Half-Done Pages

My father and I are good friends, though we’re not getting along pretty well recently. He’s not just a father, he’s a spiritual mentor for me. When I was a kid, he taught me how to practice the daily prayer (salah). But he himself didn’t practice it because he regarded that the way to approach Allah didn’t have to go through such a formal way. Maybe it was just such a weird fact because he chose not to do it but he kept on persuading me to pray and, hey, I didn’t seem to object him. Maybe it’s because he raised me to appreciate different ideas and different people. He often persuaded me to keep on praying by saying that my face seemed to be illuminating for the ablution water if I pray well (and he said it with his hand gently tapping my head). “Raine anakku wedok dadi ketok padhang nek sregep sholat.”

Maybe I’m not his prettiest daughter, but I’m surely his favorite. Probably it’s because I’m the bookworm who always catches up his talking when we have a discussion. When I was a little girl, we shared adventure together. He often took my little sister and me to the Opak river to go fishing with his fishing net and I was his assistant who brought the fish bamboo bag (called ‘kepis’). Along the way, he explained to me many things around us. I’d ask him anything and since he could always answer my questions I started making him a hero. It was also him, instead of my mother, the one who told his daughters bedtime stories. Later on, I found out that he made up some of the stories. No wonder, I never read them anywhere.

I’ve mentioned that I’m not the prettiest daughter, right? Well, he once told me that, instead of beautiful, pretty, sweet, or cute, my face was classic. What. Ever. It. Means. I didn’t ask him why because I could only blush and said, “Muni wae rai ndesa” (Just say I’m a rural-faced girl) and walked away. He always encouraged me to be proud of how I looked. I remember when I was little he nicknamed me Jitheng which means “The Black” to encourage me that it was okay to be a dark-skinned girl (both my sisters have fairer complexion). He even gave me a pet, a black-skinned-and-feathered Cemani hen, a rare kind of chicken (with black feather, skin, beak, and, some say, even blood and organ. But as far as I can remember, my cemani wasn't perfectly black), to show that to be black-skinned is simply unique. I keep the pride till now when I’m a grown-up. Many girls in my country suffer the inferiority complex of having dark skin and are easily persuaded with commercial ads on TV to purchase whitening products. But I’m proud of my skin color and just don’t care if I look pretty or not. Sometimes I have an argument with my mother who thinks I should make up my face and dress up properly in feminine way like my sisters (bukan hanya kaos dan kemeja yang sebagiannya kuwarisi dari bapakku^^ serta kain-kain serba lebar itu). But my father always stands up for me. He thinks I’m elegant in my simplicity.

Back to the story of my father.

When other fathers might be passing on wealth, he passes on sort of melancholy and anxiety to me. He often shared his youth life story: on his life as a college student (he studied in two different universities but failed both of them, and now he can hardly sympathize to me who has not yet graduated? >.<), his activism, his spirit of rebellion, and also story of betrayal and pain. I see in him a man who’s been through a lot of ups and downs and felt so much pain; a man who can speak eloquently of injustice and oppression, a man who’s always restless with the system. And I absorb the pain well.

I remember one night when he delivered me to school on his old bike as I had a program to follow in my junior high school. All my friends were delivered with motorcycle and passed us by. When we reached a dark road, suddenly our bike stumbled on a stone and we fell. He asked me if I was okay. Then he said, as if to himself, “Urip kuwi dinggo ngrasakke.” (Life is about experiencing). I couldn’t see his eyes because it was really dark but I could tell he was crying from his trembling voice. I didn’t really know why he cried and I dared not to ask. I didn’t cry ‘cause I was afraid I would make him even sadder. But that was my preliminary introduction to the anxious and melancholic side of my father.

I’ve known him since I was little but weird, I never really have a complete picture about him. He always seems to me as a mysterious man with so much secret in him. I never really know where he went at night, and what he did. I just know sometimes he told stories and secret things I never knew before. One day he told me that he was the man behind the riot that forced the chief of the neighboring village to resign. And he did that several years after the riot happened (Shh..this is a secret between you and me^^). He just seems to be an expert in those ‘dirty’ things…

He’s done many things in his youth, but now there he is, in a village where people don’t put so much respect on him because sometimes he criticizes the religion clerics obediently followed by most people in the village. But respect is not what he gains in his life. There are stronger and more precious things than that.

Sometimes when I go home in my Bantul house, I look at him as he’s absorbed in his new hobby of chatting via walkie-talkie with his friends and acquaintances. He’s a very good speaker, indeed, who easily charms people with the way he talks. He never forces people to follow his idea, but apparently it’s just what makes him seem to be compelling. When he talks, nobody dares to interrupt. He gains many friends with that.

As he retired, he had more time to spend at home. Besides the walkie-talkie, sometimes he makes fishing net or reads books I give him or composes Javanese poems (called geguritan). The neatness and perfection of his hand-written Javanese letters are so unbeatable. Sometimes I also see several English poems among his works.

We sort of share our spirituality. Haven’t I mentioned that he never prayed when I was little? Everything seems to reverse now that he never skips his five-time-a-day prayer and often reads the Qur’an. Together with several friends, he even founded a group that do the Qur’an recital program every week. One day he confessed in front of my friends visiting our place that it was me who had brought such an influence. I don’t know. I even find myself less obedient now (malah anakke sing genti edan, haha!). It’s not that I skip my prayer times, I’m just seeking a different interpretation on the religion I’m embracing, the more tolerant Islam.

My father doesn’t recite pretty well, but seeing him with the Qur’an on the bamboo bench often brings tears into my eyes. How I wish so much that he’s blessed with happiness, peace, and serenity. No matter how tough the situation he deals with.

I love you, Dad. I’m sorry if it takes me time to prove it. I know I’m always a little girl to you and thank you for worrying me but I’m a big girl now. I can take care of myself.

I made another record for my (so-called) ‘cultural adventure:’ together with several Pintu colleagues, I went to a coffee shop. Yes, I did, Baby! For you who are used to living an urban life, there might be nothing particular with visiting a café or coffee shop. But for me? It’s surely a whole lot of new experience.

Grandong, who had lived a strict life as a santri or Islamic boarding school student since primary to high school and is now enjoying a freedom ^^ as an ordinary college student, said, “As far as I can remember you are the first lady in large headscarf visiting this place.”

I looked around and said, “Wah, petualangan budaya banget nih buat saya” (Wow, it’s definitely a cultural adventure for me).

Suddenly all those boys stared at me in amazement. Apparently the phrase ‘cultural adventure’ sounded bizarrely funny for them. I sounded like an adventure-show host on TV or something. Shaking his head, Penya said to me, “Nek udu kancaku, wis takkamplengi lho kowe, Mbak!” (If you’re not my friend, I’d really get you beaten black and blue) (It was just a joke). Everybody laughed again, particularly after I said, “And how stupid. I go to a coffee shop but I’m ordering a glass of sweet tea?” I even drank it up that one of them said again, “She’s definitely a newbie.” He explained that when drinking in a coffee shop he’d sip it slowly and little by little so that the process of drinking last longer as he had a chat with his friends. Well, that explained why their cups, which were smaller than my glass, were still filled with coffee while my own glass was draining out (I suddenly felt like a thirsty camel)..

Later on, I finally decided to try the black coffee some of those boys were drinking. And, for God’s sake, what’s that? It tasted really bitter with coffee grounds floating. Now I understood why they sipped it little by little.^^

We had a discussion until it was really late and the place was about to close. The waiter finally approached us and politely requested us to go. Since there were few things we still needed to discuss, we moved to another place. And guess where we were headed. In the pavement in front of a closed store! As the store’s sliding door was filled with graffiti, someone said to me, “Maybe you should bring a Pylox and add some more.” I can’t imagine it.

I’m enjoying it all as much as I can. Several days ago my uncle said that somebody wanted to rent the room my sister and I were staying in. Suddenly it sounded like a polite request to go. I know it might sound weird that an uncle would do that. Frankly, my sister and I don’t get along pretty well with my uncle’s family. A cousin once used the form “cah ndesa kae” or “that rural kid” to refer to me and sometimes mentions that they’ve done us a favor that we should behave well. I’m not angry or sad (or worse: acting as if I were a new version of miserable Cinderella in one of those soaps called the Millennium Cinderella, whose only business is sobbing all night long for all the despair and bothers the entire neighborhood that they all gather and yell: shut up, Cinderella. You’re bothering our peaceful sleep. Get a life, will you?). I’m just used to it all. I’m just worried that if I really have to go back to my home in Bantul, I wouldn’t have the chance to enjoy all these. No more Pintu, no more Maiyah, no more theatre, no more late discussion, no more riding on my bicycle at night. So, in the time being, I’m really enjoying it as much as I can just in case they do a brutal action of asking us to go out of the house.

Anyway, I got a job. Well, not quite a ‘real’ job that requires me to go to office every morning. A fellow Pintu working as a co-editor in a publisher in Yogya offered me a translation job. I immediately replied, “Ho’oh, ho’oh, gelem biyanget aku!” (Yes, I’m taking it). The job is to translate 160-page-long book and should be done within a month. If I’m good at it, they might consider giving me another job. Sounded tough, but I’ll give it a shot. So yesterday morning I went to the office, carrying a sample of my translation work. I gave the chief editor the translation of two pages of Gorky’s “Creatures That Once Were Men,” from my e-book collection. He looked satisfied and gave the job for me. And, hey, it was such a sexy book^^ that I already got infatuated with it.

Someone I regard as alter ego replied my e-mail, after one long week. Makes me wanna scream out aloud right in his ear for making me wait too long >.<. But considering the gallantry of his well-composed letters, alright, he’s forgiven.

I’m happy, I’m so fine. Life is not really that bad. You just have to hold on a little longer. Hell yeah, Baby.

What a week.

It was really exciting to have a chance to watch Teater Dinasti’s rehearsal in Kadipiro. This week I’ve even done it twice: in Wednesday before the Pintu gathering and Thursday. It made us feel reluctant when they said they began the Wednesday rehearsal in the afternoon because Wednesday night is the schedule for Pintu. How kind of them! We’re so touched! I mean, Pintu is still very new and we haven’t done anything to be proud of but they appreciate our process by not interrupting our weekly schedule. I can’t imagine it if we were in a community with seniors that don’t appreciate the spirit of egalitarianism.

Cak Nun said that the whole performance concept would be new; the novelty is in the story, costume, music, choreography, and everything. I’m still new to theatre that I can’t really figure it out yet. But I’ve read the script (this lucky little scoundrel^^) and I find it really interesting. Of course, it’s not wise to reveal the whole story to you all. Besides sort of moral responsibility, honestly speaking, it takes time to understand it. The dialog in the script is composed in poetry style. In fact, I once overheard that the play was meant to be sort of a long poetry recital arranged in a performance. It offers a new interpretation in understanding the concept of human, angel, demon, creation, universe, and God.

Besides the rehearsal, what I particularly enjoyed was the discussion after it. They evaluated everything and explored new ideas. Cak Nun, the man behind all of these, always encourages the team by reminding them that this is not a mere play. It’s an effort towards enlightenment. And indeed, I can always feel such a spirit: the spirit to live with the tolerant face of Islam.

I can still remember when Cak Nun said he wouldn’t seek the fund by making sponsorship proposal because his theatre wasn’t, as he mentioned, barang jualan or commercial goods. Such a spirit of sincerity and devotion he preserves and passes on towards people around him!

How I’m grateful I was among those kind people.

What fictional character do you relate to most and why?

Violet

Definitely Violet Baudelaire (in 'A Series of Unfortunate Events'). She's so intelligent, courageous, and simply classic.

Of course, unlike her, I'm not, as Lemony Snicket says, 'reasonably attractive' or genius. God knows how I'm way too silly and ridiculous to be compared with her^^. But there's something in her courage and the way she realizes her distinctiveness that reminds me so much of myself. One of my favorite parts of the movie is when Violet builds a sanctuary for her siblings, particularly desperate Klaus, her younger brother. She's just so sweet and kind. I love my siblings, too. Hehe^^. In fact, I'm the only one in my family who'd hold my sisters and mother or at least sit near them when they cry (my father rarely cries).

I always want to read the book but so sad I don't think I can find the series in Indonesia. I've watched the movie several times that I've even memorized most dialog and narration in it. When it comes to describe Violet, Snicket says (if I don't mishear): "Violet Baudelaire, one of the finest fourteen-year-old inventors in the world. Anyone who knew Violet could tell she was inventing when her long hair was tied up in a ribbon. ..In the world of abandoned items and discharged materials, Violet knew there's always something...." Inspired by her, sometimes I murmur "there's always something" whenever I'm in a hectic situation.

Plus, I like her hairdo very much. I really like the way she arranges the three strands of braided hair at the right side of her head.

When first drops of rain poured down that evening,
she was still awaiting

Twilight always had dim light,
but twilight in rainy season didn't have any lights at all.
She felt like something was stolen away.
Reconciling with her restless heart, she was wondering.
She had never felt it that way

'cause she had been but a little girl trapped in maturity.
And suddenly his presence just brought back the childish fantasy.

As soon as I finished reading Hano's post on writing a letter to her child yet to be born (which I thought really cute ^^), I planned to pirate her idea. But then as I opened again my old journals, I found similar thing which then I translated, after several changes, as follows: 

Dear Sofia,
There’s a picture of you and me in a morning clarity, Sofia. You’re sitting on my lap by the window that we’re bathed in the warm morning sunlight. As I kiss your hair every now and then, it smells of fruit-scented shampoo and your body of telon baby oil. I say you’re really sweet and cute like candy. In the pink outfit, now you’re a perfect strawberry-flavored candy.

I’m reading you an old story book entitled ‘Faraway.’ My father gave it to me, now that I’m too old for such a story book, I’ll give it to you. It’s covered in red and white and there’s a picture of an Indian chief sitting crossed-legged. As always, you’re grilling me with the questions on the feathers on the Indian’s head. I’m working out on the answers but then you can always find new questions to ask. Your favorite is ‘The Fox and The Cock’ because you really like it when I say ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo! How do you doodle do!’ as the proud cock in the story. You’d laugh and say it’s really funny. Your laughter is funny.

What a peaceful scene to be in such a morning, Sofia. How I’m absorbed in your mind that turns to be not that simple. There’s something thrilling in the way you laugh every time I tickle your waist.

There’ll come the time when you have to stand on your own and experience the world, Sofia. ‘Mengalami dunia’ is a phrase I excerpted from Sitok Srengenge’s ‘Homo Ludens.’ You’ll deal with agony, anxiety, fear – ‘minor texts,’ a fellow traveler once said to me. But they’ll all make you, as they did to me. You’ll spell a text called Life and how I’d love to be the one to introduce you to the letters.

Maybe I’ll just show you the door. What’s behind it – every secret, possibility, and fear will be yours to adventure.

And always, I’ll worry you from a distance.

Silently.

Sofia sayang,
Ada sebuah gambar tentang kita berdua dalam sebuah pagi yang jernih, Sofia. Kau duduk di pangkuanku di tepi jendela. Tubuh kita bermandi cahaya pagi yang hangat. Sesekali aku membaui rambutmu yang wangi shampoo aroma buah dan tubuhmu yang bau minyak telon. Kubilang padamu, kamu manis dan lucu seperti permen. Dengan baju warna pink itu, berarti sekarang kamu jadi permen rasa stroberi.

Aku membacakanmu sebuah buku cerita lama berjudul ‘Faraway.’ Ayahku memberikannya padaku. Karena aku sudah terlalu tua untuk buku cerita anak-anak, aku akan memberikannya padamu. Buku itu bersampul merah putih dengan gambar seorang Indian sedang bersila. Dan kau tak henti-hentinya bertanya tentang bulu-bulu di kepala Indian itu. Aku selalu mengupayakan jawaban sebisaku tetapi kamu selalu menemukan pertanyaan baru. Favoritmu berjudul ‘The Fox and The Cock’ karena kamu suka ketika aku mengucapkan ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo! How do you doodle do!’ menirukan suara jago yang sok cakep itu. Kamu ketawa dan bilang kedengarannya lucu. Ketawamu juga lucu.

Betapa kedamaian selalu menyelimuti kita pada pagi yang semacam ini, Sofia. Betapa aku terserap ke dalam pikiranmu yang mulai tidak sederhana. Ada sesuatu yang sangat menyenangkan dengan caramu tertawa ketika jari-jariku menggelitiki pinggangmu.

Kelak kau akan mengalami dunia, Sofia. ‘Mengalami dunia’, frase yang kukutip dari ‘Homo Ludens’ Sitok Srengenge. Kau akan mengalami duka, cemas, gentar – ‘teks-teks minor’ seorang kawan seperjalanan berkata. Tapi semua itu akan menjadikanmu, seperti juga padaku. Kau akan mengeja dan menafsirkan hidup, barangkali akulah yang mula-mula akan mengenalkan huruf-hurufnya padamu. Barangkali aku hanya akan menunjukkan pintu. Apa yang ada di balik pintu itu, setiap rahasia, kemungkinan, dan ketakutan akan menjadi wilayah jelajahmu sendiri.

Dan selalu, aku akan mencemaskanmu dari kejauhan.

Diam-diam. 

It's always You I pursue.
It's always You.
I don't care with the rest.

It’s another cultural adventure, everyone. 

This time it’s a play entitled ‘Republik Anthurium’ performed by Teater Tetas and directed by AGS. Arya Dipayana. In Jogja it’s performed on April 22-23 in Gedung Societet (I went there last night).

I think the distinctive part of this play is the choreography that fills up the entire performance. From the beginning to the ending, the audience were enthralled with such a rich performance that not only presented a ‘sketch’ on the hectic nowadays life that might awake us with a new perspective but was also full with well-arranged, sometimes acrobatic, movements.

The characters on the play were all clad in similar fashion in which the distinction in gender, social class, race and the like seems to blur. If only I had a camera, maybe I could show you all what they’re like. Well, they wore loose trousers and upper piece that just looked absurd which I think really best represented the unknown easily-instigated mass the whole play was about.

The play began with some people making weird gestures as they froze and then the gestures changed several times. And then I found it difficult to follow the plot. But maybe plot was not what the play emphasized. It’s all about, as mentioned in the synopsis, a sketch of a country in which issue, Anthurium used as a metaphor, built the order. An Anthurium was passed on from one people to the next, first with ignorance but then with amazement. I think it depicts the way people are easily driven to follow an issue.

In one scene, three couples were having discussion. A couple of women were discussing a whitening product. One of them said, ‘white skin is not everything but everything is nothing without white skin.’ Haha. What do you think of such lunacy? Meanwhile, the couple in the middle were chatting on global warming and the other one on politics. Y’know, discussion like whether to join a political party or to abstain. Such superabundant ideas that potentially stir up the entire society!

I found myself shivering as some characters were marching and then together they pronounced sort of ambitious self-motivating words as: ‘I have to gain it, as everybody is on the same race,’ ‘I have to win,’ …I mean it’s just so much reminiscent of our hectic everyday life in which everything is one big competition. Students go to school/college but run a survey to find out how many of them who do it because they really pursue intellectuality instead of graduation certificate to ‘guarantee’ their future. Even my own academic tutor thinks I’m a sort of raw material to be processed in a giant industry called education and then stored in the labor market. She once criticized my attitude and said I wouldn’t make any job interview because I seemed clumsy and sometimes gave wrong (or unpleasant?) answers to her questions. She didn’t seem to care that maybe I attended classes because I really needed to know something.

I’m not blaming those who study for the sake of succeeding this whole job competition thing because here we are, in the system that demands us to understand it all as competition. But maybe everything just should be a part of our anxiety, that something definitely goes wrong.

I think Republik Anthurium is another cultural adventure that really enriches my insight. It marked the third time I went to Societet for a play after ‘Lenggok’ produced by Teater Retorika (Faculty of Philosophy of Universitas Gadjah Mada) and ‘Sampek Engtay’ by Teater Koin (Faculty of Economics of Universitas Islam Indonesia).

Anyway, I was given a publication leaflet of the next play. The title is 'Camar,' adapted by Gunawan Maryanto from Anton Chekov's "The Seagull." Studio Banjarmili, April 29-30, 2008 at 8 pm. The word 'Gratis!' which means 'for free' suddenly seduced me right in the economy spot somewhere in my brain :p. Interested, anyone? (This question is particularly addressed to my dear fellow Indonesian Vox neighbors^^)

What do you do EVERY day to take care of the earth's environment? What could you do more of?

I ride on my bicycle everyday and try to use water and electricity efficiently. I also try to persuade people in my neighborhood not to dispose their garbage in the river but it's not easy because the garbage truck doesn't reach our place and the river just seems to be the most reasonable and reachable place to throw away everything.

what's truth to you
when you teach me fear
that intrudes me to my very unconscious mind
and there emerges the obedience of my robotic body
what's love to you
when you get both my hands bound
and my mouth gagged
and you pretend to speak on my behalf

when despair culminates
i scream out the silence