Hning's Asia

Bored Parents

2009-11-07T16:24:00.000+07:00

"Any event is welcome in prison, even the threat of cerebro-spinal meningitis and unpleasant needle jabs." ~ Wole Soyinka

Adam and Eve were miserable in heaven. They didn’t need to work or earn a living or fight over bills. They had everything they could ever imagine provided for them. They didn’t have a life purpose. THEY DIDN’T EVEN HAVE A TO-DO LIST.

I think our first parents were bored the hell out of their minds!

So bored that I don’t think Adam needed much convincing. It might have actually went like this:

“Eve, let’s invent a sport where we can kill for fun!”
“Dude, you wouldn’t even pluck a Cherub's feather!”
“That’s only because…oh forget it! Come on, let’s do something, ANYTHING! How about chasing the Wildan? Or vandalizing all the gates? Swim in the booze river? Let’s do it against the stream to make it harder!”
“Oh, go stuff yourself with a fruit! Stuff a forbidden fruit if you must, but leave me – AND MY HAIR - in peace.”
“………”
“What?”
“You know something? I think I might.”
“What? Adam? Adam! NO!”

I don’t know about you, man, but having everything provided for you can be nice in the first couple of days, months and years. Wait, maybe for 2.5 years - at most. Then it gets unbelievably boring.

Seriously, boredom is a natural hunger for stimulation. Hence, hunger of any kind motivates. Inspires. Sparks. Let’s be grateful for things we DON’T have.

The Adulteress

2009-11-05T16:48:00.002+07:00

“The guilty catch themselves” ~ Proverb

“M’Lord, I am a married woman who’ve committed adultery, I beg you to bequeath my consequence.”

And his heart sank, for what parent could bear a child’s self-appointed doom? “You needn’t cometh, child,” said the Messenger, “for there were no witness testifying, nor have you been required to.”

“M’Lord,” she insisted, “I have committed an irreversible sin, for I carry that burden within me.”

“Then you shall leave and care for the life within you, for a child yet to be born is innocent and has a right to live.”

Hence the woman left.

Months later, the woman returned. Uninvited, self-appointed, by her own will and on her own feet, with an infant child in her arms.

She said, “M’Lord, I am a woman who hath committed adultery, and herein lays the the living proof to my sins.”

The Messenger’s heart sank deeper. For what parent could bear a child’s self-appointed doom? Gravely, the Messenger responded, “You needn’t cometh. A child in your son’s age needs to be loved and fed from your bosom. Go home and tend after your child’s needs. For his survival necessitates yours, whether or not there is a point to be made or a heartbreak mended.”

Thus she left again.

Years went by, in which campaigns cycled; religions’ spread. In which men had died and others were born. In which memories were erased and faults forgiven.

But a woman scorned would not forget, would not forgive, and - with a heart of stone - would rather not live. The adulteress, from the depths of a father’s dread, returned FOR A THIRD TIME. This time, she presented a robust, healthy and upright toddler.

“M’Lord,” she said, “This is the proof of my sin, able to feed himself and walk a path of his own. He lives on, and so hath my sorrow and shame. If I’ve managed to keep the reminder of my sins alive, then - by God, Prophet – either you free me from this burden or be accounted for a suicide.”

And for her the Messenger’s heart broke, “Have you no reasons enough to live? Have you no reason enough to let bygone be bygone?”

“Reason enough not to kill myself, my Liege. Reason enough to consult you. I have lived in wrong, and would have lost my way again, so the least I can do to amend, is dying in right. Can’t you see the rejection I have for a life betrayed, despite sanity and maternity?”

Hence the father, who could not bear his child’s living misery in spite of worsening his own, replied, “Then all shall be well, my child.”

Beasts

2009-11-03T07:58:00.000+07:00

"Marriage has many pains, but celibacy has no pleasures." ~ Samuel Johnson

There was time when sex and reproduction posed as an existential threat to all: When the entire population, humans and animals alike, were stuck on a single, dingy, barely-afloat boat. With no shore in sight, as thunderous skies clapped; snuffing every hope of sunlight.

The captain of the ship ordered a decree, applicable to all the passengers of his overloaded ship: “NO REPRODUCTION ALLOWED UNTIL THE SHIP DOCKS! We can’t afford the extra weight. If this ship sinks, we’re done for it!”

Naturally, at the risk of sinking the entire chain of evolution, everyone refrained from canoodling. Pious or not, begrudgingly or relieved, the sexes segregated and a silence fell in the divide.

For what could possibly be more interesting than talking about sex on a doomed ship?

Anyway, nine weeks later, and right under the captain’s nose, a handful of kittens and puppies chased each other on the ship’s deck. “Hmm, that’s odd,” thought the captain, “I don’t remember bringing more than a pair of adult cats and dogs on board. Where did…no, wait…PROPHETIC OATHES!!”

Hence, for risking the survival of their fellow passengers, cats and dogs since then were cursed to copulate aloud, shameless and publicly, for ever and ever and after.

Demon Management

2009-10-31T12:08:00.001+07:00

"It is no good casting out devils. They belong to us, we must accept them and be at peace with them." ~ D. H. Lawrence

In case you’re out trick-or-treating, ghostbusting, or just interested in demon repelling, keep these items in mind or on your person as precautionary measures against demons.

Repellants

Rice. If it works on newlyweds and Japanese demons, it might work elsewhere. If rice on its own fails, it might still work as bait for the next demon repellent. Which is..
Roosters. There’s a saying that a roosters are able to see beyond the ultraviolet range (which is also why they’re so punctual in the morning). Since demons are ultraviolet sensitive, rooster cockling might trick them into thinking that it’s almost morning.
Ultraviolet flashlights. The reason why demons don't like the sun or ultraviolet ray is because the were created from fire, hence, are closer to the infrared range. The logic says that infrared do not sit very well with ultraviolet light, you see? I’d love to know why.
Cleanse. Demons like “dirty” stuff, like pigs, porn, bodily oils and blood. As much as I’d like to cross this one out, cleansing your soul’s temple, helps NOT only with hygiene, but also the insides of your head. Because your head is, after all, where all forms of evil begins.
Garlic. Herbalists agree that garlic has purifying qualities. It reduces carcinogenic compound, eases digestion, improves vascular circulation, and does some fancy antibacterial actions. Sociologists agree with herbalists, in a way that garlic also repels social interaction. Including those with demons, I guess.
A prayer (that you trust). Dude, in the face of a demon, you’d barely remember your name. Saying “SEASONAL 80% DISCOUNTS AT SOGO!” is as good as any.
Heavy metal. Haven’t you seen it in the movies? Demon worship, when done right, don’t usually play cool music in the background. Worship of any kind, whether to a god or a demon, usually comes with operatic, repetitive chants. So, yeah, play that Elvis record to your heart’s content.

For extra safety, know that these enchant demons.

Fire and smoke. Demons were made of fire, it’s their natural element. Incense is burned and the smoke allures them. How often have you smelled a scent that makes you wonder if the wearer is trying to attract mates, predators or demons?
Group chants. Do I need to say more, after that eerie feeling and mass hysteria?
Twilight. The minutes when the sun sets is the peak of any demon’s day. No more ultraviolet rays! No more offensively dressed corporate drones! Yay!
Hallucinogens. Demons play with the head. Hallucinogens play with the head. The ~~things~~ illusions you see when you’re stoned? It’s quite possible that they’re real. So don’t.
Temptation. The 7 deadly sins. The 10 Commandments. The gorgeous sales girl/boy at the mall. Hmmm.

PS: There are 2 ways to handle temptation.
You avoid it all together. Risk being called a hermit, uptight and unsociable.

You go for it. If there's anything more malicious than temptation, is the schemes that surround it. Satiety clears the head, dude. Get over it already, and stop bragging.

Tabloids. Just kidding, I meant gossip. With no further explanation, if you please. I’ve already gathered enough demons by writing this much about them. Haha.

Happy Halloween!

Death Rites

2009-10-29T08:34:00.000+07:00

"I like funerals. All those flowers—a full life coming to a close." ~ Beryl Bainbridge

Never was there a society that was delusionally content with life as those who maintain an intimate relationship with the dead.

The Remains

Ancient Egyptians and Peruvians mummified the dead.
Westerners compete with Egyptian pyramids in matters of preservation of the dead’s remains: elegy recitations, epitaphs on tombstones, gardens of catacombs, tombs and crypts erected.
Balinese Hindus bury, unbury and then Ngaben (burn) the dead.
The Torajans hang up their dead on a cliff.
The Parsis in the Arctic and some folks in Kintamani, Bali, expose the dead to normal weather conditions.
There’s a particular kind of people who EAT the dead in Papua, inheriting wisdom and strength.

The Memories

Alhallows, or Halowmas, or Halloween, or Day of the Dead is a mixture of Pagan rituals, Roman Catholicism and native American tradition, established to honor and purify the spirits of the dead.
Jews offer shivah, a rite that lasts for seven days straight.
The Confucius and Shinto gather the ashes after cremating their dead, to conveniently pack and pray to the ancestors at home, everyday.
The Voduns ask the dead for cures and guidance.
The Buddhists and Hindus, don’t really die, they just to reincarnate to other forms and do the thing all over again. Those who are left without knowing where their parents and loved ones have reincarnated, still honor their dead with pictures adorned with flowers.
The Javanese and Mexicans are very romantic with their dead. There are the 3 days of mourning, 7th day, 40th day, 100th day, and finally the 1000th day since passing. Afterwards, the graves are visited every year on Eid and Day of the dead, or “nyekar” and “El Día de los Muertos”.

The Gifts

Sufis and mystics believe that the dead are abound to us by mention and prayer: They’ll hear you mentioning them from the other side.
On Samhain’s eve, marking the end of harvest year, in which the Celtic Druids offer drink and food to roaming spirits.
The Shinto and Confucius burn fake money for the dead to buy luxuries in the afterlife. booze on the tombstone or sea (wherever the dead rests) to drink with them.
Latin Americans, when they open a fresh bottle of drink, the first sip always goes to the ground, where the dead lay rest.
Plenty of Muslims believe that good deeds can be shifted to the dead. And money, ah that, a debt in life is a debt in death. The dead do not move on until all his debts are settled or pardoned.

The barriers between the dead and living seem to thin with rituals; and death loses it’s tragic finality. Since there has not been a lot of evidence to PROVE WHAT IT IS LIKE TO BE DEAD, we make do with what we have.

For grief that is addressed; makes life – again - bearable.

Pebbles

2009-10-27T16:15:00.003+07:00

"Worse than any loss of limb is the failing mind," ~ Juvenal

The Lord once ~~threatened~~ said “And you shall be reversed to a childlike state”, whereas His prophet called it أرذل العمر – the worst age that befalls upon man. When a beloved elder fails to recognize her children from across a cloud of degenerative ocean. It’s an especially scary thought nowadays; since it’s so easy to be mentally numb with so much reality TV and internet and not enough coffee.

How do we maintain mental health in old age? A tip from the psychology textbooks: Read. A tip from the holy books: Meditate. While reading engages the mind, the other puts it in an unnatural state of calm.

Are those tips in conflict?

If we use our bodies as allegory, a balance is required between eating, working and sleeping to prolong relative, physical health. So, if the contents of our heads controls everything that happens in our bodies, isn’t it ever the more important to balance between mind’s needs for nutrition, productivity and recuperation?

For one, I’ve never heard of an elderly monk who lost his pebbles; whether to depression, Alzheimer or stroke. I have heard, though, of plenty writers and thinkers who did. Iris Murdoch lost to Alzheimer. Hemingway and Woolf to depression. And Nietzche to what may have been cow madness.

Perhaps, while vigorous mental activity keeps the mind at an active state of growth, food and exercise sustains it, while mental rests refuels that growth.

Then again, do we have turn into monks and live to monasteries to have the dignity of awareness in old age? You tell me.

While keeping in mind (oh, pardon the irony) that there is a difference between going into a vegetative blank and resting the mind. This is the intellect we’re talking about, not an excuse for a nap.

PS: We’ll update this post with your ideas, readers. Like how we did here.

Aneyeonsaudi said...

With all this going on around us and our persistence to keep up, this is a very interesting topic. I was whispering to myself the other day that ‘If I will not sleep some more hours per day, I am going to totally lose it.’ The problem is that I, and I believe we all, never learn. I might sacrifice my sleeping time for a good read, an interesting website, or even a captivating movie!
The magic formula of being sane for an extended period of time needs two participants:
- The body by eating well, working out and sleeping.
- The mind by reading, thinking and meditating.

Thank you for reminding us that we might be old sometime!

Coralbead said...

I believe that taking care of one's self at a young age has something to do with not going through second childhood later on. As kids and teenagers, we live on potato chips, burgers, and coke,watch TV nonstop, stay up late regularly and it goes on till adulthood, until our bad habits catch up with us in middle age.

We don't have to be nuns or monks to live an awareness-filled life in our old age.

Incidentally I personally know a 90 year old who still plays a good game of tennis and he could easily wear out opponents 30 years younger than him. He's not a total vegetarian; he doesn't smoke or drink, and he's what I call an "intellectual treat" to be with. It's just a matter of making the right life choices and striking a balance in everything.

What MuSe Sphere said was funny...

I always envy monks, of their calm nature, reaction, attitude and everything and I think it need a lot of effort to get to where they are, so the least they deserve is that for their brains to be safe and fine. I need their everything cuz I'm about to lose my mind while I'm not at my worst age yet :)

What Diana said was, er...

Its not becoming a nun or monk that's stopping me from being the healthy well-rested ideal of a human being. Its the thought that I might just have to be like everyone else. Sleeping at the same time and the same number of hours as everyone else.

For what is the struggle of a writer except to be the one that stands out? And how else to achieve that than being awake when everyone else is not? Especially when the writing is just not enough.

Hormone

2009-10-25T16:15:00.000+07:00

“God created man in his own image,” – Genesis 1:27 The main difference between male and female characteristics happens due to hormonal levels. Estrogen grows boobs and softens the voice, testosterones makes macho man. Naturally, hormonal level differences are most obvious in childbearing years.

In the years where humans do not produce offspring (ages 0 – 11 years and 50 – kaput), testosterones and estrogen levels become almost equal. This is why man boobs develop and Viagra is required. Due to andropause and menopause, sexual lines blur.

Psychologically, with the cessation of fucking-hormone, the attention shifts to other parts of well-being. From the satisfaction of physical needs, to the catching up of mental awareness. This is why elders are considered wise and usually have better control of their ~~upper~~ heads.

Sexually speaking, the average middle-aged is not a man or a woman. He and she is either both or neither.

Like God.

30 Months

2009-10-23T08:52:00.000+07:00

Romantic love only lasts 30 months, at best.

“…based on 5,000 interviews across 37 cultures and medical tests on couples, challenge the romantic ideal, suggesting instead that men and women are biologically and mentally predisposed to be "in love" for only 18-30 months. That is just long enough for a couple to meet, mate and produce a child.” [source]

After 2.5 years (24 + 6 months = 2.5 years), love hormones balance itself out. Bills, arguments, boredom, car pools and other issues will snuff out every surviving butterfly and afterglow. After 30 months from the first fall, people will outgrow romantic love.

This is all good news to me, you see? To know that the discomfort and inconvenience and the ups-and-downs of ~~the penis~~ romance are tagged with an expiration date. To see a romantic fool’s head straightened!

One might argue, that some folks love longer than hormones. And I say, YES, while we all agree that it’s not ~~hormonal~~ passionate love!

In fact, the most common justification to why people who do not love each other insist on staying together and endure children and boredom and mortgage is called marriage; a promise kept.

Universe, Summarized*

2009-10-21T08:05:00.000+07:00

The universe, and everything within, is summarized in a single book,

The summary of that Book, is found on the first page, the first Surah

That surah, “Al-Fatiha”, is summarized in the Basmalah;

Which is summarized in the first word, Bismillah,

Which boils down into the first letter “ب”

Which is summarized in the dot that is beneath that letter: “ . “

The universe, and everything within, is just a bunch of dots

,,, connected.

* Mistranslated from Serat Centhini.

Souvenirs

2009-10-17T14:00:00.001+07:00

"Every one of my books have killed me a little." ~ Norman Mailer

He asked;

What did you get from Ubud?

If he wasn’t oh-so-slightly condescending in his tone, I might have happily answered the Timekeeper. “I got you a ceramic teapot! I got Inong a sarung. I got a tan. I got…” – and I would have insulted his intelligence and would never be allowed to travel by myself ever again.

You’re never an adult in the eyes of your own parents and tutors, man, no siree.

The Timekeeper didn’t want simple answers. It was a TRICK QUESTION because what he actually meant was “What have you learned from a week in Bali that you couldn’t have learned in two years of living with me and our wall-to-wall book collection?” - Because that trip to Ubud was under his holy permission, you see?

What Ubud Puffy Festival was about;

I couldn’t resist the temptation to sniff atSeno Gumira’s graying locks and inhale Wole Soyinka’s breath. It’s a changing moment when you smell beer and two-days of expensive pillowcase off ~~mythical~~ ~~demigod~~ famous and Nobel Prize winning writers. (But hey, after Obama, hmm.)

I wanted to be unstarstruck. I wanted to see writers in the flesh so that I can identify with a writers’ humanity. What genes to they have that I don’t?! How could they, and I couldn’t?

After a few days of seeing writers mingling with wannabes, the stardust wore off and the half-expected disappointment took place. It's easier to be cynical when you see how normal and tired and old and bored full-fledged writers are. Ever read stories by Hari Kunzru, Angelo R. Lacuesto or Nelden Djakababa? No? That's okay.

۩๑๑๑۞๑๑๑۩

So, while I wasn't sinking into the possibility I might never make it as ~~a writer~~ anything, there's still the Timekeeper to answer to.

There's still the horror that the time and money and friends made and conversations exchanged in Ubud – for a WEEK, yessir - might have piled up into nothing but a scratch on my royal wannabe butt.

What I should’ve said;

Soyinka was asked; in what way that imprisonment for his work had effected him. The old man rolled his eyes and said “It didn’t.”

In return, Seno once compared writing with carpentry, that writing as layman as any other kind of job. Nothing to brag about. Nothing to feel ashamed of.

Seno and Soyinka summed up the writer’s curse. That a writer just does what he had to do. And if he had to do anything else, he probably wouldn't be any good at it.

That it doesn’t matter whether or not you get paid and published for giving birth to a half-good book or blog articles. Writers are supposed to break their glass ceilings and expectations, because writing is just another demanding, annoying, unforgiving slab of stone or unholy child. Writers are supposed to write for the sake of writing. To have the story told.

Prosecution, jail terms, ashes of failure and obscurity – well, damn those uninsurable job hazards.

۩๑๑๑۞๑๑๑۩

Unfortunately, by the time the answer took form, the Timekeeper was already busy receiving his guests and I didn’t have anyone to answer to anymore.

Which is why I had to take my seat and…write it down.

A Hippy Fad

2009-10-15T18:06:00.003+07:00

“The whole (global warming) thing is created to destroy America's free enterprise system and our economic stability” ~ Jerry Falwell (American fundamentalist Baptist Pastor and Founder of the Moral Majority. b.1933)

Global = Overwhelming

Global warming is a fad. A mass hysteria. And has nothing to do with me.

You may throw rock and stones at me, but I know that you agree.

I tend to be suspicious over things that cause so much fuss on global stages. Like poverty, or formal education or heaven and hell. It is hard to understand our relationship with an issue that has gotten so big that it reached Al Gore. What could Al Gore have in common with a poor blogger living in the middle of nowhere? How could global warming have anything to do with the average Jane and John Doe, carelessly trying to keep up with mortgages?

Besides, aren’t the major villains of global warming are the same as the villains to everything else gone vulgar in the world; the rich and industrious? Blame it on the US, China or India. Blame it on corporate and non-human business. Get over it and let us spend our Sunday/Friday/Sabbath afternoons on things that we actually do enjoy.

Okay? There. Done. We’ve cleared our conscience and ignored the elephants. Now, what’s the next item on the agenda?

Who the fuck cares?

If you’ve managed to keep reading, we will agree that it’s EASIER to swerve from compassion than to care.

Global warming is out of our control. Compromising the little privileges we have is much less convenient than staying within our comfort zones. For mother earth’s sake, why should you bother carrying your own shopping bag if they’re freely available in the supermarket? Why change nuts and bolts if the system works? Who the megalomaniac fucks are we to think that we can make a difference on global cooling?

Let’s hold that thought a bit, because I’m gonna ramble about a memory from first grade. Something about the Day of Judgment and the Sun being a stretch away above our heads.

Theorize

One of the scariest images the Day of Judgment was my First Grade teacher holding a ruler at her arm’s stretch, above her head. “This is how close the sun is going to be on the day of Judgment,” she said, “And only nice kids can fit under the cool shade of God’s Throne.”

Tickets to that VIP shade are only sold to those who observe worship, avert temptation, are charitable in silence, meditate in reverence and so on and so forth. Basically, everything that the average Jane and John Doe are not; from the opinion of any religious version.

But, since you’ve managed to read this far, I’ll assume that you care about global warming, skin complexions, or your chances under the shade of some majestic throne on a mystical day that doesn’t seem to come.

I’ll assume, that whether or not you want shade tickets, you still seek betterment and improvement in your cards. No matter how late. No matter how small.

But to change your lifestyle for the sake of the environment?! WHOM ARE WE KIDDING?!

Assimilate

As selfish as it sounds, we can only care about things that matters to us directly. Which is what Blog Action Day is really about: an awareness campaign. Awareness about what you eat and how you spend. Awareness on daily behavior and thoughts. Awareness on crap management. Awareness of the self.

Awareness is the by-product (or sister company?) of yoga, meditation, reverence and temperance. All of which are part of any good spiritual system.

All of which, by the way, are tickets to the Holy Shade, delicately assorted on an environmentally-friendly palette. Huzzah.

Regurgitate Simplify

I used to think that it’s my ADHD that’s making me think that what's less, simpler and minimalist is better. God bless ADHD on making it natural for me to be bland and boring. Haha.

Environmentally speaking, less is better. Less plastic, less anger, less money, less houses, less children, less clothes, less problems. Less make up and hair. Less time spent inside your head. Less talk. Less smoke. Less…

How about less traffic? Less achievements? Less goals?

Yeah, those too. We’re supposed to be biodegradable, you see? It’s complications that makes us resistant to natural cycles of life. Complications, like pride and vanity. Like choosing casket over cotton. Like the tendency to show off and demonstrate. Complications, darling, is what forces ghosts to linger in the uncomfortable state of shouldn’t-be-there.

Nobody ever said that simple is easy or gratis. Having it lighter on the heart, lighter on the forget-and-forgive process, costs hugely on social and sensual pleasures. For a couple of seconds away from (self-)judgment’s scorching sun, being kinder to the environment is tough. That sun, which is only the eye of guilt, slowly burning an unlovely tan to ignored causes and desensitized hurts.

Soothe

It’s not silly to hope and sing for a better place to live in. It’s not pointless to try. No matter how tuneless is your song, no matter how small is your heartfelt effort, may it cool your conscience from sorrow and guilt.

It’s okay if you only switch one light bulb off, restrain from eating one exported meal, or look funny in your locally made belongings. Whatever goodness you aim for, may it soothe your sores on days when you can't even look at yourself in the mirror. Amen.

After all, it doesn’t matter who the villains are. We’re all in this boat together.

~~Apologia~~ Footnote:

I may have offended some family members by simplifying too much, even at emotional levels. This is me apologizing for not going to my brother’s wedding in Jeddah (Nine hours plane trip for a party? One-way? You’re kidding, right?). This is me apologizing for not wanting to have children because they can distract and enchant me away from my hut and meditation. This is me living in the middle of nowhere, boring my tastebuds to shrivels, single-mindedly unmarried, for the sake of keeping things severely stripped.

I wish I could blame ADHD for everything again.

Naked Society

2009-10-11T22:25:00.000+07:00

"Pylons, those pillars
Bare like nude giant girls that have no secret."

~ Stephen Spender

Either that we are too uptight, or that getting naked is an underrated kind of awesome.

Imagine a tight-knit community of naked people living together. Would members of such society be fucking around like bunnies; with the stiff linga prodding from one open yoni to the next?

No.

In fact, the rate of sex crimes in nudist communities is lower than the well-dressed society. [And by the way, Nudist have sex the same way the rest of us do: IN PRIVATE.]

Maybe because SEX is the last thing in a nudist’s mind, before joining a naked group of people. Maybe with sex out the way, blood is redistributed from the nether regions to other (more productive?) areas of the body.

Like your brain. Your hands. Your cheeks.

To an extent, this explains the Islamic paranoia concerning Temptation’s spell upon dating couples. Why sex-segregated communities are more hyper-sexed than the liberal. Remember when Cellphones equipped with Bluetooth and FASADBOOK got the haraam Label of Disapproval?

Maybe nudity starts with the obvious. Like body language. Or communication. Like writing too much. Or too little. Secrets of the flesh is the least of our worries, when the stink of sin reeks much deeper than what the senses can reach.

So, how about it? Shall we get naked now?

Distracted

2009-10-05T13:32:00.000+07:00

Unlike any other room I’ve ever been, my room in Ubud smelled faintly of dog shit. I arrived at dusk, when the sickly half-light blanketed everything with sober gloom, along with the day’s dying. I was awfully tired, miserably hungry and started smelling of dog-poop myself. The combination of all the above cooked up a rounded, well-feared sense of loneliness.

The odds were either to be safe and secure in a closed environment, or to don my street gear and thug mask to satiate a more basic, more savage need. I’M STARVING!! So I stuffed my pocket with Rp200’000 ($20) bills and stepped into darkness.

The sight of the foreigners on the street was strangely comforting. If they can walk, why can’t a frightened native-looking girl walk by herself, WITHOUT GETTING RIDICULOUSLY ANNOUNCED DEAD OR MUGGED ON THE NEWSPAPER TOMORROW?

I passed an overly-lit restaurant interiors, guessing overly-priced food. You can’t maintain a hefty electric bill if you don’t keep up a hefty food price, you see? Yet I was too spent to seek too far, so the second reasonably-lit restaurant was as far as my body could humor my thrift.

It was an Indian restaurant.

The waitress startled me browsing the menu at the door. A standardized procedure to trap probable guests, and partially to rest her own anxieties, a gentle way of saying: “ARE YOU GONNA EAT HERE OR NOT?”

The waitress was brusque and slightly impatient. I told her I needed rice and didn’t want meat. She snapped, “Then you’ll ~~stop wasting my time and~~ eat vegetable curry,” before leaving me in solitude again.

Solitude rang in my head like a persistent migraine, or toothache. When was the last time I was so solitary? It must have been years since the last time I had to brave eating alone. It has been that long since I left Sigli; the most alone I’d been on an island.

I took out my notebook and started writing. Writing makes a lovely company, a kindly sponge to absorb the echoes of loneliness and runny stupid. Writing distracts the ache; sublimated in a one-way (or imagined?) conversation.

“How are you feeling right now?” asked my notebook.

Fucking miserable and homesick. That’s what I’m fucking feeling, you fucking fake therapist.

The waiter came back throwing two metal pans on my table. *DUGH* *DUGH* sounds the rice and curry made on my table. Shaking my pen to a halt; ARE YOU GONNA EAT THIS OR NOT?

What is it with anxious waitresses anyways?

And eat I did.

I think the food was demonic. It didn’t just possess me. It immediately catapulted me from static melancholy to shameless hogging.

The first serving splashed my taste buds, my larynx, my nose, my EARS, down to my Buddha belly with life. OH EAT YOU I SHALL! *NOM.NOM.NOM* And whoosh was how quickly it disappeared from my plate.

See? Demons do disappearing acts too.

The second serving made me delirious. How could so much pleasure manifest in HALAL food? THERE’S GOTTA BE A CATCH! Nevertheless, gardens of spice flourished on every layer of consciousness. Over and over I sang, “Ammu, Ammu, oh Lord in Heaven and Mothers of YUMMY, Thou hath resurrected and proven to me that heaven doth exist. How could I doubt Thee if you’ve manifested Your Selves in all Your might and glory on this plate I’m served with today.”

I slowed down to caution by the third serving. If heaven and the God’s glory was eternal, than hunger was not. The food was running out, satiety was closing in. I forced myself to slow down to make note and remember and obsess about every individual taste bud’s experience. The food was cooler, and awareness gently called. A cardamom popped in my mouth. Beads of pepper kicked. Ginger stung. Masala curled. Laces of cumin caressed while saffron danced.

Then love, LOVE, oh orgasmic love shuddered in the arrival of sublime and undeniable ecstasy.

Didn’t I tell you that writing distracts?

There was a naughty curry smudge resisting my fork, at the bottom of the bowl. DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, my dignity warned. I licked it off anyway, before pushing EVERYTHING away, lit my cigarette and stuffed my face in my notebook again.

Failing to hide the obvious, unembarrassed afterglow.

I thanked God and all Mothers of Spice that satiety, as much as hunger, isn’t eternal. At least I know that I can ~~shudder with earthly pleasures~~ eat here again, tomorrow.

Oh, and the proud waitress was a lot warmer when I spoke to her in my sultriest voice, “Enak sekali.”

That was good.

Education & Practice

2009-10-03T22:09:00.000+07:00

"I do not intend to prejudge the past." ~ William Whitelaw

Javanese Muslims in rural Java are strange. Most of them don’t understand Arabic. Most of them don’t have physical proof of God. And yet their unquestioning piety is astounding. Being called “Hajji/Hajjah” is something they spend their entire lives and savings for. No matter how poor.

Recently, the Muslims in Aceh passed the practice of stoning as legal sanction. I barely a year spent there, so it’s hard to confirm; but regressing to modern day stoning could give you an idea why anybody would give up TRYING with the Acehnese.

Islam in Java is woven into the culture, practiced with the kind of obedience that reminds me of cattle herds. A lot Javanese Muslims belong to a tariqah; a sufistic order and collectivistic in their religious practice.

Islam in Sumatra is practiced with rigid brutality as in Saudi in the 80s. Either you believe, or fake it, or be stoned. A lot Sumatran Muslims are Muhammadiyahs, the Indonesian version of Wahhabism.

Does it explain anything to you if you knew that Islam in Java was spread through storytelling, shadow puppets and plenty of mind boggling myths and legends?

Does it explain anything to you if you knew that Islam in Sumatra was spread with bloodletting? That the Paderi Wars stabbed conviction into every animist, man, woman and child. That my great-great-grandmother fled to Java carrying horrors about women folks being forced to witness their men beheaded, after being publicly raped. For objecting Paderi-advocated reforms.

By the men in white thobes and turbans.

Do methods of teaching define practice?

Travel

2009-10-01T00:00:00.003+07:00

"Travel, in the younger sort, is a part of education; in the elder, a part of experience." ~ Francis Bacon

You know you can survive anywhere in Bali just with a little bit of haggling skills?

There are decent, AIR CONDITIONED lodgings as cheap as $10/night in Bali. Low living-cost is one of the reasons why Bali’s becoming my favorite hideaway (this is my second trip this year), beside being gorgeous and easy-going and cultured. I would’ve lived there forever. But I WON’T because my favorite kretek cigarette is not sold in Bali. WHAT IS THEIR PROBLEM?!!! THEY CAN SELL WOODEN PENISES AND NOT DJARUM COKLAT?

Anyway, yeah, I’m heading back to Bali to ~~kiss ass~~ ~~strike my stars~~ volunteer on Ubud Writers Festival.

I’ve never done this before. Beside being in a "Writer's Haven", I’m not sure what I’m signing up for. I have no idea where I’ll be sleeping or who’ll share my plate. Come to think about it, the only thing I’m sure about is this one way ticket from Jakarta to Bali.

The rest? A massive blur.

Which is the idea behind traveling, right? Enjoy elements of shock…in the company of a healthy debit card.

It’s cool. It’s not like I’m going abroad or anything. In fact, I should be back in Jatibarang by Monday, October 19th. You know, to brag.

I’ll see you ‘round.

Naked Divine

2009-09-27T19:44:00.001+07:00

"Only before the eyes of God can the human body remain nude and uncovered while fully conserving its splendor and beauty." ~ Pope John Paul II

Is nudity dirty? Nah.

Nudity can sometimes be divine and sacred. In classical art, nudity depicts power, purity or both. You’d see naked gods, saints and martyrs as central figures in paintings and statues. Unabashed by neither vulnerability or divinity. Rating the Louvre as child-UNFRIENDLY attraction, FOR ALL ETERNITY.

Even if the art displayed images of gods. Even if man was created in the image of God. Even if the human flesh is forever sacred.

[Museums, to some of our nudity-sensitive Muslim parents, are another gate to hell, you see?]

•.¸¸.•´¯`•.♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´¯`•.♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•

For a while, nudity equaled pagan (kafir). And you know where pagans in monotheist religions end up, right? Pagan rituals included deification of the yoni and linga (fertility festivals), partying all summer (Bacchus’ rituals), and – yeah – visiting museums to admire statutes and paintings (icon worship).

Avoiding the Pagan Stamp of Approval was one of the reason why the monotheist woman is covered from head to toe. Why the good Muslim, Christian and Jewish does not worship in the nude. Why Bernini dressed St.Therese’s Ecstasy and the Ludovica in marble habits, despite their inarguable piety. Partially because they wanted the church to be child-friendly.

I think it’s more because we are SO SEXUALLY REPRESSED TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CARNAL AND RELIGIOUS ECSTASIES.

•.¸¸.•´¯`•.♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´¯`•.♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•

Then again, is there anything more tempting than a woman shrouded under veils of loyalty, piety and modesty?

Have you noticed, the allure that streaks the pious woman’s worship tempts both divine and earthbound? The purer she is, the sexier she gets in the eyes of man, demon and angel.

Hence, to have the religious monotheist woman walking around naked, would cause more traffic accidents than sustainable worship.

After all, worship is the safest place to bare our souls and selves, naked.

With our imperfections observed. And mortality honored.

Changing Looks

2009-09-27T16:07:00.000+07:00

“Every person is responsible for his own looks after 40.” ~ Abraham Lincoln

What we can’t change

Beautiful people are screwed.

They have better chances at landing jobs, maintaining social relationships and having lots and lots of children. More often than not, beautiful people are tricked into thinking being pretty is a reliable commodity. That they don't need to learn anything to fix a light bulb. Just flash them your perfectly orthodontized teeth, darling.

Don't be unkind. It's our fault too why blondes are so dumb. We’re to blame for their stupidity by overindulging their puppy dog eyes and sunshine hair and unblemished skins.

What will change

Remember what I said about palmistry?

We know that, on the long run, it doesn’t matter if you are gifted with the mask of golden proportions (1:1.618) or symmetry. While physical beauty fades with age (and this is a promise); personality becomes more prominent. The things we do, thoughts we carry and feelings we bear, mark our bodies.

Fuck cosmetics. No matter how beautiful you were in your 20s, cosmetics they can’t hide the contents of your heart in your 40s. Are you a frowner? A childlike goofball? A banker? Wrinkles, sickness, snobbishness, secrets. Dude, everyone knows.

Let’s just hope our skeletons are easier to look at.

What can we change?

Can we change hearts? Can we laugh more? Can we be happier? Can we forgive?

Damn thing is that we don’t have much time to reform our personalities. We only have until 40 to learn being kind, patient and goodhearted folks. That's a lot of goodness to learn practicing in such a short time. It's even harder than applying liquid eyeliner!

Why the rush? Because after 40, we'll be stuck with the frowning/miserable/thoughtful/patient/bitchmouth person that we've mostly been. IF we get to live that long.

"If you want to make a difference in the world, the single most important thing you can do is consciously and deliberately choose to do work that you are passionate about." [source]

Most of us don't want to change the world. Most of us just wants to be happy. And being happy does not require physical beauty. We can deliberately and consciously choose the load on our minds. Be selective about the things we ~~obsess~~ are passionate about. Do the things that will give room for joy to dance within. Hold on to things that are constant and reliable. Simple things, small things, light things.

Like a pen. Or secret. Or a tickle. Hihi.

I hope you (have) enjoy(ed) your weekend.

Naked Artist

2009-09-25T15:32:00.001+07:00

"Technical skill is mastery of complexity while creativity is mastery of simplicity." ~ E.C. Zeeman

Joko Anwar is a bit off the generic celebrity scale. He’s a movie maker, indulgently lazy blogger and a believer in PLU religion: “Peace, love and understanding according to St. Elvis Costello”.

On the third day of Eid 1430H, Joko Anwar said,

And, very quickly, his followers passed the 10 thousand mark, forcing him to illegally, unfashionably walk into that ill-fated 24-hrs convenient store.

[Fortunately, it only happened once, and not every time his followers multiplied in 3000s.]

•.¸¸.•´¯`•.♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´¯`•.♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•

I have a thing for artists who short fuse their shame wires. You know, that committed group of artists who have lost the ability to blush. The kind that is to strip – without being sexual - naked. I’m thinking Alanis Morisette in “Thank You”, Sting by Annie Leibovitz, and every time Kate Winslet got naked.

•.¸¸.•´¯`•.♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´¯`•.♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•

Naked – when done properly - challenges the audience’s blushing threshold. Remember the last time you saw someone naked? Did you stare? Did you hear the model’s breath?

Or did you just COMPARE?

Naked art isn’t supposed to get you sexually tingled. Rather than having blood rushing to the genitals, the artistic nude provokes emotion and contemplation. Rather than stating the obvious [“LOOK, BOOBIE!!!”], artists emphasize the understated, using the flesh as canvass.

In Joko Anwar’s case, the understatement might have been

Ultimately, nudity in the absence of a relevant message, does NOT sell. And does not last. It would only grab the attention of the bored and overdressed, before quickly fleeting to vulgar oblivion.

Whether it’s a naked Joko Anwar or a crazy hobo, whether it is an eternal nude art or a smutty flick, what is it about nudity that stirs so much shock? Is it THEIR brutal honesty?

Or is it the weight of our own secrets and masks?

Thanks to CK-Stuff for the links she’s compiled on the subject.

Family Visits

2009-09-23T23:11:00.002+07:00

"Pretentious? Moi?" ~ John Cleese

When I opened the door for him, we grinned at each other’s appearances. He was still in his work uniform, I was still in my domestic costume. I smelled like a cigarette butt, and he smelled like the butt of a car.

“I’m in the middle of a writing session, man.”

“I need to email my work report, mba.”

We huddled around the dingy coffee table by the balcony, from where we could watch the sunset. I pushed my papers aside; making room for his laptop. He jacked his wires and rolled up his sleeves. During the first hours of us hanging out in my house, my cousin and I ignored each other; posting ourselves as ideal candidates for the “Hostess and Guest From Hell”.

We started interrupting each other (“Dude, what’re you working on?”) -- around the time that a meal was due. Nobody politely offered or graciously answered (“Dinner?” -- “Exactly!”). We agreed by slapping our laptops closed and walked forth-and-back to the nearest diner (“Can I take the bill this time?” - “Sure, after I finish your dessert,”).

That’s when it was nice being with extended family and achievements didn’t matter and differences merely oiled the natural flow of words exchanged between us.

When respects were showed in absence of pretense.

Eid’s Eve

2009-09-19T20:55:00.001+07:00

“People find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than for being right.” Joanne Kathleen Rowling

Lord,

Mass displays of emotion distresses the curmudgeonly agoraphobic. Yes, I know it’s all YOU we’re celebrating. Nevertheless, I would like to survive the next 72 hours without POPPING A FIRECRACKER in Your name or mine in vain, please?

Thank you,

PS: Oh yes, Happy Lebaran to You too.

Empathy Pains

2009-09-17T08:18:00.001+07:00

"The self is dear, therefore let him who desires his own advantage not harm another." ~ Buddha

Biology of Empathy

The human brain has an altruistic nerve, sometimes called the mirror neurons. When active, they make you feel what someone else is feeling. The pain that a mother feels when her children are sick. The sadness that brings us together in mourning and shared grief. The understanding between you and your pets.

Psychology of Empathy

Mirror neurons are – in a way – voluntarily controlled. You can shut them down by focusing on your self. Which is great; because empathy takes a toll on our minds, and carrying the world’s burden of grief could short fuse any kind of wiring.

On the other hand, people who are severely self-centered are as sad as the highly empathetic. How often have we heard of people complaining about loneliness? Shutting down the mirror neurons alienates us from our surrounding. And this is the thing with lonely people; they “think” that they’re the only ones miserable.

Relieving Empathy

My question is, how do we balance between empathy and stretching too thin? How did mother Teresa manage her colossal empathy and still not lose her mind in serving the dejected? How does the Timekeeper manage listening to the weight of the world everyday without succumbing in tired defeat? How do we manage between the hope in a better world, and the realization that nothing really changes?

Unless they know something that we don’t, the highly altruistic must have secret buckets. Something like Dumbledore’s Pensieve: A place to gather the most troubling thoughts and nightmares. The Timekeeper and Mother Teresa have/had God to hold on to. Their faith in a Supreme Being is as real and sustaining as the ground they stand on.

Since we’re not so magical as the residents of Hogwarts, we have to settle with the ordinary. I vomit air after massaging others; passing on sadness and sickness back to the ground. Sue teaches yoga; sometimes to remember that not everyone is as well-grounded as her feet and hands. My brother weight-lifts; tricking his mind into believing his thoughts can never be as heavy as the steel weights on his back and in his hands.

How do you do it, Reader?

Fast Aware

2009-09-13T22:15:00.003+07:00

“Simple pleasures are always the last refuge of the complex” ~ Oscar Wilde

We fast because we want to remember.

Of course, some of us fast simply out of solidarity. Solidarity to the group, the hungry, the religion..the waistline. That all can be faith strengthening behavior. That’s fine too.

For those who want to go beyond the tides of physical need, fasting briefly frees us from the chase. Fasting breaks the most natural habits, even sleep. We fast to prolong yearning. Or remember what it’s like to yearn. Like love from a distance.

Fasting reminds us of scarcity. Of basic pleasures. After all, it was a sip of water that haunted Jesus on the walk to the cross. A miswak before the Prophet’s passing. A final lecture at the brink of chemo.

Because, when we break our fasting with sustenance, we renew our vows to life. That we eat to live, and not the other way around. That the small pleasures make up for an entire day’s worth of ~~miserable~~ yearning. For suns to set.

And promises kept.

Detachment

2009-09-11T02:22:00.001+07:00

"The end must justify the means." ~ Matthew Prior

Have you heard about him?

A boy who does not eat, sleep, make a living, socialize or blog. A boy who lives solely on meditation and worship. For months!!

Some folks are just born with it.

Isn’t it odd that the core of religious templates, emphasize on worldly detachment? Yes, eat, drink and be merry, but do not indluge. Remember that your soul will one day get an eviction note. Remember that your body, will someday be restored back to where it came from. And your soul will have to find a new place to ~~haunt~~ dwell.

Religious templates, as much as they advise on the maintenance of our mortal vessels, emphasize on worldly detachment. Fasting, almsgiving, pilgrimage and meditation. They remind us not to hold on too tightly.

Without really making any other promises, we can never be sure if these things we do in worship can secure a better afterlife. Judgment remains the Afterlife Keeper's ultimate right.

Perhaps, in familiarizing with detachment, improves our chances of a dignified eviction.

Deadlines

2009-09-09T01:09:00.002+07:00

“Is there another life? Shall I awake and find all this a dream? There must be, we cannot be created for this sort of suffering.” ~ John Keats

If you believe in the soul, you believe in an afterlife. As one is content and the other its vessel; one belief requires the other.

Some folks believe in reincarnations; that life and death is an unending cycle.

Some folks believe in the simple one way flight: you’re dead and khalas, you are stuck with your deeds and destination (reward or reprimand).

Others believe in both: that everyday is a rebirth, and deeds pile up in creating unmistakable destinies.

I like theories on afterlife and soul. I have my favorites, but they all work the same way: giving deadlines for the things I’m doing.

The deadline for today’s writing session is imsak.

Goals

2009-09-07T01:04:00.001+07:00

"Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, -- Or what's a heaven for?" ~ Robert Browning

"Go for the moon. If you don't get it, you'll still be heading for a star." ~ Willis Reed

I don’t like setting goals. It makes me feel old. Life seems less taxing when it’s done by the ear.

That said, important milestones have (relatively flexible) timeframes. The more precious they are; the more thorough we plan. The more we value ourselves, the less we wing it around.

There’s even a template to your goal designs: Pick a goal that includes everything. Pick goals that cover all areas of your well-being. Why else would you want to spend the next ten years on them?

“Our personal well-being is dependent on equal attention to each of the seven primary areas of well-being: social, intellectual, spiritual, emotional, physical, occupational and environmental.” [Source]

The elements of well-being affect each other. If you’re emotionally okay, everything else feels bright and shiny. If you’re physically stumped, you’ll probably spend more time nursing that wound than partying through the night.

This can be a good thing. You improve things by grabbing the element easiest to work on. Spark the chain reaction. Roll the snowball.

Live consciously.