore was unbeknownst to me.

This was my first time in NYC, and the city looked pretty much as it has been depicted, thus immortalized, by countless Hollywood blockbusters. I could feel the vibrant energy hanging in the air the moment I stepped out of the airport, and at once reminisced of something my colleague had said about being a single in New York [grinned].

I was arriving on a weekend, but the streets in Manhattan were literally bustling with life and horns were blaring everywhere, the numerous “Don’t Honk” signs on the curb notwithstanding. Sirens howling, and judging by the frequency of encountering NY famous firefighters zooming with their beacons on, you would think that fire accidents were common to New York as ignorance to Jakarta.

All in all, I’m absolutely positively sans doute sure that I’m gonna have one helluva time here…