On (The Absence of) Meaning 9/04/2009 10:06:00 AM

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 8/16/2009 09:33:00 AM

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 8/03/2009 10:16:00 PM

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 7/18/2009 10:18:00 PM

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) 7/02/2009 10:21:00 PM

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 6/26/2009 09:43:00 AM

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 5/28/2009 10:27:00 PM

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 4/30/2009 01:12:00 PM

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 4/28/2009 10:41:00 PM

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 4/17/2009 09:49:00 AM

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.