Hopes and Fears

Pointless

2012-02-01T13:17:00.001+07:00

I hardly watch TV these days. And when I do "tune in", more often that not it's for the English Premier League, which isn't exactly what you call local content. Between the dramas, the reality shows, and the newscasts, I don't know which one is worse.

Anyway, one program I dislike in particular is a curious specimen. It is . . . what? A talk show? If you define "talk show" as a program in which people talk incessantly, then yes, it is pretty much it, although "open forum" would be more accurate. But there's a catch. Its participants aren't just your typical laymen; they're lawyers. (They invite a few non-lawyers too, though, usually to share their tales of woe or to represent some government agency.) Week in, week out, they regale us mere mortals with their well-informed opinions on a wide range of topics, from the inner politics of our country's football governing body, to DUI (last night's topic).

Oh, did I say "well-informed opinions"? Well, not really. Sure, at times they pepper their observations with reference to this or that chapter from our legislation. But they're mainly saying what everybody else knows, like "There's no justice in our justice system for the poor," or "The government had let us down."

While I understand that people need to whine now and then about the dismal state our country is in--lighten the load, you know--I can't fathom why they would want to listen some guys (yes, they're mostly male) in fancy suits doing the same thing. I mean, the kind of talk you hear in that show, I imagine it's pretty common at coffee shops and public pavilions (poskamling) in the whole country. Of course, when you engage in a discussion in such places, you can always participate, put your two cents, and not just sit passively. Like I said, it's not as if those lawyers give you new and valuable insights to the matter at hand. (And even if they do, it's only rarely.)

But . . . I'm being unfair. After all, those lawyers are encouraged to spew forth lame comments. And if they end up having a shouting match with each other, the better. In fact, I suspect that that's what the moderator is after. Stir up a bit controversy, heat things up.

Oops, maybe I should shut up now. In case they sue me for libel or something.

Tale of Warrior

2012-01-21T17:54:00.001+07:00

Do you know? Warriors Sport had made a deal with Liverpool FC, replacing their current sponsor, Adidas. You don't know? You don't care? Well, I reckon you won't, unless you're a LFC supporter. But anyway, this inconsequential piece of news reminded of something. A different kind of Warrior. Warrior shoes, to be precise.

Now, if you happened to go to public schools in Bandung in the '90s, I'm sure you would know what those are. Warrior shoes were the select regulation shoes at that time. They were cheap, they were made in China, and by God how I used to hate them. They had too many eyelets, their green insoles made your white socks (yes, only white socks were allowed) all grenish, and after a week of use they would definitely let wetness seep in from underneath--which is why Warriors were hardly the shoes of choice for angkot-taking school children in a relatively wet city in a tropical country.

The (in)famous Warrior Shoes

The funny thing was, school regulation didn't actually necessitate the use of that particular brand, but rather, a specific style--black high-tops canvas shoes. A couple of school mates ended up wearing New Balance or Converse, which were maybe five times more expensive than Warrior. Completely defeats the purpose, methinks.

Anyway, if someone were to ask me to pick out regulation shoes, I'd choose Chinmi shoes, or kung-fu shoes, or whatever it is that you call them. They're Chinese, too, and really cool. Okay, so they let water in as well, but at least Bruce Lee wore them. What more can you ask?

Going Solo part 1

2012-01-05T16:43:00.003+07:00

Visiting Indonesia, he got to understand his country a bit more, Malaysian writer Karim Raslan once said. The reverse could be applied to me: visiting Malaysia helps me understand what my country--Indonesia--is all about. Sort of.

My quest for solo adventure began when I realized, belatedly, that my passport would soon to be useless. My passport would expire in eight months, and it's still empty. I reckoned it would be awkward when the time comes to renew my passport and the immigration official finds it yet to be used. Where to go then? The common opinion was Singapore, but what the heck would I do there? Shopping? Gawking at its modernity and displaying what a bumpkin I am? Thanks, but I'll pass. The next candidate was Malaysia. It's close, I don't need a visa to visit the country, and my parents wouldn't needlessly fuss over it too much (what with it being my first time abroad and all by myself to boot, my attempt at coaxing a friend to join me had previously failed). So Malaysia it is. I've been wanting to go to Malacca for some time, and a friend said that Penang is a must-see. So up I went.

Landing at Penang after a two-hour flight, I was greeted by a blast of humid air upon stepping out of the airport. It's a small island after all, I mused, with sea all around it. The arrival of Rapid Penang bus soon afterwards confirmed that I was indeed in a foreign country. Indonesian buses aren't much to look at, but Rapid Penang is so sleek and clean, and . . . Oh, look! Gigantic letters of T, E, S, C, and O on a strip mall! Not just any foreign country then, but a foreign country that was once a British colony!

The bus took me cruising down neat, wide streets to the conspicuous KOMTAR--Kompleks Tun Abdul Razak, named after the former Prime Minister--the tallest building on the island, in Georgetown. I had a map in my person, but thanks to my terrible sense of direction, I got lost within five minutes of getting off the bus. The fact that Malaysian road signs are parallel to the street--in contrast to those in Indonesia, which are perpendicular to the street--didn't help either.

After a couple of wrong turns--well, more than a couple--I finally found the place I was meant to stay in. When my declaration of having made a reservation in Bahasa Indonesia was met by blank stare from the attendant, I realized once again that despite the linguistic similarity, despite the common roots, Bahasa Indonesia and Malaysian Malay are two different entities, mirroring two different paths the two nations had taken.

to be continued when i feel like writing again . . . .

The Painted Veil (W. Somerset Maugham)

2011-11-14T16:24:00.001+07:00

I picked this book for one reason, and one reason only: because I love the movie. Naomi Watts and Edward Norton delivered superb performance, the depiction of interior China was beautiful, and the story was romantic. And I don’t use the word “romantic” lightly, mind you. Bearing that in mind, imagine how I felt when I realized the book was crucially different from its motion picture counterpart.

The main character is a young woman named Kitty. She was almost past marriageable age (twenty-five years old!), and to make matters worse, her younger--and less beautiful--sister had just gotten engaged. So, Kitty did what every sensible woman would do under the circumstances: she jumped the gun with the first guy who proposed! Enter Walter Fane, an uptight “man of science” serving in the colony of Tching-Yen (Hong Kong upon first publication, but under the threat of libel from someone of the same name, it became a fictitious colony instead).

The problem is, Kitty was the kind of person who couldn’t see a man beyond his charm and good looks, of which Walter had none. Little wonder that she fell for the dashing Assistant Colonial Secretary, Charles Townsend. They had an affair, Walter found out, and then came the ultimatum: either he filed for divorce on the ground of adultery, or she came with him to Mei-tan-fu, a remote town ransacked by cholera epidemic. In the end, Kitty had no choice but to go with the latter option, just like Walter knew she would (because Townsend’s just fooling around with her, in any case): this would be her punishment.

It is at this point that the movie deviated from the original work. Away from the world, movie-Kitty and Walter saw each other in a way that they never had before, and found it in themselves to forgive each other. In the book, what happened, I think, was some sort of self discovery. It didn’t bring happiness to the couple, though.

And while we’re talking about unhappiness, I have to say that I’m not quite sure what Walter wanted to convey on his deathbed. He said, “The dog it was that died,” which is a reference to Oliver Goldsmith’s An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog. It strikes me not as words of regret, more like recognizing and accepting the inevitable--his futile love and Kitty’s flaws. (Does it make any sense?)

To me, Kitty’s understanding of herself was a pivotal point in the book. She’s shallow, and she acknowledged and accepted that. I imagine that’s how things work in real life most of the time. You don’t go to a secluded place and suddenly reform your “wicked” ways, but sometimes you do get to see yourself for what you really are. Yes, the movie is sweet, but the book is more poignant because the characters didn’t change. There’s no love and forgiveness, only regret.

Fancying a Footballer

2011-11-06T00:43:00.000+07:00

Phil Jones is a very talented young player. He’s a tough defender, he can pass, he can run, he reads the game well. Oh, and he happens to be rather cute. I want to smack myself as I’m writing this.

The last time I was smitten by a footballer was . . . . . Becks, circa 1996. That was before he hooked up with his Spice Girl (future) wife and became a global celebrity, mind you. And thankfully, it didn’t last long. (I believe it was less than a season.) Anyway, it was a different era altogether. I was a kid, newly initiated to the cult of Manchester United--which is a good thing--but at that time I also listened to boybands. You get my drift.

When I was younger, people were more skeptical about girls who like football. It didn’t help that some girls boldly announce that they watched football because of this player or that player, who were good-looking.

The problem with me--or rather, the good thing about me--was, more often than not, I don’t even realize it if a player is good looking. I mean, it’s hard to, even if I want to. If you love football as much as I do, you’d spontaneously focus on the flow of the game, the teams’ build-up play, individual contribution, anything but the handsomeness or the ugliness of a player.

Question: Would I even notice Jonesy’s cuteness if he showed less than brilliant performance for United so far? I don’t think so. End of story.

OCD

2011-10-08T17:21:00.000+07:00

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Walls Come Tumbling Down

2011-09-27T11:05:00.000+07:00

There's this shopping center that I used to go to as a kid. I remember my parents taking me to the game center on the uppermost floor. I remember getting a copy of Blur's The Great Escape from a record store there. But now, all that's left of the building is an empty shell. As the city's center of commerce moved away from that particular location, it was attracting less and less visitors until finally, around 2000, it was closed down for good. Now, all that left is a dilapidated building, an empty shell.

A sight like this always pains me immensely. And my hometown has lots of it. Once grand houses now encroached by weeds, old cinemas with collapsed roof and weathered facade, gloomy shops with nearly-empty display. Whenever I see them, I wonder. What kind of people spent their time there, how they lived their lives.

As I understand it, buildings are more than just bricks and mortar. They are made of people's hopes and dreams. It doesn't matter what you think about today's developers and their tasteless strip malls and uniformed houses, but there's a reason why property always sells. It gives a sense--or an illusion, rather--of permanence, in an ever-changing world.

Maybe that's why a state of abandon bothers me so much. Because I know in some not-very-unconscious level, those buildings are testaments of forgotten dreams, a reminder of our own fleeting existence. And that one day, everything that we've built with hard work all our lives will crumble, vanished without a trace.

Notes: The title is ripped off shamelessly from a Style Council song. No copyright infringement intended.

It Doesn't Work!

2011-07-12T13:11:00.001+07:00

Some ideas are good when you think about them in your head. But once you try put them on paper, it all falls apart.

That's what's been happening with me for the last three months or so. I've got these interesting thoughts in my mind that need addressing. Things every Indonesians have in common no matter where they live, how some signs (e.g. photographs) become empty signifiers in the digital age, nasty bashing on the internet, etc.

When I tried to write them down though, the piece end up being dull, lifeless and pointless. And I scratched my head, asking to myself, "Er, why did I write that again?"

Which probably means that the idea is too raw, I still need to work it out. Bah!

Once (John Carney) - part 2

2011-03-01T23:33:00.001+07:00

-----Part 1-----

As I have mentioned in my previous installment, Once has its defining moment when the possibility of further romantic development between its two characters was squashed, for good and for the better. It's this scene that I'm talking about:

During the break in between their recording sessions, the girl went out of the studio and found a grand piano in a darkened room. Noticing her there, the guy asked her to play one of the songs she's written. She sang and played a song about the frustration at a relationship that didn't work, but stopped midway when her feelings became too overwhelming.

In your typical romantic drama, a darkened room and a damsel in distress is a sure recipe for the ensuing kiss. However, in Once, that situation didn't lead to anything more than the guy providing comfort for the girl. Thus, the film is saved from the cliché ending we've watched too many times before. Besides, I think it's going to be paradoxical if the movie doesn't end with the girl being reunited with her husband, considering that one of the songs ("Falling Slowly") is about saving "this sinking boat and point it home."

But of course, it's not simply the plot or the ending that makes Once such a good movie. There's the music, obviously. The songs are pleasant to the ears and they are performed beautifully. The actors' acting quality is okay, I guess, but their musical performance is brilliant. Maybe it has something to do with their being professional musicians in real life. (To put it in another way, musicians first, actors second.) Some musicals use songs as tools for storytelling, but in Once, songs are incorporated in a natural fashion. Songs were sung because the characters were busking, or rehearsing their performance for the upcoming recording session, or trying out a duet at the music shop. This movie is more on the lines of The Sound of Music, say, than Grease or Mamma Mia.

Another thing about this movie that merits a credit is its ability to portray what should've been the dispiriting aspects of life--represented by backdrops such as the once-grand houses turned into flats or cramped workshop filled with broken vacuum cleaners--without leaving the audience with a sense of dejection. The general atmosphere is of optimism and warm feelings, as apparent in the girl's openness and cheerfulness, despite a life that was definitely not easy, having to work two jobs to support her child and mother in a foreign country.

To sum it all up, this is one movie you've got to watch. Elegantly simple, unpretentious, and yet profound.

Once (John Carney) - part 1

2011-03-01T22:18:00.003+07:00

Note: This installment is divided into two parts. The first is a synopsis, pretty much. The second part consists of my personal opinion about the movie.

A guy and a girl met on the street of Paris, fell in love, and then lived happily ever after. How's that for a story! Well, Once is a story about a girl and a guy, alright. And they did fall in love with each other, sort of. And maybe they really lived happily ever after anyway, just not together. And the city is Dublin, not Paris. (God knows why people dub that particular place "the city of love". Why not Pondicherry, or Perth, or Portsmouth?)

So, a struggling singer-songwriter was out busking one evening, singing quite emotionally at the top of his lungs, when a girl came up to him and commended his performance. (These two shall remain nameless to the end.) The praise was taken rather sarcastically though, since the girl only gave her 10 cents. The girl retorted that if he's only into making money, he should've got a job in a shop or something. The guy said that he did have a job repairing vacuum cleaners. As chance would have it, the girl had a broken vacuum at home. She cheerily promised to come by again the next day with her vacuum in tow so that he could fix it up for her.

This initial exchange led to a friendship. The guy eventually found out that the girl was a musician (although she didn't identify herself as one, merely stating that she knew "a little" about music), playing the piano. And the girl found out that the guy's songs were inspired by an ex-girlfriend, who had cheated on him with another man and was living in London at present. Noticing that he hadn't been over her, the girl suggested that he followed her to London. She also pointed out that he should've tried to push his music through a record company or something, considering how good it was.

Although reluctant at first, the guy finally decided to go to London to pursue both goals--winning his girlfriend back and making a music career--but not before he made a proper demo tape. With the help of the girl and three other street musicians, he got to a recording studio and played his songs for taping, even winning the support of the previously apathetic studio engineer.

All through the movie, you can see how the two main characters' feelings for each other developed. One particular scene in this respect is when the guy asked the girl how to say "Do you love him?" in Czech, "him" being her husband back home in her old country. (Surprise, surprise, the girl's got a husband. Yes, she had a kid, but the audience--well, I, anyway--were led to believe that she was unmarried.) After answering, the girl said another thing in Czech but refused to translate it for him. What she said was, "It is you I love."

However, the feelings they had for each other didn't materialize into something more. After they finished recording, the guy invited the girl to hang out with him, since he's going to London the next day. She refused and said that it would only end up in a "hanky-panky", which would be worthless, at any rate. She also revealed that his husband's coming to Ireland, and that they're going to try to work things out. Even though she promised to come over to his place that evening, she stood him up in the end. He failed to meet her one last time prior to his departure, and there's no tearful reunion in the airport, either.

The penultimate scenes of the movie showed the guy going away to catch his flight with wistful smile on his face, while a piano--a gift from him--was delivered to the girl's home, received with much appreciation on her part.

I can't say that I'm surprised or disappointed with the movie's somewhat "unresolved" ending, though. A defining moment in the studio room ensured that that's how the movie's going to end. Thank goodness for that, or else it's going to be just your average romantic flick instead of the truly memorable movie that it is.

-----Part 2-----

Another I-Want-to-Watch-These-Movies List

2011-01-07T22:51:00.003+07:00

Every now and then I compile a list of movies I’m dying to watch but haven’t, due to availability reason. They’re either released a long, long time ago, rendering it extremely difficult to obtain the video/DVD, or non-Hollywood. And as you all know, just a very small number of non-American movies are released here in Indonesia, either in theatrical release or DVD/video.

So, without further ado, here they are:

1) Beck
This movie is released last year, I think. It’s a Japanese movie about five guys from a band called Beck (a.k.a Mongolian Chop Squad), trying to make in the music world. This one’s an adaptation from a shounen manga by Harold Sakuishi. I quite enjoy the manga, that’s why I’m looking forward to the live-action movie. Rumor has it that Blitz Megaplex is trying to get the right to play this movie in their cinema. I only hope that it’s true! (Speaking about the manga, Sakuishi-sensei modified famous music album covers for the opening page of the manga’s chapters. My favorite is this, which is a homage for Oasis’s Definitely Maybe.)

2) Linda, Linda, Linda
Another Japanese movie about music. A group of Japanese high-school girls found their band in need of a guitar player, their guitarist suffering an injury, a short time before the cultural festival. In this time of need, they had no choice but to ask help from a foreign-exchange student from Korea. Not too special, but this is pretty much the type of movie that can make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

3) Ningen Shikkaku
Literally translates to “no longer qualified as human”, this is a movie adaptation of Dazai Osamu’s most famous and last novel. Considered to be semi-autobiographical, it’s about a young man who suffered a psychological trauma as child, spending his life in depression and debauchery. This is a movie worth to watch, if only for the privilege to see Ikuta Toma’s face on the big screen ;p.

4) Rashomon
Kurosawa Akira. Legend. Enough said.

5) Some Kind of Wonderful
Your typical John Hughes movie about a boy and a girl. This girl and that boy have been best friends forever. The tomboyish girl falls in love with the boy, but the boy falls for the beautiful, popular girl in the neighborhood. The tomboyish girl tries to help her friend winning the heart of that popular girl, but then . . . . The ending is quite obvious, really. Not to mention that it is more than just a little corny. Sorry, but I simply can’t help being a corny person and loving corny movies :p.

Sing Before You're Winning

2010-12-25T22:32:00.004+07:00

There's something very unpalatable about the hype surrounding Indonesia football team's progress in the AFF Cup. Everything has been so blown out of proportion thanks to PSSI and its infinite wisdom, no to mention the media and its insightfulness.

One victory ignited everything. The national team won by four-goal margin against Malaysia. This is surprising, considering that Malaysia isn't that weak of a team compared to us to begin with.

The media wasted no time at all to make the most use of it. While the pre-match news was primarily about precautionary steps taken by the Local Organizing Committee to prevent potential clash between Indonesian and Malaysian supporters, post-match reports were full of praises for the national team. As the team smoothly went further in the tournament, the media became more and more enthusiastic in their reports. By the sheer magnitude of it, one would've thought that we'd won the World Cup!

In no time at all, our gullible public started to fancy the team and the players whom several days before they couldn't care less about. Gelora Bung Karno suddenly found itself teeming with people battling to get their hands on match tickets. "Battling” is certainly not an overstatement here. What's with all the pushing and shoving, topped with PSSI's superb ticket distribution system, the GBK ground very much resembled a battling ground, even a plaza in riot a couple of times.

PSSI is no less quick in taking advantage of the situation. The PSSI Chief promptly laid claim to the national team's success, when everyone who has the slightest knowledge about Indonesian football can clearly see that we owe that thanks to the Head Coach Alfred Riedl. And seeing the enthusiasm of the masses, they raised the ticket prices without hesitation. It's quite funny really, to see that the ticket price to GBK is more expensive than that of corresponding category to the Bukit Jalil Stadium in Kuala Lumpur, when Bukit Jalil has better seats and facility for spectators.

You think it's all there is to it? Not even close. For some reason those friendly guys in PSSI allowed their good buddy Aburizal Bakrie to invite all of the team to his house for breakfast (or is it lunch?). You really have to wonder. Why did someone who never showed any inclination towards football--apart from a somewhat frail connection to the sport: his brother owns a football club--come up with this gesture all of a sudden? He happens to be one of the wealthiest men in the country and probably a strong candidate for the presidency in 2014 General Election (God save us all!), though, if those things count.

And just when I thought things couldn't get more absurd than that, the PSSI Chief dragged the players to a pesantren in Jakarta for this prayer ceremony thingy two nights ago. I don't know if he's real pious or just plain stupid. At such late hour players should've been taking a rest, not going around for a night stroll. What all due respect, can't they just pray together in the place where they're staying?

For the sake of the players and the coaching staff, I do hope that they win the cup. PSSI, politicians, the media, and those glory-seeker supporters would readily bask in their glory whenever an opportunity presented itself. As soon as the team fails to live up to expectations, though, these people are the ones who would throw them away most easily. Just like that.

Cut Out with the Handshake, Cut Out with the Joke

2010-11-12T10:31:00.003+07:00

This post is written in a rage. Amazing what anger can do to your creativity.

So. I just watched Indonesia This Morning on Metro TV, and one of the news was about Tifatul Sembiring's handshake with Michelle Obama. Some media in Indonesia and the US make a big deal out of it, apparently. In fact, the story is deemed remarkable enough that Stephen Colbert--comedian and political satirist--made a note to mention it in his program, The Colbert Report.

Given the nature of his show, of course he took it upon himself to treat the whole handshaking business as a joke. And then he continued by quoting a passage from some article saying about how Indonesians swarmed Facebook and Twitter to criticize the Minister of Information for his hypocrisy.

I must say that I don't care about what Mr. Sembiring does. He can choose to shake or not to shake hands with women, or he can take a third wife, for all I care. As long s he doesn't mess up in his job, I couldn't care less. But I do mind with what Colbert said next. I don't remember his exact words, but it was more or less like this: "Facebook and Twitter? I always picture Indonesians banging coconuts to a log."

Needless to say, I was (and still am) incensed. What the hell was that? What the hell does he think we are? Savages? Monkeys? (Although I don't know if monkeys communicate by banging coconuts on a log, that's hardly the point, is it?) Honestly, I think it's racist and degrading and not funny at all. His studio audience shared a different opinion, obviously.

People would no doubt say "Don't you have a sense of humor? It's just a joke!" No, I don't have a sense of humor when it's my national identity that is trampled upon. Americans--obsessed with political correctness--are very sensitive when it comes to making jokes about African-Americans and Jews. But is it alright to make fun of everybody else?

Football-crazed

2010-07-11T15:19:00.001+07:00

"I fell in love with football as I was later to fall in love with women: suddenly, inexplicably, uncritically..." Nick Hornby, Fever Pitch

For me, the defining moment might've been that day when Persib passed the street near my school on parade after winning the first ever Liga Indonesia. Or maybe it was the time I watched in awe as Brazil trashed Italy in that penalty shoot-outs that guaranteed their fourth World Cup title. Or during that time I saw Steve McManaman dribble his way through the defending team's right flank in a Euro '96 live coverage. All I know is that somewhere along the way, I deeply fell in love with football.

In rare moments of contemplation, I wondered to myself why I enjoy football very much. Does it have something to do with availability and constant exposure to the game? I don't think so, really. Just look at my younger brother. He's not the least interested in football even though he avidly watched Captain Tsubasa when he was a kid and played regularly at school. Not to mention that he has a Manchester United maniac of a sister. When you don't get it you just don't, regardless of the "availability and constant exposure". Therefore, when a friend asked me--quite innocently--what was it that I found so irresistibly interesting about watching twenty-two people run around the field for the sake of one dirty ball, I responded with a smart "Dunno." Because I truly don't know.

My inability to eloquently express the beauty of football, I suspect, is inextricably linked with the fact that I am not what you'd call an “analytical spectator”. Some people enjoy football in logical, detached way. They'd make a song and dance about the philosophical, sociological, and psychological importance of football, and they'd be upset when football teams replace perfection with pragmatism.

Well, I'm not them. I'd be elated when my team win and upset--at times angry--when they lose. I'd question the manager's strategy or blame a particular player (Sorry, Fletch!) when they had a draw against the supposedly inferior team. It's that simple. My devotion to a football team comes from irrational love, not critical thinking. I love football like I love noodle. Noodle is tasty, so is football. What's so tasty about noodle? Sadly, I can't explain it. You just have to try it for yourself, and if you don't like it, it's simply not the food for you. The same goes for football.

Football, computer games, traveling, collecting stamps, or whatever--we all have our very own little obsession. Better enjoy it as much as we can, right?

The Idea of Nonexistence

2010-05-20T22:06:00.001+07:00

A fate worse than death. That's what a human who uses a Death Note--writing people's name on it and thus killing them--is subjected to. Light Yagami, an overzealous lover of justice turns mass murderer, undoubtedly earns that. But the anticlimactic ending got me very disappointed. Because for all his ruthless killing, in the end Light Yagami simply ceases to exist. That's what "a fate worse than death" is all about.

Upon death, your brain stops sending and receiving impulses to and from its nerves, your heart stops pumping blood, etch. Death equals irreversible systemic organ failure. Many systems of belief, though, consider death not as the ultimate end but simply a gateway to another state of being. And beyond this, retribution lays.

The idea is that no good deeds go unrewarded and no bad deeds go unpunished. Hence, heaven and hell, good karma and bad karma.

Interestingly, nonexistence does have its place in this sort of concept. Just like many of us, Ancient Egyptians believed in the afterlife and judgment. It is said that a person's heart would be weighed against a single feather representing Ma'at--the concept of truth and order--by the god Anubis. If one's heart were pure, not weighed down by the guilt or sins of his actions in life, it would be lighter than the feather and he would be welcomed to the Ancient Egyptians' version of heaven (a big farmland, actually). On the contrary, if one's heart were heavier than the feather, it would be eaten by Ammit, a demon part crocodile, part lion, and part hippopotamus. Since heart was the center of reason and emotion, Ancient Egyptians believed that someone without a heart essentially ceased to exist--which was the worst possible fate they could imagine.

Let me say this: I think nonexistence is not a fate worse than death, and it is surely not a good enough retribution for a mass murderer who doesn't even repent for his crime. Oh sure, it might sound frightening now when you think about it while you're living. Imagining that your whole being is wiped out completely and that, fifty, a hundred, a thousand years from now, nobody would now that you ever existed. But nonexistence is terrifying only if it is perceived as just another state of existence, which doesn't make sense.

Okay, let's imagine that you're non-existent. If you're non-existent, it means you have no body, no conscience, no feeling. You are nothing. (Even using the word "you" is superfluous, but let's just keep it for the sake of the argument.) Simply put, you will not be around when you "experience" being non-existent. And how can someone who doesn't even exist feel happy or unhappy? The answer is: they can't.

Nonexistence is a fate worse than death? I don't think so. You should've thought of something better than that, Ooba-sensei.

Pinball (Haruki Murakami)

2010-02-11T22:20:00.000+07:00

Reading Haruki Murakami's works is like seeing through the mist. At times you can't see anything at all, even though you have a hunch that something wonderful is out there. Other times the mist parts just enough to allow you a view of what's beyond--although you can never be really sure what it is, everything's so blur and all. Pinball--Murakami-sensei's second novel--is of the latter category.

The novel is about pinball. At least half of it is. The novel consists of two voices, first person's and third person's. Interestingly, the two stories run parallel to each other. It means that, despite taking place around the same time, these stories never come to a point where they intersect. (Flashback aside, that is.)

"I" spent his days by working for his translation company, fooling around with a pair of identical twins, and walking round the golf course. At one point he had an inexplicable urge to locate a particular Pinball machine, a three-flipper "Spaceship", with which he had had a brief period of "honeymoon". On the other hand a friend and fellow three-flipper Spaceship player, Nezumi (Rat in English) continued living uneventfully in his hometown, having an indefinable relationship with a woman, hanging out alone at J's Bar, and basically doing nothing.

You might be wondering, What the hell is it all about? What's the point in a story about people looking for a Pinball machine? I know better than to ask such question. I squint harder through the obscurity and vaguely see something within the seemingly trivial story. Suspended animation, that's what it's all about, even though--I hasten to add, again--I might be wrong.

I particularly love these lines from the book: "Pinball machines...won't lead you anywhere.... Replay, replay, replay.... So persistently you'd swear a game of pinball aspired to perpetuity. We ourselves will never know much of perpetuity. But we can get a faint inkling of what it's like. The object of pinball lies not in self-expression, but in self-revolt. Not in the expansion of the ego, but in its compression. Not in extractive analysis, but in inclusive subsumption."

You don't need a Pinball machine in order for that to happen, really. Sometimes you go on living without thinking, just going through the motions, that before you know it, you have lose yourself. That's what I call suspended animation. You're constantly doing something, but you're not really doing anything. (Still, I must confess, it's good to lose your self now and then. Playing video games--or pinball, for that matter--is a good way to achieve such sense of detachment.)

Sooner or later, some of us would have to decide whether to get out or to stick to it. The book ends with a breakthrough of some sort from both camps. "I" said goodbye to the three-flipper Spaceship and the twin girls, and Nezumi willed himself to leave his hometown because he "gotta go". For the time being, though, I'm still living in limbo, in the world of pinball.

CRACK!!!

2009-12-24T18:49:00.000+07:00

my computer monitor
CRACKS! at night
as its plasticizer
takes flight
when it’s getting colder

South of the Border, West of the Sun (Haruki Murakami)

2009-12-10T23:01:00.000+07:00

This book has been compared to the movie Casablanca. Maybe it's because both involve a man and a woman who love each other but cannot be together (or choose not to be together) in the end. South of the Border, West of the Sun isn't a story of love, though; it is a story of life.

The thirty-seven year old Hajime had quite a pleasant life. He had a wife who loved him and two daughters whom he adored, not to mention two successful jazz bars. A happy family and a fulfilling career. This quiet life, however, changed when he met the beautiful Shimamoto-san.

Hajime and Shimamoto (one given name and one surname; I know it sounds strange, but Murakami-sensei didn't actually give full name to all his characters in this book) were childhood friends. Shimamoto had always been an important person to Hajime, even though he had never met her for twenty-five years. Meeting her again just made him realize how he needed her, to the point that he was ready to leave everything behind just to be with her. So, he was devastated upon finding out one morning that she had left. There's no way to ever find her because she refused to tell him in details about her past and present life. That last time, she disappeared from his sight for good.

Their relationship, I believe, is important not in itself but rather because of what it represents. It represents something lost that you wish wasn't but, were things to be repeated once more, would still be lost anyway. Hajime often wondered what would've happened if he had mustered the will to come over to Shimamoto's house even after they went to different junior highs. But he knew that that wouldn't have been the case; his thirteen year old self would not bother to go to a girl's home two train stops away. (And even though it hurt him to hurt his high school girlfriend, Izumi, he knew that he would've cheated on her with her cousin all over again.)

While we're at it, I should mention the title. "South of the Border" refers to the Nat King Cole's song Hajime and Shimamoto used to listen to as kids. They didn't really understand what the song was all about, so they used to think that there was something amazingly wonderful south of the border. Alas, it's only Mexico. As for west of the sun, it has something to do with Siberian farmer going mental, walking on and on to the west until he collapses to the ground and dies. So, the title possibly implies the concept of hope versus despair.

That's what life is all about, isn't it? You love and be loved, you hurt and being hurt; you hope and you lose hope; you acquire something, you're missing something. The question is: can you deal with it? Or would you rather die?

The Propagandist Strikes Back

2009-11-29T23:04:00.001+07:00

Nowadays people are in the habit of attending self-awareness, motivational, spirituality, and entrepreneurial "seminars". You know, events where renown experts talk about how to achieve connection with your inner-self, how to become a successful entrepreneur, how to become more motivated, that kind of thing.

I'm not--surprise, surprise--at all impressed with any of them. I make a point of never attending one. I don't quite remember if that's always the case, but I have a vague recollection about an occurrence when my suspicion towards such programs started.

My college alumni's association have this annual (or is it six-monthly?) "self-awareness" program for students and young graduates. It's very popular and quite a few of people from my department participated in it (some even took part more than once). Curious about what the fuss was all about, I asked a former participant about it. I didn't expect much, just the general outline of the program, what they were doing and the likes. You know what she said? She said, "We're not allowed to discuss it with outsiders."

You know what she reminded me of? A citizen of some Communist country that refused to divulge information about the workings of her lovely home nation. Especially considering that she didn't sign any confidentiality agreement of some sort. And to think that I wasn't nearly skeptical as I was now!

Basically, the whole thing smelled too much like propaganda and indoctrination to me. Maybe they are. Some motivators openly admit that their program is all about instilling suggestion into people's heads. The honesty doesn't make those programs less dubious, though.

Granted, the trainers/motivators/life-coaches are probably sincere, well-intentioned people. Some of the things they say really make sense, and they're merely helping people out. What's so wrong about it? Nothing, except that their methods are against my personal convictions.

One, you learn life's lessons when you're ready to learn it. You can pay much money to partake in such programs and gain nothing out of it, simply because you're not ready to learn it yet. If you get it you get it, if you don't then you don't.

Two, nothing good can come out of indoctrination. If nothing else, it takes conscious control out of you. You do things not because you choose to, but because you're programmed to do it. (Some programs required their participants to spend several days out of town. By replacing a subject from his/her familiar territory, the implantation of new ideas to a person's subconscious mind could be performed more effectively. It's scientific, you can check that.)

All the fancy stuff being said, it all comes down to this. Shouting out corny slogans like "Supah!" just isn't my style.

Note: Even though I don't believe in attending such programs, I have nothing against reading books on those topics. At least you have more control over yourself that way.

Turn Off That Phone!

2009-11-29T23:04:00.000+07:00

In 2001, when not quite so many people had cellular phones, a college friend of mine told me this. She hung out with her friends from high school. All her friends had a cell, but she didn't at that time. The point of a get-together is to catch up with each other and all, but instead of doing so, they were busy texting and almost completely ignored my friend.

Now, in 2009, the situation is worse. Cell phones are relatively cheap these days, so nearly every person has at least one cell. You also have to bear in mind the increasing number of services available on cell phone today. People are online twenty-four hours a day, checking out messages on various chat rooms and social networking sites and so on. The kind of woe my friend experienced eight years ago escalates into new heights.

I have had similar experience myself, and I didn't like it one bit. I hate it very much when someone prefers toying with his/her cell to appropriately interacting with people in his/her company. I have inkling that cell phone junkies everywhere would object to my objection, what's with personal freedom and all. But I think they're just justifying their rudeness. Everyone has the freedom to spit at somebody else's face, but that's just plain rude, so one who does not wish to offend someone else wouldn't do it.

The thing is that the way we treat someone reflects our respect for that person. Ignoring the person before you and choosing to interact with somebody else via text message or whatever shows just how much respect you have for that person, which is none at all. That includes talking to a person and doing something with your cell. You think you would do that if it's the president you're talking to? You wouldn't, right?

And because I'm such a spiteful person, my take on the subject of people glued to their cell phone is this: they deserve respect as much as their respect for others, period.

Annoying as Hell

2009-11-29T23:02:00.000+07:00

There's a fine line between politeness and bulls***ness. I couldn't quite tell which is which. Standard questions are put forth as a polite way to get a conversation going. But I wonder if "polite" is a correct depiction, because they seem to bug me to no end.

When I was a kid, adults used to ask the same set of questions over and over again. "How old are you?" "What grade are you in?" "Where do you go to school?" These questions bored me. If they were so interested, why couldn't they just memorize the answers? I thought.

At this point in my life the questions frequently issued for my benefit would be: "Are you married?" and "Where do you go to work?" These questions are just as mundane as the ones asked when I was younger. And they irked me more, not in themselves, but because of people's reactions towards my answers.

For your information, I'm a freelance translator. I know this is not the kind of job someone with a degree in Pharmaceutical Sciences usually takes. But I honestly can't stand people who said, "Why don't you work in a job relevant to Pharmaceutics? It's such a waste." Give me a break. Could anyone please show me one person that applies absolutely one hundred percent of the things they studied as student to the work they're doing? I bet they can't find any. And if school is all about getting a job, one needs not to bother. You need wits to become a super rich person, not a school diploma. As for why I choose a job seemingly unrelated to my education, that's my business. As if they really want to know why.

I also should mention that a surprising number of people don't understand what "freelance" means. That means I have to patiently explain to them that I'm not attached to a particular organization. But the part that makes me wonder if some people truly have a brain inside of their heads is when they asked--after I explained the above to them--again, "So, where do you work?" If there's one thing I can't put up with, it is stupidity that comes along with a lack of common sense.

Other comments that make my patience grow even thinner are: "Wow, aren't you bored? Working at home and all?" and "Why don't you look for something more stable?" The respond that I wish I have the guts to spurt out is: "As if you f****** care!" Every thing has its drawback, and I didn't comment on that aspect of their job, so why can't they just shut up?

But I guess what is bothering me the most is the fact that people who respond this way are the ones who don't know anything about me. They're not my friends or anything--we just happen to know each other due to accidental circumstances: same school, same acquaintances, that sort of thing. They don't care about me and, frankly, I don't care about them either. So why don't we all stop trying to be "polite" altogether?

Note: You might've already figured out that I'm not what you call a "nice" person. I'm not. I took the "What country hates you the most?" quiz in Facebook and my result was Switzerland. My temperament is so bad that even the good old Swiss dislike me.

Why Writers Killed Themselves

2009-11-29T22:59:00.000+07:00

So. It is commonly believed that the relative number of writers--novelists, poets, lyricists--who committed suicide is higher compared to that of other professions. I don't know if it's true or if anyone actually did a semi-scientific investigation on that matter.

But I guess what strikes people most about writers' suicide is their lack of apparent reason. People can understand if someone is prompted to commit suicide due to severe abuse inflicted upon him/her, financial difficulties, or chronic illness. But some of these writers were young, successful, famous, quite well-off, yet they took the plunge anyway. Writers' suicide becomes some sort of unsolved mystery that is romantic as much as it is creepy.

I'd like to say that I have a theory, a hunch if you will, about it. It's not something that needs to be taken too seriously but quite intriguing to mull over.

To become a good writer, you need to be sensitive and inquisitive. A good writer is honest in his/her works. Because of that, he will scrutinize a topic thoroughly, not just the positive aspects but also its cruel, harsh facet. He will see things unnoticeable by many, and they're not always lovely. The deeper he digs into it, the darker it gets. And, like it or not, it is this understanding that creates outstanding work of art. But it is also this understanding that can tear him into pieces.

Long story short, people of a particular profession adopt a certain mental attitude. A journalist friend of mine said that a lot of her fellow journalists ended up being pessimistic, having seen so many un-praiseworthy deeds of politicians and stuff. It's only normal for writers who deal with the subject matter of human nature to get depressed. The ones who cannot cope with it well might break down and choose to end their life instead of living the miserable existence of being.

I know it's all very complicated and hard to understand, so I'll wrap it up with a personal experience.

I wanted to write about human existence, mine in particular. So I thought long and hard about it. I finally concluded that my existence means nothing, neither to God, to my family, nor my friends. The thought threw my straight away into depression. Try to reflect on the things along that line long enough on day-to-day basis like some of those writers; it would be amazing if you don't start to want to kill yourself even when you're doing so.

Note: Speaking about writers who committed suicide, there's one writer in that category whose work I really wish to read but haven't: Yukio Mishima. Nevertheless, it seems that Mishima's suicide had nothing to do with depression. He was obsessed with bushido and eternal glory, as far as I know, and his decision was probably triggered by that kind of thing.

Personality Check

2009-10-29T09:16:00.001+07:00

Reading Gone with the Wind, I was left with an uneasy feeling. It had nothing to do with The End of the Old South, slavery, or the KKK. It's because of a character named Ashley Wilkes.

Ashley Wilkes is Scarlet O'Hara's--the story's heroine, in case you don't know--love interest. He's basically everything that Scarlett isn't. He's a very serious, polite guy who likes talking about literature and philosophy and the likes. He's supposed to be a big guy, what with his intellect and all. But the Confederacy lost, the old ways gone, and he just doesn't have what it takes to survive the new era.

The thing is, Ashley reminded me of me. The book-smart who's clueless when it comes to the ways of the world, that's me alright. I'm very idealistic, and I love engaging myself in abstract thinking. In fact, sometimes I loathe the so-called realism and opportunism and practicality of people. Just because things are going as they are, why shouldn't we try picturing what should be or might be instead of accepting them as they are? is what I think.

But the most worrying thing about Ashley's/my personality is the unworldliness aspect. We're book-smarts. We're meant to excel in classroom, achieving success academically, that sort of thing. But that's it. We are confined to the world of ideas, but we are alien to the "real" world.

And what is so wrong with that, you may ask. Truth to be told, I don't know. Maybe because it makes communication with most people impossible (it's like we're on different wavelengths or something). Maybe because it means I'm a hopeless case who badly needs institutionalization. Maybe because an individual like me has no place in the modern society. Heck, I have no idea. Enlighten me.

A Burden to Bear

2009-10-19T22:59:00.000+07:00

"Doing what you like is freedom, but liking what you do is happiness." I rolled my eyes when I read that line for the first time. "Liking what you do is happiness," that sounds like something someone who hates his job, co-workers, and boss would say to himself so that he'd feel less miserable. You see where my sympathy lies.

Of course, it works the other way around. People might find the "Doing what you like is freedom" part a lame excuse produced by those who simply refuse to act responsible. Some people don't have the liberty to be picky, with wife and kids at home that need to be fed. So why not try to be content with what they do?

It makes sense, if you put it that way. I admit that I sometimes can't help wondering whether I'm a spoiled-brat. It took two extra semesters in college to make me realize that I can't do things I don't like. If I was forced to do otherwise, I would only screw up. Does it make me a childish person? Or merely a terrible selfish individual?

Despite my age, which qualifies me as a legal adult, I never feel that way at all. I do think that I have become wiser, but more mature? I have no idea. What does being an adult mean anyway? I suspect it has something to do with submitting yourself to what society deems appropriate. Surrendering yourself to the will of the tribe, that kind of thing. If that is people's idea of maturity, I'd rather not being a grown-up at all.

Were I to give my take on what being a grown-up means, it is this: the courage to take full responsibility for the consequences of your choices. You might do something because you like it, or because you have to. But bear in mind that what you eventually do is what you choose yourself. Things might not go according to plan, or they might yet you're still unsatisfied. Either way, you must not blame your boss, your family, the situation, or anybody and anything else besides yourself for them.

Maybe by doing so, you can one day wake up with no regret for everything you've done so far in your life, for a life well lived. Just maybe.

Last Note on TSUBASA RESERVoir CHRONiCLE

2009-09-30T23:53:00.001+07:00

I'm hugely disappointed. After six years and two hundred-something good chapters and elaborate storyline, I expect something more than this ... this ending but no conclusion.

The story started with a boy, Syaoran, traveled through different dimensions to collect the scattered feathers containing memories of his childhood friend, Sakura; Kurogane, a banished ninja in need of learning some manners; and Fai, a mage running away from his home country; Mokona, a cute magical being capable of crossing dimensions. And what do we get in the end? They were all stranded in Clow Country--Sakura's home--without further explanation regarding what would happen to them afterwards. Would Syaoran stay in Clow Country for good? What about Kurogane, Fai, and Mokona? Would Kurogane be able to fulfill his vow to return to Nihon? What actually happened between Clow, Yuuko, and Fei Wong?

If only we Tsubasa fans could rely on the hope that xxxHOLiC would give us a more thorough explanation. Fat chance. I haven't seen any indication of that. Oh, CLAMP, why do you let us down?

Happy When You're Happy

2009-09-20T22:33:00.000+07:00

I believe that most people see happiness as a kind of runner's high. You know, that exhilaration you get when you're running, on-top-of-the-world kind of feeling. When someone is asked what the single happiest moment in his life is, it's very unlikely for him to say, "Oh, the time when I wake up in the morning and hear the birds sing." Would anyone give such answer? When people say "happy moment", they usually refer to something that doesn't happen every day. They would think about special occasions, like birth, graduation, marriage, something along that line.

The funny thing is, you don't actually need something to happen in order to feel that out-of-this world joy. Just picture something good in your head, and you can feel a high as intense as if that something is a part of the physical reality. An imaginary trip to Japan, a visit to Old Trafford stadium, or anticipating the upcoming Harry Potter movie--they all can send me to cloud nine in an instant.

As far as I'm concerned, this imagined excitement constitutes a significant number of all my happiness. It doesn't mean that I live in a dream world or anything. If you consider that extraordinary events such as what I mentioned above don't happen often in real life, can I really help it if most of the joys I get come from my imagination?

But if we were to think along that logic, it would mean that nobody can truly be happy. A statement like "I'm happy with my life" would be a total crap if we were to understand "happiness" in that sense because, apart from those special occasions and wild imaginations, life was mainly pretty flat, consisted of a bunch of boring routine.

And since perpetual happiness is impossibility if we were to assume "happiness" as that endorphin-induced emotion, I shall reject that notion. We can only be happy continuously if we are unconditionally content with our being.

It seems that what prophets and spiritual teachers throughout history preach--cliché as it sounds--is true after all. Happiness is acceptance. Happiness is serenity. Happiness is being in the moment. Happiness is the lack of want. Happiness is accepting your existence. Your being you, it's all that matters.

Despite knowing that, my "ego" still gets in the way. I have yet to feel contented with the way I am, which is to say that I've got a long way to go to the place where true happiness lies.

On (The Absence of) Meaning

2009-09-04T10:06:00.000+07:00

I was kind of frustrated when I couldn't grasp the meaning of Haruki Murakami's The Wind-up Bird Chronicle. The story itself was enjoyable. I literally had to force myself to stop reading or else I wouldn't sleep at all--I had that much fun. Perhaps because the story was so full of weird stuff about "flow", Toru Okada's world vs Noboru Wataya's, Manchukuo, a bird winding up the world's spring, etc, I felt that it must mean something. It was way too amazing of a narrative to be a mere story.

Of course, one can always ask if it really is the case. It's possible that the opposite is true. Just because the story is good, it doesn't necessarily mean that Murakami-sensei wrote it to say grand, albeit vague, things like "Follow the path that you believe in" or "Opposite forces are at constant war in our world". Maybe he simply woke up one day with this plot in his head, which he wrote down eventually. That's it.

This way of thinking can be applied to whatever subject we wish to scrutinize. Take human existence, for instance. A particular person's existence. Say, mine.

Because my existence as I've realized it now has been so full of wonderful experience, and because I see myself as a one-of-a-kind individual, I incline to believe that my existence is special and meaningful. But is it really? To think that I'm just one of zillion of people that have walked the earth since the beginning of time, and to think that the majority of these zillion had long since dead and forgotten, it dawned on me how unimportant I am. Even if I was never born into this world, nobody would ever miss me. The people who were supposed to be my family and friends would not miss me since they never knew me in the first place (because I've never been born). My parents would probably have a child anyway; it's just that he/she would not be me.

In the Islamic tradition with which I was brought up, the supreme purpose of one's life is to serve God. It can be said that it is the meaning of one's life. But the fact is that God Almighty doesn't need us exalting His name. For Him, one's individual existence means nothing at all. One might live without acknowledging His existence and still it would cost Him nothing--the fact that a particular person doesn't believe in Him doesn't undermine His power. I mean, He might've never created me at all and it wouldn't make any difference to Him.

To put it bluntly, my existence as an individual means nothing to anyone. Neither to God, to the people I know, to the human race, nor to the universe. I am merely a replaceable sentient being.

So. It seems that the only one for whom my existence means something is myself. But is that valid? Am I not just talking in circles here? The analogy is this. If Murakami-sensei's The Wind-up Bird Chronicle exists for the sake of itself, can we still say that the book is meaningful, since whenever we say "meaning", we refer to something an object has in connection to other things outside it? (Replace "The Wind-up Bird Chronicle" and "the book" with "I"s if you will.) Is it possible that the so-called "meaning" presents independently within an object? Because if it's not it's very likely that my existence is indeed meaningless.

The Truth Remains Revisited

2009-08-16T09:33:00.001+07:00

Because my first attempt had clearly failed miserably--mainly because its oblique nature and irrelevant illustration--I shall use a different approach to present this issue. As to not leave everyone in the dark about what I'm trying to say, it might be worthwhile to point out that this piece addresses the not-so-scientific conduct of scientists (or those trained in science) regarding scientific matters.

So. Ever since who knows when, people have been working on making this world more intelligible. Be it mythology or science, it's basically the same. They're all means of explaining the natural phenomena. (Subjects beyond the realm of nature, the supernatural or metaphysical or whatever, will not be discussed here.) Whether it's Demeter lamenting her absent daughter or the the sunlight hitting a hemisphere at an oblique angle in that particular period, it's winter that people have in mind. It's like describing the same object with different languages. The observable fact is the same, the method with which it is rationalized is different.

Even though science has come a long way ever since the time of Aristotle, it must be realized that science remains a trial-and-error process. Once upon a time it was said that the sun and other celestial bodies moved around the earth. But guess what, the movements of planets are easier to understand if it is assumed that it's the earth that rotates the sun, and not vice versa. In the end the old geocentric theory was discarded, replaced by the heliocentric one that makes more sense. (The geocentric theory was widely accepted even though it is the latter that's true.) If one were to look upon the history of science, similar episodes were to be found in every step of its way. There's nothing wrong about that of course, that's just the way science works. It's not too much to say that constructive criticism is the essence of science.

Bearing that in mind, I consider it a disgrace when scientists reject a new, better finding out of personal sentiment alone. It's perfectly okay to do so when that new theory/finding has been proven refutable (or not much better than the old one). The problem is when novel findings are rebuffed because scientists are just too stubborn to let go of their old views. Worse still, at times it's just their egos getting in the way.

Some prominent examples are these: antibiotics' ineffectiveness in most cases of upper respiratory tract infection; bacteria being the chief culprit in peptic ulcer; continental drift. And yet, antibiotics are still prescribed profusely, thus causing more and more resistance by the day; antibacterial agents are seldom used for peptic ulcer medication; and the actuality of continental drift not acknowledged by the scientific community until thirty-something years following its originator's death.

The world--or the truth--remains, it's just our understanding that evolves. When it's been established that our current knowledge isn't sufficient enough to explain the natural phenomena, shouldn't we revise it instead of clinging to it desperately? Isn't that what science is all about? I rest my case.

Episodes of Coincidence

2009-08-03T22:16:00.001+07:00

I'd like to believe that there's no such thing as mere coincidence in this world. I'd like to believe that what people labeled as "coincidence" is actually a representation of some hidden connection that we all have with each other. There have been many amazing occurrences that prompt me to wish that it is so. Shrugging them off as independent incidents unconnected to one another--they simply happened in close proximity--feels no fun at all to me.

But let's end this babbling and on with the story, shall we? I pick these two because they're the most recent. Incidentally, they are somewhat music-related.

First one. I was working on the computer and as was my habit, I picked songs to listen to from the computer's library so that it wouldn't be so quiet. I normally selected songs from my own library because they're the ones that I like, obviously. But this particular day, for no reason whatsoever, I felt like to listen to UB40's "Kingston Town", courtesy of my brother. Which I listened to amongst all other songs that morning. There's really nothing funny up to this point.

The very same night, I was watching TV and playing with the remote. I couldn't bear TV commercial, that's why I kept changing the channel every time a program went into commercial break. And then, lo and behold, there they were: UB40, playing "Kingston Town". Bearing in mind that the song was released some time in late 80's or early ‘90's (I don't know what year) and that this English band is unknown to most Indonesians in this year of 2009, you could see why it is very unlikely to see the video on local TV channels. How the airing of this video coincided with my picking out the song out of hundreds available on my computer that same day is a mystery to me. If that wasn't odd, I don't know what it was.

On with the second story. It was Friday, two weeks ago. For no apparent reason, again, I took out Manic Street Preachers' This is My Truth Tell Me Yours from the drawer and played it. I just felt like listening to MSP at that time, and that's what I did. (As a matter of fact, it's been in heavy rotation ever since. I wrote this with "You Stole the Sun from My Heart" as background music.) And when I opened the Sunday paper two days later, voila, MSP's newest album Journal for Plague Lovers was reviewed on the music section. MSP was even more alien to Indonesians than UB40 that Kompas publishing an article about them or their album--of all other albums from more prominent musicians--is a fact strange enough in itself. And to come across that article when I was at the outset of an MSP frenzy--how's that?

So, what do you think? They're just too unbelievable of coincidences, aren't they?

Shattered Lives, Shattered Dream

2009-07-18T22:18:00.002+07:00

It came as a shock. After five years of relative peace, you don't think such thing would happen again, but it did. Suicide bombings occurred in two of the most prominent hotels in Jakarta--the Ritz Carlton and J. W. Marriott--incidents that in themselves were unbelievable since the two hotels applied top class security and yet, such tragic incidents still happened.

Of course, it's only normal to sympathize with the victims and their families when things like this take place. Although I'd always felt sad when people were injured and killed in any terrorists' attack, I never feel this devastated before. Even the word "devastated" can't begin to describe the turmoil inside of me right now.

People who know me well enough would've realized why it is so. These particular bombings struck Jakarta three days before Manchester United--my favorite football club ever, besides Persib--were to play against Indonesian All Stars, not to mention that they were supposed to stay at the Ritz Carlton during their visit here. What do you expect would come up next? Any sensible person could see that canceling the match and the visit altogether is the best possible option.

Imagine that. I've been in reverie ever since I found out that United was going to play here. And now, this dream of mine to watch them play in person is snatched away abruptly from before my eyes. I know that it might seem inappropriate to be depressed over not seeing a football club play, and people would probably think that I'm insensitive since there are many people out there who are truly suffering, but this is just how I feel.

Yes, United might come to Indonesia one day. But there's something so particular about this tour that were the team to come five, ten years from now, its special meaning for me would be completely lost. It is this: I need to watch United now because it would probably be my only chance to witness firsthand how the lasts of the Old Guard play (too bad I'm not as rich as some Indonesians who can afford to go to England and visit Old Trafford). With Gary Neville, Giggsy and Scholesy in their mid-thirties, it's fair to assume that they would retire some time in the next couple of years. And then I could never ever see those guys--in flesh and blood rather than on TV--on the pitch playing football.

No doubt many people would find it hard to understand this sentiment of mine. People might say, "Isn't the club is bigger than any player?" or "What's the big deal with the three of them?" Well, United IS bigger than any player. As for those three, I grew up watching them and their compatriots (apart from Giggsy, who had already been a big name when I started appreciating United around 1995) rise from the youth team, witnessing how they made Alan Hansen eat dirt, how they stick together as a team in hard times, how they never give up until the end, how they refrain from being "celebrities" despite their fame. They've been great row models for me in terms of character and I have the utmost respect for them. So, is it so wrong to want to see them?

United might come to Indonesia one day, yes, but it would be like Genesis without Peter Gabriel: it's still good, but it's just not the same.

Notes: My heart goes out to the victims. May they rest in peace, and Godspeed for those who are still battling for recovery.

Istanbul: Memories of a City (Orhan Pamuk)

2009-07-02T22:21:00.002+07:00

After My Name is Red and The White Castle, I swore I would never read any Orhan Pamuk's books ever again. I pretty much felt that I had had enough of "trapped between worlds" and "searching for one's identity", which seem to be present in all his works (or so I thought, since I have only read two of them). But when I saw Istanbul: Memories of a City and read the synopsis on its back cover, I said to myself, "Heck, I'll give it a try. It's not a fiction anyway." Well, the spirit of the book is not that different from that of the previous two I've read. But since it's a memoir, everything is much clearer compared to Pamuk's novels (at least that's what I think), which sometimes too full of symbolisms that they're hard to understand.

Speaking about Istanbul, this is what Lonely Planet's co-founder Tony Wheeler had to say, his impression upon visiting the city for the first time in 1972: "Istanbul was our first taste of the exotic east and even though most of the city, and almost all of its historic parts, lies on the European side, there was a distinctly different flavor from the purely European cities we had passed through." I reckon its inhabitants--excluding the nouveau riche coming to live in it from smaller towns--would cringe upon hearing such statement. Because if any, one thing that people of Istanbul wished to be was to be Western.

After the Ottoman Empire (or the "Khalifate", some people like to say) collapsed in the early twentieth century, replaced by the new Republic of Turkey, it was imperative for the Turkish to let go of the old traditions and embrace the new ones (it's a government policy, mind you), setting their eyes to the West as their main goal. If you're a member of the middle or upper class, like the Pamuks, you'd be more likely to embrace this sentiment whole-heartedly. To be modern was to be Western, end of the deal. Bearing that in mind, no wonder the Western's view on them and their city became very important for the people of Istanbul.

This feeling, this longing to be a part of the Western world, sometimes materialized in great fires. During Pamuk's childhood, in the fifties and the sixties, many old houses and mansions that once belonged to prominent Ottoman families burned to the ground. Oftentimes these fires were deliberate. The government that sought to modernize the city or those old families that wished to obtain insurance money since they're now broke eventually built new, modern, Western-style buildings on the spot. It's one of their ways to erase their history, their past.

Yet, no matter what they did, Istanbul could never be Western enough. How could it be, when remnants of old life scattered about it? And before they knew it--or whether they realized it or not--an odd feeling started creeping up on them. Pamuk called it hüzün, or melancholy. Hüzün isn't your typical kind of melancholia. It's a feeling shared by every inhabitant of the city, borne from a sense of loss that refuses to let go--just like the remains of old glory refuse to vanish completely; and yet, it is bore with pride, and with quiet submission.

I've never been to Istanbul--and if I have, I doubt I could feel any of the melancholy shared by its people, because hüzün can only be felt by those who have lived long enough in the city--but as I read the book, I could feel the gloominess run through the course of its narration: in Pamuk's journey through Istanbul, in the stories of his personal life living in Istanbul. Pamuk said that, despite it being hard to understand by outsiders, it was precisely Istanbul's melancholy--including the dismal ruins that made it not "Western" enough--that made him love the city so much.

Truth to be told, I think it's kind of romantic: looking around, seeing faces of different people all around you, and realizing that they all share the same feeling as you. At least, that's a lot healthier than being depressed over something that's too complex to say into words and then getting more depressed upon finding out that nobody--no one among the faces you see around you--shares this feeling. Pamuk's sorrow is a communal one that he shares with every single person who lives in Istanbul that only needs to be dealt with acceptance, while mine is a personal one that needs to be solved or else I'll go crazy.

If I'm Not Good Enough, Don't Hire Me

2009-06-26T09:43:00.001+07:00

I'd like to think that I really am getting better at doing what I'm doing now. At least I can confidently say that my translation is improving. I shudder every time I think about my first translations. They're so full of flaws it's embarrassing. Nevertheless, I thank the publishers for giving me the chance to actually work on something. Without actually having translation works at my disposal, I'm not sure if my work would ever advance in quality. Of course, it doesn't mean that I can feel satisfied with what I've done (and will do) just now. I've still got many areas in which to improve.

But, as I've mentioned many times before, translating something to your mother language and translating something from your mother language are two completely different processes. And since I'm not experienced in the latter, it's only normal if I doubt my capability in it. Would I do the job well, with the cultural gap and all? Which was why I didn't jump off with joy when I got the offer in the first place. What I did instead was asking the editor to refrain judgment until he saw a sample of my translation. If it was good enough then fine, let's go from there. But if it's not, feel free to drop me.

Long story short, the editor found my work quite satisfactory and I was hired. And I worked on the project for two and half months and was pretty proud of it, although I still question myself from time to time.

And then I found out just recently--from the newspaper, mind you!--that my work isn't going to be used anyway because the original author thinks it doesn't quite capture the spirit of the book or something. In short, the translation isn't to his liking. And hear, hear, mine isn't the only translation that he found unsatisfactory. (Mine is one out of two, in fact.)

What irks me big time is not the fact that the author doesn't like it. He has every right to choose what's best to represent his bloody writing. It's just that the whole ordeal makes me look like some sort of mercenary that only works for money. Just so you know, I did my best while working on the project. And--and!--I thought the editor had communicated at an early stage with the author regarding the translation. I mean, come on, I did give a sample before I accepted the job. Would it be so hard to e-mail it to the author and said, "Hey, we found this translator. Would you mind taking a look at her work and see if it's agreeable?" It's just ten-page long and I reckon it wouldn't take more than an hour to read it and decide whether it's good enough or not. That way we'd save a lot of time and energy and money (at the publisher's side of equation).

What I'm saying is, if my work wasn't good enough, you shouldn't hire me in the first place, bub!

Channeling

2009-05-28T22:27:00.000+07:00

I don't get offended easily, but when I do it's hard for me to forgive and forget. I still find myself fuming every time I remember what a teacher said to me almost ten years ago, despite proving that he's wrong by passing the University Entrance Exam.

It only took one small comment to ruin my completely perfect mood and to send me into rage. I know it was an innocent remark, but I couldn't help feeling insulted. I was so mad--I'm still mad as a matter of fact--that I wanted to scream on top of my lungs. It's not in my character to openly say, "Hey, I don't like what you just said to me back then. It's offending, you know!" I only kept silent while fury was burning deep inside of me. United losing to Barca didn't help either; nothing good to distract me and keeps me euphoric for the next week or so.

This is what I want to say: SORRY FOR NOT HAVING OH-SO-INTERESTING LIFE LIKE YOU DO! SORRY FOR NOT HAVING SUCH COLORFUL BAND OF CONTACTS LIKE YOURS! SORRY FOR MY MUNDANE LIFE AND ITS LAME INHABITANTS! SORRY FOR MY BORING ACCOUNT THAT'S NOTHING IN COMPARISON TO YOUR REMARKABLE STORIES!

I'M SO BLOODY ANGRY I WANT TO SPILL THE MOST OBSCENE CURSES IN THE WHOLE WORLD SO THAT YOU'LL KNOW HOW INFURIATED I AM!

Whether it can help me exorcise this maddening anger, only time will tell. The end.

The Voice of a Frustrated Soul

2009-04-30T13:12:00.001+07:00

I hate to sing the same old song again and again, but I need to get this one out, or else I will erupt. (I’ve just read Before Green Gables, in which the heroine--Anne Shirley--repeatedly used the word “erupt” instead of the more mundane “explode” to describe her feelings. In case you’re wondering, Before Green Gables is a “sequel” to Anne of Green Gables initiated by Penguin Canada to celebrate Anne’s one hundredth anniversary.)

My story began in a rather innocent fashion when I realized that what I really wanted in life was to learn. I always get this sense of awe recently--every time I make a discovery, every time I get a revelation. I long to feel this way forever, and that’s why I want to spend my whole life learning.

Of course, “learning” in itself is a very broad term. You can learn from everything--from what you see, what you hear, what you think, what you experience. It’s very shallow-minded to think that you can only learn by means of one specialized method, e. g. going to school.

Bearing that in mind, I shouldn’t be upset upon finding out that this path I’m intending to take is a closed road for me. If all I want to do is learning, there shouldn’t be any problem; I could always take another approach. Yet, I can’t help feeling frustrated.

The dilemma I’m facing right now is basically like this: if one wants to study, he has to know things; but in order to know things he has to study certain things first. (It’s pretty much like the problem with not getting a job because you don’t have any work experience, which is impossible to obtain if you never get a job in a first place.) See what I mean?

It’s unfair! People with less intelligence and worldly motivation can easily take this approach because situation permits them to do so. It’s all about supply and demand these days. When your demand is in low supply, things become more complicated and difficult. Why oh why?

The Truth Remains

2009-04-28T22:41:00.000+07:00

In this lecture I attended, someone actually said that he didn't believe that Pluto wasn't a planet because the Quran didn't say so. Gosh, I thought, you got to roll your eyes in response. Feel free to interpret the Holy Book as liberally as you like and you're one step closer to making it just like Nostradamus's Book of Prophecies.

Sure enough, demoting Pluto to the status of "dwarf planet" didn't sit well with many people. For most people it has nothing to do with (skewed) religious belief, but rather it's the sense of nostalgia, because you've always perceived our solar system as having nine planets. From a perfectly logical point of view, whether Pluto is a planet or not is hardly relevant. I mean, come on, whatever label you put upon it, it would still go about its business, rotating, revolving, evolving.

Let's assume that everything happens around you or within you is the real deal, the truth if you will. And then you have your own first-hand experience on those matters. Or maybe some second-hand, third-hand, and so on account about them, through books, TVs, school lessons. Little by little, whether you realize it or not, you start constructing your own perception of reality. I suppose this is a completely normal process.

Problem arises when reality as you see it doesn't really correspond to the factual truth. Or to be more precise, when you cling tightly to your own perception simply because it's the very thing you have believed your whole life despite the fact that what you believe is not true, or even useful.

Consider this. Thinking that Pluto is a planet might be totally harmless, but thinking that it's necessary to prescribe antibiotics in every case of upper respiratory tract infection is not okay. It seems that in Indonesia every time you got a cough and went to the doctor, he/she would prescribe antibiotics. This is despite experimental finding that therapy with antibiotics in at least ninety percent cases of URT infection is ineffective (Goodman & Gilman's The Pharmacological Basis of Therapeutics, Ninth Edition). Meaning, you would come home with less money in your pocket, a useless drug, and bacterial resistance probably lurking in the corner. Yet, why do doctors keep doing so? That's because that's what they were told to do in medical school.

My point is, the truth is the truth, even though no one would believe it, even though people explain it differently from generation to generation, even though our understanding of it changes from time to time. And if people refuse to accept the truth merely because their ego refuses to let go their idea of it, I suggest they look hard at themselves and start learning some lessons on humility.

Note: Please read this piece in the context of natural world only. Religion and philosophy are completely different matters altogether. The little episode I mention in the beginning of this article is just an example about how you can go too far in your (inaccurate) conviction about something.

Top Five Movies I'm Dying to See

2009-04-17T09:49:00.003+07:00

I'm really into Facebook's lists of five lately. You know--five favorite footballers (the older Neville, Giggsy, Keano, Brad Friedel, Franco Baresi), top five albums (OK Computer, What's the Story Morning Glory, Think Tank, The Bends, Pablo Honey), five favorite books (The Alchemist, Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuutsu, Good Omens, The Black Swan, Virus of the Mind), five favorite beers (they forget that some people don't drink). But Facebook doesn't have a "top five movies one's dying to see" list. Or rather, nobody hasn't made one yet. That being the case, I'll make one myself. Those movies are:

1) Dancers in the Dark
Bjork's first and last movie, playing as Selma, its main character. It's a musical of some sort (one of its soundtracks is "I Have Seen It All" featuring Bjork and Thom Yorke; the song appeared in Bjork's abum/the movie's soundtrack Selmasongs). LFM had this movie played in our campus's theater and a friend of mine (Umi, wherever you are, I wish you a happy life with your frogs) was full of praises about it. She said something along the lines of "You can never be sure whether to laugh or sing, watching it". And since she's one of the few people whose judgment on movies I can really count on, I believed (and still do) her. I couldn't watch the movie at that time (it was a Saturday night, I remember) because I had to attend this extremely lame organizational leadership workshop. I didn't even remember what it's all about. What I can recall is my being sleepy throughout the talks (yes, talks). Gosh, I digress, as usual. Well, the point is, my friend's words got into me. The problem is, you can't get the movie anywhere because it's been about eight years since the release, and the movie being not being a mainstream thing means you would never find it in Kota Kembang either.

2) Clueless
It's one of the iconic movies of the nineties (colorful dresses, extensive use of cell phones, a particular way of talking, etc). The story is rather typical, about the life of a beautiful, rich, highly popular Beverly Hills teenage girl. This movie got a good review from MTV and since I was pretty much addicted to MTV at that time, I felt that I got to check this one out. Never did. I did go to a video shop to rent the movie but couldn't get a copy because it's broken down for being played too many times.

3) In the Mood for Love
The only Asian movie on the list. A Wong Kar Wai (did I spell his name correctly?) film, starring Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung (both of whom I simply adore for their acting, and in Mr. Leung's case, his good looks, too :D). I've watched the sequel, 2046, which contained some "flashbacks" from In the Mood for Love. Because it's Wong Kar Wai, it would surely be hard to comprehend at times, but I want to give it a shot (my personal favorite from Wong Kar Wai is Chungking Express, which was not that hard to understand, really).

4) St. Elmo's Fire
Now is the perfect time for me to watch this particular movie. It's about some young adults trying to cope with their new life, new responsibilities upon graduating from college. I'm still in that "soul searching" phase right now, pretty much like the characters in that movie, so I'm positively sure I can relate to them (and thus, enjoy the movie). Again, this is an old material, so I doubt I'd be able to watch it anytime soon (if ever).

5) Empire of the Sun
This one was a Steven Spielberg movie starring a young Christian Bale and the actor playing as Indy's sidekick in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (I think). It's about Japanese invasion in China seen from the eyes of an English boy. Japanese invasion, World War II, sounds like the kind of movie that I'd enjoy.

The Eighties Never Dies

2009-03-27T11:10:00.000+07:00

Don't ask me about contemporary music. I simply have no clue. You can pretty much say that as far as musical taste goes, mine never went further than 2003. I'm all for 90's music--Brit pop, lousy boybands, alternative rock, that sort of thing. I have zero interest in the R n' B scene that has dominated the music industry for these past five years or so.

While we're talking about music, nowadays I often find myself drift back to the 80's period. New age stuff. Synthesizer and the likes. Tears for Fears, Depeche Mode, New Order. You get the idea. As for Duran Duran, I'll have to pass (that's my brother's domain, he's been a big fan of eighties music for a while; he's three years younger than me, by the way). I like The Police, too, but they're an anomaly. Their white reggae isn't really a representative of the era.

Well, I'm not in a band or something. Otherwise, I would've recycled the old thing--the eighties style--and make a new music that I can claim my own. Some Indonesian bands do it, you know. I wonder if their fans--especially the kiddies who were born in the 90's--realize that. The point is, this newfound interest in the eighties isn't mine alone. At least I don't make a fool of myself and take it one step further by putting on blue mascara or perming my hair.

It's not just music, though. The movies get into me, too. I've watched quite a lot of eighties movies on TV. Too bad I watched them when I was too young to understand them thoroughly. The most vivid memory is about being impressed by Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom so much that I wanted to become an archeologist afterwards. I'm lucky for having the chance to watch the whole Indiana Jones trilogy recently (prior to the release of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull). As for the more iconic eighties movies like The Breakfast Club, St. Elmo's Fire, and Pretty in Pink, I'm not too lucky. I'd watched them, but they're all just a bunch of blur in my head. Obtaining those movies here in Indonesia is virtually impossible.

One thing that makes me so enthralled by the eighties is this warm and fuzzy feeling that I get upon listening to or reading about or seeing something eighty-ish. Maybe it's because deep down they remind me of the carefree days of my youth, a time when I had nothing to worry about. No need to delve too much into it, though. For the time being, I'm just going to have a taste of the eighties once more.

The Fear

2009-03-23T22:17:00.001+07:00

Some books I didn't finish reading at first attempt. It's either because they're difficult, boring, or there were other more interesting book at hand at that particular time. Amongst those, my greatest victory was The Name of the Rose. Looking back, it's amazing that I managed to finish that book at all, given my limited knowledge about 15th century Europe politics and the rotten (Indonesian) translation. But I did. I simply gave up with The Silmarillion. I kept forgetting who's who that reading it was not fun anymore. Such creation myth is better left as an oral composition, period. (And I know Professor Tolkien was really trying to construct a new Anglo Saxon myth of some sort.)

A House for Mr. Biswas is a difficult one too, in its own way. One doesn't need to know much about Trinidad or Indians in the island to enjoy the book. It doesn't have that many characters either. It's like having my worst nightmare spread open before me.

Mr. Biswas, the story main character, is your average Joe. He's like you and me. There's nothing remotely interesting about his life--his job is boring, he's not crazy about his wife and children, he's cynical about many things yet he couldn't do anything to change them, he has no particular achievement worth mentioning.

Reading the book scares me because I'm afraid that's the direction I'm heading right now in my life. Obscurity. Purposelessness. Simply going through the motions of living.

Don't get me wrong. Fearing obscurity doesn't mean that I'm eager to be famous or that I'm seeking for somebody else's acceptance. That's not it. I'm afraid that my life would be meaningless. Most people live without the knowledge that their existence means nothing, that whether they lived or not doesn't make any difference, that they'll soon be forgotten. I recognize this possibility and that's why I'm scared to death. I dread a mundane life like that of Mr. Biswas'. But can mine be any different?

Note: In case you're wondering, I'm still reading A House for Mr. Biswas. This is my third attempt.

On Writing

2009-03-12T09:56:00.000+07:00

A good writer can write about virtually everything, or so it says. That pretty much explains why I can't write about most of everything. Beep, incorrect induction! But hell, the point is my writing sucks.

I know quite a lot of people who aspire to be a writer. They've dreamed about it ever since they're just little kids and they've spent a lifetime to nurture their skill to perfection. Interestingly, I used to write a lot, mostly horrors. It's kinda creepy when you think about it now, a nine year old writing about people being killed and then having their meat used as the main ingredient of a particularly tasty food, or about malevolent spirits coming to haunt a bunch of insolent campers. Anyway, I stopped writing upon entering junior high, so I didn't get a chance to nurture my "skill" like all those people.

Actually, I have what it takes to be a good writer. I ramble all the time (my poor family and friends know this very well). That's what writers do, don't they? They ramble about various topics. The problem is, readers would expect structures, plot, an idea neatly packaged in the form of narration. Not incessant babbling about random stuff, which is the best that I can offer.

Once upon a time in Writing class (which was curiously named "Journalism of Science"), the teacher told us about the importance of seizing the mood to write. Meaning, you have to force yourself to write something, anything, instead of waiting for the right moment or divine intervention saying, "Lo and behold, mortal! I've got this brilliant idea for you. Write it down, will ya?" He told us that writing about anything that came up to mind at any given time would be a good idea as to improve one's writing, if it's done constantly.

Oh, sure. No problemo. But after some time practicing this, when you're given the word "house", people would certainly want a story about some house instead of this incoherent account: "I've been living in the same house I've lived in since birth. It's located in a quiet neighborhood where everybody knows everybody. Some people have moved on, though. And so have their pets. To the other world, I mean. This family living near my house currently got themselves a new dog. I never really have problems with dogs, apart from being bitten several times by members of their kin. However, this dog bugs me to no end. It barks all night long. Thanks for making me awake in the middle of the night, doggie. It's not like I have a United live match to watch every night. I don't mind if there's one, though. It's my favorite club, Manchester United."

See, I jump from a "house" to "Manchester United" in a single paragraph. No structure whatsoever. Such way of writing is what I'm most comfortable with. In other words, as far as writing goes, I'm in big trouble.

Note: I'm tagging you because I want you to have a good laugh. So please. Hahaha.

A Dialogue with Thomas Hobbes

2009-02-08T19:58:00.004+07:00

Reni (R): So, Mr. Hobbes, what is your idea about humans and civilization?

Thomas Hobbes (TH): I do believe that humans are equal. But humans are also egocentric and what each person cares about the most is his well-being. The problem is, when all humans are equal and free and egocentric, what you get is constant battle amongst individuals so that they can get what they want. That’s why people need civilization. Without it, one individual is under constant threat of other individuals. People wouldn’t feel safe. Yes, humans would then be bound by rules and such, and wouldn’t be able to do everything that we like to do. In other words, they might not be as free as they were before, but at least one can go about his life without having to worry whether someone would sneak up on him, kill him, and take his belongings just because that other person felt like it.

R: I get the point. And when you’re living in a world where so many other people exist, it’s only normal that you have rules of some sort so that you can live in harmony. But something is amiss here. Your portrayal of human nature is so ... negative. Surely humans aren’t that bad? Most people don’t just go ahead and steal from others when they feel like it, do they?

TH: If there aren’t any laws to refrain them from doing so, who knows? I’m not so sure about that....

R: You say it as if humans were only capable of acting decent if there were laws and society that restrained them. It means that once someone is freed from those constraints, he is free to do whatever he wishes to do, and I disagree with that. I have a hypothetical situation I wish to present here. Let’s imagine that there were two people who were lost somewhere in a snowy mountain. God knows when they’d be rescued. Supplies were running low and one of those two, not having enough physical endurance to bear it, died. From an egoistic point of view, it wouldn’t be shocking if the person who remained chopped his partner’s body up and ate him for supper. I mean, who would miss the chance of having extra protein in that circumstance? Yet, to think about consuming human flesh, even when one were in the verge of death due to hunger, is gruesome. This is despite the fact that that person was not bound by laws of society. There were only the two of them--he and his dead friend. Were he to eat his friend’s body, nobody would know. What I’m trying to say here is that humans aren’t as bad as you depict them to be. And there’s another thing. Based on your argument, civilization, society, and rules exist simply to protect an individual from other individuals. It means that individuals that don’t pose a threat for others are not bound by laws of society. In addition to that, there would be no need to protect such individual with those laws. Am I right?

TH: Well, that’s why there are individuals referred as “guardians” in the case of children and mentally disabled people, right? They might not pose threats for other individuals, but were someone to have the nerve to mess with them, their guardians would not like it one bit. That being the case, they do have the right to be protected by laws.

R: Yes, but that logic doesn’t work in the case of the person and his dead friend in the snowy mountain. The dead guy didn’t have a “guardian”. If the living person were to follow your logic, eating his dead partner wouldn’t be classified into wrong deed, would it? The dead person didn’t pose a threat and thus was outside the scope of laws and moral consideration. But eating a dead person is not right, whatever logic you may use. That’s why I disagree with your notion about human nature and social agreement being the only code that defines right and wrong.

The Last Day

2009-01-30T21:01:00.003+07:00

We who have been searching, we are alike, like reflections in a mirror.
All it takes for us to connect is to face each other, and yet we remain seperated.
I strained my eyes,
I stretched out my hand.

Deep asleep like a fossil, I await my awakening.
Rain falls,
Time goes by.

Hey I really, I really want to know,
Just what does it mean to love?
When you smile, the world shakes a little and glows,
As if it comes to live and draws a breath.

We who can't protect anyone, we left this half-asleep town behind.
Become the water,
Become the wind.

How futile it is to fight and rob for the sake of one's desires.
When I shouted it out loud, the world turned its back on me without a word,
It pushed me away as though it was testing me.

For a moment,
For eternity,
Since the beginning,
Till the furthest ends.

Hey I really, I really want to know,
Just what does it mean to live?
When I ask that question, the world shakes a little and glows.
The truth that sleeps within me is now quietly being released.

Notes: Yes, it's supposed to describe Syaoran's circumstances, but since I found that I could really relate with what being said, I decided to paste it down. My thanks goes to Dark Mirage at http://lyrics.darkmirage.com who had translated and transliterated the real thing.

Unending Search

2009-01-30T20:59:00.000+07:00

It's been two years and so since I started writing this blog and, interestingly, the hot topic I've constantly been writing about hasn't changed throughout the time. I'm still searching for meaning, without getting closer to the answer(s) than I was two years ago.

When I was in college, I thought the answer would simply materialize before me after graduation. That somehow everything would become crystal clear and that you'd understand instantly what you want to do and what it's all about. Alas, it didn't turn out like that. Life, as it seems, isn't as simple as school exams.

Sometimes I envy those who lead a simple life without thinking much. Their most crucial concerns seem to revolve around how to pay the bills, and that's it. Apart from that, they're pretty much content with the way things are going. I just can't lead such life. I'm restless over so many unresolved questions in my mind that I don't even know where to start searching for their answers.

But I digress. What I want to know now is: how to start searching? Should I just go with the flow? This option has already been rejected, since it'd be more likely for me to being drifted instead of arriving at my destination. Or would it be better if I just wait for some divine intervention to show me the way? I mean, this kind of method seems to be working in the past (with the Prophet Muhammad, the Buddha, and the likes). But wouldn't it be too much of a wishful thinking? After all, I'm not a holyperson. Or perhaps I should just choose a path, any path, and see what happens after that?

More importantly though, will this search ever end? Or is it just what life is all about: to go on an endless journey in search of something?

Resonance

2009-01-18T23:00:00.001+07:00

If I make you bored
It simply means
We aren't meant for each other

Notes: Yay, my first try at haiku! Well, I'm not too sure if it's really a haiku since haikus are subtle (and all of them are about nature) while mine is too explicit. Don't blame me, though; I'm not Matsuo Basho.

Guilty Pleasure

2009-01-18T22:57:00.001+07:00

I don't smoke or drink and I don't do drugs either. Nor do I want to. I don't refrain from using the internet though, and I must admit that it can be quite addictive. I don't think I'm addicted to the internet--I mean, I didn't go through withdrawal symptoms when I couldn't use the net--but I can't be positively sure either, since addicts always deny the fact that they're addicted.

Recently, I've been very into Facebook. This is simply the same old thing that manifests itself in a different from. Some time ago I was much too keen on fanfictions for my liking, and now Facebook trades place with them.

I admit that it's stupid. Nerds who spend all their waking hours trying to crack computer codes make more sense than me and my crazy obsession with Facebook apps. There's a challenge in code-cracking, a challenge that makes your brain craved for more and more. Facebook apps? What the hell is so good about them that I'm always inclined to try them out every time I log in?

Last week, I spent three hours on the internet and most were spent on Facebook. Afterwards, I was left with a sense of guilt. Guilty because I spent my time and money for such a useless thing. Lucky that we still use the ancient dial-up internet connection at home. If the connection was faster, I don't know how much more time I would spend on it.

Nevertheless, I can't help wondering why I felt so pleased after I managed to send "gifts" to my friends and acquaintances via Facebook, or to add some collections to my Visual Bookshelf. Yet I know that it was a hollow feeling, meaningless. Did I become more of myself after I did that? Certainly not. So why the fulfillment?

Will I ever stop?

Of Senses and Soul

2008-12-31T03:47:00.002+07:00

lone traveler had a very good point in her comment for "My World, Your World". She pointed out that even though she felt good being with people similar to her, in thoughts and views and all that, she sometimes resented the fact that some people did look like her, dress like her, or talk like her. How paradoxical is that! Well, it does make one wonder, but maybe it's not really paradoxical.

It's a definite fact that all humans, just like every other living being, are preprogrammed. No doubt that this is very upsetting, especially when you're a firm believer of "free will". However, for the sake of this particular argument, let's just drop the philosophical debate and save it for another occasion. So, not only that our program--our genes--defines physical aspects like hair color and such, but it also determines our "behavioral pattern" (I think that's how they call it). It's hardly surprising that humans everywhere are keen on food and sex, even though they might not readily admit it! After all, we, as a species, need food and sex in order to survive. And the survival of our species, my friend, is what our genes are most concerned about.

And it is also a definite fact that humans are weak. That's why we need clothing and housing. We need society too, because without them there's no way we (well, our ancestors) could win against mastodons or bison or sabertooth tigers or other kinds gigantic animals that you care to mention. It's true even to this day: hunters-gatherers go about their business in groups, not individually.

At any rate, it's safer for an individual to be in a large group instead of being alone, survival-wise. Hard to believe as it is, we're still very much governed by this primitive instinct, perpetually imprinted on our genes. That being the case, despite the situation being so much different from that of our ancestor's some millennia ago, humans still find being in the company of people where they can just blend in very comforting.

Humans' obsession with the sense of uniqueness, the reason why being "one amongst the masses" irks us so much, is rooted from something completely different. It comes from the soul, the consciousness, or whatever it is that you call that nonmaterial entity within you. For our soul, the survival of our species is far less important than our existence. It observes itself and its surroundings, categorizes the world into "me" and "others", and asks those existential questions: where I came from, why I am here, where I'm going.

It's important for the soul to recognize that it is different from everybody else because otherwise, its existence is futile. Imagine this: if you're just one of those people, if you're not one of a kind, it means you are not special and thus, replaceable. What's the point of living then, when you exist simply for the purpose of becoming some sort of ecological spare part, so to speak? Most people might not know this, at least not in the conscious level, but I believe that deep down everyone realize it. No wonder humans crave uniqueness.

Writing this piece, it occurred to me that it's unnecessary for me--or everyone else for that matter--to deny these tendencies. All I have to do is embracing them because, really, that's what becoming human is all about.

Notes: Dedicated to lone traveler, in response to her question. It might not suit your taste very much, but it's the best explanation I can offer at this point.

The Unbelievable Tale

2008-12-31T03:34:00.001+07:00

Once upon a time, there's a beautiful place called Holyland. There were three kinds of people living there: Stars, Crosses, and Crescents. They had resided Holyland for generations and despite occasional incidents that were bound to happen anywhere, the three lived a peaceful coexistence. However, this peace wouldn't last any longer.

Somewhere faraway from Holyland, there's a place called Blue Continent. Most Blue Continents were Crosses, although they had a significant Star population too. Even though it might not seem that way from the surface, the relationship between these two was strained. Crosses perceived Stars as greedy loan sharks while Stars still held a grudge for how they had been treated all these years. There had been time when some of Stars were even forced to deny their identities because otherwise Crosses would've burnt them mercilessly. Many Stars longed to escape this land of injustice and went to the Promised Land, one that had been told about time and time again by their parents and grandparents and grand-grandparents.

The Big Brothers of Blue Continent thought that this was a good idea. "By sending them to that place, we can get rid of them for good," they said. So, they set to "cooperate" with Stars to send them to this place called the Promised Land. They knew full well that this so-called Promised Land had its own inhabitants, and that they called it Holyland, a country that accepted everyone, be it a Star, a Cross, or a Crescent.

The Holylanders, rightfully so, refused to leave. "This is our home. This is where we, our parents, and our children were born." Blue Continent's Big Brothers and Stars didn't care. They bombarded the country, forcing a great number of people to leave their homes, uprooted forever from their homeland.

Now, on a place once called Holyland, a new country was built and it was named Promised Land. Only Stars were allowed to live there. "This is our country, our land. This is the land that has been promised for us and us only," they said. But the Holylanders would not give up that easily. They fought and fought and fought. They were outnumbered, they were powerless, but their spirit was not to be broken. They vowed that one day they would regain the homeland that had been taken away from them.

But after years and years of fighting, some became weary and decided to call a truce with the government of Promised Land. Many Holylanders were angry, they felt betrayed; by calling a truce with Promised Landers, it seemed like they would ask for mercy from the invaders. Nevertheless, a peace talk was held and the existence of Holyland was declared once again, even though it was but a scrap of what it used to be.

Peace was not yet regained in Holyland, though. They were still brutally treated by their neighboring country, Promised Land. So they kept on fighting. Besides, what can one expect when your house is taken away from you and the only thing returned to you is the shed at the backyard? Be content and say, "Oh, that's very nice of you"? Of course not! So, it's very understandable, if not reasonable, for Holylanders to keep on fighting.

And as a result for their struggle for independence, Promised Land ruthlessly shot them, showered them with bombs, killing God-knows how many people, women and children included. And the world did nothing but "strongly criticized" Promised Land for their action and urged the parties in conflict to make peace. How unbelievable is that?

My World, Your World

2008-12-21T01:29:00.000+07:00

Heterogeneity is good, that much I know. Besides, could you imagine a world where everyone dressed alike, talks alike, thinks the same way? It'd be very boring, I believe. I can't think of anything more interesting than learning all kinds of cultures and ways of life--it gives color to our (my) at times mundane lives, don't you think?

That being the case, it really was a paradox when I found out that being with people who were different from me was extremely hard. It took a constant effort that it's tiring. "Different" here might mean differences in culture, interest, worldview, or even generation (well, I've always known that I'm not good at mingling with older people and kids).

Watching and listening to a variety of people as they reveal their uniqueness was an eye-opening experience and I loved it. But when the time came for me to jump in at it, I'd feel uncomfortable and awkward, big time.

It's like this: how can you relate to people when it seems like you have nothing in common? That's non sense, of course, because humans can always find something in common in one another, no matter how dissimilar they are. But what those similarities are, sometimes it's impossible to tell, and you can only scratch your head in frustration.

Like a particular scenario when I was in a place full of foreigners and someone started to tell a joke that made everyone roared with laughter. I smiled sourly; to me it was obscene, to them it was witty. How should I react in this highly uneasy situation?

And do you know what I wanted to do when things went in that direction? I wished I could just get out of this unknown territory and be with my closest people, talking about our hopes and fears, cursing the government for not doing their job well, singing our praises to that new movie, or just having some idle chatter. Does that make me a narrow-minded person? Or yet another proof that I need to improve my terrible social skill?

Picture Perfect

2008-12-14T22:45:00.002+07:00

I’ve long realized that I don’t take a fancy to cameras. Be it photographs taken for official purposes or simply for fun, most of the times I feel less than enthusiastic to pose in front of the camera. I always feel stupid every time I do so, all smiles and stuff. Even when I did willingly participate in all the silly proceedings of photo-taking, it was because I felt like I had to, for somebody else’s benefit or for mine (I certainly didn’t want to be left out), not because I couldn’t help seeing someone take a picture without me in it.

Of course, when people are having such a good time, it’s only normal for them to want a memento of some sort. A reminder of the good ol’ times, so to speak. And for quite a long time, that’s what photographs are all about. They capture the best (and sometimes the worst) of times, showing us a glimpse of reality as it was. And despite my reluctance for having my picture taken, I don’t see anything wrong with that. Besides, pictures can speak more than a thousand words. Or something like that, as they say it.

There were times when photographs were only taken on special occasions like weddings, births of children, and family gatherings. But now, since digital photography has made everything so easy, one can take pictures as many as he wants anytime and anywhere. Gone are the days when people were taking pictures with such care and precision (or else they’re just wasting their films), replaced by sloppiness and redundancy and narcissism of the extreme kind. Gone are the days when people actually dressed up before having their pictures taken; hell, people would gladly strip naked in front of the camera anytime these days, and for free, mind you (plus, they upload their own pictures to their personal website for everyone to enjoy them).

What concerns me is the fact that now, it seems, photographs have become more important than the moments they capture. People are so busy taking pictures and putting on their camera faces than living that precious moment. Or, as GIGI (or was it Slank?) said upon returning from a concert in Japan several years ago, “Everyone was taking pictures with their cameras and handycams that it seemed like they didn’t really pay attention to our performance.” Get what I mean?

TSUBASA RESERVoir CHRONiCLE chapter 197-203 (CLAMP)

2008-11-04T22:19:00.005+07:00

Chapter 197: Two Lives
...in which Syaoran returned from Clow Country badly wounded. Yuuko told him that Sakura would eventually die upon being consumed by the "seal of death". Hearing this, Syaoran asked Yuuko to send him to Clow Country once more so that he could find a way to remove that seal from Sakura. That's a piece of cake for Yuuko, but his price was: a relationship--he could never meet his family and his loved ones from his own world ever again.

Chapter 198: Invisible Mark
...in which Syaoran went back to Clow Country and met the very happy but oblivious Sakura. Sakura took Syaoran to the palace where he met and chatted with the high priestess a.k.a. the queen a.k.a. Sakura's mother. Apparently, apart from Syaoran, the high priestess was the only one who could see the seal of death engraved upon Sakura. Even Sakura herself didn't realize the seal's presence.

Chapter 199:The Power to Survive
...in which several years had passed since Syaoran's first arrival in Clow Country and he had yet found a way to remove that seal, while it's just getting bigger.

Chapter 200: Halted Time
...in which it was Sakura's birthday and coming-of-age ceremony. But the king, queen, and Syaoran were grim because they knew that Sakura was dying. Sure enough, the seal stabbed Sakura inside out, but the queen stopped the flow of time, begging Syaoran to save her daughter. At that moment, Syaoran wished he could go back in time and changed the past. Right then, an eerie voice exclaimed, "I shall grant you that wish."

Chapter 201: The Truth in the Ruins
...in which Syaoran's wish was granted by Fei Wong Reed. However, turning back time was a grave sin because even though Syaoran might be able to change the course of Sakura's future, the futures of all others involved would also be changed in the process, particularly the ones who knew about the seal (the king and queen of Clow). In addition to that, Syaoran would not be able to be by Sakura's side--his freedom would be stolen, his life would be placed in grave danger, and he could do nothing but watch. Syaoran persisted and time's turned back. Syaoran became a child once more, but upon opening his eyes, he saw a black-haired kid his age (young Watanuki Kimihiro of xxxHOLiC). It came as a shock to me, but it seemed that Watanuki was born in order to fill the time that Syaoran had turned back and the "relationship" he had paid as a price for his return journey to Clow. It's kind of answering the statement in previous chapter, about Watanuki being the closest person to Syaoran. Watanuki was certainly Syaoran's closest person, since he was a part of Syaoran.

Chapter 202: Distorted Wish
...in which Fei Wong Reed pointed out that, in order to fulfill his wish, Syaoran had violated a taboo. But thanks to that, now Fei Wong could make his wish--restoring a lost life--come true. Something else came out of Syaoran's wish: the creation of distortion of time and dimension. And, Feing Wong added, since a being (namely Watanuki) was created in answer to such distortion and thus was the representation of that distortion itself he would only bring misfortunes to others around him. According to Fei Wong, as long as Watanuki didn't disappear, neither could the distortion--a statement that Yuuko whole-heartedly disagreed with.

Chapter 203: Those in Darkness
...in which the flashback ended. Syaoran asked whether everyone (Fai, Kurogane, and Mokona) would still want to accompany him to save Sakura, after knowing what he had done. After all, things might turn out differently--Fai might not been born as a twin and Kurogane's parents might not been killed in such tragic ways--if Syaoran hadn't made his wish to turn back time. To Syaoran's surprise, the three of them stated very clearly that they wanted to be by his side despite everything he had done, adding that they would probably do the same were they in his position.

Shigofumi

2008-10-31T22:31:00.004+07:00

Anime portraying dark sides of life isn't really my cup of tea. That being the case, were I to choose an anime amongst many, I would probably not choose Shigofumi. But since my brother had got the anime, it'd be a waste not to watch it and I thought, what the hell, I'll give it a shot.

In the beginning, everything seems pretty sweet, with the typical bright colors and cutesy scenes, one of which is of a boy who wants to confess his love to a girl. Despite the appearance of a mysterious girl (and an equally mysterious talking stick) named Fumika who came to deliver a letter from the girl's dead father to the girl's "boyfriend", nothing looks sinister. It all changes at the end of episode one, when the girl stabbed the boy to death because she suspected that he had found out about her secret.

Shigofumi's first episodes are pretty much independent of each other. Each of them tells a different story and presents different characters with different problems. The only thing(s) they have in common are Fumika and the Shigofumi. Shigofumi are letters from the dead, addressed to the living. Consider them as media on which the dead said their last words to a particular person. In character with the dead's person, the letter could be kind or plain or hateful or apologetic.

Considering that Fumika is the one who connects all stories together ever since the beginning, naturally her story--who she is, what her background is, and how she ended up being a Shigofumi mailgirl--is revealed towards the end of the twelve-episodes anime.

As I've mentioned, Shigofumi portrays the not-so-lovely aspects of life like loneliness, desperation, suicide, bullying, child pornography, and child abuse. It's extremely obvious that this is not a show for the children. But if you are an adult and open-minded enough, I'd say that it's really a good thing to watch. Not "good" in a screwed up way, but rather it makes you re-examine some things in life.

My favorite episode is "Tomodachi" (Friends), in which a high school boy's suicide led his father to take hostage of his former class in search of an answer to why his son committed suicide. Nobody can provide an answer, though, since his closest friends were at loss too. The guy who committed suicide, Sen-chan, had had a pretty good life; he's well-liked amongst his peers, he hadn't been bullied or anything, and his family wasn't a broken one. Fumika then made a grand entrance, delivering Sen-chan's letter to Kotake, his closest friend. In it, Sen-chan put it simply that just because one didn't want to die, it didn't necessarily mean that he wanted to live. He didn't really want to die; he was just in the mood to jump, period. This might sound odd to you people, since you can expect yourself to die when you jump off an apartment building, but I understand it perfectly and I think that's why I love this particular episode very much.

The Not-So-Bali Experience

2008-10-29T00:55:00.002+07:00

Through the course of the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, Bali has become synonymous with paradise on earth. Nice sandy beaches, lush paddy fields, a place where artistry and piousness become one. Needless to say, to most people Bali seems to be a place out of this world. It is true even for a person like myself, who happen to be a citizen of a country called the Unitary Republic of Indonesia, a country Bali is actually a part of (although, ironically, not many people realize this fact).

Therefore, when I finally did have the chance to visit the island, I was looking forward to something different. Something that, as I've put it, is out of this world. And I was rather disappointed upon witnessing that Bali is pretty much like other parts of Indonesia that I've gone to so far.

There are the good aspects, like the laid-back attitude and sheer hospitality, which presented itself quite clearly as everyone said, "Hello, mister," to every white person passing by. And there are some not-so-good aspects, like clogged ditches and people defecating at the riverbank. But the place, despite its Hindu population dominating the scene in contrast to the country's Muslim majority, was as close as home to me, because the Balinese are just like the people I've seen and met everyday in my hometown. I can relate to them and I like them for it.

The weird thing was, I felt more connected to the islanders than to fellow tourists/visitors. These visitors, be it Indonesians or foreigners, lived a lifestyle so different from mine that I was often at loss to how to respond to this. These were the people who hung out at cafes and pubs regularly, who had drinks every now and then, who felt the need to dance when the band was playing (even when they didn't fancy that band). I've never been in that sort of circle all my life that it's overwhelming, if stifling (the smoke, man, the smoke!).

The moral of the story is that wherever you go you'd find people similar to you as well as the ones different from you and you'd better deal with it. But never lose your ground. So there, my no-so-Bali experience. The end.

What We Are

2008-10-24T16:14:00.000+07:00

We are not our cars
We are not our jobs
We are not our money

We are not our families
We are not our spouses
We are not our standings in society

We are not animals
We are not flesh and blood
We are not accidents waiting to happen

But then
What are we?

Things I've Just Learned

2008-10-24T16:11:00.000+07:00

So, I've just come home from volunteering for an event in Bali, and these are the things I've learned from that experience:

1) I'm still a long way from becoming an "adult"
As I see it, an adult is one who can keep his/her composure all the times, capable of maintaining his/her ground without worrying about what people might say about it, and has the ability to communicate smoothly with virtually anyone. And unfortunately, I'm still lacking in those three. Maybe I'll have more of them as I get older, who knows? Only time will tell....

2) Working intensely with the same set of people for a lengthy period of time is emotionally tiring
I only had one purpose for coming to Bali: volunteering. Thus, in addition to working eight to six for nearly a week, "volunteering" constantly dominated my thought, even when I was off duty. Therefore, the tension lingered and I often found myself wondering about some people's inadequacy at doing their job, outside working hours. (And I think some people might feel the same way about me.)

3) Do the things you do whole-heartedly because otherwise it sucks
It's annoying, seeing people who were clearly more into taking a vacation rather than volunteering, because such people tended to not taking their job seriously. And what's more exasperating than watching people dilly-dallying around while you're working your ass off? (Pardon my choice of words.) The point is, if you're not set for doing something, you'd better not do it in the first place because it's pointless.

4) Jerks are jerks, no matter what their nationalities are
Degrading as it is, it is widely believed that Indonesians are lazy and just can't do their job well, and the opposite is applied to Westerners. Tell you what, anyone who believes it is a moron, because laziness and irresponsibility has nothing to do with where you're from.

Triple Trouble of Tsubasa

2008-09-14T13:23:00.004+07:00

After careful rereading of previous chapters, which made me stayed up until two o'clock in the morning, I finally managed to somewhat grasp a few confusing aspects of Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle. And here they are:

Body
A person's shell, which gives him/her his/her outward appearance.

Feather
In TRC, feathers are representations of Sakura's soul. Actually, it was Fei Wong Reed that converted her soul to feathers so that they could scatter to different dimensions.

Heart/Soul
An aspect of a person where his/her feelings, memories, and consciousness lie. (Do not confuse it with our conventional understanding about heart/soul.) Thus, someone who was without heart, like C!Syaoran, couldn't feel any physical or mental pain and could easily kill people without flinching. Souls/hearts (Sakura's feathers included) are the things that Fei Wong Reed collects in order to fulfill his wish.

Heart/soul can be given, lent, and copied. However, it doesn't mean that the receiver would have the same heart as the heart/soul's real owner. Meaning, the one receiving the heart would be a different person from the one giving/lending/providing it.

Example 1: C!Sakura still ended up liking C!Syaoran despite not having a portion of past memory about him.

Example 2: It took some time for C!Syaoran to warm up to others, even though he had received a part of R!Syaoran's heart. Having R!Syaoran's heart didn't make him identical to Syaoran; he neither had R!Syaoran's memories nor temperaments.

Example 3: Before C!Sakura's soul perished, she gave it to C!Syaoran. Receiving clearly didn't turn C!Syaoran into Sakura. It just made him being able to feel again (bringing back the old C!Syaoran, perhaps?!).

I could go on and on about this forever, but alas, it's late already (at least it's late when I'm writing this). Buh-bye!

Note: If you wish to take a glance at TSUBASA RESERVoir CHRONiCLE, you can read it at One Manga. However, to support CLAMP, please buy it in your nearest bookstore once it's licensed and available in your country. TSUBASA RESERVoir CHRONiCLE is the property of CLAMP, Kodansha, and Production I. G. I own nothing.

Too Much Love Will Kill You

2008-09-10T17:03:00.001+07:00

I squealed when heard that Hana Yori Dango made it to the big screen. As a fan of the series, I was looking forward to it. Maybe I wouldn’t get to watch it until the DVD is released. But for the time being, I decided to surf the internet and tried looking for some review.

Thankfully, Random Curiosity, which is the best blog about anime (and few doramas) out there, provided review as lengthy as I could expect. At first, it sounded quite promising. It seems that everyone who loves the series would have themselves ambushed with a sense of nostalgia watching the movie, which is good. But then, as I went further to the spoilery part of the review, a weird sensation started creep over me. It’s called nausea.

Hana Yori Dango Final follows the common pattern of every other romantic comedy on earth (or any of its predecessors for that matter; the TV series, I mean). A boy and a girl (or a man and a woman) having had to go through all adversities before realizing that they loved each other and finally living happily ever after. The problem is since Tsukushi and Tsukasa had already been an item, the adversities were limited to looking for something that they’d lost in Las Vegas and Hong Kong and being stranded in an uninhabited island. There’s no love-hate or we’re-cool-but-that’s-all or I-like-you-but-I-don’t-know-how-you-feel relationships. You know, the kind of thing you see in When Harry Met Sally or While You Were Sleeping (two of my all time favorite romantic comedies).

In their places, present all that stuff about is-he-the-one, are-we-destined-to-be-together, what’s-my/your-most-precious. I’m sorry, it’s just too much for me. The lovey-dovey stuff is so excessive (at least that’s the impression I got from the review) that I want to throw up. That’s why I never like Titanic or Romeo+Juliet.

But hey, look at the bright side. At least the ever-so-charming Matsumoto Jun starred it. That’s more than enough reason to watch Hana Yori Dango Final.

Good Omens (Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett)

2008-09-05T12:56:00.001+07:00

Exchanged babies, American diplomat, Antichrist. Ring a bell? If you say The Omen, you're almost right. Only that it's a different kind of Omen, not THE Omen, but Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett's Good Omens.

The idea is actually very simple, just like any ideas that make good books usually are. What if the satanic worshipper got it all wrong? What if, instead of exchanging the American diplomat's child with her master's son, she switched an accountant's (whose foster parents--the American attaché and his wife--were successfully persuaded to name him Warlock) with her master's (later called Adam)? This poses another question: would he be just as "evil" as he supposed to be, since he's undetected and thus, wouldn't have a satanic worshipper guided him to the dark side and all? To put it differently, which would be the dominant side determining his actions, genes or environment? (In The Omen, the answer was the former; Damien had already had devilish tendency, it seemed, even without having that nanny sent to him.)

Fortunately, unlike many stories whose only good point is their main idea (like that Chick-Lits that are all about getting men and living happily ever after), Good Omens has unpredictable plot and solid characterizations. Its characters are the kinds whom you'd know how they would act in a certain condition, since each and every characters' has such distinguishable nature. Like Aziraphale the metrosexual angel ("...gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide."), or Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell ("'Awa' wi' ye, harlot,'...") who's a grumbler but really a softy at heart and happens to be my favorite character ;p.

Of course, it's not Neil Gaiman's unless it's full of metaphors, puns, and plain funniness. It's not always easy to understand them because (a) I'm not British; (b) English isn't my first language. And so the references he made didn't always make sense to me, considering I wasn't familiar with what he was referring to. But most of the times, I still found them funny, such as "Two shadowy figures, one hunched and squat, the other lean and menacing, both of them Olympic-grade lurkers. If Bruce Springsteen had ever recorded 'Born to Lurk,' these two would have been on the album cover." or the "Four Bikers of the Apocalypse" instead of the "Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse" because they rode motorbikes and not horses or "Shadwell hated all southerners and, by inference, was standing at the North Pole."

It's safe to say that Good Omens has been very entertaining, which is why I now list them among my favorite books (I like it better than other Gaiman's works that I've read, Anansi Boys and Neverwhere). But if you want something more than "entertaining", don't worry, it has it. Good Omens is not just about the Apocalypse and the Antichrist being brought up in a nice, lovely countryside. It's also about humans who most of the times are neither being good or evil, but simply being humans. And if we want our problems sorted out, we'd better sort ourselves up rather than hoping for Divine intervention, just like Adam said, "...if you stopped tellin' people it's all sorted out after they're dead, they might try sorting it all out while they're alive."

Thank God for the Reruns

2008-09-05T12:53:00.000+07:00

Ever since I learned the joy of watching football, the English Premier League in particular, I'd been indulged with top quality matches, served for free before me. In other words, instead of having to pay for cable to watch them, like so many did in other countries, I got to see them as long as I had a TV set. No decoder or receiver or monthly fee.

However, the it's-all-for-free ended this season (it was last season actually, but then because of all the protesting, we got to see some matches, despite most of them being Middlesborough's for who knows what reason) and I was left in the state of despair. Seriously! Not being able to watch Manchester United is bad enough, but not being able to watch any EPL match is abysmal. Of course, I can go to that cable TV representative office and ask for a subscription anytime. It's just that I have more pressing matters on which to spend my money to.

But then, something happened. This godsend came in the form of reruns. It was not many, only two matches per week (three, if you count Arsenal TV, but I don't watch Arsenal unless they lose or tie, which is, sadly, not that often), but let me tell you something. Once you lost something and had no hope of getting it back, the time that "something" was given to you, even though it's just a scrap of what it used to be, you'd find yourself being more grateful than you could possibly be under normal circumstances. In other words, I'm very thankful that I can at least watch some Premier League.

The drawback would be that I would already know how the matches ended, which is more or less takes the fun of it, especially when the team I rooted for lost. But again, it's better than nothing. And now if you'll excuse me, I've got Portsmouth vs. Everton to watch.

The Greatest Stories Ever Told

2008-08-31T17:36:00.000+07:00

In many cultures, ancestors are looked upon with such respect that it's not uncommon to worship them. Ancestors are said to be more knowledgeable because they, unlike younger generation, had direct access to the Supreme Power, or gods, or the Creator, and thus, had received the ultimate wisdom from Him or they, which was to be the society's guidelines on living and perceiving life.

Nowadays, in the so-called modern society, the teachings of ancestors have become a thing of the past. Many people choose rationalism instead and laughed at "old teachings" that they considered as full-of-non-sense myth. They're clearly lacking imagination, I say. Can't they see that our ancestors were insightful visionaries and master storytellers?

Doesn't it amaze you that even today, God-knows how many years after our ancestors started inventing their stories, everyone still love to learn about them? And it's not just the scholars either; commoners who know nothing about anthropology and classics enjoy reading creation myths, tales of the underworld, and folklore too. These stories, whether they're created by a single person or developed for generations until taking their current forms that we know of today, still retain their magic, despite not being able to retain their power as means of social control anymore.

Nevertheless, I can't help marveling at the comprehensiveness of these ancestors-created stories, be it a myth, legend, or folklore. Maybe that's why everyone likes them. They tell you everything: about how the world and men (and women) were created, why animals can't talk, what actually happens when a volcano erupts, what happens after a person dies, and so on.

Even though to us they are but amusements, they're certainly believable enough that there was a time when people actually based their lives on them. If a myth told them to sacrifice humans as to avoid the wrath of a goddess, they would obey it unquestioningly. If a legend said that a malevolent spirit lived in a particular area and better be left alone, they would never come near that place.

And if you still thought that such stories could only come out of ignorant minds that were incapable of seeing beyond the supernatural, you'd better think twice. Haven't it occurred to you that the ones creating these stories--the sages or shamans or priests or whoever they were--were in fact really intelligent? Maybe they posed a restriction in order to protect their natural resource, or maybe they presented such logic to evoke fear and submission. Talk about a visionary. Or a tyrant.

One thing's for sure, though. I wish I can have one tenth of their creativity so that I can come up with a bestseller book. Ha, keep on dreaming, mate!

Words of a Rambling Idiot

2008-08-31T08:49:00.000+07:00

I think I had childhood dream once, just like everyone. But just like many people, I left it at childhood. And now I forget what it was. It doesn't mean that I don't remember what I wanted to become when I was a kid. Let me list down some for you: an archeologist, a paleontologist, a goalkeeper, a writer, a comedian. But I'm not talking about professions here. I'm talking about my life's calling, my purpose on earth, something that made me go Aha! and said, "This is what I want to do for the rest of my life." If I really did know my purpose once, I'd say that I don't remember what it was anymore.

And since I don't know my purpose of being here, you can pretty much say that I'm lost right now. Wandering around, feeling restless, not knowing for sure what I'm doing here. Oh, and please, don't give me all that "Preparing yourself for the everlasting life" or "Struggling in order to obtain God's grace" thingy. Everyone says that all the time that it's become lame (people will butcher me for saying this). It doesn't mean that I don't believe in the afterlife or God; it's just that I believe each person has his/her own way on earth. And I haven't quite found my way yet, which is annoying.

Some might say that I should stop complaining and tell me to be thankful for what I've got. The "get a job, settle down" bXXXXXXt. But I can't just sit back, relax, and enjoy the scene. It's a state of convenience that makes me inconvenient. It's like comfortably watching a TV show and then suddenly realizing that there's something important that you gotta do. It's just that you forget what that "important" thing is.

I don't even know what I'm writing about anymore. It's just a random thought really. You can all shove it down the toilet if you like, be my guest.

TSUBASA RESERVoir CHRONiCLE chapter 188-196 (CLAMP)

2008-08-15T07:45:00.002+07:00

Recent chapters are somewhat boring because CLAMP was building a background story for Syaoran (whom I referred to as Real!Syaoran, despite his real name not being Syaoran after all), which means no Kurogane nor Fai nor Mokona (that sucks!). "Clow Country" appeared in these chapters, but it's not like the Clow Country we'd seen in the beginning of the series. It looked like Clow Country anyway, with desert and all that. But its king was Fujitaka, not Clow Reed.

I feel bad for those reading this who never even read TSUBASA RESERVoir CHRONiCLE because I know you guys won't understand what I've written so far. Nevertheless, on with the review....

Chapter 188: The Ruins on That Day
The gang continued their journey to the ruins. There, they found a place filled with water—pools, mini falls; you get the idea. But the weird thing was, nothing was moving (including the supposed-to-be dripping water). Syaoran said that it was because time stopped at that place.

Chapter 189: Inherited Resolve
The recollection of Syaoran's past began. Young Syaoran was seen in front of Yuuko's shop. Saying that he had no wish, Syaoran told Yuuko that his father sent him there since, according to his mother's dream, someone was out there waiting for the boy. But when Syaoran asked what the price for traveling to another world might be, Yuuko said she had received it from his mother (and guess what it is: the star staff CCS's Sakura used). And so, Yuuko sent him to "Clow Country", where he met this girl in that watery place....

Chapter 190 (the translated title wasn't written on the scanlation)
The girl's name was Sakura, and she was undergoing a purification ceremony, which would last for seven days (the "seven days" part was actually mentioned in chapter 188, but I think it's more befitting to place it here). Surprised at seeing Syaoran, she fell to the water. But when Syaoran reached out to her to help her stand, Sakura refused adamantly (she apologized afterwards, of course) because she was not to be touched for that seven days. The priestess, Sakura's mother (who looked like Kinomoto Nadeshiko of CCS), came to take her back to the palace since the ceremony was over for that day. Syaoran tagged along as well, and in the palace he met the king of Clow, Sakura's father. As Syaoran and Sakura went off together, the king and his wife (a.k.a. the priestess a.k.a. the queen) talked about how Syaoran was the one destined for Sakura.

Chapter 191: The Seven-Day Promise
Not much information in this chapter, except for Yuuko's saying that Syaoran would only be permitted to stay in Clow Country for seven days. After that, he would return to his original world (Japan). Little Touya and Yukito made a cameo, by the way.

Chapter 192: Overflowing Memories
This chapter was even less informative than chapter 191. Just some cutesy scene starring Syaoran and Sakura (I've had enough of it; one would've, reading CCS). Syaoran's father made an appearance in this chapter, giving his son his sword (and you know what, the sword was like that of Li Syaoran of CCS; again, the CCS reference). And so did Watanuki.

Chapter 193: Seventh Birthday
Nothing notably interesting. Just the typical CLAMP dialogue about believing what the future holds and the sorts. The chapter ended with Sakura's falling into some kind of a trance when she and Syaoran were going stargazing two nights before the purification ceremony was over.

Chapter 194: The Tone that Calls the Princess
The trance thing--well, it seemed that Sakura heard the sound of a bell calling her from the ruins and had vision of something bad that was about to happen ("Syaoran, no! It's dangerous. Stay back!"). Worried, Syaoran suggested to the king that he accompanied Sakura during the ceremony. The king said he'd rather be there with her himself but didn't want to put everything Sakura had worked for to waste (since no one but Sakura was allowed to be there once the purification ceremony took place). And considering that the water didn't seem to mind Syaoran's being there (the ceremony wasn't canceled out when Syaoran arrived at the site the other day), the king agreed that Syaoran's accompanying Sakura was probably a good idea.

Chapter 195: The Border of the World
Syaoran and Sakura were at the ruins. Suddenly, the place shook and a rent materialized out of nowhere. Surprise, surprise, it's Fei Wong Reed. Syaoran went, "Sakura!"

Chapter 196: A Moment's Hesitation
Trying to save Sakura from Fei Wong Reed's evil clutches (oh, I love those words: evil clutches), Syaoran was close to grabbing her hand when he hesitated, realizing that Sakura should not touch and be touched by anyone until the ceremony ended, and it gave Fei Wong Reed the chance to engrave "the seal of death" to her body. And this "seal of death", well, it looked like THE feathers. I should mention that at this point, I was not surprised finding out that Sakura's real name was not Sakura.

The So-called Activists

2008-08-12T09:42:00.001+07:00

I got my first lesson on students' dynamics from an upperclassman two years my senior. She said, "There are two types of students here. The SOs [study-oriented students] and the activists. Most students in the Pharmacy Department are SOs." Despite my having been a college student for only several months at that time, I had already understood the underlying meaning in her statement. She was clearly of the latter type, and she obviously didn't think highly of the former type.

The sentiment is that activists are good, and the SOs are bad. I mean not bad and good in moral context, but more in terms of social standing. The SOs are seen as unsociable, nerds, and ignorant. And the activists, whether they're the ones who spend their times holding protests, engaging in meetings until late at night, making publications, participating in/setting up festivities in a regular basis, or just hanging around leisurely in their organization's HQ, are the life and blood of the country. (The head of the main student body in my university is called "President"; therefore, comparing a university with a country is not unreasonable.)

I have to admit that I was an SO and yes, it's infuriating, being degraded indirectly like that. But the thing that annoys me the most was the I'm-better-than-you mentality, which is tolerable, if it's really true. However, that's not the case. The truth of the matter is, SOs and activists are not that different at all, especially when you see how they're doing in the real life, after finishing college.

Yes, there are a few activists who remain true to their words, words of an activist (you'll see what I mean in a short while), but there are only a small number of them; and for them, I offer them my utmost respect. But most of them, well, they're all talk. I remember the ones most persistent in criticizing our detachment ("Why can't you participate more? We need to be united, so give more time to think about our concern as a unit!") and the proudest in showing off their busy schedule ("There's a meeting at five, be sure to come! And there's this proposal that needs sending.") are the ones end up as the most loyal corporate rats, ever. Or the greediest when it comes to milking money. Like a person I know who used to be an activist promoting students' welfare, but now is working as a marketing guy for a pharmaceutical company, whose responsibility is to cut deals with doctors so that they would prescribe medicines produced by the company. And if you wonder what's wrong with it, it's nothing really; just the fact that in this country those illicit deals are the main factor composing drug production cost that it becomes so expensive beyond patients' ability to buy medicine.

In the end of the day, labels are just...labels. They give you a small glimpse of reality, but they never show the whole picture. So often that people get so consumed with labels sticking on them they're too busy feeling more superior and sophisticated than others, albeit unconsciously. They've forgotten that it's the spirit that really counts. And because of that, in this particular case, the label, status, and notable activities in their college years don't make them better than anybody else. They simply give a longer list of things they could brag about on their CVs. And what's so gratifying about that?

Note: If you're annoyed reading this, it's an indication that you're one of those so-called activists I mentioned above. If not, well done for you.

Good amongst Evil

2008-07-31T09:38:00.001+07:00

As much as I love Doraemon, there's a time when I couldn't help feeling how kids-oriented it is. In fact, it is, but does it have to be that naive? The sentiment is more pronounced every time I read Dai-Chohen Doraemon (Doraemon Great Story). For who knows what reason, the series often present stories about aliens, extra or intraterrestrial, trying to seize the earth from evil clutches of humankind. "Evil clutches", that's the keyword. And then Doraemon, Nobita, and company would prove them wrong, showing that good humans--them--still existed on the face of earth. Seeing this, the aliens would always call off their plans eventually and then everyone would live happily ever after.

Even though I enjoyed the stories, I always wonder why this topic emerges again and again. That "evil clutches" thing. Why not use motives like aliens being greedy that it's natural for them to try rule the universe or their having the desire to take control of earth's natural resources? I mean, they're much more "real", considering that you can draw the parallels between them and events that had happened in the world. Isn't it an obvious fact that good humans are still to be found everywhere? Did they have to emphasize it continuously through the series?

It's only recently that I realized how true those stories are. Yes, good humans still exist in this world. But once you look around, check out the paper or turn on the TV, you get the feeling that it's the bad ones that dominate this planet. It's the bad ones that produce the most prominent impacts. Wars, terrorism, the rich getting richer by trampling on the poor, destruction of natural world, and so forth. If aliens were watching us right now, they would laugh at humankind for the damage that they have caused upon themselves. Or probably they would arrange an emergency meeting to save the earth from evil clutches of humankind, like aliens in Dai-Chohen Doraemon did.

And as the idea of choosing a tyrant and asking him to vanquish all darned men started to seem less ruthless to me, it's impossible for me to not admire the writers of Dai-Chohen Doraemon for their positive way of thinking. As one gets older, she's more prone to the "been there, done that" attitude that makes her cynical about the world, about people. Yet, they didn't lose their faith in humans; thus, the stories.

In Nobita's world, the task to save the world from fellow humans' wickedness upon returning to his day-to-day life was made easier by Doraemon. When developer planned on turning the hill at the back of his school into a new building site, Doraemon came with his sophisticated gizmo and scared the hell out of the developer, keeping them away for good. In the real world however, we don't have Doraemon to lend a helping hand. Hence, we have no choice but believe that human kindness would eventually prevail, like the series' writers did. I really wish I could do so.

Finally!

2008-07-26T10:50:00.000+07:00

Finally!! Finally!!! After two months of stumbling over my words, I finally finished the project I've been working on. It has been a bumpy ride, with constant help from Oxford Advanced Learner's Dictionary along the way, but I'm somewhat pleased with the result.

However, I'm still anxious because I know, as a person whose first language is not English, and who's not formally trained in English, the chance of my making mistakes was rather big. During the translation process, I kept worrying about whether or not I used the right tenses (there's no such thing as tenses in Indonesian), prepositions, suffixes (imagine using ‘s behind the name of a person ended with s; well, I think I should've used ...s's instead of ...s', but I decided to choose the latter due to aesthetic consideration, which is probably going to be slashed by the editor later on), the right words (like the time I used "bat" instead of "club" to refer to the thing people use to knock down thugs; I realized it too late, because the script, which was handed down in installments instead of in complete form like I used to do, had been sent to the editor). You could say that I'm worried about every possible grammatical/structural/whatever mistake one could make in English.

My greatest fears are the editor grumbling as he/she sees my work, saying, "Does this translator even know how to use English properly?" since there are so many mistakes and the book's author crying, "What has she done to my work? She had butchered it!" as he read my transliteration. I pray to God that such thing will never happen.

But I have to say that the project was very enjoyable since the book is a really good one (despite its heartrending aspects, which I have mentioned in my previous piece of writing). I just hope that people reading the English translation would find as much joy as I did reading the real thing written in Bahasa Indonesia.

Note: By the way, the movie version of the book is in production. It'll certainly be a fresh alternative, among local cheap horror flicks, lovey-dovey craps, and perverted comedies that roamed around the cinemas these days.

How to Disappear Completely

2008-07-12T15:03:00.003+07:00

What's worse than being overwhelmingly busy that your mind's so confused you don't even know what to think about anymore? Having nothing to do, that's what it is. Because if that should happen, your mind would take matters into its own...erm...hands, and all of a sudden weird thoughts would start swimming about in your brain. Those weird thoughts might or might not be important, depending on whom you're talking to or what book you'd been reading recently. But regardless which, they're all very worrying; take questions about the futileness of life and the purpose of one's existence, for example.

Despite their being less real--or at least that's how they seem to be--compared to your day-to-day business, such as paying the bills, the effect they cause to your brain is just as real, making you restless, confused, helpless. Truth of the matter, they're even worse because there's no definite answer to them. Who knows for sure how to answer those questions? Some people spend their whole life looking for the answer and ending up never finding them; some people discover them just like that, somewhat by coincidence; and some don't even realize that such questions exist in the first place. At least, bills are simpler, you just have to wait until your next payroll to pay them out.

That's why it's good--for me--to turn the TV on although there's nothing interesting on it, to play the game I've played many times again and again, to read a fantasy story set as far away and as detached as possible from the life I've been living right now. Doing so gives me the chance to escape from myself, to forget any uncomfortable realization for a while. Drugging me, that's what they do. As my mind goes deeper into the inanimate object I was facing at that moment, I lose my sense of self. I'm not conscious of myself anymore.And then, there's always THAT. Sleep. The natural painkiller. Sleep. It's good. It's good.

Note: Before anyone gets the wrong idea and tries to sue me, here's a disclaimer for you. The words "How to Disappear Completely" is snatched off from a song's title, whose copyright belongs to Radiohead and Warner Chappell Music Publishing Ltd. “How to Disappear Completely" appears in Radiohead's fourth album, Kid A. Buy it if you wish to.

Endless

2008-07-05T19:24:00.000+07:00

A blue sky under which I can live in
That's all that I need

Productive herd, and weatherproof tent to sleep in
That's all that I need

A patch of land, and nice warm hut to settle in
That's all that I need

Condo, top class car, chains of gold
Savings account, a closetful of shoes, a trip to Singapore
Flat screen TV, multimedia cell, cute-looking iPod
...
...
...
That's all that I need

Too Personal

2008-06-02T22:06:00.000+07:00

Two months of absence. How about that! I know I’ve broken my own commitment and I wouldn’t make excuses for it. I was lazy, period. It’s bad, bad, bad!

What has happened for the past two months? Nothing new, I tell you. It’s just that I’m working on a new project right now and it’s not good. It’s not because I’m having trouble or anything (at least not more than what I went through for other projects), but rather because it becomes too personal for me.

Have you ever heard something about “a book that haunts you”? I never really understood what it meant. There were some books and movies and other works that disturbed me. Take Animal Farm or Confessions of an Economic Hit Man or Virus of the Mind, for example. They caused restlessness. But it didn’t last long. Time and time again I would be reminded of them and I would be upset. But that’s it.

This time around, I’m working on a bestseller book (here in my country). It’s supposed to be good, at least that’s what people say about it (ironically, I was interested in it when it just hit the bookstore, but I didn’t buy it at that time because I didn’t have enough money; however, after it became a big success, I lost my interest--I’m just that kind of person). And you know what, it is damn good! So good that, for the first time, I understand what “a book that haunts you” mean.

Largely inspired by the author’s real life, it portrays the happy and sad reality of life in this land where I live. I know such things, things that he described on his book, happen all the time here: brilliant young minds that have to quit school because they couldn’t afford it, destitute people living next door to wealthy mining companies, corruption and snobbishness. But it (the book, I mean) gives names and faces to those unknown people. And it hurts me.

And do you know what’s the most frustrating thing is? It’s this feeling of helplessness. I feel like I couldn’t anything to help. The most that I could offer is criticism, and it sucks. I wish I can be more productive. But how?

I guess what I’m trying to say is that it would be better if one doesn’t take his/her job too personal. Because doing so makes one crazy. Honest!

Froggy Umbridge

2008-04-17T19:18:00.003+07:00

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. And so does Warner Bros. I’m merely borrowing.

TSUBASA RESERVoir CHRONiCLE chapter 182-187 (CLAMP)

2008-04-17T19:15:00.000+07:00

It’s a short one, here it goes:

Chapter 182: Night of the Vows

...in which Kurogane had a talk with Tomoyo. Kurogane got his sword Ginryuu back from Tomoyo (he had asked her to bury it with her mother’s body, but Tomoyo hadn’t done it because Kuro’s mother had asked her not to prior to, prior to her death when she met Tomoyo inside the dreamscape) and made a vow to return to her once the whole ordeal was over. Fai, on the other hand, made a peace of sort with Syaoran, taking off his mask of indifference towards the boy.

Chapter 183: The World of Sand

...in which Yuuko sent the gang to Clow Country, using a good amount of her energy and endangering herself in the process of guiding them there, it seems.

Chapter 184: The Separated Time

...in which the gang arrived at Clow Country, and was welcomed quite warmly by the locals. But something was amiss...

Chapter 185: Repeating Time

...in which Syaoran-tachi confirmed that time was repeating itself. Cute Kuro-Fai moment (Fai smacked Kuro on the head for hiding his pain, caused by the artificial arm which didn’t fit).

Chapter 186: Stagnant Time

...in which the guys noticed that some people at the bazaar, of the still repeating time, disappeared. And then, they saw people melting in front of their eyes. Apparently, that happened every time they change the course of things.

Chapter 187: The Consequences of Wishes

...in which Syaoran and the others decided that even if it meant causing somebody else’s life to disappear, they still wanted to move forward in order to save Sakura. Fei Wong remarked that it made Syaoran-tachi not at all too different from him. They disregarded others to obtain their wishes, just like he did.

Note: I should congratulate myself for mustering enough energy to write this review down, since my laziness level has reached its peak, hindering any idea that tries to get itself transmitted from the brain to the writing fingers.

The Catcher in the Rye (J. D. Salinger)

2008-04-11T06:34:00.001+07:00

Have you ever been bored to death with your life? Ever got sick and tired with fake masks people around you are putting on every day? Ever wanted to run away from it all? I sure have and The Catcher in the Rye’s Holden Caulfield--even though he’s not a real person in the sense that he has only been existed on the pages of Salinger’s work--had too.

Being a somewhat movie freak that I am, The Catcher in the Rye reminds me of Dead Poets Society and Igby Goes Down. The Catcher in the Rye has this: prep boy, unnatural death (just like Dead Poets and Igby), adventure in the Big Apple (Igby), parents’ pressure (Dead Poets). The previous phrases pretty much sum everything up, really. Holden Caulfield, seventeen years old, getting sacked for the third time out of yet another expensive preparatory school (which had its own dorm, mind you), decided to leave the school before the due date and chose to roam around the streets of New York before returning home in time for Christmas holiday. His adventure was not at all too exciting, from this humble reader’s point of view. If Holden’s quest was worth anything, it simply pointed out how immature he was.

The best character you could find a book is the one that, cliché as it may sound, you can relate to. In my case, it was Holden’s ill opinion towards the people around him that struck me the most, because I often think that way myself. To put it simply, Holden thought that most people, school mates and teachers in particular, were phonies--they acted cool and wise and impressive while the truth was, they’re nothing like that. I imagine that Holden saw no point in impressing these people, especially if doing so would make him end up being as false as they were.

Many sentences on the book were Holden’s ranting on people’s deceits. Too bad Holden failed to notice that he often acted phony himself--acting cool at a nightclub, trying to book a prostitute, lying to impress others, dating a girl he didn’t like. That’s the problem with people with negative standpoint towards the world. They’re too busy criticizing others that they couldn’t see what’s wrong with themselves. Perhaps I’m like that too.

Speaking about a person with negative worldview, it’s very likely that the guy who shot John Lennon, who was said to have read The Catcher in the Rye before performing his deed, falls to that category. Truth to be told, the world doesn’t seem bleak after reading The Catcher in the Rye. It’s quite the contrary. Because Holden finally realized that, despite his ramblings about how bad everything really was, it’s the simplest thing that eventually made life worth living; in his case, it’s the sight of his little sister riding on the carousel. And despite how lame people were, they’re probably not that bad either; you could even miss those people after you parted with them.

Too Lazy to Write

2008-03-29T20:37:00.000+07:00

The title says it all. There are bits and pieces of inspiration that are screaming inside my head, wanting to be let out. Too bad I’m too lazy to elaborate them, hence this rubbish of a rant.

The pattern is readable. Whenever I’m excessively occupied with something--work, reading, new DVDs that need to be watched--I lose my will to write. No, not “losing my will”, it’s an exaggeration. Simply put, I become lazy because my energy is very much focused on that other thing.

At this particular moment, I’ve got stack of books that need reading. Oh, the temptation! I can see their invisible hands extended, beckoning to me “Read us, read us.” How can I resist such invitation? So far, I’ve finished The Catcher in the Rye, Middlesex, The Golden Compass, and The Subtle Knife (none of them was recorded in “Currently Reading” because I didn’t use the internet during the time). I’m currently reflecting on what to read next--The Amber Spyglass, Baudolino, Anansi Boys, You Shall Know Our Velocity, The Pillars of the Earth, World without End, The Other Boleyn Girl, The Third Wave, and The Bartimaeus Trilogy waiting in line--bearing in mind that I still have some time before the next translating projects arrive.

So there, that’s why I’m so lazy to write anything today. And considering that the job is waiting for me in the corner, I might be busy for the next couple of months. Maybe the laziness would still linger then.

RIP: My Cassette Player

2008-03-20T21:54:00.001+07:00

It’s the end. My cassette player finally broke down. It can still roll the tape, but unless you’re into screeching, incomprehensible sound, it’s advisable not to play the cassette with it.

You know what they say about “you get what you pay for”? They’re right. My cassette player was bought at a very low price and apparently, the quality is just as low. It can’t even survive more than ten years. And oh, have I ever mentioned that you couldn’t balance the speakers? And that the volume control was practically useless? And these had happened ever since it was bought.

Well, whatever. I really need to get myself a new cassette player now. Unless if there’s someone out there who would lend me a-high-tech-device-that-can-convert-audio-data-in magnetic-tapes-to-digital-ones-thingy. Does such device exist?

Soundtrack of My Life

2008-03-11T09:34:00.001+07:00

Pavlov’s dog wasn’t the only one stimulated by a particular sound. Humans are like that too, and I’m no exception. It’s actually very good, taking a trip down the memory lane or an emotional roller coaster all of the sudden every time I listen to a certain song from my album collection. And these are the ones that evoke the greatest memories of all:

What’s the Story Morning Glory – Oasis
Oasis was my savior going through my unpleasant junior school life. It may sound like an overstatement, but Oasis’ songs were the ones that enabled me to travel to dreamland for a while when the going got tough. Just like Björk, Oasis reminds me of the cold and rainy afternoon after school, when I got home tuning to MTV.
FAVORITE SONG: “Roll with It” (my favorite used to be “Wonderwall”, but I’d listened to it too many times I got sick of it)

Ultra – Ultra
In case you’re wondering what, or who, Ultra was, it was a one-hit-wonder band which only produced one album (which was quite decent) during their short career. Listening to their songs bring the 1998 World Cup in France to mind because, well, their first single became a big hit in summer 1998 (or to put it more accurately, on June 1998, since we don’t have summer in Indonesia). The album also marked my monumental first year in high school and the lab-turned-classroom where we--class 1-9--belonged (plus the spooky story and the cute human skeleton we had).
FAVORITE SONG: “Say You Do”

Performance and Cocktails - Stereophonics
Cram school, the trip to and from the place, and college entry exam preparation are those that come to mind whenever I hear this album. I bought the album some time in May or June 2001 and naturally, played it again and again for a couple of months following it. I was taking the college entry exam on July, so I listened to the album a lot while studying. You figure the connection.
FAVORITE SONG: “Just Looking”

The Man Who - Travis
The Man Who triggers a feeling of “aloneness” in me. I feel as if I’m the only one in the world, but I’m not lonely because at the time, nobody matters but me.
FAVORITE SONG: “Turn”

OK Computer – Radiohead
I couldn’t help myself relating OK Computer with helplessness and disappointment in the way the world works. It’s not the limping feeling which makes you feel like committed suicide or something destructive like that. On the contrary, it gives you the drive to not become a lame, boring person like most members of the general population. One might think I’m overanalyzing things, but I’m not. I don’t think about it, I feel it.
FAVORITE SONG: “Let Down”

By the way, if any of you have that high tech thingy which can convert magnetic tape records to digital files, I’d love to borrow it. All my highly treasured albums are on cassette formats, because I couldn’t afford CDs back then. Pretty please?

Break a Leg

2008-03-06T11:11:00.001+07:00

Is my mind failing me? Because I don’t remember such havoc when somebody else was injured (apart from Becks and his metatarsal thingy).

In case you’re all wondering (again) what I’m talking about, it’s about a footballer’s injury and its circumstances. Sometime around two weeks ago, Arsenal’s Eduardo da Silva (da Silva, is that his surname) was injured badly during--his leg broke in two places--a match against Birmingham City. Arsene Wenger was, quite naturally, very furious, even went on by saying that Martin Taylor (the one who committed the foul) didn’t deserve playing football ever again, or something like that. In the end, he took back his words, but what’s said has been said.

What’s unbelievable is how the press is making such a big fuss of it. I mean, come on, give us a break! Nasty as it was, injury is inevitable in football. Sometimes you injure yourself, sometimes someone takes that liberty from you. Sometimes someone injures you intentionally, sometimes they don’t. In Eduardo-Taylor case, Taylor did what he did out of sheer stupidity and clumsiness (no one with the right mind injured someone from the opposing time on the third minute into the match!).

And a smart guy like Wenger should’ve thought twice before he said anything, considering that he once had the likes of Viera and co. in his team. And we all know that their tackles were anything but gentle.

So, what’s the point in pointing out how bad Eduardo injury is and how brutal Taylor’s challenge was? Such things happen everyday in football, don’t they? Day-to-day business becomes something of high importance because it gives the press a chance to delve upon it, even though there’s nothing to delve upon in the first place. No wonder football supporters in England have so much antipathy towards the press.

Note: The worst injury I’ve ever seen is one that befell a Coventry City player (name forgotten), who was injured by Denis Irwin. It was nasty and bloody. The injury ended his career permanently, and Manchester United participated in a charity/commemorative match for that player. The last that I saw of him was when he was coaching Coventry’s U-12 (or something) team. I hope he’s doing well, whatever he’s doing right now.

Flood of Thoughts Sent by an Icelandic Artist

2008-02-24T22:18:00.000+07:00

Watching Björk’s Volta Tour concert report on TV, these things crossed my mind:

(1)
She actually held a concert in Jakarta? I wonder if Radiohead would ever hold a concert in Indonesia. But it seems impossible because they’re like the kind of guys who wouldn’t perform, and getting paid for it of course, in underdeveloped countries. And they’re not into the world-tour-for-a-whole-year mode anymore like they were in the old days.

(2)
Ah, she reminded me of my junior high years. Coming home from school, raining pouring out outside, and watching (and listening to) Björk’s Army of Me on MTV. MTV was much better then; you got to see more videos from various musical genres. Nowadays, they only had R ‘n B and hip-hop and that kind of stuff. It’s boring.

(3)
It bothers me that that dangdut singer came to watch the concert while she didn’t seem like sincerely enjoying Björk’s music. If she thought that Björk’s music was a jumble of incomprehensible sounds, she shouldn’t bother coming in the first place. It’s an insult to all Björk’s fans in Indonesia who didn’t have the chance to come to the concert.

Notes: Useless rant. Please ignore.

TSUBASA RESERVoir CHRONiCLE chapter 178-181 (CLAMP)

2008-02-15T16:08:00.001+07:00

Like I said last time, there was another surprise: Sakura that had traveled so far with the group from the very start was not the real Sakura, she was (another) clone made by Fei Wong Reed.

To remind you once again, Fei Wong Reed wished to change the logic that pronounced a dead person could never be revived. In order to do so, he needed to gain the power to transcend time and space. That's why he transformed Sakura's memories to feathers. These feathers, scattered throughout dimensions, would engrave the whereabouts of those various dimensions on them, which were needed by Fei Wong in pursuit of the power he wished to have.

Why cloned Sakura then? Well, who knew what would happen during the long journey. There might be casualties, including Sakura, and if such thing happened, then Fei Wong's plan would fail miserably. As long as he kept the real Sakura with him, and let the clone roam about instead, he could repeat the same course of action (cloning Sakura, sending the clone version on a journey, and so on) again and again and again, until he gained all the memories of dimensions.

However, Clone Sakura was different from Clone Syaoran (C!Syaoran) because she had a heart. Fei Wong cloned Sakura (using a mirror, by the way) completely, both her body and her heart (while in C!Syaoran's case, only the body was cloned, and the heart he had once had was R!Syaoran's). But since the no-way-you-could-clone-something-that-perfectly-resembled-the-real-thing principle was applied to CLAMPverse, right after C!Sakura was made, R!Sakura's body fell apart and disappeared. Only her soul remained.

So, C!Sakura's soul was stabbed by C!Syaoran in the dream world, her soul slowly disappeared, leaving a tiny part of her heart to be given to heartless C!Syaoran who, after receiving the heart, realized what he had done and screamed in agony.

The dream world had been shaking and merging with the real world (a room inside Shirasagi Castle) for some time, so everyone in the room--Kurogane, Fai, Mokona, Tomoyo, Amaterasu, Souma, Fuuma, Seishirou--could see the outcome of the fight and C!Sakura's tragic end. And then, Kyle (Fei Wong's minion, the one who played good doctor in Jade) came out of nowhere, grabbed Sakura's body that had been place on top of the sacred sakura tree and the feather from the dreamscape, and disappeared once again, taking all the he'd got to his boss.

In the end of Chapter 181, R!Syaoran (C!Syaoran didn't fall to Nihon with him when the dream world had been closed), Kurogane, and Fai determined to save Sakura (the cloned body and the real soul) from the evil clutches of Fei Wong. Yuuko told them that Fei Wong was inside a "cut off time" in Clow. They didn't have to hand over a payment to Yuuko because someone who was closer to Syaoran more than anyone else--Watanuki--had paid the price with his memories, causing him to forget his past, parents' name, and even the fact that he had given away his memories. Poor Watanuki! And the fact that they have only published volume 1 of xxxHOLiC here in Indonesia is really upsetting because we're 10 volumes-or-so behind.

Note: Terrible use of tenses, I know. Please bear with me....

The Mysterious Undertone

2008-02-06T22:26:00.000+07:00

Like many Indonesians, I’m familiar with more than one language. For me, they are Indonesian, Sundanese, Javanese, and English. I understand Sundanese and Javanese well, but I very rarely use them due to the courtesy hurdle. Instead of speaking Sundanese and/or Javanese and ends up offending someone for not using the proper word, I’d rather not speak at all. I have no such problem with English, which is more egalitarian in nature. As for Indonesian, it’s my mother-tongue and I always feel comfortable using it.

The funny thing is, and it’s not something that I’ve just noticed recently, when it comes to express my feelings in written form, I prefer English to Indonesian. The writings which represent me more are my English ones, not the Indonesian (a fact which was reaffirmed by a friend). Using English, I feel more “loose.” Let us say that as far as my writings are concerned, Indonesian is Dr. Jekyll and English is Mr. Hyde.

If medieval psychology were to be believed at, I would fall into “phlegmatic” type. The type who has phlegm dominating her body humoral composition and thus, choked by phlegm, maintains a quiet manner. That’s right. I remember at class discussion, I would often disagree with what the speaker was talking about. Most of their explanations afterwards (in reply to my questions) were unimpressive and far from convincing, but I never pressed the matter further. I didn’t fancy open myself up completely, even when it was in a superficial environment like a classroom. Plus, arguing would be too bothersome.

Umm, what does it have to do with my writings, you say? Everything. I’ve lived all my life in Indonesia and speak in Indonesian. And the aforementioned classroom episode is a good example of how I present myself in the Indonesian community where I live in. Writing in Indonesian is pretty much the same like talking to (Indonesian) people in real life. I’ll keep up my cool, unbothered, peace-loving composure no matter what, even in my writings.

English is completely different. When I’m writing in English, it’s as if I’m freed from all the confines of the society in which I live now. I criticize, curse, and lament in English with no hesitation. I might understand what English words and expressions mean, but I’m detached from the underlying “feel” of the language. For example, I could say the F word out loud when cursing, without flinching, because even though I know that it’s taboo, I couldn’t feel the insolence underlying the word. That’s because I’m not socialized in/with English. Writing in English, I could open up, but at the same time, not opening up myself entirely.

I bet you’re feeling dizzy now.

Dropped Out

2008-02-04T11:21:00.000+07:00

I've been dropped out from Myths and Legends because I didn't do the Midterm Exam. I didn't know that there was a midterm exam *sigh*. This is annoying!!!! And once again, I'm upset over trivial stuff.

TSUBASA RESERVoir CHRONiCLE chapter 172-178 (CLAMP)

2008-02-01T10:56:00.001+07:00

Ah, so many things had happened since my last review of TRC. R!Syaoran and Seishirou’s fight had been over, with R!Syaoran’s retrieving the feather, and apparently Seishirou had intended to give the feather away to R!Syaoran from the very start. He just wanted to have some fun with R!Syaoran because he thought R!Syaoran was “interesting.” What a messed-up guy. But we’ve known that for ages (to be precise, ever since Tokyo Babylon, although TB and TRC’s Seishirou were technically two different people living in different dimensions) by now, right?!

To make a long story short, the newly acclaimed feather opened the gateway to the dream-world at the sacred sakura tree, and R!Syaoran was sucked into the dream world. There, he met Sakura (Sakura’s soul) and C!Syaoran, who coldly asked for the feather. Of course, R!Syaoran wouldn’t give in; instead, he determined to eradicate C!Syaoran for all the damages he had caused, and because C!Syaoran was somewhat a part of him.

It wasn’t an easy fight because C!Syaoran was really, really strong. Much stronger than before he left the group. And it’s all because of the eye he had stolen from Fai. Apparently, Fai’s eyes, which were the source of his magic, worked like this: The left eye made him stronger and lengthen his lifespan every time Fai used his magic, while the right eye had the opposite effect. Both, they neutralized each other’s effect. But because C!Syaoran took the left eye and Fai now only had his right eye, you could imagine what happened to each person (note: using his magic along with Mokonas’ in order to return to Celes, Fai had literally been risking his life as a payment).

C!Syaoran managed taking out Sakura’s feather from R!Syaoran’s body (the one he had just got from Seishirou), but R!Syaoran, who had been knocked out for some time by C!Syaoran’s magic, stopped the clone from taking it away. The feather slipped from C!Syaoran’s hand, and as the two drew out their swords to get in the way of the other party, Sakura came in between. And C!Syaoran’s sword stabbed her. Then, another surprise was revealed. But that’s rather complicated, so I’ll explain it in detail in my next review of TRC.

And speaking about Fei Wong Reed, the culprit behind all this, his wish was to destroy the logic that said that a person who had been dead couldn’t be revived. Apparently he wanted to resurrect someone, and since it wasn’t possible--due to the laws of nature--Fei Wong determined to change that very logic. Despite anyone who might be hurt in the process.

That’s it for now. Until next review....

HOL Accomplishment

2008-01-30T22:07:00.000+07:00

My team made it to the semi-final! Yay! It might not be a big deal, yet for this particular task, I can’t help being proud of us, of myself.

Task 7 was a multimedia task in which the teams were required to create something funny regarding Dolores Umbridge. I suggested making a comic, since I couldn’t think of anything better and simpler, and my partner agreed. And that’s what we decided to make in the end. She created a hilarious Umbridge story and I was left with the responsibility of drawing the comic. No problem. Except for one minor hitch. I couldn’t draw.

There were quite a lot that I had to do before I started drawing. Animals were my weakest point, and because a frog was to be presented in the story, I needed to find frog-illustration as example. After that, I dug into my magazine collection for some doujinshis, to get an idea of how panels were parted.

I will definitely upload the fan-comic here once the winner of task 7 is announced. Until then, I’m going to enjoy this intoxicating sense of self-accomplishment.

Note: Of course, my thanks should go to my partner, Neti, for her story.

The Name of the Rose (Umberto Eco) - review 2

2008-01-24T18:38:00.000+07:00

Name was important, there’s no doubt about it. It simplified a concept. Could you imagine how complicated it would be if things didn’t have names attached on them? How would you distinguish one thing from another?

Yet, as Juliet (or Shakespeare) beautifully pointed out, name was nothing but a representation of the concept it conveyed. In the end, that concept was more important than its name. But was it?

The paradox was everywhere in The Name of the Rose, even in the smallest of things like Adso’s detailed description on the church’s door carving (?). Not only that it had pictures of heaven and earth (and their inhabitants), but it also portrayed fantastic animals from the Bestiary. Remember that these creatures were imaginary, existed only in the world of ideas. However, the readers could easily identify them through their names--griffin, chimera, manticore, incubus--as if they were as real as elephant or monkey or chicken. Their names were everything because without them, these imaginary creatures would be nothing more than a set of ideas hidden inside their creator’s mind. In the same time, the names also meant nothing for the concept it represented had no existence in “reality.” Say the name “griffin” to one who’s not familiar with it and then it would simply be considered as a ridiculous cross-breeding of eagle and lion, losing its entire context.

We also got to see how a name became so powerful that it became the driving force behind someone’s actions and motives. Driven by his love of God, and his abhorrence towards everything unholy, the antagonist unremorsefully orchestrated six murders within the abbey’s walls. It’s ironic really, in his attempt to stop the coming of anti-Christ, he became the very representation of anti-Christ itself. In this case, the name became so powerful, more powerful than the concept it represented.

Despite all the complexities, The Name of the Rose was a worthy read. Putting aside the semiotic-thingy, it’s still enjoyable as a thrilling detective story.

Note: I’m not familiar with griffin, by the way.

The Name of the Rose (Umberto Eco) - review 1

2008-01-19T22:36:00.000+07:00

It took lots of energy to read The Name of the Rose. I knew nothing about 15th century Europe, not to mention that the translation was bad (Indonesian version which was translated from English v. which was translated from the original Italian). And I didn’t understand what the main focus of the story was: the murder and the mysterious book, Inquisition and various Christian sects, 15th century political strife in Europe, or Adso’s constant amazement on illustrative depictions of heaven and hell?

But the greatest mystery of all was the title. Why was it called The Name of the Rose? A curious selection indeed, since there wasn’t any rose mentioned in the book. Nevertheless, after thinking long and hard, I finally see how the title possibly relates to the content of the story. Out of convenience, and because it fits my understanding, I’d refer to Shakespeare’s “rose” in Romeo and Juliet to analyze (albeit unscholarly) that relation.

On Romeo and Juliet, Act 2 Scene 2 (the legendary balcony scene), Juliet uttered these words:

What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes

Juliet couldn’t say it more clearly--name is nothing but a jumble of sounds (and symbols, if it’s written). Without the name, Romeo would still be the same person, would he not?

However, some time later, still on the same scene, Juliet negated her declaration by saying:

Yet I know the sound:
Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?

Romeo would always be Romeo Montague, no matter how beautifully he tried to say otherwise. Hence the paradox: name is nothing, but it’s everything. And that, my friends, is a focal point in Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose.

to be continued....

Fiction without Anachronism

2008-01-09T21:13:00.000+07:00

A good story is one that is believable. One that, no matter how impossible, manages to capture the heart of its readers. Sending people on time-travel is one thing, but inaccurate historical detail is another thing.

Anachronism sucks, especially if it’s caused by the writer’s ignorance. If you don’t care performing background check for your story’s setting before it’s completed, you might as well create your own universe. But if you’re still too lazy to do so and yet insist on create a story set in the past, I have some tips for you.

Alternate universe rules, man!
Ah, how we all love alternate universe. Setting your place in another “universe” is the easiest way to tackle anachronism. Imagine having a story set very much like Victorian England, but taking place in planet X (wherever that is) or the country of Y. So if someone scolds you because airplanes haven’t been invented at that time, you can point out that it’s NOT about Victorian England. On second thought, don’t even mention a particular time and place in which the story happens. You won’t get any trouble if you do that.

Yay for common men!
Don’t place prominent historical figures in your story. If you depicted them inaccurately, for example: having them come face-to-face with someone who lived 200 years before their time, there’s a good chance that people would notice. Write a story about common men/women instead, nameless faces in history. It’s safer.

Recreating the characters
A particular historical event catches your attention, but the research is too overwhelming? Don’t worry, just recreate them. Retain the aspects of that event, but place them in contemporary era. You might want to modify the names of characters (e.g. Okita Souji to Okita Soushi; get my point?).

Parody/comedy kills!
No matter how many inconsistencies might be in your story, it won’t matter as long as it’s a parody/comedy. As long as it’s as funny as it should. In Robin Hood: Men in Tights, Robin Hood’s men were wearing sunglasses and singing rap. And nobody cares about the anachronism, because it’s hilarious.

My Resolution for 2008

2007-12-30T10:48:00.000+07:00

Continuing my studies
Finding out something to contribute to humanity (practice what you preach, man!)
Getting more translating projects (four, at least)
Updating this blog more regularly (at least once a week; that's a lot--in my case ;p)
Staying in touch with my friends (sending e-mails and text messages on a regular basis, whether I have something of importance to tell them or not

Note: Thanks to Nilam. Again.

Restless

2007-12-16T18:31:00.000+07:00

One in the morning
And nobody’s out in the open
Yet my eyes wide open

Two in the morning
And darkness is closing in
Yet my senses refuse to give in

Three in the morning
And hours crawl by ‘til first lights come
Yet oblivion hasn’t come

Note: Written yesterday at 11.30 pm (GMT + 7) and based on real events.

The White Castle (Orhan Pamuk)

2007-11-30T13:04:00.000+07:00

We all love to think that every single one of us is special, unique. But are we? The egocentric assumption is challenged again and again in Orhan Pamuk’s The White Castle. At least that’s the vibe I was catching on.

At first glance, I assumed that it’s just another tale of adventure with historical background thingy--a genre which seems to be popular these days. Just look at the synopsis: An unfortunate Italian was captured, taken to the Ottoman Empire as a slave, and bought by a guy who looked exactly like him; they soon developed an unusual relationship because the master insisted that the slave taught him everything that he knew and cooperated with him (the master) in creating some ingenious inventions and deciphering the Emperor’s dreams. Well, it’s not. If your take on adventure is limited to those of Sinbads’ or Indiana Jones’, you definitely will not perceive The White Castle as a tale of adventure because the real drama happened within the character, not in the circumstances that they’re facing throughout the story.

Take the master, for example. He’s a really obnoxious guy who was full of himself, who sincerely believed that everybody else was stupid, who loved prying into people’s “dark” secrets. As I read the story, I realized that he took pleasure at looking down at people because it emphasized just how different he was from everybody else. The thought that he was remotely similar to others greatly infuriated him. Like the time when he tried to extract confessions of sins from his slave and townspeople and found out that the worst that they could offer were little lies and covetous instinct he would get angry--probably because their “sins” weren’t dissimilar from his--and torture them until they confessed something more sinister, more dramatic.

It’s creepy how I can relate to the characters. How I enjoy celebrity gossips--featuring their flaws--now and then, how I fancy put forth all my knowledge like some kind of expert when I’m really not, how I think highly of myself while labeling others “ignorant”.

Although the last sentences of the story were somewhat neutral, Peaches and cherries served on a pearl embedded platter... The nearly seventy-year old me who was sitting behind the table... A bird perching on the edge of the well between olive and cherry trees, I felt agony in each word. The agony of someone who, despite living a comfortable life, was not the person that everyone thought he was, living a dull life just like everybody else even though he was an “individual” who was “different” from them, and was just waiting death to come. Or was it me who was in agony realizing this?

Note: Thanks to Shofi for the book.

TSUBASA RESERVoir CHRoNiCLE chapter 166-171 (CLAMP)

2007-11-02T22:26:00.000+07:00

This will be a very very short review because: (1) There have been six chapters since my last review and going into details will make it confusing, not enlightening; (2) I haven’t got much time--duty calls. Here we go.

Chapter 166: The Closed World
Ashura’s dead. Celes was closed in by Fai’s magic (that was his second curse). Syaoran, Sakura, Mokona, and Kurogane managed to get out, but Fai was stuck. So, Kurogane cut his own arm to get Fai out of Celes.

Chapter 167: The Wounded Ninja
Kurogane awakened at Nihon. He spoke to Tomoyo-hime about his newfound understanding about strength and Tomoyo-hime’s decision to not tell him about his protective seal (yes, it was a protective seal!), and his not regretting giving up his arm. Fai darted in, knocked Kurogane on the head, and said, “This is payback, Kuro-sama!”

Chapter 168: The Promise in the Dream
Syaoran and Watanuki met in a dream. Syaoran told Watanuki to not disappear and that they’re closer than anybody else. Eight-page of Yuuko’s monologue: her saying that Fei Wong’s plan fell into pieces, but there was still one thing that went according to his plan; and her wishing that Fei Wong’s wish wouldn’t be fulfilled.

Chapter 169: The Witches’ Gift
Tomoyo-hime took the party to a sakura tree where Sakura was laid down--a sacred tree which would infuse a little vitality to Sakura’s soulless body. Fuuma arrived, bringing with him a mechanical arm from Piffle for Kurogane. In exchange, Fai gave the last of his magic--kept in the blue color of his remaining eye. Seishirou arrived.

Chapter 170: The Second Envoy
Seishirou unceremoniously attacked Fai, knowing that Fai had Kamui’s blood. Kurogane scowled him for being rash (and getting teased at by Fai, Tomoyo-hime, and Amaterasu) and so, Seishirou asked the gang more politely about the whereabouts of the vampire twins. Seishirou prepared to leave, but Syaoran stopped him, demanded that Seishirou returned Sakura’s feather.

Chapter 171: The Beatiful Battleground
Syaoran and Seishirou fought inside a kekkai made by Tomoyo-hime. Fai and Tomoyo-hime had a conversation about the price for safely sent to Nihon: Fai used his magic when they were transported to Celes and Tomoyo-hime gave up her dream-seer ability.

Note: Lots of thanks to wonderful people at Franky-House that had made it capable for me to read TRC scanlations.

In Retrospect

2007-10-22T22:14:00.000+07:00

Hate and grudge are not my style. When bad things happened or people offended me, I seldom blamed the situation or vouched to take revenge. I’d be upset for some time, that’s for sure, but the anger would dissolve in no time.

Nevertheless, there are certain episodes which I find hard to forget and forgive. My junior-high teacher who laughed at me for criticizing his use of a grammatical term. Another teacher--this one from high school--who said to my face that with my understanding, I wouldn’t be able to pass the university entry exam. A friend who made a joke about my working-at-home status. By now, I know there’s no reason for me to hold a grudge against any of them. That junior high teacher wasn’t exactly qualified in linguistics, I managed to get to first-rate university, and my friend was simply joking. Yet, I can’t help being furious every time those events come to mind.

See something in common? In either case, whether intentionally or not, those people have looked down on me. I went “Aha!” when I realized it--being looked down on, apparently, was (and still is) what I hated the most. If I was belittled, the whole “hate and grudge are not my style” wouldn’t apply.

Despite that, my resentment at being looked down on is an important factor that influences my character. Although I don’t particularly enjoy having people put their attention at me, I never hesitate sharing my knowledge and thoughts about miscellaneous stuff (from World History to my personal goals) to anyone who would care to listen. Sometimes, I keep rambling even though I’ve noticed their bored or dubious look.

I think, sub-consciously, I wish for people to know my “impressive” intellectual qualities. If they do, there’ll no complaint about my being dumb or incapable and therefore, I will not be looked down on.

Inconvenient the feeling might be, I don’t feel like letting it go. Strange as it sounds, the fear and resentment at being looked down on have helped shaping me--and I love what I’ve become.

Author’s Note: Don’t tell me that “It was rooted at your childhood” because I know that already. Gosh! Amazing how good you can be at pseudo-psychology after watching too much Oprah.

For the Greater Good

2007-10-14T18:44:00.000+07:00

Consciousness. Whether it’s God-given or socially constructed is debatable, but whatever the case is, it’s there. That small voice that warns us when something doesn’t seem right. A constant reminder of what should and shouldn’t be done.

All’s fair in love and war, so it’s said. Still, be it in times of war or for the sake of love, your consciousness doesn’t let you go away easily when you do something which is not normally considered “good”. A series of questions will bug you endlessly: Have I done something wrong? Was it the right thing to do?

Killing, for example. I believe that human beings are compassionate by nature. Therefore, putting an end to somebody else’s lives is beyond reason. Strangely, men have proven capable of ending so many lives without remorse throughout the course of time. The Crusade, the atomic bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Cambodian Killing Field--those were just a selected few.

When you look at it carefully, most--if not all--mass killings were based on “grand reason”. Most executioners didn’t kill a large number of people because they enjoyed it. In contrast, they did it for a reason far greater than themselves--national stability, world peace, the blessing of God.

Let’s reflect on their logic: “I don’t want to kill people. I shouldn’t kill people. But God punishes the heretics. Therefore, it’s alright if I kill the heretics. Therefore, I’m not deemed guilty if I kill the heretics.” Change the lines “God punishes...” with “the Japs killed my fellow countrymen in Pearl Harbor and caused sufferings in many parts of the world, etc” or “the revolutionaries caused national instability and divided our country, etc”, and the outcome will be the same. Actions which are scandalous in normal circumstances become more acceptable--even advisable--when you do it for the greater good.

Conscious-generated guilt is more powerful than any coercion or criticism put forth by others. They must believe with all their heart that they’re doing all the “bad” things for the greater good. Because, otherwise, it might be impossible for them get a good night sleep ever again.

Obsessed

2007-10-02T11:00:00.000+07:00

It’s official. I’m crazy. I mean, how do you call someone who’s mooning over a fictional character for a whole week? A fictional character, for God’s sake! That’s definitely crazy on my book!

I’ve known for a long time that I tend to take trivial things (or at least that’s how most people perceive them to be) seriously. Like the time I searched for Harry Potter essays on character analysis and the story's prediction. Or that time when I looked for HaiSoccer’s Manchester United special issue in every corner (quite literally) of the town. See what I mean?

As my friend Lala kindly put it--being the kind person that she is--I’m very determined when it comes to my hobbies. Too bad that my hobbies--or rather, things that I’m OBSESSED with--only revolve around books, anime/manga, and football instead of something more spectacular like finding a cure for cancer.

The challenge now, is to find out the constructive side of my hobbies. Imagine that, fulfilling my obsession while at the same time giving something of importance to people. It'll be a dream coming true.

Until that can be found, for the time being, I’m merely a crazy obsessed fangirl. Plain crazy.

The Departure of Ole and My Childhood

2007-09-10T12:55:00.000+07:00

Receiving the news that Ole Gunnar Solskjaer finally decided to retire was definitely one of my saddest moments as a Manchester United supporter. In a club like United, players come and go all the times, but when the one’s going is someone who has given us amazing performance and devotion all the way, well, it’s like parting with a good friend.

Yet, I know that’s more to my grief in relation to Ole’s departure than just his excellent years in United. I’ve witnessed United legends--Denis Irwin and Roy Keane, for example--left the club before, but it wasn’t as sad as this.

I started to truly love United in the mid ‘90s, so naturally, the first players that I relate with United over the years are Class of ’92 (then, the rising stars of English football) and those who came to the club during that period. There are lots of players that fall into the second category, but Ole’s the one who spends the most time with United amongst them all. Not to mention the only one who receives legend status.

You can basically say that I’ve watched Ole play for United growing up. As long as he’s still in the club, it feels like I can still relate myself with my childhood. Now that he quits football, I lose one of that “connections”. Maybe that’s why Ole’s retirement struck me so much.

Putting my personal dilemma aside, I sincerely wish Ole well, whatever he chooses to do after this. 20LEGEND will live forever!

TSUBASA RESERVoir CHRoNiCLE chapter 165 (CLAMP)

2007-09-10T12:44:00.000+07:00

Even though it’s rather out of character of me to write TRC review for only one chapter, I’ve decided to write this down immediately because.....mmm, ......because I feel like it! Tch, as if anybody would care about my reasons.

Okay, first thing that I’d like to make clear is the “Kurogane slashed realFai”-thing. He didn’t and it was very stupid of me not to realize it sooner. RealFai was still “asleep” inside the pool and the one Kurogane was, well, nobody. It was just a vision, a magic trick, or whatever you want to call it, created by Ashura-ou.

Then, answering question number 1 and 2 (at least some part of question no.2) from my previous TRC installment-- Ashura-ou is positively dead and what Tomoyo-hime gave Kurogane was really a protective seal. There’s definitely something more to it than “you lose some of your strength if you kill someone unnecessarily”-thing. What protection does it serve, actually? Heck, we’ll never know until CLAMP reveals about it in the future.

Almost instantly after the fall of Ashura-ou, realFai’s body started to ascend from the pool. Sakura’s wing that “protected” him all along returned to Sakura’s body, making the inevitable--the decay of the body--happen. However, during that process (the wing’s return and the decomposition), realFai’s last memory was somehow revealed. Contrary to ourFai’s belief all this time, his brother had never had any grudge against him before he died. RealFai willingly died so that he could save Yuui. As simple as that. OurFai finally realized that by preserving realFai’s body, he had prevented his brother from resting in peace.

Of course, we all know that ourFai’s letting go of his brother is not the end. Far from it. OurFai’s still got one curse. Ashura-ou wanted ourFai to kill him so that the final curse would be lifted from him. I suspect that the curse has something to do with killing someone most precious to him (apart from realFai, Ashura-ou seemed to be that person to ourFai). Gosh, makes me wonder, is Sakurazukamori-thing (destined to kill and be killed by his/her most precious person) will be applied here.

In the end of chapter 165, ourFai came into trance state like the one he was in before stabbing Sakura (when the first curse was activated). What will the second curse be? Something devastating, I'm sure of it.

It would be interesting to see how the rest of the gang would refer to ourFai after this. I don’t recall Syaoran ever called ourFai “Fai”, Sakura is still soulless, and Kurogane always use “that guy” or “the mage” when referring to Fai. So, it only leaves Mokona. Will he call ourFai “Yuui” right away? Aargh, my questions is piling up.....

TSUBASA RESERVoir CHRoNiCLE chapter 160 - 164 (CLAMP)

2007-09-07T12:35:00.000+07:00

Another piece of review? Again? Yeah, sorry for that. I know it would be classier if I wrote something sophisticated like the nature of life, the corruption of society, or that kinda stuff. Too bad I’m too lazy to delve into that matter now, so here I am, reviewing another TRC’s chapters.

In chapter 159, we had learned that Ashura-ou asked ourFai (Yuui) to fulfill his wish one day. That wish was, apparently, protecting Celes from anyone who brought harm to the people of the country. Anyone, including himself. I’m not sure if that was really his wish or he simply wanted to die for who knows what reason.

Not long before ourFai fled from Celes, he found out that Ashura-ou had slaughtered his own people. The more he killed, the more magically stronger he became, and Ashura-ou didn’t even show any remorse doing it. If ourFai kept his promise, he should’ve killed Ashura-ou because he clearly had brought harm to the people of Celes. OurFai couldn’t do it, though. After all, for ourFai, Ashura-ou was the first person who showed him (and realFai) compassion, gave him home, and cheered him up with kind words, albeit Ashura-ou’s hidden motive. Instead of killing Ashura-ou, ourFai chose to put him to sleep (literally) and ran away from Celes.

It seemed that Ashura-ou had known that ourFai would’ve never been voluntarily willing to kill him, whatever evil thing he might do. That’s why he gave ourFai the tattoo thing (you know, the one ourFai handed over to Yuuko at the beginning of the gang’s journey). OurFai’s magic grew stronger the more he used magic, but the tattoo would suppress further development of his magic. Thus, even if ourFai refused to kill Ashura-ou, the curse would cause ourFai to do so as long as Ashura-ou’s magic power was stronger (assuming that the curse hadn’t been broken).

As a further attempt in forcing ourFai to kill him, Ashura-ou threatened to kill Sakura (who, you might remember, had landed in Celes before the rest of the gang and had mysteriously been alive although her soul had left her body). Trying to save Sakura from the clutches of Ashura-ou, ourFai, Kurogane, and even Syaoran attacked the king. Ashura-ou stabbed Kurogane by a sharp block of ice during the process and at that instant, it looked like the ninja had finally met his end.

That was the final straw for ourFai. It didn’t matter that Kurogane had just previously cut his living-dead brother, realFai, with his sword; the fact that somebody else had died because of his weakness was enough for ourFai to make up his mind.

OurFai finally decided to kill Ashura-ou and died along with him, somehow. His effort wasn’t successful, though, and in the end, Ashura-ou took control once again. When Ashura-ou said that killing the rest of the gang would probably send ourFai into wrath, enabling him to put out all his power to attack and kill Ashura-ou, Kurogane stroke out of nowhere and stabbed the king.

New questions that popped out inside my head after reading chapter 164 are these:
1) Is Ashura-ou dead?

2) Why was Ashura-ou so surprised when he saw the protective seal on Kurogane’s forehead? It must mean something, considering that seeing the seal made Ashura-ou lost his focus, enabling Kurogane to stab him. And by the way, “protective seal”? That’s a weird way to refer to something which was depicted as a curse (“If you kill someone unnecessarily, you’ll lose some of your power”-stuff) by Tomoyo-hime herself.

3) What was it that had weakened Syaoran and Mokona? Why did Syaoran say that he couldn’t protect Sakura?

4) Would Kurogane be alright, considering that he was badly injured? (I have to ask this, he’s my favorite TRC’s character after all.)

On to chapter 165.

I / Stand / Alone

2007-08-27T13:44:00.000+07:00

Buzzing
Humming
Incoherent mumbling

Promises made and broken
Knots tied and loosen
Hollow conversation

Constant reminder

I
Stand
Alone

For ever

Author's Note: My first try at poetry since a long long long time. It's kinda lame, but I like it (despite the depressing theme).

Music Magic

2007-08-16T10:03:00.000+07:00

Upon hearing the word “magic”, one might instantly think about doves that appear out of thin air, or maybe David Copperfield and him vanquishing the Liberty Statue. You know--things that are out of ordinary and seem to defy the laws of nature. Music is, I’m sure, not the first thing that comes to mind when one’s talking about magic. Too bad, really, considering the magic it possesses. In fact, music IS magic.

Just remember the times when music mysteriously affected you. How it inexplicably moved you, touched you, made you happy, made you sad. Take my experience. I was listening to Radiohead’s Fake Plastic Trees on my walkman (yes, walkman) when I suddenly felt strangely lonely, yet empowered. It’s weird because I’d heard the song many times, but I had never felt like that before.

There has actually been some research on this topic. So far, the finding shows correlation between music (or rather, listening to music) and the change of mental/physiological properties. For example, Baroque that makes one’s behavior more organized or Gregorian that calms the mind.

The effect is not always positive, though. Rock music, for instance, is said to make you more aggressive. I am against this biased generalization, but I guess there really is music that can make you feel crappy. If I’m not mistaken, there’s one Ozzy Osborne’s song (sorry Ozzy, nothing’s personal there) which had been alleged of triggering a teenager to killing himself because of its suicidal lyrics. You know, that life is worthless, and it would be good to be freed from its miserable existence; that kind of lyrics.

Suicidal lyrics? Well, one should know better. I think it’s the “dark” tones of the songs which play more part in it rather than the suicidal lyrics. After all, no one has been known to commit suicide after they read poetry or book with suicidal underlying theme, haven’t they?

On the other hand, listening to a particular type of music doesn’t necessarily make you feel a certain emotion. Let’s just say that the music has to resonate with something inside you in order for it to work its magic.

Am I making sense here? If not, well, music--magic--is not exactly something rational. We FEEL its beauty rather thank think it. One thing we know for sure is that music really does work its magic towards something within you; whatever that something is: your essence, spirit, soul--who knows?

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (J. K. Rowling)

2007-07-27T12:52:00.000+07:00

SPOILER ALERT: Don’t read this stuff if you haven’t read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, unless if you want to be spoiled with its’ plot details. You have been forewarned!

Adventure, drama, horror, angst, heart-wrecking love story, even a bit of humor. Just name it and it’s very likely that you’ll find everything you want in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (DH). It wraps everything up beautifully--no wonder it’s Ms. Rowling’s favorite out of seven.

There’s no way anyone could tell what the Deathly Hallows were prior to reading the book. However, after reading DH until the end, you get to admire how befitting it is as a title. The role it played to the final battle and to Harry’s ultimate understanding about the nature of life and death--one could never ask anything better for a title.

The Deathly Hallows had been sought by wizards and witches for centuries due to their ability to make their owner Master of Death, so it’s told. They consisted of the Elder Wand which was so powerful it made its’ owner unbeatable--it’s also the most notorious; the Resurrection Stone which could resurrect the dead; and the Invisibility Cloak which I’m sure doesn’t need any further explanation. As we know, Voldemort chose to gain immortality by means of Horcruxes--he knew nothing about Hallows. Nevertheless, the fame of the Elder Wand captured his attention. Eventually, it was this particular wand which made him met his own end.

Surprisingly, it was Dumbledore who had been lured by the Hallows. It’s quite shocking because who would’ve thought that someone like Dumbledore--who had wisely said to Harry that death was just another journey--would’ve wanted something like that. I mean, it made him not too different from Voldemort--they both wanted to conquer death despite their different reasons. THAT, his desire for power, and him meeting the teenage Grindelwald when he was eighteen had brought painful consequences which Dumbledore couldn’t help but regret until the end of his life. Who knows what path he might take if it’s not for his brother Aberforth who managed to knock some sense into him.

In the end, it was Harry’s courage to face death which made him the true master of Hallows and another point which made him better than Voldemort.

Despite some fluffs which you could find all through the book, DH is “dark” for the most part. It’s impossible to be otherwise considering what happened: Voldemort’s terror in the wizarding world, constant danger that lurking behind Harry and co. in their search for the Horcruxes, so many deaths, Snape’s heartbreaking tale, the battle of Hogwarts. I love the way Harry Potter ended, yet the sadness still lingers.

Pathetic as it sounds, I felt like crying when I finished reading DH. Not just because the sadness in the story, it’s more because it felt like ending a long journey. Even though you’re happy that you finally reach your destination, you’re sad at the same time because you have to leave all good memories behind. It has been a truly incredible journey and I’ve enjoyed every second of it. Thank you, Ms. Rowling! *sobs*

TSUBASA RESERVoir CHRoNiCLE chapter 156 - 159 (CLAMP)

2007-07-17T10:17:00.000+07:00

Continuing from where we ended it last time.

Still, inside of Ashura-ou’s hall, reliving Fai’s past (which could be seen by Syaoran, Kurogane, and Mokona--they’re given a vision of it, apparently). While little Fai inside the tower seemed somewhat dejected and gave up being able to come out of his prison, little Yuui kept insisting on trying it. He piled up the dead bodies and climbed them up. It wasn’t very successful, though.

Between his tumbling, Yuui saw more and more of dead bodies thrown to the dungeon (I previously referred to it as “burial ground”). He suddenly realized that something must’ve happened in Valeria. He was right, because from a letter he found in the grasp of one of the dead, it said that the King of Valeria had gone mad and killed lots of people.

Just as Yuui tried to comprehend the bad news and made up his mind to return and help, suddenly his uncle, the King--the guy that banished the twins--was thrown inside the dungeon. The King looked all bloody and beaten up. Holding a sword, he blamed the twins once again of causing so much misfortunes in Valeria. Now, he and the twins were the only ones left in the country. And out of nowhere, he stabbed his own head with the sword.

To make it short, then came the mysterious slit from which Fei Wong Reed communicated with the twins, giving them the chance to come out, but they must choose one of them. Fai fell of the tower, Yuui wailed in terror, and Fei Wong said that a choice had been made. Yes, each twin had wanted their twin to come out instead of himself, but when Fei Wong first appeared, Yuui said, “Yuui wanted to come out.” Of course he meant with his brother, but Fei Wong didn’t see it that way.

Fei Wong then explained his terms of engagement. Yuui would be his pawn, accompanying a princess of the desert and a clone Fei Wong had prepared on a journey through dimensions in order to collect the princess’ feathers. Yuui had to make sure of her safety because it’s essential for the fulfillment of Fei Wong’s wish. If Yuui accepted the terms, then one day he might be able to revive his dead twin.

Fei Wong also told Yuui that he had planned to make another person as accomplice, a young boy from Nihon (yes, it’s our dear Kuro-wanwan). However, Yuuko had placed him in the care of a powerful seer, Tomoyo, before Fei Wong could reach him. In other words, Fei Wong declared that Kurogane was Yuuko’s pawn and he could be a hindrance between Fei Wong and his wish (and Yuui and his wish as well). So, he must be killed if necessary. Imagine that.

Then, Ashura-ou came to pick up Yuui. When Ashura asked his name, Yuui said, “Fai.” It looked like Ashura knew that it’s not his name, but he didn’t press the matter. So, they went to Celes; the dead Fai was placed inside a pool of water (the pool) along with Sakura’s feather--discovered when Yuui arrived at Celes--in order to prevent his body from rotting. Yuui wanted his hair cut so that he could place it near his twin and Ashura suggested that they placed the country’s talisman too--flourite. He then gave Yuui a new name, Fai Flourite of Celes, and insisted that he lived on until the day his wish is fulfilled. Oh yeah, and because Ashura-ou also wanted something from him. Jerk.

Now we return to the present. Chapter 159 is concluded with the scene of Syaoran and Mokona collapsing, and an extremely furious Kurogane took up his sword towards Fai (a. k. a Yuui). Something to be expected considering that he know now that Fai is helping out his mother’s murderer. Perhaps. You can never be sure if it’s CLAMP.

The story gets bleaker and bleaker; I wouldn’t be surprised if it ended up even angstier than Tokyo Babylon. Ah, well.

OP Movie--I'm Coming!

2007-07-13T22:10:00.000+07:00

A year. More than a year, actually. It’s the amount of time that I’ve spent waiting for Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (OP) movie to play on cinemas. I’d waited so long that queuing for hours in the cinema to get a ticket--five tickets, I mean--for next Monday didn’t matter to me.

That’s exactly what I did yesterday. I’m certainly not a morning person, but I didn’t mind waking up earlier than I was used to and went straight to the cinema that morning. I was prepared for hours of standing in line on eight in the morning. But guess what? The mall hadn’t been opened yet. I didn’t notice that the mall wouldn’t be opened until nine thirty. So there I was, trawling on the street--sort of--like a stray dog.

After one and a half hour, I went straight to the top floor of the mall, where the cinemas were located. Surprise, surprise, there had already been a line of ten or so in front of the counter. I kept my cool, though, and took my place in the end of the line. It took lots of patience to just stand there. Not because it’s tiring, it’s due to bunches of brats that couldn’t stop walking back and forth, making noises. I felt like kicking their a**. But forget about them.

The ticket sale was opened on ten thirty and the people started to get anxious. Some b****rds even cut off the line. When I got right in front of the counter, I asked politely if I could get five tickets for the 16th. Too bad, the surprise wasn’t over. The ticket girl said that the ticket for Monday wasn’t on sale yet. Sunday, perhaps.

Damn, damn, damn!

(Cursing at nobody in particular.)

I’m planning on giving a shot once more the day after tomorrow. Hopefully, my “work” will be paid this time and I’ll be able to watch OP on Monday. I’m coming!

On a High

2007-07-10T15:08:00.000+07:00

I don’t drink coffee. I don’t smoke pot. I don’t use drugs. So why does it have to come to this?

It began a few days ago when, unexpectedly, I received good news by e-mail (concerning a chance to do something that I like very much; not to mention getting paid for it). Needless to say, I was excited and looking forward to its fulfillment.

In days to come following my receiving the news however, I started having problem concentrating at night. It’s not like I can’t concentrate at all, it’s just I can’t keep my mind fixed at one thing for more than, say, ten minutes. Considering that I’m a night person--do things that require intense concentration in lengthy period like reading or writing better at night than in the morning/afternoon--it is truly a big deal for me. As if that’s not bad enough, trying to sleep at night becomes difficult too--I just can’t relax and tell my mind to rest.

It felt exactly like the time when I drank coffee (which is something I seldom do, by the way). I’m being too pumped up, yet it’s useless because I couldn’t channel that extra energy to focus on doing something productive. I presume that using drugs would have the same effect, hence the comparison on the opening line.

There’s nothing wrong with getting high, but if you can get nothing out of it, what’s the use of it anyway?

Shipper's Lane

2007-07-01T22:35:00.000+07:00

Shipping--the eternal joy of every fangirl everywhere. Nothing beats it when the ones that you ship for finally get together. I have to pause here for awhile before I make some ignorant people who might spend their time reading this rant more confused (“Shipping? What the hell is that?”).

The term “shipping” is taken from the word “relationship”. Rooting for a relationship of the romantic kind between characters of a story (book, motion picture, manga, game--basically any kind of story that you can think of) is what shipping is all about. Sounds familiar, huh? Even when one is not familiar with this fan-created term, I don’t think that the activity is at all new to you.

What’s so great about shipping anyway? Besides the fact that it serves your appetite for romantic corniness (;p),it’s a nice diversion during the long wait of a story’s next installment. And when a story has the probability of ending up bleakly--by character’s death, for example--shipping is definitely better than distressed over the angsty future.

You can ship all you like, be it the characters which have good chance of ending up together or not. It’s all for the sake of your own amusement and there shouldn’t be any problem with that. For example, I ship for Luna Lovegood and George Weasley of “Harry Potter” (after reading some good Luna/George fics at FanFiction.Net--one of them is “The Dateless Wonders” which I highly recommend). As far as I can remember, these two never appeared together on the story which makes it quite impossible for them of having a romantic relationship. However, the idea of Luna and George together is such interesting to play out with that I couldn’t resist the temptation to ship them.

Unfortunately, shipping can be a pretty touchy subject at times. If you liked a couple very much, you’d probably detest other shippers who shipped different pairs. You would put forth evidences to back up the plausibility of the pair you’re shipping for. This would lead to shipping battles, which could be easily found in many sites and online forum out there.

Personally, I think that shipping battle somewhat beats the purpose--which is why I never involve myself in it. If your ship doesn’t work (the real story nullifies your pair), don’t get angry at the author and refuse to read the real story ever again--just write your own fanfiction. If you disprove other ships, ignore them--look out for a shipping community that you’re actually fond of. Just as simple as that.

The point is, shipping about having as much fun as you want to with those characters. So, don’t brood too much over it. Expand your horizon, use your imagination. Or something like that.

Have fun shipping!

TSUBASA RESERVoir CHRoNiCLE chapter 152 - 155 (CLAMP)

2007-06-09T18:14:00.000+07:00

OK, here’s another piece of review which needs to be written. Badly. Please bear with me. Because this review consists of … chapters and it definitely be extra long if I discuss each chapter individually, I’ll try to summarize the important things only. On with the show then.

About Yuuko:
Kurogane has every right of calling Yuuko with various derogatory names, considering how she loves to tease him mercilessly.

Yuuko is definitely mischievous in her own way, but it doesn’t change the fact that she truly cares for Syaoran and the gang (and Watanuki, of course--and we all know she LOVES to torture Watanuki :D). According to Geo of Infinity, Yuuko was the one who’s pained the most because she knew everything that would happen to Syaoran-tachi, yet she could never tell them or do something to change all the agonizing future that awaited them because the rule of the world forbid her to do so.

I love Yuuko for her eccentric ways, but I didn’t think that I would ever sympathize with her. Now I do, though.

About going to Celes:
Just to make everything clear: Sakura’s not really dead. Her soul was separated from her body, but her life didn’t disappear. Confused? So am I.

To make things short, it’s important to obtain her body from Celes so that: 1) She’d be able to be revived; and 2) Fei Wong Reed and his cronies could not get Sakura’s feather-contained body.

Giving the prize money they won at the chess competition as the price (because it’s something that the four of them--Syaoran, Kurogane, Fai, and Mokona--acquire together), off they went to Celes. Using Mokona’s power alone, it’s impossible to choose which world to head to. Therefore, Yuuko asked Fai to use his magic power synchronously with Mokona in order for them to advance to Celes.

Fai wasn’t at all pleased at his return and meeting Ashura-ou. He was dreadfully shocked, however, at seeing a creepy looking little kid which stood along Ashura-ou. As if that wasn’t enough, the kid pointed his skinny hand at Fai and said, “You killed me”.

The kid was supposed to be Fai’s twin brother, but how could it be--since he’s dead (there’s a death scene of one of the twins in the previous chapter)? What’s with Fai having a twin? Just read on.

About Syaoran:
Syaoran got terrible headache as the gang entered the castle in Celes and it got worse when they proceeded to Ashura’s hall. What’s with that?

About Fai:
Fai’s apparently a prince; his father’s older brother was the emperor of a country called “Valeria”. Too bad that he was born twins and magically gifted--two things which was considered as bad omen by the people of Valeria.

They could not be killed because it would only cause more misfortunes. As a solution, the emperor banished Fai and his twin brother--Yuui--to a valley where time flowed differently and magic was ineffective. Fai was imprisoned inside a tower while Yuui was put under--in some sort of burial ground.

About the curse:
No, it’s not about the so called unlucky twins. It’s about Fai’s curse. Killing someone who’s magically more powerful than him was not Fai’s only curse, it seemed. He’s accursed of something else--a curse which could only work in Celes. This curse has not been revealed yet.

Well, this review turned out shorter than I’ve expected. Let me wrap things up by quoting a passage from chapter 155’s ending:

“The revealed past, the connected curses. The conclusion to the tragedy is?!”